Liana's Place -- A blog about Life, Lies, Laughter and Love

Guest Author, LK Hunsaker

2011-12-13T11:19:00.003-05:00

Today's guest is LK Hunsaker, friend and fellow author whom I plan to kidnap one day and take with me to a writer's conference, preferably somewhere warm. Until then, we'll just have to find our "steam" in our writing, LOL. LK makes a great point, in that who we are as people is not necessarily reflected in our characters -- more often we write about who we wish we were, or wish we could be...or take the best (and maybe sometimes the worst) characteristics of those around us and bring them to life...but that's the beauty of writing...we can make our characters be anyone we want them to be. And LK has some special characters she wants to share with us today, characters sharing a very special moment, exploring the power and beauty of human touch, so sit back and enjoy. I know after reading this and other excerpts from Moondrops & Thistles, this exceptional story has moved to the top of my TBR pile. Welcome, LK!

Hello Liana! It’s so nice to come and play today. :-)

While I was trying to come up with something decently creative to post here that I haven’t already said or answered, one of the followers for my blog contest in relation to the tour had a suggestion of a possible topic of discussion:

“I'm waiting for you to reveal something about what inspires you to write the "steamy" parts!”

Now granted, my steamy parts (and I do mean in my books) are not all that steamy. I’m more an inward-looking psychological writer. I’m more mental than touch-feely and to tell the truth, I’m not big on hugs, personally. I have characters who love hugs. And I do like virtual hugs because it sometimes is the thought that counts! And that’s where my steamy parts come in.

How many of you have caught view of the “perfect” man or woman, visually perfect according to your personal taste, and wondered what it would be like to actually touch that person’s face? Has anyone not ever done that? Yes, it’s okay if you’re in a permanent relationship and still do it. From my psych training I fully remember that fantasy is a perfectly normal and very healthy part of life, whatever your status. It can even improve your long-term marriage to fantasize. It’s good for you! It can also be good for your partner, because let’s face it, when you’re happier, your partner is likely to be happier.

I’ve read author interviews where the writer says her heroes are based on her husband. I find it incredibly sweet. I also find it a little too personal for me. Nope, I might grab a few of my husband’s personality traits, such as with Daws and his ability to handle any job that’s thrown at him, which has always had my unfailing admiration, but when it comes to the steamy stuff ... that stays separate.

My personal life and my work are both joined and separate. My fiction is me and yet it’s not.

The steamy parts come from basic biology and the fact that touch is an incredible adrenaline rush as well as a mental stabilizer. Wow, did I just throw ice on the whole romance writing thing? Okay, so it comes from when I read a tender scene or watch one in a movie or see that “perfect” type somewhere and feel the mental rush of possibility, of pulse racing, of “what if,” of how it would feel to touch his face, just once of course. Yes, face touching is prevalent in my books. Sometimes it goes beyond that.

In real life, I would never touch a strange man’s face, regardless of how perfect he is physically. That’s where fiction comes in. Fantasy is healthy. Why else would romance be the #1 best selling genre year after year?

I hope Liana won’t mind that I got so steamy on her blog, but it is appropriate, since she was kind enough to read through my first real love scene, written for Moondrops & Thistles: shorter & spicier edition, and okay it before it went out.

I’m going to leave you with a lead in to that scene. Be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win an ebook of Moondrops short & spicy! And go to my blog next for a chance to win the full print version, personally signed, plus a transforming mug with the cover art, and a Support Our Troops bracelet: http://lkhunsaker.blogspot.com

Moondrops & Thistles: shorter & spicier edition

LK Hunsaker

Excerpt:

“What do they do?”

She sighed again. “Mom is the typical homemaker who doesn’t do anything but that. I used to try to get her to do anything else, pick up a craft, play cards with the girls, something. She would never do it. I think because Dad doesn’t want her to do anything else. Can’t tell you how much I resented that she’d let him run her life that way.”

Daws nodded to himself. Made sense. Explained her insistence about being independent, not allowing him to “take charge” as though he might want to. “What does he do?”

“Oh. He lays floors. Or used to. He’s retired now. He also did some cement work. Things like that. And he took care of animals now and then. That changed with the year. We had chickens for a while, goats, turkeys, peacocks that made the most dreadful noise, and a couple of horses he tried to breed but they didn’t seem to like each other much.”

He chuckled. “Man of many interests.”

“Man who couldn’t commit to one thing. Drove Mom crazy.”

“And you.”

She looked up at him, questioning.

“That why you’re determined to stick this job out, like it or not?”

“No.” She turned her eyes forward again, down at the sidewalk. “I’m sticking it out because it’s the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything in the world and I’m not willing to let go of the chance only because a few morons try to stop me.”

By the tone of her voice, Daws decided it was again time to route around. “Have siblings?”

“A few. And I don’t want to try to explain them so how about we let that go?”

“Okay.”

“You’re offended now.”

“Not at all.”

"You sound like you are.” She stopped and faced him. “I left all that behind on purpose. It’s no longer part of me. Of my life. Any more than yours seems to be.”

He studied her eyes. So firm, resolved. Of course she had to know better. Your family roots weren’t ever fully left behind. His weren’t, regardless of how he tried. They never would be. Not enough. “I’m sorry you felt you had to put it behind you.”

“Yeah. Well, it happens.”

Daws raised a hand to her face. “If you ever decide you want to talk about it, I’m always willing to listen. But I’ll understand if you don’t.”

“Will you tell me more about yours?”

“Nothing much more to say about mine.”

“I don’t think I believe that, but I’ll give you the same offer.” Deanna brushed his lips, hinting. “Ready to go in yet or are you still afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

“To which?”

“Both.” With a quick grin, he led her to his building and walked her up the stairs.

As she settled in, he pulled out two hard lemonades and took them to the couch where she sat with bare feet pulled to her side. Deanna accepted one of the bottles, looked at it quizzically, and peered into his eyes.

“Am I right?”

“How did you know? Did I slip up and tell you?”

He gave her another grin, took a long swallow, and rubbed a hand over her shoulder with a light massage.

“Guess it’s true.” She returned the favor by caressing his leg.

“What’s true?”

“You’re not bothered by feet. At least by my bare feet on your couch.”

He caught her eyes as he took another swallow, and set the drink out of his way. “Are you ticklish?” At her raised eyebrows, he clarified. “Your feet.”

“No.”

Daws slid his hands around the leg she had resting atop the other and coerced it gently until her knee bent upward and her foot rested against his leg. He soothed a hand over top. “Can’t imagine anyone bothered by them.”

“Well, it’s not very classy, I guess, to run around the house with bare feet. Not sure why it isn’t since they are clean...” She broke off as he began to massage her foot.

He watched her face to be sure it didn’t tickle and he wasn’t too rough. Her eyes closed, her head dropped back, and her expression ... made his body tighten. It took little encouragement to get her to shift to the end of the couch, allowing access to both feet. And she pried her lemonade between her thighs for security, to prevent spilling it as her body loosened, relaxed.

“That feels incredible.”

“Does it?” He pressed his thumbs up the middle of her feet, watched her breasts rise as her shoulders arched back. The buttons of her blouse pulled against their holes. Her fingers gripped the edge of his couch.

Suddenly, she pulled away, put her bottle on the table, and pressed in against him, her mouth to his, arms around his neck. He tasted the lemonade on her tongue, felt her breasts surge with her breaths. He circled her small waist and encouraged her closer. It took little encouragement. She was fire. Bright. Hot. Piercing his armor of what he thought was thick as Kevlar. She was proving how wrong he was. It wasn’t Kevlar. It was aluminum. Durable. But not unbendable.

Buy Link:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31804
(shorter and spicier edition)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/71151
(full edition, also at BN.com or at your local indie store from Indiebound.org)

Win With Number Sixteen on the 16th!

2011-11-16T07:28:00.003-05:00

Once again I'm participating in The Romance Studio's Year End Splash Party, this time giving away an autographed copy of my all-time favorite book to write, Thin Ice. What better way to celebrate hockey season than with a copy of Eric and Emily's award-winning story about second chances?

All you have to do is answer question Number 16 -- coincidentally today's date and Eric's number as captain of the Minneapolis Saints -- for your chance to win! In the meantime, here's an excerpt to give you a taste of what's in store for our soon-to-be family...Emily has finally given in to her eight-year-old son Robbie's fervent desire to play hockey and doesn't know where to begin to get him the equipment he needs. A not-so-chance meeting at a skating rink leads her to ask Eric for advice. With a big smile, he tells her he knows just where to go.

The door opened and a wiry black man in a blue plaid flannel shirt and jeans stepped back to admit them. “Eric, good to see you,” he said. “Your stuff came in Friday afternoon.”

“Glad to hear it, but that’s not why I called. Sam, I’d like you to meet Emily Jordan and her son, Robbie.”

Sam smiled in welcome. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jordan. Robbie. I was just making some coffee.” He turned and checked the pot. “It’s almost done. Anyone care for a cup?”

Emily declined, but Eric accepted. After a brief pow-wow with Eric about the Saints’ chances for making the playoffs while the coffee finished brewing, Sam turned to Emily with a warm smile. “What can we do for you today, Ms. Jordan, besides bore you with a lot of meaningless statistics?”

“Meaningless?” From the sound of it they’d been discussing the team’s chances as intently as she’d consult with Augustus about a critically ill patient.

“Absolutely. Because no matter what the sports gurus say, the Saints are going all the way...and this guy right here is the one who’s going to take them.” He clapped Eric on the back, nearly sloshing the coffee Eric was staring into all over his front. “Yes ma’am, you’ve hooked up with a real champion here. Captain Cameron to the rescue.”

The light in the storefront was dim, but Emily would have sworn she saw Eric’s ears redden. “Emily doesn’t really follow the sport, Sam,” he said quietly.

Sam looked at her in startled surprise, then back at Eric. “She doesn’t?” As if such a thing was inconceivable.

“No, but Robbie does, and he’s joining the Mites League. I’d like you to set him up with the works.”

“Sure. No problem. Got everything he needs right here. Top of the line.”

Within minutes Robbie looked like a miniature gladiator. Emily felt a sharp pinch in her purse as the two men outfitted her son with layer upon layer of padding, the three of them conversing in a sports jargon she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Secure in the knowledge her son was in the hands of experts, she changed her mind about Sam’s offer of coffee and poured herself some.

She cradled the styrofoam cup in her hands and strolled over to the window. Peering through the dusty horizontal blinds, she studied the Suburban. Five years old already when she’d bought it last year, it desperately needed a tune-up and new tires. That might have to wait again, now with Robbie’s newest expenses. Between paying off her school loans, Robbie’s tuition and helping out her family, she was pushing her financial limits to the wall. And with the cost of gas these days...

She sighed. There were times when she wished she didn’t have to drive such a big vehicle, but that was one phobia she couldn’t seem to get rid of.

She turned away from the window and found Sam gone and Eric crouched before Robbie, testing the fit of his equipment. She sipped her coffee and felt the sting of tears as Robbie solemnly answered Eric’s quiet questions. What she wouldn’t give to have her family see Robbie right now. But home wasn’t somewhere she could ever go again. Not as long as her father was alive. She wondered how her mother was doing, if her health was holding up. It was times like this, when she felt closest to Robbie, that she missed her own mother the most.

Sam reappeared with a fistful of hockey sticks, a pair of black leather skates and a huge white jersey. As her son stood there in a pair of black padded pants that looked five sizes too big but apparently fit perfectly, Eric slid the suspenders up over Robbie’s shoulder pads, then dropped the huge jersey over his head. He asked Robbie to sit, then laced his skates. Only her son’s face and hands resembled anything close to an eight year old’s, and even that changed once Eric settled a hard red plastic helmet with a grid mask on Robbie’s head.

Eric adjusted the chinstrap, while Sam handed Robbie a huge pair of padded black gloves to try on.

“So, what do you think, Ms. Jordan?” Sam asked, grinning.

Eric and Robbie looked her way, Robbie more still than Emily could remember him being while awake.

“I think you look wonderful,” she told her son, her voice catching. “I can’t wait to see you in action.”

Robbie let out a whoop of joy. Emily lifted her eyes to Eric’s, not caring that he saw the emotion in them. “Thank you,” she mouthed, as Robbie waddled over to Sam to select a stick.

Eric’s answering smile touched her mother’s heart. “If that doesn’t keep him safe, nothing will.”

For more information, go to my website.

To purchase Thin Ice, New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf and EPPIE award winner, go here.

Thank you, and have a great day!

The Summer that Was...and Wasn't

2011-11-11T09:18:00.003-05:00

It’s been a while since I blogged regularly, but what better day to get back into the swing of things than my first (of three) special days in The Romance Studio’s Year End Splash party? A little bit about me, for those who are stopping by for the first time (Welcome!!) today: I write deeply emotional and satisfying stories with a hint of danger and enough spice to keep you turning the pages. Here on the blog, my posts are a combination of health, healing, wellness, and inspiration. I draw my inspiration from an incredibly supportive group of friends, from church ladies to convicts, two of whom are my friends Louis, who is serving a life sentence in prison, and Marc, who has recently been paroled.

You might call them my muses, as their struggles and stories inspire me daily, and help me to keep things in perspective. My worst day out here can’t even begin to compare with their best day behind bars. I remember times when Louis would call, and I would vent about something or other for probably 14 of the 15 minutes allotted for the phone call, and then days later I would receive a letter telling me someone he knew had been stabbed that day, and suddenly I would feel so small.

He had called for well, I wouldn’t say comfort, because that’s not Louis’s style—he’s a tough guy through and through—but perhaps to hear a voice of sanity in the middle of a truly insane place. And what did I do? Rant about some dumb stuff I don’t even remember. But you can believe Louis will remember that day, or any day someone was life-flighted out of the complex due to a sudden eruption of violence.

Things can happen extremely fast in prison, as we found out last May, when Louis was suddenly spirited away to another facility several hours away. It just went to show that when they want to move you, they can do so at the speed of light. (And when they don’t, they can move slower than molasses, as they demonstrated a few years ago when he spent nine months in isolation, awaiting a transfer.) One day he was as happy as a clam, starting his new job out in the yard and looking forward to enjoying his summer, the next he was the only non-capital case inmate on Death Row. Just like that.

Yep. The DOC can keep any inmate in isolation for as long as they want to, and even on Death Row, which was where Louis spent 6 weeks of his summer--while I was out having my best summer in recent memory.

Talk about polar opposites. Like the night I was at the U2 Concert in Pittsburgh, singing my fool head off along with 60,000 other fans, it seemed almost surreal that Louis was less than 45 minutes away, in solitary confinement, for no reason any sane person could discern.

He spent the summer filing appeals. I spent the summer going to parties and concerts.

112 days later, he was returned to the facility he had been spirited away from almost four months earlier, but by then his summer was over.

It was like he slipped into a worm hole, or a time portal, and then suddenly months later he popped out again, and not a word was said. It was like it didn’t even happen. He’s now back at his original facility, has regained his job and re-joined his classes, and in general settled into life in population all over again. But he knows and I know it can all disappear with the swish of a pen or the click of a mouse.

No doubt he always knew that. He’s been living his unpredictable life for over 33 years. Me, I still have blinders on at times. I still expect the world to make sense. But the swiftness with which he literally vanished from my life after ten years of friendship really opened my eyes. Reminded me of how fragile life is, how circumstances, anyone’s circumstances, can change in a heartbeat, and inspired me to get out from behind my computer and live while I still can.

So that’s what I’ve been doing these past months that I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been out having fun. In June, I went on a field trip with my Qigong classmates to Niagara Falls, where we participated in an all day Tai Chi workshop (with an awesome lunch included) overlooking the falls. The 4^th of July was a full weekend of good company, good food and even better music I’ll never forget. My son, who plays guitar, and I got together with some friends who know how to make music, and played classic rock and roll songs well into the night. I had happy bruises on my left palm and right thigh for a week afterward from playing some serious tambourine. Later in July I got to see U2 under the stars. In August I had family come to visit (three times!!), and we spent the bulk of our time playing miniature golf and eating authentic German food and buffalo pot roast. (Those who know me know I’m always on the lookout for a great pot roast.)

In September I boogied to Detroit to see an awesome Alison Krauss concert. In October I traveled back in time for my high school reunion, another never-to-be-forgotten weekend of music, dancing, good food, good friends, and good memories.

And in the midst of all of this…after 9 months of fruitless clicking and maybe a dozen short term conversations on an online dating site…I met someone special in my own back yard.

And so today, as November rolls into year’s end and the snow begins to fly, I’m home making a huge pot of harvest vegetable soup, and count myself blessed to have four special men in my life—my son, who over the summer evolved into a fine young man I am super proud to know; Louis, my friend and muse of over a decade who I’ve been blessed to visit three times since his return from the worm hole and who continues to inspire me daily; Marc, whom I see weekly to help with mundane chores such as laundry and shopping while he continues to search for work and establish a fresh start in life; and my new friend, who now joins me on my road trip adventures and makes sure I continue to take time away from the computer to simply enjoy life.

So, as we tumble into this Year End Splash with The Romance Studio, I wish you good times, good food, good music, and most of all, good friends and family to share it all with. Be sure to answer today’s question number two at The Romance Studio, from my murder mystery romance Ashton’s Secret, which takes place during a summer my heroine, Meghan, will also never forget. You’ll find the answer on my website, in the excerpts section.

Good luck in the contest, and stay safe and warm, wherever you are.

The Romance Reviews Year End Splash Party

2011-10-04T11:20:00.005-04:00

Goodness, while I haven't been around much, the blog has been chugging along, with guests stopping by regularly. So sorry I haven't been here! I'm still trying to catch up after a summer of Qigong, concerts, out of town guests, and road trips. Will write an update on all of that, including my fledgling strawberry patch, very soon. I promise!

But for now, I'm dipping my toe back into the world of book promotion by participating in The Romance Reviews' Year End Splash Party. For details please click on the link at the top of the sidebar. Lots of fun to be had, and prizes to be won!

Happy Fall!

My Summer of Music

2011-07-29T10:55:00.007-04:00

Trying to get back on track with my blogging, both here and at the PMDD site, where I haven't posted in over two months. As my last post says, I'm taking time out to pursue more research on the subject. And I am. I've enlisted the help of a friend from my Qigong class, and, I hope to have more good information to share over there in the fall.

As for what's going on here, I'm still as busy as ever, now getting ready for out of town family to visit. Until then, I will be cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, and that includes clearing my desk of anything that doesn't need to be there, because when they come, I will take the entire week off from the computer. Tonight another friend and I will be shampooing the carpet, so after I finish this post, it's off to move furniture in preparation for that.

Earlier this week, I attended the U2 concert in Pittsburgh with my son and friends. The U2 360 tour was the largest, and largest grossing rock concert tour ever, with a road crew of around 400 and a stage that takes 120 eighteen wheeler trucks to transport. (From a lookout point on one of the stadium ramps, I counted 30 of them lined up in rows of two, big, bright, shiny, new-looking tractor-trailers, just waiting to be loaded up again.)

The stage took four days to set up (in the broiling heat) at Heinz Field, and 60,000 people were expected to attend. The show we went saw was the last American tour date of the tour, which started in 2009. Only one more concert after ours, and the tour is over. I bet that road crew is happy. One of the statistics posted on the jumbotron that blasted images from the center of the stage said that during the tour 17 children had been born to crew members.

In all, the trip took 13 1/2 hours, 7 of them spent at the stadium. And only 20 minutes spent in traffic, Thank you God. We stopped and had a nice dinner (grilled trout and veggies for me) on the way, and arrived at the stadium around 5:00 p.m. The show began at 7:00 and U2 came on at 9:00. They played for nearly three hours to a crowd that was standing and swaying and singing for almost every song. (including me, of course....how I wished I'd had a tambourine along...I had to settle for clapping my hands or banging on my binoculars :)).

The weather was perfect, with a cool breeze wafting in after dark. The open air format made the sound level more than bearable. Of course it was loud. At least I didn't have any hearing problems afterward :). At times the concert felt like a spiritual experience, which I am sure is what the band intended. The positive energy in the stadium had my hands practically vibrating. (We've been learning all about energy fields in Qigong.) The band came back for three or four encores, the last of which was the best of all, an impromptu song (and one of my favorites) inspired by a friend who lives in Pittsburgh and was at the concert--see the video below.

What can I say, other than it was one of the many highlights of a stellar summer so far. Well worth the time and effort and wait and expense. Of the tickets. Not all the add on "convenience" fees, and the extravagant mark ups for food and drink and souvenirs at the stadium. Can't say I was shocked, because I do get out enough that I've seen prices rise steadily, but this was an orgy of greed going on. They even had announcements that you were not to bring in things like Tylenol, chap stick, and sun screen, because they had them available there for your "convenience."

Yes, and if the food and drink prices were anything to go by, that "convenience" would have cost me dearly.

But the concert itself was awesome, and I'm already scouting around for my next one. This, for me, has turned into the Summer of Music, between the Fourth of July party jam sessions, and the CDs my son has been bringing me for my car. (Taking a break from listening to all those motivational CDs :)) The Rolling Stones, Neil Young, Adele...

Yes, Adele. For once I am actually current with something that's going on in the world of pop culture, and it feels good :)

Update, Revisited

2011-07-22T07:07:00.007-04:00

Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together. Every story has an end, but in life every end is just a new beginning. Sometimes the dreams that come true are dreams you never knew you had. ~ Anonymous

Let's try this again. It's Friday, and I haven't done a Fridays With Louis in a while. Louis remains in administrative custody and housed on Death Row for over 75 days now, but has been granted the use of his television and radio, which to me indicates he's settling in for long-term confinement. The mail comes more regularly now (as in more than once a week), and is no longer slit open and taped shut (although one week they didn't even bother to tape it shut and it arrived slit open). The petty games continue on his end, and he spends his days writing appeals and grievances. He no longer sends me any paperwork to copy for fear of it "going missing." My mail now gets there in 4 - 6 days (he's only three hours away) as opposed to 8 - 12 days.

So...life is improving on his end. He still has not been told why he is being held, and his appeals have all been denied. He did get word that he's been put in for a transfer, but has no idea when or where. In all, he says, "They'll get my summer."

And what a summer it has been. For me, that is. The heat aside, this summer has completely taken over my life. Classes, parties, road trips, dinners, festivals...for some reason it's all coming together for me this year. Must have been all that mental, emotional, and spiritual housecleaning I did in March and April. Will definately continue to keep March as "Me" month, and take annual stock of how things are going.

The days just keep rolling, one into another, each of them over before I am anywhere close to being done with whatever I intended to do that day. No matter. It's still there the next day. I never lack for things to do, places to go, or people to see. Finding time to write has been almost impossible, with so many things going on, but winter will come, and with it my usual hibernation, so that, too, will resolve itself.

For now I am just enjoying each day as it comes, and am grateful for the freedom to do so.

A Hodgepodge of Catching Up

2011-07-20T14:29:00.005-04:00

Wow. This is apparently my 401st blog post here. Whoda thunk I had that much to say? Although at least ten percent of those are guest authors, probably more.

Anyway, I have been super busy, to say the least. My strawberry garden proliferates, only it's full of weeds, not strawberries. I do have a few berries coming in, but need to get out there before the weeds choke the strawberry plants to death. To replace the row of strawberry plants that didn't come up, I planted a row of cherry and grape tomatoes. We get a few a day, and they don't usually make it as far as the house. Nothing like a ripe, warm tomato fresh from the garden.

Instead of weeding, I've been busy trying to clear my desk of projects before my parents come to visit, because I know I won't get any work done while they are here. I don't do well when my focus is divided.

The 4th of July picnic was beyond awesome. I had so much fun playing the tambourine that I developed big bruises on my left hand and right thigh. Each one of them well worth it. What was supposed to be a one day party instead became a two day party, with a surprise birthday party thrown into the mix.

The food was awesome, the company even better. We had music, laughter, Margaritas, and badminton. The weather was great, and the bugs stayed away. We were singing and dancing and jamming well into the wee hours of the night.

I can't believe the phone has rung at least half a dozen times since I started this post. When school's out of session, everything changes from moment to moment. I thought I had a free hour to write something up here, and now I need to go, barely after I've gotten started.

But it's all good. I'd much rather be busy than bored :)

Celebrating Our Freedom

2011-07-02T14:02:00.003-04:00

There is no such thing as a little freedom. Either you are all free, or you are not free. ~ Walter Cronkite

Today I want to talk about freedom—and gratitude. As many of you know, I spent several years in prison ministry, and am still in contact with two of the inmates I met during those years, my friends Louis and Marc (who had his parole hearing just a week ago, so stay tuned for news on that :)).

Anyway, each year, they wish me a happy Fourth of July, and as I sit out in the open air, enjoying either a picnic, party, or the festival atmosphere of the annual fireworks show in my small town, my mind wanders—as it tends to do—and I think about all they are missing and all they gave up when they committed their crimes against society.

In previous years I have sat on a blanket or in my lawn chair watching children, laughing and running and playing with their sparklers and glo-light necklaces, mothers, fathers, siblings, and grandparents alike pushing babies in strollers, people lined up at the concession stands, ordering their All-American soft drinks and hot dogs, chips or hot cheese pretzels, maybe a brain-freezing popsicle or snow-cone.

Some families would bring their own food and made a picnic of it, while others enjoyed their favorite alcoholic beverages. Music floated on the air, and friends and neighbors alike would stop to talk to each other in small groups and clusters. One year they passed out free American flags. Another year I went to a private party on a lake, catered with an enormous amount of food, and tasted my first Corona with lime in it. Another year I went to a party where we didn’t see the fireworks, but several of the guests had once been in a band together, so some serious jamming was going on, and we played classic rock and roll tunes well into the night.

Amid all of these simple pleasures were things so many of us take for granted. The ability to sit out in the open air after dark and see the stars, and to stay out there as long as we want to. The ability to move about freely, and visit and speak with anyone we choose to. The ability to enjoy the laughter of children and the smiles of babies. The ability to carry pointy objects like the flags they handed out one year, and move about in relative safety. The ability to freely hug and kiss and show affection to anyone we choose to, friend or family. The freedom to eat and drink what we want to, when we want to. The freedom to leave if we so choose. Just get in the car and go.

Therefore on the Fourth of July, my thoughts will in part return to my incarcerated friends, and how while the rest of the country celebrates our independence, they will not, because they can not. By their choices and actions, they have given up the freedom to do so, to share even in these most basic of freedoms. Louis is in particularly dire straits this year, having spent the past 60 days in solitary confinement as the only non-death row inmate housed on Death Row. He still has not yet been told either the reason why, or the expected length of his confinement. I've gone from receiving one letter per week to no letters this week. Since last week was near the end of the month, I suspect he was reserving most of his paper and envelopes allotment for the appeals process. For some reason, at this facility, even though he pays the postage himself, he's only allowed to send out ten envelopes per month.

But even when this current insanity surrounding him ends, as a lifer Louis will never again experience the joy and freedom of attending any sort of fireworks display. So even if your town’s display is dinky, and everyone laughs at it, be grateful that you are able to attend. Be grateful for the ability to walk free in the night air, to visit freely with friends and enjoy the music on the wind, or to bring your own pair of earphones and listen to what you choose to listen to. Be grateful for the ability to walk up to a concession stand and order whatever your heart desires when the urge to eat or drink strikes. Be grateful for the ability to hug and kiss your friends and family members, as much or as little as you want to. Be grateful for the ability to drink responsibly if you so choose, and to stay up as late as you want to. In my case, I will be singing and playing a tambourine in time with songs by the likes of Tom Petty, Fleetwood Mac, Marvin Gaye, John Fogarty, and the Rolling Stones.

But while I am enjoying these simple pleasures, I will also remember to be grateful to the men and women of our Armed Services who will not be able to celebrate our country’s Independence Day with us because they are in other countries, putting their lives on the line to preserve our ability to enjoy these often taken-for-granted freedoms at home.

Take care, be blessed, and drive safely.

Creating Positive Energy and The Human Spirit

2011-06-22T06:44:00.002-04:00

Oh, my friend, it's not what they take away from you that counts. It's what you do with what you have left. ~Hubert Humphrey

We had a party this month. Doing so gave us an excuse to drop everything and clean up the yard and house. I say we, because my son was the one hosting the party, so he was uncharacteristically eager to help get things ready. And help he did. He did an awesome job with the yard, mowing the lawn, planting flowers, getting rid of all the weeds, building a fire pit, complete with a circle of bricks, even sweeping the front porch.

Me, I focused on the communal areas inside. Living room, dining room, kitchen, and bathrooms. To make room for everybody, we took everything out of the living room that didn’t need to be there. Over the course of the past few months, in part due to working at home, I’ve sort of expanded my work area to include the living room chair for reading comfort and the dining room table for organization. Little by little, books and manuscripts and research materials were piling up around my favorite chair, and the coffee table had been pulled over as a makeshift desk of sorts.

Very cozy. Very comfortable. Very messy.

It’s been two weeks since the party, and we’ve managed to keep everything clutter free. It’s a joy just to walk into the open space and feel the positive energy. Instead of trying not to look at the mess and mentally muttering to myself several times a day that “I need to do something about that,” it’s done.

But I need space to work, and I like to be comfortable. A few manuscripts have already found their way back to the dining room table. One night I spent about twenty minutes looking for a missing chunk of manuscript. Thought I was a whole lot further along than I was, until I noticed 90 pages were missing. That set off my “something’s missing” meter, and I couldn’t settle down again until I knew where it was. The other day, I went around collecting portions of several more manuscripts. Made a list, and checked everything off, to make sure nothing was missing. Those then made their way to the coffee table. So little by little things are creeping back out into the common area, as I settle in for the next round of work.

I’m not sure what the balance is. Maybe it’s just to be comfortable when I work, and to have an uncluttered place to put things when I’m done. Not quite there yet, but working on it. My office is next on the list of rooms to be de-cluttered.

In the meantime, the strawberry plants are growing, the flowers are blooming and spreading (I think it’s amazing how they do that), and the house is really getting in shape. One by one I’m going through the rooms and cleaning things out, making room for more good and positive things to enter my life. Louis’s situation remains the same and just that. He still has not been told why he is being held in administrative custody, and remains housed on Death Row, in a bizarre twist to his life in prison. He says nothing like this has ever happened to him before and no one can or will give him any answers as to why he is being housed there. Anybody else who has been in those cells has been gone within 2-3 days. Louis has been there now for 7 weeks. He’s hired an attorney to help him simply get back into population. Mail comes in fits and starts, and I hear from him about once a week. It’s the same on his end. He says 8 – 10 days will go by in between letters from me, and then several will arrive in a bunch. On my end they are all sliced open, and taped shut again. One letter arrived sliced open but not taped shut. So they are reading his mail, both incoming and outgoing. I’m not even sure some letters are getting to him. His newspaper wasn’t being delivered for the first three weeks—well, it was being delivered to the institution, but not to him. He spends most of his days writing grievances for property that keeps going missing—and then magically reappears. Food, sweats, sneakers, books, legal papers. He’s saving his one phone call per month for his attorney.

But through it all, he remains positive and upbeat, and continues to be a living example of the axiom that even when you can’t control your circumstances, you can control your attitude, and that the human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it.

Kindness is Never Wasted

2011-06-05T13:15:00.004-04:00

Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness. ~Seneca

Be kind to someone today, just to do it.

I had a post half-written this morning, but then I went to Qigong class, and the energy there was just so good and positive, that I really don't want to ruin it.

So keep Louis in your thoughts and prayers, and I'll hope to have some good news next week.

As for me, I've taken up gardening, of a sort. I decided to plant strawberries. Not overly fond of dirt to start with, I'm out there in the heat, picking up rocks, raking, and digging holes in the ground, sweat dripping off my face and feeling like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. At the rate I was going, I was certain to go hungry again before too much longer. So I enlisted the help of my son, who did a wonderful job of digging the rest of the holes. We now have about 50 strawberry plants, and I even had enough left over to share them with a friend--so now we can compare notes :).

I also bought some lovely impatiens for the front of the house, and two colorful hanging baskets. Keeping them all watered takes about an hour each evening, (somehow I forgot about that part when I got my great idea to plant flowers this year), so I'm getting some exercise in, along with my four Qigong classes each week, and my daily walks.

Work is getting done, my desk is getting cleared, and as of right now, July just might be the month I work for me, finishing up my PMDD website and book.

Onward and upward! (There's never a lack of anything to do around here :))

Guest Author, Stephanie Burkhart

2011-06-01T08:19:00.004-04:00

Today's Guest Author needs no introduction, as she is a regular visitor here at Liana's Place, but I'll take a stab at it anyway :). Please welcome my friend, the multi-talented and prolific author Stephanie Burkhart!

Taking the Journey – It's about the characters, Silly.

I'd like to thank Liana for having me here today. She's such an inspiration, personally and professionally in my writing. My latest release is a paranormal romance titled "The Wolf's Torment." Set in Romania in 1865, Crown Prince Mihai Sigmaringen has a secret – he's a witch. Can his love for Theresa give him the courage he needs to save his family from the werewolf that haunts them?

At first I was going to talk about the Black Sea, but then I got to thinking – it's about the characters, Silly, and bringing out the humanity in them despite their supernatural abilities. So I'll share some cool things I learned about the Black Sea and then talk about my most challenging character – Lady Theresa von Kracken.

The Black Sea is amazing and it's a great backdrop for a paranormal story. They've been writing about the Black Sea for ages and since the Black Sea borders many different countries, there are many different myths. "Jason and the Argonauts" is set on the Black Sea. A Ukrainian legend tells of a violent arrow in the sea. It's so violent that when the sea tries to expel it, there are turbulent storms.

The sea itself has all the properties of an ocean. It has salt water and the various fish include anchovy, tuna, and dolphins. The Winter Olympics in 2014 are going to be held in Sochi, Russia, which is on the coast of the Black Sea.

Romania is one of the nations on the Black Sea and it is also the setting of "The Wolf's Torment." This story is the "prequel" to "Twilight Over Moldavia." The premise of "Twilight Over Moldavia" is that poor Prince Stefan has been cursed to become a werewolf. Can Caroline's kiss free him from his fate? After I wrote it, I just knew I had to write the story about Stefan's parents, Mihai and Theresa, and how Stefan came to be cursed. Which leads me to Theresa, Stefan's mother. How could a mother curse her own child to become a werewolf? It's because of this question Theresa's character is the most challenging in "The Wolf's Torment."

As the novel opens, the reader meets a young Lady Theresa von Kracken on her way to Delfin Castle to become engaged to Moldavia's Crown Prince, Mihai Sigmaringen. Theresa's family is a powerful witching family, but her father saw in a dream that Theresa must never be taught the ways of witchcraft (or she'll die) so she has remained blissfully ignorant of her own heritage. Theresa believes supernatural characters like witches exist and she believes them to be good. When Mihai reveals he's a witch to her, she accepts him as he is.

Theresa's love for Mihai is pure, having been cultivated through their dreams. As the novel progresses, Theresa cannot ignore the evidence that she's a witch as well. She comes to believe that because she is, she can meet any challenge. Viktor preys on her vulnerability after she receives an emotionally shattering loss. Can a heroine do the wrong thing for the perceived "right" reasons?

REVIEWS FOR THE WOLF'S TORMENT

From The Pen & Muse:

A complete werewolf story through and through, Burkhart does it again with an amazing cast of characters, entertaining dialogue and plot. Lovers of historical paranormal romance will enjoy this read, the first in the Moldavian Moon series.

From Reader's Favorites

5 Stars - The Wolf’s Torment has it all, witches, werewolves, a vampire, a princess and a prince. This is paranormal romance at its finest.

Enjoy this Excerpt:

Theresa rushed to Sonia's side as her sister-in-law doubled over, clutching the backrest on the sofa. They were in the library. Sonia usually did her knitting there while Theresa worked on her painting.

Mrs. Nocesti helped Theresa carry Sonia to the couch. She lay on her side, grabbing her distended womb.

"Where does it hurt?" asked Mrs. Nocesti.

"Here," Sonia grunted. She pointed to her side, near the rib cage.

Theresa wrung her hands together, worried. Sonia was in her eighth month and her baby was nice and round. Sonia reminded Theresa of when Victoria had given birth. She hoped that wasn't happening now.

"She's not going to have the baby, is she?" asked Theresa.

"No, the pain is in the wrong place. I'm going to get Dr. Stanza and the willow bark pills."

"Hurry."

"I will." Mrs. Nocesti rushed out the door.

Theresa knelt next to Sonia, rubbing her hand over Sonia's hair. "This is so sudden. Did the baby kick?"

"I don't know...Theresa...am I bleeding?"

Theresa shivered at the thought, but visually checked Sonia's dress. "I don't see any blood staining your dress."

"Thank God. Theresa, it hurts."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could do something."

"Hold my hand."

Theresa offered Sonia her hand. Sonia gripped it so tightly, Theresa's knuckles turned white. Her own pulse accelerated. Spots appeared before her eyes. Theresa's breathing grew rapid. Theresa saw the baby in the womb, kicking the spot of Sonia's discomfort. The baby struck the blood barrier. It was weak, and because of that, was causing Sonia pain.

"Baby, no, don't kick your mother there. You're hurting her. Please, don't kick. Turn around, please, turn around," Theresa said, gasping for air as sweat trickled down her brow. The baby turned. It was a boy.

Sonia let go. Theresa's link with the baby disappeared.

"What did you do?" whispered Sonia.

"I...I don't know."

"Theresa, you made it stop? How did you do that?" Sonia gasped.

"I don't know."

"Are you a witch? I felt your energy -- it pulsed through me."

"I..." Theresa couldn't finish. Her mind reeled in confusion.

Mrs. Nocesti and Dr. Stanza rushed in.

"Sonia!" cried Dr. Stanza.

"The Queen!" exclaimed Mrs. Nocesti.

Theresa knelt, one hand clutching the couch, the other her womb. She wasn't as round as Sonia. Theresa took a deep breath. She couldn't explain what had just happened, but it had rocked her to the core of her being. No human should have the type of experience she just had. She felt the baby. She felt Sonia's pain. She learned Sonia's baby was a boy. Dare she think Sonia was right? Dare Theresa believe herself to be a witch?

Visit the Book Trailer on You Tube and give it a 'like' at:

The Wolf's Torment is available as an ebook only on Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Sony Ereader. Formats include: PDF, html, and epub which can be found on the Publisher's Website, Kindle, Nook, and All Romance ebooks.

About the Author: Stephanie Burkhart is a 911 dispatcher for LAPD. She also served as an MP in the US Army. Multi-published, she has a children's book, "The Giving Meadow" with 4RV Publishing. She's an avid reader , loves coffee in the morning, and her favorite movie "werewolf" is David Thewlis, Lupin from Harry Potter.

You can find me at my website, blog, and Facebook.

What do YOU Do When Life Spins Out of Control?

2011-05-29T08:00:00.004-04:00

I love my relationship with Louis. It teaches me so much about myself, and human nature in general. When he was first snatched up to become one of the Walking Dead, I found myself walking around with that Nina Gordon song, The End of the World, playing over and over and over in my mind. Why does the sun go on shining? Why do the birds go on singing? I’m looking at everything in a really detached way, thinking, “Wow…life really does go on…” and “I wonder how many people are walking around feeling just like me?” Stunned, shell shocked, adrift. (There must be hundreds of thousands of them after all the tragedies and bad news the world has experienced these past few months.)

He didn’t say goodbye, but he’s gone nonetheless. Our friendship/relationship will never be the same. Those two years of fun, easy, relaxed visits are over—without warning, and overnight.

Right now he’s telling me he doesn’t want me to come and see him, and, frankly, right now, I don’t have any desire to go. More on this at the end of this blog post.

In the meantime I walk around, feeling somewhat like I’ve lost my best friend. You know, how like when you were a kid, maybe the buddy you hung around with the most suddenly got transferred in the middle of the school year. Even if it was at the end of the school year, it was still wrenching. The thought, “He’s gone,” will suddenly drift into my mind, seemingly out of nowhere, and I’ll stop and probe it like a sore tooth--until it becomes too painful—and then I’ll quickly find something else to do.

I’m getting so much done…stuff I haven’t made time for in two years…like planting flowers….oh, dear, do I see a pattern? I think I do. Two years ago he was coming off an 18-month stay in isolation, 15 months of it waiting for a transfer they couldn’t quite manage to pull off, as, among other things, his name kept getting deleted from the transfer list. This time he was transferred overnight, just going to show you that when they want to move you, they can.

Oh, the lies. The lies, the lies, the lies. I feel so horrible for that man. First they told him he was in isolation because they ‘didn’t have a single cell bed for him,’ and they ‘just needed to keep him in the hole for a few days until one freed up.’ 96 people had been transferred in from Michigan the day before, and the place was full up.

But the guy ahead of him on the list of those waiting for a cell to open up was gone in a few days. And then he saw the Program Review Committee, who informed him he was being kept in isolation due to being a danger to himself or others. What? Knews to him. He explained to them that he walked to the van that transported him there of his own accord—which meant he wasn’t in trouble, didn’t have a write up. His paperwork said he was to be transferred from general population to general population. Or at least that’s what the guards in the van told him, and what the person processing him into the new institution told him.

So PRC took another week to investigate. Came back and told him he’s been issued a separation from his previous facility. No write up, no disciplinary action, someone just wanted him out of there. Someone from the central office on the other side of the state. The transfer wasn’t generated by his previous facility. And now he’s been assigned to long term confinement. We’re talking years.

So yes, I’m walking around in a stunned state, knowing everything has suddenly changed, and wow, it’s true, life does go on. Is this what grieving feels like, I wonder?

I think I must be part scientist. I seem to have perfected this ability to step outside myself and identify my emotions, separate myself from them even as they are happening. I feel them as intensely as ever, and yet, I am still separate from them. The birds keep on singing, the laundry keeps on piling up, the cat litter needs to be emptied, the car needs to be inspected, the tires need to be rotated. Work needs to be done…and so I do it.

When life spins out of control like it has…I tend to fold in on myself, spend more time in prayer and contemplation, internally testing what’s real and not real, making sure I keep in touch with my thoughts and emotions. Making sure I stay centered. There’s no more blindly running to escape my feelings, like I used to do. Now I meet them head on, but in a very controlled manner. I sort of release them in a slow and steady drip, like an IV bag, so that they don’t overwhelm me. I cancel all activity that isn’t essential to my health and well being, and spend more time pampering me—or doing things that bring me pleasure, make me smile.

Hence, the flowers. I spent over 45 minutes yesterday picking them out, and they are perfect. I smile every time I pull into the driveway. I went to an art gallery showing Friday night, and am seriously considering buying a piece that captured my attention. Just to do it. It’s called Joyful, Joyful, and the bold, vibrant colors in it just spoke to me. Not my usual earth tone self at all. I think it would look great in my office.

I’m taking more walks….outside….because I can. The other night I walked in the fog, and it was beautiful under the streetlamps. I’ve upped my number of Qigong classes from two per week to four. The positive energy in that group is amazing…and just what I need right now.

But enough about me. You get the picture. So…when Life spins out of control for me, I pull in, get my bearings, then push back with positive choices and activities.

When Life spins out of control for Louis, he gets Bossy.

Oh…my…God. I never noticed that before. Maybe because I was too caught up in my own emotions to notice. But this time it’s different. Maybe it’s the Qigong that makes the difference, but I am so able to separate myself from what is happening that it’s not funny. Usually, when Louis goes into isolation, there comes a time, as with his last long term confinement, that I reach a point where I’ve had enough (of his micromanaging) and tell him, “Don’t bother calling me when you get out.”

This time I caught it early on, spent a day or two stewing on it, then nipped it right in the bud.

He hasn’t been able to write. With one party telling him he’s just waiting on a cell, and another party telling him he’s waiting on another transfer, the overall consensus was why bother letting him get into his property, as they’d just have to do it all over again once he found a permanent cell. Or they could avoid doing it altogether if he was transferred.

So in the meantime, he’s had no paper or envelopes available to write to me. He says of the others on Death Row, “I don’t know when I’m leaving here, and I can’t take from people who have less than me.” So he warned me he wouldn’t be writing for a while.

Well, he was finally allowed to get into his property this week---three weeks after his transfer, and he found out one of the reasons for the delay—several items are missing. Food, his new sneakers, sweats. I’m sorry, but if that isn’t the lowest of the low…the man has the equivalent of maybe three boxes the size of copier paper boxes to his name, and someone—someone sanctioned by the state and charged with his care and well being--feels compelled to steal from him?

As he once told me a long time ago, “It doesn’t pay to get attached to anything when you're in prison.”

So you can see why he might feel the need to assert his control over something. His future is uncertain, his living conditions are out of his hands, the reason for his confinement keeps changing, his voice is not being heard, and he’s now facing indefinite long-term solitary confinement, where his every movement is controlled, and people are stealing his stuff. The very people who are supposed to be watching over his stuff.

So I get this letter yesterday, after well over a week of wondering how he’s doing, that pretty much tells me I’m getting ripped off left and right. By the guy from AAA, who brought me a new battery, by the nutritionist—I believe he said “If there’s a quack in town, you will find them.” By my mechanics, who take care of my car, and by the person who sold me the car I bought for my son. “You paid $1000 too much for that car,” Louis informs me. “I told you that deal was wrong from the start.”

He’s not usually like this. My best guess is he must be too busy when he’s in population to focus on me. He knows I won’t sit still for it anyway.

But I never recognized this pattern in his behavior until now.

And so it makes me wonder….what do YOU do when you feel like your life is spinning out of control?

Do you run?

Do you go inside yourself?

Do you get bossy?

What do you do?

Taking Time Out To Appreciate Beauty

2011-05-22T18:24:00.006-04:00

Taking the easy way out today...too much going on. I had a blog post in mind but neither the time nor energy to write it...feeling kinda funky hormonally today...either that or it's allergies. Got this in an email from a faith sharing friend, and it's a message we all could benefit from...

In Washington, DC, at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later: The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes: A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes: A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception – forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes: The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste, and people's priorities.

This experiment raised several questions:

*In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?

*If so, do we stop to appreciate it?
*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?
One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made ...
How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?
Enjoy life now....you never know when things will change.

Waiting in Limbo on Death Row

2011-05-15T13:49:00.007-04:00

Good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others. ~ Plato

It’s pouring rain here, and the perfect day to sleep in, or laze around and do absolutely nothing. Instead, as I’ve done for the past five Sundays, I went to Qigong class--and then I went to Mass. Why?

Because I could.

Because I don’t want to take these two simple activities that I enjoy for granted. You don’t go to church for what you get out of it, by the way. You go for what you bring to it. Today I brought a grateful heart and a loud singing voice that probably embarrassed those closest to me.

Too bad. I was there to celebrate and give thanks for the many blessings in my life. I was there to share my joy with the body of Christ.

My joy, however, has little to do with what Louis is experiencing. It seems this blog will have to become ‘Louis central’ for the time being. While I appreciate all the calls and cards and emails of support and encouragement more than you can know, I’m really not the one going through these deprivations, and, as much as I’d like to, I can’t keep updating y'all individually, or I won’t get anything else done.

So here goes: Nothing has changed in the last ten days. Louis has been transferred, as most of you know, unexpectedly and without warning, to a place that has no room for him.

So today is his 11^th day on Death Row—it was the only place they had a cell for him, apparently—and just like the rest of us, he’s awaiting news of his fate.

This could take a while, because no one seems to know what’s going on.

Generally, when you’re in isolation, you periodically see the Program Review Committee (PRC), be it weekly, monthly, or quarterly, as determined by them, and they then determine when you will be released into population. PRC meets where he is, two days a week instead of one. His facility apparently has the biggest Restricted Housing Unit in the state, as it also houses over 160 Death Row prisoners.

It also contains the Special Maximum Unit, sort of a hole within a hole, which is where the violent and hard-to-control prisoners are sent. Louis spent four years there in the late 1990s. You might say he ‘graduated’ from the program.

All I know is it’s where he got his college degree, and, through that educational process, took the first steps toward becoming the man he is today.

Do I credit his time in the SMU for any of that? No. They took his college books away until he went on a hunger strike to get them back. No encouragement there. So he refused to see the PRC for years, not wanting to get out, wanting to study 16 hours a day instead. From what I've witnessed and experienced, having known him these past ten years, it's clear to me that PRC hearings are just a shell game the state plays with men’s lives and families, telling them one thing one week, another thing the next, all the while telling the inmate to "be patient."

Back then he refused to have anything to do with the game. Now he still knows it’s a game, but also knows all the cards are stacked against him, so he shows up for his hearings anyway, polite, respectful, non-violent, and hopeful. Now he’d rather be in population than in the hole.

He arrived on a Thursday, so he patiently bided his time over the weekend--a weekend during which the weather was awesome, and he missed all of it--and spent most of the following Tuesday waiting to see PRC. Finally, he says, someone comes around at 3:30 and says, “You don’t need to see PRC, you’re just waiting for a cell to open up.”

But then this Thursday, he gets called into PRC. Surprise, surprise. They tell him someone has marked him down as Long-Term Confinement, because he’s a danger to someone else in population (the facility has over 1700 men--pick one) and he’s going to have to be put into Administrative Custody indefinately.

Hearing over. They’ll see him again on Tuesday.

This means he remains in isolation, and all that that entails. But get this…the people watching over him in the hole still believe he’s “just waiting on a cell.” So…when you’re “just waiting” to be moved again, you’re not allowed to have your personal property. They figure you’re going to be moving any day now, so why bother unpacking and packing up again when you move?

But PRC says something completely different.

So in the meantime, Louis sits in limbo. Prohibited from having what little personal property he has—books, magazines, toiletries, envelopes, food—reduced to one 15-minute phone call per month, and locked up 23 hours a day Monday through Friday, 24/7 on weekends.

And all because some functionary somewhere decided to move some faceless man on paper to a facility that has no place for him in reality.

Overnight, that man’s life was drastically altered, with everything he enjoyed and/or looked forward to having been summarily ripped out of his life, and now he’s camped out on Death Row indefinitely.

His fellow inmates—condemned men all--have been the most generous and helpful throughout this bureaucratic whirlpool. They’ve provided him with paper, envelopes, books, magazines, and offered food. “But I can’t take their food,” he says. “I need to lose a few pounds anyway.”

They remember Louis from when he was there before, in the SMU. He left 14 years ago. What does that tell you about how long some of those men have been existing on Death Row? Can you even imagine living under those conditions for decades while the state tries to figure out what to do with you? They can’t even figure out what to do with Louis, and his situation is relatively straightforward. His original paperwork says he is supposed to be transferred “from” population “to” population. No hole stops in between.

So what went wrong?

I have no clue, but I do know what's going right. One inmate in particular, whom I will not mention by name so as not to get pulled into any political discussions, because he has his own website and has written books and given interviews, thanked Louis for inspiring him to get his bachelor’s and master’s degrees while in prison.

He thanked Louis for inspiring him.

As do I. Louis inspires me daily, to take advantage of all the simple pleasures I can. Yesterday evening I went for a 45-minute walk around my neighborhood, simply because I can.

Every time I open my refrigerator and see the array of food I have to choose from, I smile and give thanks, because I am aware that I have a choice.

Every time I get in my car to go somewhere, I am grateful, because I have the freedom to do so.

When I look at the stars I am grateful, because I even get to see them.

When I reach for the telephone I am grateful, because I’m not limited to one call per month, and I don’t have to put in a written request just to use the phone.

And when I look at all the paper, pens, stamps, and envelopes around my desk, the books upon books on my shelves, the piles of magazines I don’t take the time to read, and the television I barely watch…

I realize I am taking all of it for granted.

True, I never killed anybody, but neither did Louis. He was there that day, he was present, he helped to dispose of the murder weapon, and is therefore considered an accomplice. But that was 34 years ago. His debt to society for being young, brash, and stupid was paid a long time ago.

Now the man just wants to live in peace. Even if it has to be in prison.

Apparently, however, that’s not to be.

Interestingly enough, this was today's second reading.

Beloved: If you are patient when you suffer for doing what is good,
this is a grace before God.
For to this you have been called,
because Christ also suffered for you,
leaving you an example that you should follow in his footsteps.
He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.

When he was insulted, he returned no insult;
when he suffered, he did not threaten;
instead, he handed himself over to the one who judges justly.
He himself bore our sins in his body upon the cross,
so that, free from sin, we might live for righteousness.
By his wounds you have been healed.
For you had gone astray like sheep,
but you have now returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.

1 Peter 2: 20b-25

Boggles the Mind, it Does...

2011-05-09T09:30:00.005-04:00

The only thing constant in life is change. ~François de la Rochefoucauld, French Classical Author

Life is full of changes, but never moreso than when you’re a ward of the state, and your life is not your own. Imagine this: Imagine having moved into a new neighborhood, a rough neighborhood, where nobody trusted you, nobody trusted anybody, and arriving ahead of you is a two-inch thick file folder that documents every negative thing (and absolutely none of the positive things) you’ve ever done for the past 30-plus years.

Imagine having to work every day at convincing those who have complete control over your life that you are not the dangerously violent stereotype portrayed in those pages, which tell only one side of an extremely-skewed story, but just an ordinary human being, seeking some peace and contentment in your life.

Never mind that the environment you live in teems with criminality, violence, and chaos. You have no control over that. The only thing you do have control over is your attitude. So imagine working hard, day in and day out, to prove you’re not who that file that dogs your every step says you are. Imagine meeting with success. Imagine creating a comfortable life with the options you are given, making peace with those who mistrust you, and being rewarded with a job you absolutely love.

Imagine finding peace in the midst of chaos. Imagine making friends, earning respect, and being treated with dignity in a place that offers precious little of such a quaint human concept.

Then imagine someone coming to your front door and telling you that you are moving—right now--today. Imagine them cutting your phone line so that you can’t tell anyone what is happening. Imagine them lying to you about where you are going. Imagine the surprise of everyone around you, as you numbly do as you are told. Imagine not having the chance to say goodbye to those you might have come to like, respect, or somehow shared a moment of friendship or compassion with in a place that discourages any form of attachment or sentiment. Imagine your own shock, and the realization that everything you worked so hard to accomplish for the past two years just went poof. Without warning, and without any discernable reason.

Next thing you know, you’re in chains and on a van headed not in the direction you were told you were going, but an entirely different direction. When you get there, there’s no room for you, so you get sent to isolation until they can figure out where to put you. Isolation, where you’re locked in a 6 x 9 cell for 23 hours a day during the week, 24/7 on the weekends, can only leave your cell if you’re handcuffed from behind, and must be strip-searched any time you leave or enter your cell. You get three 5-minute showers a week, and the only visits you’re allowed are one hour behind the glass, with yourself trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Phone calls are restricted to one per month.

Imagine your friends and family having no clue that this has happened to you, and having no way to let them know until you get what few belongings you are allowed to have in isolation and can write to let them know. Imagine having to write to them using the wobbly rubber inside of a ball point pen.

Imagine wondering what the hell happened. Two days ago you had a television, a typewriter, phone privileges, classes to go to, summer visits planned, a job you loved, ice cream every evening, and life was good. Today you have this.

Today, you have to start all over again.

Still Busy After All These Years...

2011-05-04T11:58:00.004-04:00

Success usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it. ~Henry David Thoreau

Busy, busy, busy. I’ve been so busy lately I’m not sure whether I’m coming or going! The past two days I haven’t left the house, because I was determined to get a big project out the door, and just now I realized it’s Wednesday, or blog day again. Wow. That week came around fast. I also went out to the kitchen for a mid-morning snack and realized I hadn’t put the pot roast in for dinner, so I quickly took care of that. The cupboards are getting bare, and I need to get to the store, but have decided that that, and going to the bank and post office, can wait another day. Why does everything take three times longer than you expect it to? Must be a law of nature.

Louis and I talked about this recently, how I was always busy, always longing for a day when I had nothing to do. But when that day came…I was usually lost. I didn’t know where to begin to do nothing.

I keep busy because it’s my nature to be productive. I like setting goals and accomplishing them. Unfortunately, I tend to set too many, all at once, and while I do make progress, it’s all diffused, kind of like when you step on thin ice, and all those little cracks shoot out from beneath your feet, spreading ever wider. When I look at the big picture, it seems like I am making a short amount of headway in about a million different directions, and every time I take another step forward, all the cracks spread out even wider.

But when I look back, I see all the things I got done, and realize I’m accomplishing more than I thought. For instance, last year at the Women’s Writer’s Retreat, I took the opening chapter of my PMDD book to read for a critique. At the time I was hoping to find an agent for it. In the end, the agent said it was a great idea, but it was a niche book, and my audience wouldn’t be wide enough for her to justify putting her time and energy into it. She suggested I develop a platform and self-publish the book.

So I started to create a website. I then realized that was too stagnant, so changed my focus to creating a PMDD blog. Nothing too big, just posting once a week. Or so I thought. Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with something relevant to say once a week?

Still, I have managed, with the help of some wonderful guest bloggers, and in the first year we’ve had over 10,000 visits to the blog. The website, however, remains unfinished, and the book all but abandoned.

But I digress. Louis and I were talking about our motivations for being busy. Contrary to popular belief, he does not sit around staring at the walls or watching TV all day. Quite the opposite. He’s constantly on the move, which is why, he says, it’s so draining for him to simply sit still and talk for a few hours when I come to visit. But when I’m not there, which is about 95% of the time, he keeps extremely busy from sunup to sundown and beyond.

Recently they’ve changed the yard policy so that they only go out to big yard every other day. I still don’t understand the rationale for this, and probably never will. Less yard time means less physical activity, and less physical activity means less time to work off their anger and frustrations—and therefore increases the incidents of aggression and violence at the prison--but that’s the way it is. The changes might have something to do with staffing—I don’t know.

Anyway, you know Louis loves his yard time. To have it cut in half did not sit well with him. Ever the resourceful one, he got himself a yard job. Now he’s out in the yard every other day for six hours a day, passing out basketballs and such. He no longer has time to call first thing in the morning, because he goes to breakfast early to be able to get to his new job in time. He no longer has time to write as much, because he’s beat by the end of the day.

No lie. The first week he felt totally whupped. Fell asleep each night without a hitch. I had to laugh, telling him, “Welcome to my world. Now you know how I felt the first week or so after I went back to work every year.” In my previous job, I had the summers off. Going back to work was always a huge adjustment, and I was beat from having to wedge those work hours back into my life, along with everything else I had going.

But now he’s adapted, and is doing fine, enjoying being outside no matter what the weather. Enjoying his ice cream, too, as one of his warm-weather treats. They have to buy tickets in advance to get ice cream, but he’s always got a supply on hand. He had them bought last time I saw him, and they hadn’t even started selling the ice cream yet :).

So I keep busy because I don’t know any other way to be. I do know that when I am feeling stressed, and don’t want to have time to think, I keep even busier than usual. I call it running. Running from myself. My thoughts, my feelings, whatever it is I don’t want to deal with. A lot of people are the same, so I’m sure they can relate, whether they realize that’s what they are doing or not.

Fortunately, I’ve learned to recognize when I’m running, and learned how to stop and identify the problem, then do something about it. So I haven’t needed to run in a while. Now my efforts are focused on slowing down, so that I can appreciate the many blessings in my life. This past month of Sundays has been awesome. I’m sorry I haven’t been here, but I’ve simply been out enjoying my day of rest. It’s so nice to have a day dedicated to spiritual renewal, just taking it easy and enjoying being in the company of friends.

But Louis, on the other hand, does not want any days like that, where he has nothing to do. He needs to keep busy. He needs to keep running. He doesn’t want time to think, and especially doesn’t want to think about time passing, or what he’s missing by being in prison. He’s often said the key to doing time (and not losing your mind) is to keep busy. He wants to hit the floor running and not stop until he’s locked in for the night, and when it’s lights out, he wants to lay his head down and go right to sleep.

Most days, he accomplishes that. On the days he doesn’t, I hear about it :).

It takes an ingenious person to keep himself so active when his options are so limited. Especially after 33 years of confinement. Among other things, Louis’s limitations have taught him the art of mindfulness, of living in the moment. I aim for that daily, and most days succeed. By the end of the day, I can look back at the morning and think it seemed like weeks ago. But on the other hand, the actual weeks and months, and yes, even years, seem to pass by in a blur. I’ll have a date marked on the calendar for something to happen, something to do or someplace to go, and one minute it seems so far away and the next it’s time to get in the car and go.

Funny how that works.

And now, it’s time for me to get back to work. Until next time…may you keep as busy as you want to be, and have good friends to spend time with when you are not :).

Celebrating Life...

2011-04-27T08:55:00.003-04:00

The resurrection gives my life meaning and direction and the opportunity to start over no matter what my circumstances. ~Robert Flatt

Easter has come and gone, and what a celebration it was. This year we had the added blessing of it being my son’s birthday week, so the whole week was full of parties and dinners to celebrate, in addition to all the activities our church offered. It seemed we were doing something every day and night to celebrate one occasion or the other, and the warm and fuzzy feelings have already lasted well into this week.

But before all of that was Lent. This year, if you’ll recall, I decided my motto would be “Just say no.” For six weeks, I vowed not to take on anything new, make any new goals or commitments, start any new projects, or try to meet any new people. I would only work on projects I’d already started, complete classes I’d already begun, honor commitments I’d already made, and focus on the friendships and relationships I already had in my life. I would take the time to appreciate what I already had, take care of what was already mine, and take care of all those little projects I’d been telling myself I would get to “one day.”

It started out well, completing one small project a day. Books got read that had been lying around for years, pictures were hung, closets were cleaned, letters and notes were written, and my to do-list shrank daily. About three weeks into it, I stumbled and fell, and started saying “yes” again, but quickly caught myself and within a few days was back on track.

Still, I now knew I wouldn’t get it all done, and needed to readjust my focus to concentrate what was important to me.

I attended what may well turn out to be a life-altering speaker series at our parish mission that generated many good ideas, but unfortunately, have had no time to implement. I added a third Qigong class to my week, and found it made an amazing difference in my energy level and attitude. Even Louis can’t stop commenting on how much more relaxed I am, and how much easier I am to get along with :). I was able to visit both Louis and Marc, and am happy to report that each of them has never been in a better frame of mind, or more at peace with their circumstances and situations. Many prayers have been answered in that regard.

But I wouldn’t know that if I hadn’t made it a priority to go and see them, to find out what was happening in their lives. Commitments with my son kicked into high gear with the school play moving into production week and performances, so I missed the Lenten speaker series at church, but I was able to attend the women’s speaker series, which only reinforced the message I got at the parish mission talks. During Holy Week I attended morning services and a walk through of the church that explained the symbolism of the Mass and Easter. I also had my first experience as a reader.

While my spiritual life was getting a boost, and my life was being enriched, my blogging suffered. I simply haven’t had time to write about all the changes I’ve been going through. Through Myfitnesspal.com, I finally figured out the secret to losing weight. Easter and my son’s birthday week wreaked total havoc with my ability to stay on track there, but at least now I know what needs to be done to succeed. Through Qigong, I’ve managed to find my own inner peace, and learned how to call on it at will. Thanks to the mission speaker and women’s series, I now know what direction my writing needs to take.

Unfortunately, that means less blogging here. I will, however, try to post something once a week, so you know I’m still around :).

I even came up with an idea for a new novel with all the space “just saying no” created.

In the end, I didn’t make my goal of having everything done before Easter. As the day approached, I got more and more stressed, knowing I wouldn’t be finished—until I decided to “just say no” for another month. So that’s where things stand now. Through May I will continue my own personal Lent, keeping up with my exercise program, fitnesspal, Qigong, and taking care of me—hair, nails, massage, and nutrition classes—while continuing to clear my desk of current projects and formulating ideas for new ones, but this time ones that bring me closer to where I want to be, rather than taking me further afield.

So my Lent was a success. Taking time out for me opened up the time and space to bring several creative ideas into clear focus, and thanks to my new perspective, I will be able to accomplish them a lot faster than I would have on the scattershot path I was on two months ago.

Be blessed, and remember that “Easter is the demonstration of God that life is essentially spiritual and timeless.” ~Charles M. Crowe

Rediscovering the Feminine Face of God...

2011-04-20T10:21:00.009-04:00

Holy cow….here it is Holy Week, and only five days away from Easter. How did that happen so quickly? Life has been a total whirlwind these past 6 weeks, but in a very, very good way. Before Lent started, my life was (once again) careening out of control—not in a destructive way--but in an over-committed way. I was saying yes to too many things, had far more on my plate than I could handle, and was starting to miss deadlines and fall further and further behind.

So I decided that for Lent I would *Just Say No.* I would take on no new projects, meet no new people, make no new appointments, accept no new social invitations, volunteer for nothing new. For the six weeks of Lent, I would only complete projects already begun, honor commitments already made, and spend time with people already in my life rather than seek out any new connections.

One of those commitments was what I call *doing Lent.* This means fully immersing myself in the practice of Lent, in the hope of gaining spiritual renewal and rebirth. Not that I was suffering spiritually to start with. But with all that busyness, I was getting further and further away from what feeds me spiritually, and I was feeling the disconnect, and noticing the drain on my soul.

So I went into Lent with the best of intentions, planning to fully participate in the myriad Lenten activities offered by my parish, immerse myself in reflection and renewal, maybe even blog about the meaning and traditions of Lent.

Turned out I didn’t need all of that. All I needed to find my renewal in Lent was three nights with the parish mission speaker, Edwina Gately, and several evenings with the women's speaker series our parish now puts on annually during the weeks leading up to Easter.

The good news about finding my answers so quickly, was I was able to get right to work on implementing my new spiritual practices, and my, what a difference they have made. (More on this some other time.) Let’s just say that this is one Lenten season that will see me totally refreshed and renewed, thanks to the hard work, dedication, and devotion of so many women of faith, most of whom I am blessed to know through my own faith life and parish.

The creators of our women's speaker series, Sophia’s Circle, are nothing short of amazing. For years untold this faith-sharing group of about a dozen women talked of offering in love something uniquely feminine and uplifting for their spiritual sisters in our parish, and finally, three years ago, they were able to pull it all together and offer their first speaker series.

They didn’t expect much attendance. Spring is a busy time for women in this small town farming community. Winter doesn’t give way to spring gracefully around here, and in March and April you’re just as likely to be driving to church in a blizzard as you are in shorts and flip flops.

So imagine their surprise that first year when each night of the 6-week series, attendance grew, until well over 100 women showed up. Imagine their surprise when they started out big right away with the second year’s series.

Imagine the time, energy, effort, and creativity that had to go into brainstorming, planning, and executing a whole new series this year. Expectations had been raised in the past two years, hungers had been awakened, and now it was time to deliver.

And deliver they did, in a powerful four-week series that centered around the words Purpose, Passion, Power, and Peace. The series was no less effective for being two weeks shorter than before. Easter is late this year, and people are busy with taking advantage of dry roads and growing things. The words they chose to focus on meshed beautifully, and created a cohesive message of renewal and rebirth representative of the positive face of Lent.

Purpose…the speakers encouraged us to look deep into our hearts, find that which we love, and focus on that as our purpose in life. Sometimes our desires are in conflict with God’s purpose for our life, but eventually we come around, be it by the long, hard road, or the quicker and somewhat less painful one. I say *somewhat* because God never promised there would be no pain in our lives, only that He would be there to share our burdens, maybe even turn them into blessings.

So which route you take to find your Purpose in Life depends on your relationship with God. But either way, if you don’t find it—and that’s not to say your purpose can’t change over time—you most likely won’t be a happy camper and your life will not be as full and rich as it could be. You’ll be like a puzzle piece, part of a whole, but with holes in your life that need to be filled if you aren’t connected to the rest of the puzzle.

So go into the silence, search your heart, find your Purpose, and then pursue it with Passion. I missed the week on passion, unfortunately, as that was opening night for the high school musical and I was there to witness my son and several of his friends’ passion for singing and dancing instead. But I don’t think I’m lacking in that department. If you have any doubt, read my PMDD blog post, They Only See Our Failures.

I repeat: Find your purpose, and pursue it with Passion.

The third week, we were reminded of our Power as women. Women as healers, women as caregivers, caretakers, peacemakers and nurturers, generously endowed with the gifts of the Holy Spirit. A candlelight meditation brought the overwhelming amount of positive energy in the room into clear focus. In this week we celebrated the feminine face of God, which goes by many names, including Mother God, Sophia, and Wisdom. We ended the evening arm in arm, singing along with Libby Roderick’s How Could Anyone Ever Tell You (you were anything less than beautiful?).

Find your Purpose, and pursue it with Passion. You have the Power within you.

The final week, our focus was on Peace. Being at peace with ourselves, our relationships, relatives, situations, circumstances and perceived failures, walking in trust with God that all is as it should be and we shouldn’t waste our time and energy on blame, worry, anxiety, and fear. Again, during the meditation, I clearly felt the creative energy and power in that room, as well as a pervading sense of peace that comes to me more and more frequently these days, due in part to my Qigong classes three times a week.

Peace, as it turns out, was the special word I took home from last year’s women's speaker series, and I have made great strides in that area in the past twelve months. Would I have done the same without attending the series? I don’t know, and does it really matter? What matters is that my life seems to be falling into a pattern of Purpose and Passion, Power and Peace that this year’s speaker series has only validated from without, and that is a good and positive thing.

I know where I’m going, even if I don’t yet know how I will get there, but I have the Power and Passion to follow my Purpose, and the Peace of knowing God supports me all the way.

Thank you, women of Sophia’s Circle, for once again bringing us closer to our God, in whatever form we choose to view Him or Her, and to the women we were meant to be.

Keeping Up With a Friend

2011-04-17T16:09:00.003-04:00

"Keep your friendships in repair." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

That's what I was busy doing today...having a spontaneous lunch with a friend who moved away several years ago, and I haven't seen in a while. It was nice to catch up :). Sunday continues to be my day of rest, apparently from the blog, too. While I've been busy since I rolled out of bed, all of it has been spiritually uplifting. Qigong class, Mass, lunch with a friend, some leisurely errands run, a few books browsed and bought, and now it's time to pick up my son, maybe get a walk in, a light supper, and then settle in for Movie Night, which is something we've done for the past 12 years on Sunday nights.

I'm really enjoying my new Sundays...and to think, I almost didn't go to Mass today. I thought it would be too crowded.

Here's another good one: I value the friend who for me finds time on his calendar, but I cherish the friend who for me does not consult his calendar. ~ Robert Brault, Freelance Writer

Guest Author, Rachel Lynne

2011-04-13T07:18:00.005-04:00

Victorian Voodoo at the Bayou

The following story is part of a short story series I’ve been writing over the past four months. I created a fictional reporter to investigate the paranormal oddities that seem to inhabit Savannah, my home town and the city my romantic suspense novel Ring of Lies is set in. I hope you enjoy Paige’s newest adventure!

Rachel Lynne

Paige Stewart waved at Jason as she sidled past the line of people waiting for ID checks and headed to the bar. She snagged an empty table and nodded to acknowledge Kat’s shouted greeting. Paige smirked and shifted her chair toward the stage while she waited for the server to bring her drink. The old cotton warehouse that housed The Bayou Café had become like the famed Cheers bar; everyone knew her name, and she knew theirs.

Paige sighed. Since following the siren song of soloist Thomas Claxton five months ago she’d come to think of the Bayou as a second home and, as the supernatural experiences mounted, a haven from all things eerie; of course bartender Tom’s expertly mixed Mojitos didn’t hurt either.

“Hey chick, takin’ a night off from ghost huntin’?” Paige smiled as a frosty glass plunked onto the table as Kat slid into the chair beside her. “Ya know you’ve ruined Tom’s night.”

Paige frowned. “How’s that?”

Kat grinned. “You’re sittin’ in my station instead of your usual seat at the bar.”

“Oh!” Paige laughed. “He’ll get over it, I’m meeting a friend.”

Kat winked. “Now you’ve wrecked his week!”

Paige shook her head and took a sip of her drink. “My friend is female.”

“Oooh, even better, every guy’s fantasy!”

Paige choked on her drink. “Kat, you’re a mess.”

The sassy brunette rose from the table and smirked. “Yeah, a hot mess!” She waved at Paige and made her way to another table, shouting over her shoulder. “Be sure to say hi to Sarah, she’s workin’ upstairs tonight!”

Paige nodded and settled in to wait on her friend. Lila was late, but that wasn’t unusual. Dealing with crazy people meant keeping non-banking hours. Paige sighed and downed her drink. She motioned for Kat to bring another and told herself that was her limit. Tonight she’d need to keep her head or Lila would dismiss her ravings as those of a drunk. She shook her head. If only the weird shit she’d seen lately could be explained so easily.

Paige jumped as toned brown arms encircled her from behind. She accepted the hug then turned to smile at Lila Burke. “You’re early, for you. What happened? You up all the nutcases’ meds?”

Lila grinned, showing even white teeth behind lips perfectly outlined in bright crimson. Guilt washed over Paige. Lila clearly thought the night was going to be devoted to fun; Paige hated to disabuse her of the notion. Of course, knowing the psychiatric nurse practioner, analyzing a head case would be considered a high form of entertainment.

Paige blinked as cool fingers grasped her chin. Lila’s brown eyes narrowed as she searched Paige’s face. “You’re pale, your hair is dull, and you’re down at least ten pounds since I last saw you,” she released Paige’s chin and cocked her head, “what’s wrong with you?”

Paige shook her head. Leave it to Lila to get right to the point. “Well, since you asked …” Paige gulped her drink and fought for the courage to voice her concerns. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

Lila’s eyebrows shot up. “I’d say this was another of your jokes about my profession but …”

Paige lowered her eyes and watched her finger trace patterns through the beads of liquid on the table. “No, unfortunately. You know how I’ve been investigating strange phenomenon for The Paranormal Post? Well, I, uh, I asked you to meet me because I’ve been seeing things.”

She risked a quick peek at Lila. To her relief, the black woman wore what Paige called her ‘work’ face; Thoughtful, non-judgmental, and not a trace of humor. “You think I’m nuts?”

Lila leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Doesn’t matter what I think, it’s what you believe. What have you seen that led to this conclusion?”

Paige’s mouth went dry. She swallowed several times and forced the words out. “The first couple of assignments I passed everything off as an overactive imagination because I didn’t see anything, just got a feelin’.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “But, the last couple of weeks … Lila, I saw a man leap from the top of the Realty Building last week, after walking through a closed window! And,” she gulped and ran a finger under the collar of her blouse.” I was almost strangled to death at the Hampton Lilibridge House.”

Lila’s eyes went wide. “Paige, you know that place is possessed! What were you doing there?”

Paige stared at her friend. She’d expected a lecture on fanciful imaginations or a demand that Paige see a doctor; anything but an affirmation that ghosts were the cause of her problems. Paige frowned and tried to keep irritation out of her tone. “Come on Lila, it’s all just rumors.”

Lila snorted. “For the record, my cousin was head of housekeeping at the Realty building for ten years and she saw lots of unexplained stuff, and if you don’t believe the Hampton Lilibridge is haunted then how come you think something tried to kill you?”

Paige’s shoulders drooped. Lila was right. If she really didn’t believe any of the supernatural phenomenon she’d been investigating none of the weird things that had happened to her should be a concern. “You know, I thought you’d jump on me for being gullible or something. I mean, you’re a nurse, logic and science, and all that jazz. Why are you so quick to believe—“

Lila raised her voice as Thomas began to play Queen’s ‘Pressure’. “Girl, it’s because of my training that I do believe. I work in a psych ward, I see disturbed patients all day long. Most of their problems can be explained and treated, but every once in a while I run across someone who defies everything I’ve been taught. That’s when I fall back on my heritage.”

Paige blinked. “Your heritage? I don’t follow.”

Lila threw her head back and laughed. “Oh Paige, you are so—honey, I’m Geechee.”

Paige shook her head. “Yeah, I know but what’s that to do with anything?”

“Seriously? You grew up on the same island that I did. You never heard the drums beating at midnight? Never saw the salt sprinkled around a house or tripped over a broomstick when you entered a place?”

Understanding dawned. Paige licked her lips and wondered how to reply without offending her friend. The African superstitions practiced by the ancestors of slaves were prevalent on St. Stewarts Island along with all the other coastal areas in Georgia, but Paige had never thought her friend would ascribe to them. “Lila, are we talking about,” Paige lowered her voice and leaned across the table. “About Voodoo?”

Lila’s dark eyes twinkled with mirth. “Oh yeah, that’s what we talkin’ about.” She chuckled. “You don’t have to whisper, nothin’ is going to get ya.”

Paige shook her head and smiled. “I’m losing my mind and you’re teasing me about religious superstitions.”

Lila shrugged and motioned for Kat to take her order. “Look. I know most people think all the Voodoo is hype but I say they have never seen the real thing.” She smirked. “Hollywood has a lot to answer for where Voodoo myth is concerned.”

Paige pursed her lips. “Lila, let’s say, just for a minute, that I go along with your theory. What makes you think I’m seeing things because of Voodoo and not, well, insanity?”

“You’re not insane, no more than the rest of us anyway. First rule of thumb in my business; patients who question their sanity are usually not losing it.” She grinned. “I worry more about the odd ducks that think they’re fine and it’s the rest of us who’re crazy!.”

Paige laughed. “I see your point.” She propped her elbows on the table. “So, if I’m not crazy, why am I seeing all this stuff?”

Lila shrugged. “Probably got a root on you. Who’d you tick off?”

Paige cocked her head to the side and stared at her friend. “A root? I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Lila shook her head. “How you could be raised on the same island as me—Paige, a root is what the Geechee call a hex, you know, a curse.”

“So, you think someone put a curse on me …”

“Yep! That’s why I asked who was mad at you. Most times, that is how it starts.”

Paige shoved her chair back and rose. “I, uh, I’m not sure –that is, seeing and feeling ghosts is one thing but thinking someone who doesn’t like me has made it happen? I think I’d rather go back to thinking I’m certifiable!” She laughed. “I’m gonna run to the restroom and then we’ll dance the night away to Thomas’ tunes; I think it’s time to call an end to the hoodoo conversation.”

Lila shrugged and accepted a beer from Kat. “Ok, but stickin’ your head in the sand ain’t gonna get rid of the root.”

Paige rolled her eyes and headed toward the restroom alcove. She sighed at the long line and began the wiggle and dance that comes with downing two Mojitos in rapid succession. She’d decided her night would be spent in wet pants when Kat tapped her on the shoulder and told her to use the employee bathroom upstairs. “Sarah’ll show you where it is!”

Paige flashed a grateful smile and bounded up the scarred wooden stairs. The second floor was quiet and thin of customers. She skirted past a couple playing pool and joined Sarah at the bar.

“Hey girl! How ya doin’?”

Paige smiled and accepted the bartender’s hug. “Hi Sarah. Doin’ good, better if you’ll show me the bathroom Kat told me about!”

Sarah laughed. “Too many Mojtos?” She pointed to her left. “It’s on the other side of the overflow dining room.”

Paige nodded and started toward the darkened room. She stepped over the stacked chairs that blocked the entrance and stopped. Sarah’s voice rang out from behind her.

“Just go straight back, but watch out for Gertrude!”

Paige frowned and wove her way through the maze of empty tables. What the hell was a Gertrude?

She shrugged and made a beeline for the bathroom, arriving in the nick of time to divert a disaster. Minutes later she stepped out of the small powder room and found herself face to face with another woman.

“Oh, sorry!” She moved to go around the silent woman then swallowed hard as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The tiny woman in front of her was dressed in a blue gown that would have put her right at home with Scarlett O’Hara. The hair at the back of her neck rose and her stomach clenched. Goosebumps formed on her bare arms as the air turned frigid. Paige licked her lips and forced words from her dry throat. “Are you, uh, are you a re-enactor?”

The blonde looked Paige in the eye but remained silent. Paige side stepped to the right and then screamed as the woman in blue rushed forward and passed right through her. Paige slumped down the wall and closed her eyes.

“Paige!”

Paige looked up to find Sarah standing over her. “What happened?”

Paige extended a hand and let Sarah help her to her feet. Her lip quivered and tears pricked her eyes. “Sarah, does Gertrude wear a blue hoop skirt?”

The waitress’ mossy green eyes went wide. “Paige, I was kidding! You didn’t, I mean—no frickin’ way …”

Paige drew a shaky breath. “I really hope you weren’t kidding because I just saw—“she shook her head. “Can you help me back to my friend?”

“Yeah sure!”

Leaning heavily on Sarah, Paige maneuvered the stairs. Her legs gave way as they reached the ground floor. Sarah shoved a chair beneath her and went to find Lila.

“Oh my God!”

Paige managed a weak smile as Lila came into view.

“What happened? You look like you’ve seen a –“

“Don’t finish that thought unless you want to see me puke.”

Lila nodded. “Ok, that’s it. Let’s go.” She grabbed Paige’s arm and pulled her from the chair.

Paige leaned into Lila. “Headin’ to the psych ward?”

Lila pursed her lips and guided Paige toward the exit. “It’s that or the Root Doctor.”

The haunting refrain of ELO’s ‘Strange Magic’ followed them out the door.

******

Liana thank you for hosting me, and Paige, on your blog. Poor, put upon Paige Stewart has almost reached the end of her terrifying travails in Spooky Savannah! The final segment will appear as part of a blog party the week of April 25^th. Stop by my blog for more details; I’ll be giving away some cool prizes that represent the city of Savannah and telling a few more ghost stories that didn’t make the cut for Paige’s investigations. Hope to see you there!

You can find me, and my books, at my website www.rachellynneauthor.com. And I’d love to meet you on Facebook!

And, if you can’t wait for another suspenseful tale set amidst the beautiful and historic city of Savannah, may I suggest my romantic suspense novel Ring of Lies, where secrets, lies, and murder surround Ivy Michaels amidst the backdrop of Savannah’s annual St. Patrick’s Day festivities!

Book Trailer for Ring of Lies

A café owner and an ex-cop must solve the mystery of a hot blue diamond to catch a stone cold killer!

Excerpt

Join my newsletter and catch up on the Paranormal Post stories you might have missed. The stories are posted in order of appearance on my yahoo group database.

Sunday's Inspirational Quote

2011-04-10T12:06:00.002-04:00

“Fear less, hope more; Eat less, chew more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Love more, and all good things will be yours.” ~ Swedish proverb

My schedule has changed, and I now take Qigong classes on Sunday mornings, a deeply spiritual experience, which doesn't leave me with time to write a Sunday post, especially if I attend Mass, as well. So I think I will have to go back to the original plan, just posting an inspirational quote on Sundays, with occasional longer posts as time permits.

That said, the above quote is not randomly chosen. I'm working on all of the above, as the outcome of my Lenten reflections.

Be blessed,

Fridays With Louis - Friends Don't Let Friends Be Late

2011-04-08T10:25:00.004-04:00

I visited Louis on Monday. I was supposed to go last week, but due to unexpected responsibilities cropping up at home had to postpone the visit until this week. Even so, I couldn’t stay as long as usual, because I had to get back home for an appointment.

So I get there, and we’re talking and laughing, and I mention that I have to leave by 1:30.

Never one to miss a beat, Louis takes that and runs with it. “Oho,” he says, teasing me, *you* have to leave. He then launches in to a mock diatribe about all the times I gave him trouble for wanting to leave early when I came to see him. For instance, our second visit, over eight years ago. The first visit was terminated due to overcrowding. When the room fills, they call out names and tell you that you have 15 minutes to wrap things up before you have to leave. The names are determined on a first in, first out basis. You’re only guaranteed a one hour visit to start with, no matter how far you’ve come, so weekends are not the optimal time to visit.

So when he was on the other side of the state, I would visit on both Sunday and Monday. The Sunday visit would often be terminated due to crowd control. Louis always wanted me to get there as soon as possible, because he worries, but if I got there early, the visit would be terminated early, and then I would have to find ways to entertain myself for the afternoon and evening until we could resume our visit the following morning.

Eventually, I started getting there later and later, which frustrated him to no end. But my thinking was why rush, only to get terminated? The later I got there, the better my chances of being able to stay until the end of the day. Less time for me to kill afterward.

I was thinking only of myself back then.

So the first Monday I was there, he tossed me out without warning, coordinating my visit with yard time. If I left at a certain time, he could still make it out for half of yard. I didn’t say anything, as I was quite startled by practically being shoved out the door, but by the time I got home I had plenty to say. Here someone takes the time and effort to come and see you, drives halfway across the state, even, and you decide you want to go to yard???

It took several years to work that one out. I was never happy about having to leave before I was ready.

Looking at it from his perspective, though, yard is Louis’ favorite time of day, other than breakfast J. He loves yard, loves to be outside. It’s the closest thing to freedom he gets. If I left a half hour later, I might get my half hour of visiting in, but he would miss all of yard. To him, half an hour didn’t make a difference. To me, it was one half hour less I’d get to talk to my best friend.

You see, I made the big mistake of thinking he didn’t have a life in there, and thought he should be grateful anybody came to see him at all, and if they went to all that trouble to do so, he should be willing to spend as much time visiting as that person had to visit. (I used to tell him this, too, when others would come to visit him, and he’d tell me how they left in time for him to make yard.)

Eventually I came to understand that while I might visit 12-15 days out of the year at most, Louis has to live there 365 days of the year, and so he has a regular life that gets disrupted as much as my life does by a visit. But for the longest time I mistakenly thought my life was more important. While for me a visit involved all sorts of juggling and organizing and planning and sacrifices of time, his he could get back to any time at all.

Silly me.

So he’s on his mock rant, which runs for a full five minutes, about all the times I gave him a hard time for wanting to leave early, and I’m just sitting there smiling, knowing everything he says is true, and glad we can laugh about it now. “Do you have any idea how many times I sat out here for an extra hour, just so you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?” he rants, “And now you tell me you don’t have time to stay?”

I smile inside, knowing and appreciating all the little things he does to help keep me on an even keel.

When he gets done, I say quite calmly, “Would you like to know why I have to leave?”

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. Why do you have to leave?”

I have a medical appointment scheduled, which has already been postponed once, and since I was supposed to visit you last week and not today, I couldn’t reschedule it again.

Suddenly he’s in Mr. Fix it mode. Knowing the prison schedule much better than I do, he realizes that with one chow hall closed for renovations, count is running late these days, and if it gets started late, and anything goes wrong—as in they can’t for some reason account for everybody who’s supposed to be there--then count will run into shift change, and if that happens, I won’t be able to leave when I need to. So….backing that up, he determines that I have to leave a full hour earlier than I thought I did.

I protest. I didn’t come all this way for a two hour visit. It’s been almost a month since our last visit and I have no idea when I can come back again. I’m willing to take a risk and stay the extra hour, hoping nothing goes wrong with count. He says no. If I get stuck in the shift change and am unable to leave, he’ll get upset.

That ends the disagreement. The minute he said it would upset him, the issue was settled. I don’t want him upset any more than he wants me to be upset. That’s what friends do for each other. And that’s what Louis does as a matter of course. Looks out for the people he cares about. It would have been much easier for him to say nothing and hope all went well, and if it didn’t, well, it was beyond his control. Nothing he could do about it.

Instead, I left an hour earlier than planned, and as it turned out, Louis was right. (I hate it when that happens L.) It was raining out, hard, and on the way home I encountered a wide detour due to flooding. If I’d left when I’d planned to, it would have made me late getting home, and chances were I would have been late for my appointment.

I wasn’t, thanks to Louis.

I’ve mentioned many times how he will never let me do anything for him. I’ve never been able to give him a gift. He says there’s nothing he needs. He’s uncomfortable accepting even intangible gifts, or acts of kindness. You know I have the softest heart around. I can’t stand to hear of anyone in pain or even discomfort. I’m a natural mother, a nurturer. You know what mothers do. We go ooh in empathy, and want to make things better.

Louis will have none of it. He told me many years ago that he doesn’t like to tell me anything unpleasant about his life, because I “make those sounds.” Like if he breaks a finger or hurts his knee playing handball. Forget about the several times he’s been attacked over the years. They are not to be mentioned at all. He’s a very athletic and active person, and just sitting there for hours visiting makes him stiff and sore and creaky.

But he wants no sympathy. From anyone, ever. A few weeks ago, he’d just come in from shoveling snow, called me, and sounded all stuffy. I asked, “Are you coming down with a cold?” In an unguarded moment he admitted that yes, he had a sore throat and was having some drainage problems. He hadn’t slept well the night before. My immediate response was an empathetic, “Awww,” at which point he snapped, “Now don’t be doing that.”

Ooops. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment J.

Even Monday, on the visit, he sneezed, and I said, “Bless you,” and I got an annoyed look for it.

Then he sneezed again, and I blessed him again.

Because I believe a man who will unselfishly give up an hour of something he’s been looking forward to for weeks just to make sure I get to be where I need to be on time deserves a blessing or two.

At least.

A Hodgepodge of Catching Up...

2011-03-30T08:18:00.004-04:00

It’s been another one of those weeks…just too much going on, days not rolling like you expect them to. Every day is an adventure anymore. Last week on blog day I was busy trying to get a project out the door. I’ve got too many projects going and not enough time to get them all done. Remember, after my retreat in February, I’d decided March would be Me month. For all of March, I would “Just say No.” Instead I would take time out for me, accept no new commitments, start no new projects, meet no new people…

Well, that lasted about three weeks before I fell off the wagon and started saying “Yes” again. The minute I did, things started to go awry again. After a week of this chaos, I’m ready to go back to Willoughby and start all over again.

I did figure out what I am supposed to do as a result of my Lenten reflections, and am grateful to have figured it out early on, but haven’t been able to do anything about it yet, and probably won’t until well after Lent--as it is a new project J.

But I did make a lot of headway on current projects in those first three weeks, and intend to do the same in the three weeks to come. Easter’s not here yet, and I still have much to catch up on J.

One of the things I wasn’t able to do this week is see Louis. My son has a big event at school coming up at the end of the week, and on Saturday started coming down with something. So all my efforts have been thrown into getting him as healthy as possible, and keeping myself healthy, too. To that end, I have started up one new project, something that came out of the recent nutrition class I took at the Y.

It’s called Myfitnesspal.com. It’s awesome and it’s free. Each day you log in what you eat and what exercise you do. (The more you exercise, the more you get to eat J.) It keeps a running total of calories, carbs, protein, fat, glasses of water you drink, and how many of each you have left for the day. There’s a place to write notes for the day. At the end of the day you can print the day’s page out and keep it in a notebook if you want to.

I’ve never done a food diary before because of all the calculations. For one, math just boggles my mind, and for two, looking everything up, adding it up, just took too much time and energy. But this…you just enter the food and exercise and all the calculations are made for you. You enter an item once, and all you have to do thereafter is check the items off your master list, and they are added to your day’s report.

Entering what you had to eat after each meal allows you to see how many calories you have left for the day and spend them wisely. Or foolishly, if you so choose. The point is, you are totally aware of what you are doing, and get to choose which way you want to go. No more eating a few hundred calories here and a few hundred there out of ignorance. Like my favorite…full fat cottage cheese. I love it, but it takes up a lot of my calorie budget. Same with cashews. Just a small handful to stave off the hungries while making dinner makes a huge difference in my calorie totals at the end of the day.

The site is amazing. Brand name foods, generic foods, restaurant foods…it’s all in there. Want to know how many calories are in that favorite piece of pie at your favorite chain restaurant? No problem.

What I especially like, though, is it keeps track of the carbs. Thus helping me to prove and/or disprove my theories on carb consumption and serotonin levels. The jury is still out on that one, but what an awesome tool I have discovered! I type in the notes section how I felt that day, mood and energy-wise, and the carbs consumed are there for all to see. After a couple months of this, I will be able to see if there is any correlation.

It’s a good thing I didn’t know about this when I went to my Martini…I mean Writer’s Retreat…in February. One of the highlights was their gourmet three-course breakfasts, with more calories than I ever want to know about. Deena, our hostess/chef at the Homestead House has a thing for fresh clotted cream, and I have to admit that now that I’ve had it, I do, too. Yum. Something to look forward to again, in addition to the creative libations that abound.

But this year I managed to slip out for a while with some friends to explore the nearby shops, and discovered a couple well worth noting. One was an accessories shop—scarves, barrettes, earrings, handbags, etc., and another was a vintage store where I managed to snag a lovely mink stole for under $30. The ladies hooted when I appeared at breakfast the following day in my lavender pjs, politically incorrect mink stole, and feathery purple hairpiece. Our retreat coordinator took pictures, and I said if you put that on the website, make sure you identify me as Lola. All that was missing from my getup was a martini J.

Turns out my Lola persona suited the storied history of the B&B. At breakfast that day, we learned the meanings behind the various names of our rooms—The Railroad Room, the Sanctuary, the Fine Arts Room, the Speakeasy. Mine was the Victorian Rose Room, which boasted both a cozy gas fireplace and Jacuzzi that I took full advantage of. My roommate was unable to make it the first night, and so I was in there alone, and when I woke up Saturday morning in that extra-high queen-size pink-canopied bed, I felt not like an overtaxed writer or washed-up show girl, but like a princess.

Even more fun was to discover that our fairy-tale B&B is part of the Willoughby Ghost Walk, and had at one time or another been somehow connected to the railroad, as well as a speakeasy, a bordello, a church, and a school for the fine arts. For several decades it served as a storage unit for a wealthy family in Cleveland. Prior to becoming a B&B, it stood empty for 15 years, and was taken over by feral cats.

Which makes it what…a cat house?

See what can happen when you take time out to relax? You could end up sleeping in a haunted bordello, drinking martinis, and showing up at breakfast looking like Lola from the Copacabana.

On Hiatus...

2011-03-27T13:27:00.001-04:00

All is well, just taking time to catch up on about a million things! Have a great week!

How Reputations Get Made...

2011-03-20T12:32:00.005-04:00

How time flies! Three weeks ago today, I was on my way back from a women’s writers’ retreat I had been looking forward to for months. In the blink of an eye, it was over. You may recall I blogged about the retreat last year—in particular the fun we had at the Martini Bar on Saturday night. The coordinator enjoyed my post so much she posted it on her website to help promote the retreat—which, by the way, was filled to capacity and a huge success this year, as well.

So this year several new attendees came to the retreat, apparently looking forward to a martini, in addition to reading, rest, relaxation, and a wealth of information about writing. When I had I registered, the coordinator had told me there was another woman from my area registered, as well. I recognized her name as someone from church, so I called her and we traveled together.

Thank God, because it was another blizzardous weekend, and if I had been traveling alone, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have gone. Been there, done that, wasn’t too eager to do it again.

But my friend was from this area, and well-used to winter driving conditions, so off we went in her minivan. Good thing, too, because 20 minutes out of town, the weather cleared up and we had no trouble at all. We even arrived a bit early, got her checked into her hotel down the way—the B&B was full up—and managed to stop at Malley’s Chocolates and stock up before heading off to the retreat.

Imagine my surprise, when on a whim I asked the desk clerk at the hotel if there was a chocolate shop around, and he said yes, right down the street. A clear example of ask and ye shall receive J.

So without my friend I wouldn’t have gone. Turns out that without me, she wouldn’t have gone, either, as she’d learned about the retreat from reading my blog. She was looking for one of those martinis. I’ll admit I went back looking forward to a repeat of the experience, myself. I hadn’t ever had a martini before, and haven’t had one since, but suddenly I found myself dubbed “The Martini Lady” and on Friday night was called up to the front of the room and presented with a lovely framed pastel portrait of a martini, complete with olives.

Writing is such a solitary occupation that I have it posted up above my desk, to remind me that yes, writers do indeed get together and have fun every now and again J.

But my, how quickly reputations are born! The others told me I'd made it sound like such a wonderful time they wanted to experience it for themselves, and having a martini was the talk of the retreat. Unfortunately, this year, the Martini Bar was full, so the group I was with visited an Irish pub instead. Seven or eight of us pulled a few tables together at the back of the room, and proceeded to order drinks I hadn’t heard of in years, since my twenties, when ordering such drinks were the norm—white Russian, Fuzzy Navel, Slo Gin Fizz…and my own simple but straightforward vodka tonic.

Not so simple and straightforward, I realized, as in the intervening years, vodka has apparently taken on flavors, and a lot of them. “What kind of vodka do you want?” the bartender asked. “Just vodka,” I said. She indicated the bar behind her, with a couple dozen flavors of vodka lined up in a colorful row. “I know, but which kind?” “Just vodka, I repeated. Don’t you have any kind of vodka that isn’t flavored? The last time I had vodka, Smirnoff’s was the one you got. Don’t they make that any more?”

"You haven’t tasted flavored vodka?” she asked, in amazement. Then treated me to a sample of espresso-flavored vodka. It being after nine already, and me not used to drinking, no way was I going to mix alcohol and caffeine—I’d be up all night!!—so I thanked her ask if she minded if I shared it with the others.

Which is exactly what I did…I never did find out what it tasted like.

Fortunately, she managed to find a bottle of plain vodka under the counter, and fixed me a drink.

We were the oldest patrons in the bar. As it slowly filled with people half our age we listened to a lone guitar player strumming Irish tunes and happily chatted about children and colleges and the things menopausal women discuss when we get together. And, being writers, we observed the room around us. The pick ups, the hook ups, the couples getting friendly as they flirted with each other before moving on to the main event later.

At one point I saw the bartender pull out a fishbowl and fill it with ice. Her hands expertly holding two bottles each, she poured and poured until the ice cubes were covered, then added (in this case) some red liquid to the bowl and stuffed six big red straws in it. The bowl was almost ceremoniously carried to a back table by three young men and one young woman, who was apparently the designated driver, as she didn’t drink. I noticed one of the young men leaning on her heavily as they shuffled out of the bar less than an hour later, the fishbowl completely empty.

I went to ask the bartender about it. Yes, she said, it was called a fishbowl, and was made with gin, rum, vodka, and tequila, and cost $20. Was I interested? No, thank you, I all but gasped, waving my hands in front of me—I just wanted to know what it was. She smiled indulgently and patted my arm reassuringly, treating me like the fish out of water that I was, and kindly fixed this little old church lady another plain vodka tonic.

Around eleven, with the bar packed and the songs getting less and less Irish, the ladies and I happily trundled back to the B&B, where we sat in the foyer next to a cozy fireplace, the area lit only by the small white lights of a still-decorated Christmas tree, and sipped glasses of Bailey’s Irish Cream from a bottle I had brought along. I might not drink often, but I know how it’s done J. The Bailey’s added a nice, quiet nightcap to the evening.

I wonder if this means next year I’ll be awarded a picture of Bailey’s?

Creating A Spark

2011-03-16T13:23:00.005-04:00

This is the best month I can remember having, short of a quick, unplanned trip into the Abyss last week. (I mean, who wants to go there by choice?) Fortunately, it was only for a few days. A few very long, very frustrating days, as I had several things I wanted to get done and, well...just couldn't.

It's been so long since I visited that dark place, I'd almost forgotten what that was like. I was not happy to find myself back there, to say the least. Especially I’ve been watching my diet, getting my exercise, and staying away from things that set my PMDD off. But at least I knew what it was, what was happening, and what steps to take to make sure it would be over soon J.

Now, my memory duly refreshed and my gratitude reserves recharged, I'm back on track this week, continuing to get things done I have been meaning to get to for months.

With the gas leak and new stove adventure, I'd gotten away from my soup for the homeless project. January and February I also spent helping my friend Marc, who, if fortune smiles upon him, will find himself homeless sometime this year. Pretty sad when being homeless is the goal, but that's the case here. Marc is awaiting word on his parole, with no place to go, no job to go to, and no support system in sight. I've been busy collecting things like clothes, dishes, and basic supplies for him. You might recall I picked up a sewing machine for him a few weeks back. He'd written that he saw one in the paper for $25 and if I had time, would I check it out for him.

I did, and once he finds a place to stay, he has plans to start some kind of sewing business, of all things. I hope he'll share his progress on his blog, 400 days, which has also been languishing these past few months while he dots all the i's and crosses all the t's he needs to, to prepare for the possibility of parole.

The machine is a sturdy one, older, attached to a table, and will be easy for him to maintain with all its mechanical parts. Marc is a whiz at fixing things. Its previous owner was a church lady who made her own clothes and hats and such, according to the receipts in the drawer. The original manual was also still in the drawer, but the first page was missing, so I don't know what year the machine is.

Anyway, its a good fit for Marc and his plans once he gets out.

This week we had a fantastic mission speaker at church, Edwina Gateley, poet, theologian, artist, writer, lay minister, advocate, and single mom. The first night she spoke to us about Trust, as in trusting God, walking in faith, walking in trust that all our needs will be met.

She explained how God is always eager to reassure and comfort us so that we might believe in our possibilities and become a holy people. She told us the original word for “holy” in Hebrew meant “to practice,” as in practicing your faith.

Simply practicing our faith makes us holy…doing the right thing, reaching out to those in need. Holy isn’t reserved for only the special few. Everyone’s hands are holy….it’s what we choose to do with our hands that makes a difference. Do we use them to help—or to hurt--others?

The second night she spoke of personal transformation, how the Holy Spirit is always waiting to s-t-r-e-t-c-h us to recognize God’s presence in ourselves and all people. She told story after story of personal transformation in herself and the lives of the people she has worked with in Africa and on the streets of Chicago, where she ministered to recovering drug addicts and prostitutes.

Last night she challenged us to use our gifts to reflect God’s love in our dealings with others, in particular the poor, the homeless, the abandoned and marginalized people in our world. She acknowledged that bad things are happening the world over, but we can’t focus on that, we need to seek out the sparks of light and help those sparks to shine more brightly. Again, she shared story after story of personal transformation.

And she reminded us that every little bit of good we do makes a difference, to someone, somewhere.

So today was soup making day. I got out the stock pot and opened the freezer and filled the pot with leftover pot roast, crock pot chicken, an assortment of savory sauces and gravies made from previously made roasts, three bags of vegetables, and a magic array of spices. Took me three hours to get it to taste “just right,” but in the end, it all came together beautifully…and the aroma…nothing better than the smell of home made soup wafting through the house.

Unless it’s accompanied by the sweet smell of baking. While the soup bubbled, I baked two cakes, and cleaned the kitchen. Then, after the soup had cooled, I put it into the containers provided by the homeless shelter, and delivered it, along with two dozen pairs of socks I bought at Christmas time, but never got around to dropping off.

Tonight, someone without a home will at least be able to enjoy some home made soup, made with real beef and chicken, a piece of cake, and a clean pair of socks.

It’s just a spark, but it counts all the same. Is there somewhere in your life you can create a spark or two?

The Blessings of Electronics...I Mean Spring...

2011-03-13T12:16:00.003-04:00

I finally remembered what I was laughing so hard about when I went to see Louis. He had bought a new typewriter, and was learning how to use it. He hated the d*** thing, and still does, as of this morning, ten days after receiving it. It was the subject uppermost on his mind when I showed up on Monday, and he must have spent the first hour unintentionally regaling me with stories of his frustration with the machine.

As anyone my age who’s learned a new software program, or gotten a new piece of electronic equipment knows, it takes much longer than you think it will to figure out how all of it works. For instance, Santa blessed me with a new 5-CD sound system for Christmas, apparently one of the last few such dinosaurs in existence to hear my son tell it. My old one had broken, and we’d been without music for months.

Then the new sound system came. Louis could not for the life of him understand why I was in no hurry to unpack it and set it up. Each time we spoke he would ask, “What’s it sound like? Is it nice? Did you open it yet?”

He couldn’t understand when I said I “didn’t have time” to deal with it.

What could there be to it? I’m sure he wondered, but was too polite to say. You open the box and plug it in.

Finally, about a month after Christmas, I spend a Sunday morning doing just that. Opening the box, unpacking all the parts, taking the old one down, hooking the new one up, and learning the basics of how to operate it.

So to hear Louis tell me he spent six hours trying to “figure the d*** thing out,” and then at the end of it say, “I just wanted to cry,” sent me into spasms of laughter.

The image of this man, who to me seems larger than life, being brought down by a typewriter, is just too funny for words.

“Welcome to my world,” I said. “Now you know why it takes me forever to use new electronics and appliances, and why I hold onto my old ones for dear life.” It’s not just the cost of new stuff, it’s that I don’t want to take the time and/or deal with the frustration of learning how to use it.

Two hours into it, he said he wanted to say, “You can keep the $280. Just give me my old typewriter back.” He said the same thing in a letter this week, and on the phone this morning. He sent several letters this week. The first one says, “This is my first letter on this new typewriter so there will be more typos than usual.” And then, on the next page, he types, “I just realized why this is always beeping…it’s misspelled words.”

He then describes how he went through the manual and figured out how to go into and out of different files, use the search function, and scroll through file names. Even so, his next letter had a blank whenever the letter “u” had been typed, and in another the words all ran together. A third looked pretty nice, like he’d gotten the hang of it, but this morning he said he was ready to throw it against the wall again.

I told him to send me the make and model number, and I’d see if I could send him some more user-friendly instructions than the manual offers.

As for me, I’m keeping busy finishing projects already started. Moving right along. Books are being read, clothes are being thrown out, things are getting organized. Tonight begins the Mission Speaker series at our church—something I had already planned on attending--and I look forward to that. I’ve also added a third Qigong class to my weekly schedule, and whoa, does that make a difference—more on this some other time.

In short, (unlike Louis and his new typewriter J) I’m really pleased with how March is unfolding. For some reason, March seems to have evolved into “Me” month, and I kinda like it that way, think I might make it an annual tradition.

Spring is a time for rebirth and renewal. What better time to take care of yourself, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually? Works for me, with Lent being in there.

Whatever your faith, tradition, or electronic equipment situation, may our unfolding spring bring many new blessings and renewal into your days, as well.

My Motto for Lent...Just Say No

2011-03-09T12:14:00.003-05:00

I got to see Louis on Monday, for the first time in over a month. The weather hasn’t been cooperating much lately. I was supposed to go on Friday, but the weather predicted freezing rain, so I opted out of going, and then the bad weather didn’t materialize until Saturday…very frustrating. Louis called on Sunday morning and asked about the weather, I lifted the shade and looked out…and was startled to see the ground covered in snow.

So things weren’t looking too good for Monday, but then Monday dawned, cold but sunny. Louis had said he would call on Monday morning to see if I was coming, but then no call came (phones weren’t working there) and I thought nuts to this, just waiting around, and made a run for it. If he calls and I’m not here, he’ll figure it out eventually.

We had a great time. One of our most relaxed and easygoing visits ever. Once again I laughed so hard people stared. I honestly don’t remember what we were talking about. Menopause has a way of doing that to you. All I know is when it was time to go, I looked at him and said, “I really enjoyed this,” and he said, “Yeah, remember when we used to argue all the time…now I just let it go.”

I chuckled and admitted that I do the same. Funny, how years ago it seemed so important to hammer out every difference of opinion, practically beat it to death sometimes, and now…

Louis is a quick thinker. He has this habit of assessing a situation, deciding what the problem/circumstances are, thinking two steps ahead, and then acting on those assumptions. Used to drive me nuts. I’d spend hours either writing to him or arguing with him, trying to get him to see where he’d gone wrong in his thinking, which in most cases was simply a matter of how the male brain processes information vs. how the female brain does the same.

For instance, I’d say something, he’d put his own alpha male spin on it, quite often coming up with something totally different from what I intended or meant, and then either making a decision based on that assumption, or getting his feelings hurt and responding accordingly.

Meanwhile, I’d be sitting there thinking, “What the heck just happened?” What did I say? What did I do?

Or I’d get a letter in which his feathers were clearly ruffled, then go back and read what I’d written to him in an effort to figure out where he got such an off-the-wall idea.

Then would follow three weeks of trying to sort the whole thing out by mail, in which the situation would get even further convoluted, until one of us said, “Enough! I’m not talking about this any more.”

Now I understand this pro-active pattern he has, of taking in information, making an assumption (and you know what that does) based on his knowledge and life experiences, and then acting on that assumption.

Now I just let it go, let him go, racing two steps ahead, and sit back and wait for him to realize he was wrong and come back and tell me so.

He does the same for me. While I don’t jump two steps ahead, like he does, I am no slacker at jumping to conclusions.

I’ll jump to one, and he’ll wonder, “Where did she get that idea?” and then patiently wait for me to realize the error of my ways/thinking, and come back and say something along the lines of, “I’m sorry, you were right, I thought you said/meant xyz, and that’s why I….” Whatever it is I did.

Now, instead of causing endless hours of head scratching and frustration, on either side, we just sit back and wait, knowing the other one will figure out the problem eventually, and come back around to discuss it with no small amount of wry amusement.

There’s comfort in knowing that will be the case. That no matter what comes along, eventually it will get sorted out and the friendship will remain.

For the past nine months we’ve been discussing the prospect of me dating again. It’s been ten years. It’s probably time. I seem to go in cycles. I want to, I don’t, I want to, I don’t. Some days I don’t know what I want. Others I think I do, but then time passes, and everything shifts all around again.

So I joined an online dating site--and got quite an education as to the not-so-wonderful world of dating for women over 50. Who’s looking for what, how the game is played, what certain messages and code words mean, how to spot the players and scammers at a distance, what to write in your profile and what not to, red flags to be on alert for in other people’s profiles, how the software mechanics of a dating site work…

I took all sorts of notes, and made several attempts to start conversations, all to no avail. For people who claim to be looking for love, friendship, soul mates, companions, or even just a pen pal, online daters are not a particularly open or friendly bunch.

Who knew? Just another one of life’s quirky paradoxes. Those looking for love are apparently the same group that is terrified at the prospect of finding it. I was startled by the number of men who couldn’t get off line fast enough once I responded to their messages. I’ve never had that happen before…never had a problem talking to anyone—male or female, co-worker, colleague or friend, online or off.

But dating seems to be a whole different ball game. I came away from the experience with a healthy sense of humor, and a folder full of papers, enough to write a short handbook on the subject. Maybe one day I will, and offer it as an ebook through my website. In the meantime, I’ve temporarily shelved my social life, in a bid to sort out exactly what I want to do with it, and to take some time out to get the dozen or so other aspects of my life in order.

To that end, for Lent, I’ve decided my motto is “Just say no.” For the next six weeks, I will not take on anything new, not make any new goals or commitments, not start any new projects, not try to meet any new people. I will only work on projects I have already started, complete classes I have already begun, honor commitments I have already made, and focus on the friendships and relationships already in my life. I will take the time to appreciate what I already have, take care of what is already mine, and take care of all those little projects I have been telling myself I will get to “one day.”

One day is here. And I’m feeling really good about that. I’ve already started, completing one small project a day, and find the sense of accomplishment both amazing and energizing. Books are getting read that have been lying around for years, pictures are being hung, closets are getting cleaned, letters and notes are being written, and life, while never dull around here to start with, has taken on a whole new shine.

I’ll keep you posted as things progress J.

Take care and be blessed. And if you come along with a request or an invitation and I turn you down, just know it’s not personal. It’s Lent.

Getting back up to speed...

2011-03-03T20:17:00.005-05:00

It is difficult to steer a parked car, so get moving. ~ Henrietta Mears, Christian educator

What with being sick all last week, and then going away for a long weekend, I’m so far behind I don’t know where to begin. I’ve got ideas for at least four blog posts, and no time to write them. Too busy trying to juggle all the balls--work, writing, and exercise, cooking, cleaning, and home maintenance, driving my son to and from school, appointments, and practices, and keeping up with church activities, which are moving into full swing with Lent just around the corner.

I’m going to “do Lent” this year. Some years I have not fully participated in the process of Lent. Some years I’ve taken full advantage of all the church offers, and others I’ve missed out completely. I know one year I was too sick to go anywhere or do anything—that was right after we moved into a new home and all the off-gasses from the carpet and such made me so ill I collapsed. Another year time simply got away from me and Lent was over before I knew it, with nothing in me changed or renewed.

But this year I’m going to throw myself into Lent wholeheartedly, which I understand to be a time of spiritual reflection and renewal. There are other, more formal descriptions for it, (and I might even get into the history and practices of Lent sometime during the next couple of months) but that’s what I choose to make it—a time for thinking about the positives in life, and not focusing on the negative.

To that end, we have lots of great speakers lined up at church, including the Women’s Series of spiritual events I wrote about last year, and many soup suppers to enjoy.

Speaking of which, I went to a prayer and potluck supper at church this week that was very nice. Kudos to the ladies who decorated the tables with white linen tablecloths and candlelight. The atmosphere was warm and intimate, the company great, and the food incredible—as always. (I think church ladies are the best cooks around, hands down.) Everyone brought a donation for the food pantry and a dish of some sort, and there was more food there than all 60 or so of us could eat.

I made a double batch of cream of carrot soup, which turned out very nicely, if a bit different tasting. It’s spiced with orange peel and allspice, an interesting combination. To thicken it, I blended two cups of broth with fresh, oven-baked squash. It gives the soup a hearty texture you can’t get short of loading up on more fattening thickeners.

Only half the soup was eaten—there was so much food to choose from—so today I went around giving away plastic containers of soup, and will wait to hear the feedback. I had some for dinner, and it tasted almost sweet, but with a tang from the orange peel.

Really, there’s not much going on here, and I’m just trying to catch up from being so sick all last week. I thought it was a cold, but it turns out it was (and is) seasonal allergies, which I am still dealing with, with mixed results success-wise. But at least I am moving forward this week, no longer sitting still J.

No Post Today

2011-02-23T11:54:00.002-05:00

Sick as can be...The Crud finally got me again! I feel like my head is about to explode. No post until that passes...

But I do have a guest blogger over at the PMDD blog today (Thank God for small (and big) favors) and would very much appreciate it if you stopped in to say hello...

Thanks, and stay well!

Living the Prayer of St. Theresa

2011-02-19T10:03:00.003-05:00

May today there be peace within. May you trust your highest power that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love. It is there for each and every one of you. Amen. ~ Prayer of St. Theresa

Have you ever had a week where nothing went the way you thought it would? Not in a bad way, just in several unexpected ways. Monday started out all right. I went to the Y, got my walking in, attended my nutrition class, then walked some more. Came home, had lunch, then did some work until it was time to pick up my son after school.

Wanting to be efficient, I planned to do my errands on the way to get him. I started with the post office and the bank. Was on my way to get groceries when my son called, needing me to pick him up now, as his event had been canceled.

Since the cats were completely out of food, and I knew better than to return without some, I quickly stopped at the nearest store, bought a different brand (which they all but refused to eat) and picked up something for dinner. Came home, fixed dinner, and it was off to my class on the Book of Exodus at church. My grocery shopping would have to wait.

Also, at the post office, I had picked up a letter from my friend Marc, saying he’d seen an ad for a $25 sewing machine in the paper, and would I check it out for him? Since the exchange was local, I called the number. The woman who answered seemed very nice, so I said I’d call again after my Qigong class Tuesday morning.

After the Exodus class, I was asked if I would be coming to book club later in the week, and I said no, I had another meeting to attend that night.

Tuesday morning I remembered I had another appointment after my Qigong class. So I went to class, then called about the sewing machine. It was still available. I said I’d call back after my appointment. I did, and agreed to meet the sewing machine owner on my way home. Got lost a couple of times, but finally found the house. The driveway was sheer ice, and the sewing machine (complete with table) too big to fit into my car. Plus the man who showed it to me was quite elderly, and although he offered to bring the machine to my house, I insisted he wait until Friday, because I knew the weather would have warmed up by then. I had already fallen on the ice once and didn’t want him to do the same.

Didn’t get much done Tuesday due to the throbbing in my arm from falling in the parking lot after Qigong class. Since I had lost most of Tuesday due to falling and appointments and the sewing machine, I called to cancel my hair appointment for Wednesday. I needed to stay home and get some work done, needed to take a deep breath and get my life back on track.

Wednesday things really took off. Wednesday is blog day. I got the first blog written and posted, over at the PMDD site, so far so good, then quickly, or so I thought, called a friend I had been trying to reach for weeks. She needed to talk, so we were on the phone for two hours. I kid you not. I am not a phone person, so you know how unusual that is for me.

When I got off the phone my blood sugar was low so I needed to get something to eat. Good thing I had canceled my hair appointment, because I would have missed it. By the time lunch was over, it was too late to go to the Y and walk before my son got home. After he arrived, I finally made it to the grocery store, where, among other things, I bought the cats the ‘right’ kind of food (much to their delight), and had just enough time to come home and make dinner before my meeting that night.

But when I got there, after getting lost yet again, this time in the dark, I found out it had been canceled. All was not lost. I headed over to book club. I walked in the door and said, “My other meeting was canceled and I knew you guys had wine.” It had been that kind of day.

Thursday my son was off from school. Everything changes when that happens. Still, I went to class, and then ran several unexpected errands, which meant I was gone until almost noon. Once I got home, between waiting to see what he was going to do with his afternoon, and just plain putzing around, I didn’t get much more done that day. We did, however, manage to stay up late watching Clint Eastwood in Two Mules for Sister Sara.

Friday morning the phone wakes me up. It’s Louis, wondering why I am still asleep. I barely know what day it is, and mumble through the conversation.

Minutes later the sewing machine man calls. He was in the area yesterday and has been trying to reach me. We make arrangements for him to stop by in a couple of hours, when my son is awake and can help him unload the sewing machine. I go out to sweep the garage, where the sewing machine will wait until Marc can retrieve it. I end up sweeping the whole thing out, which wasn’t in my plans for the week—but it sure looks nice J.

Friday I am also supposed to take my son to get his learner’s permit. He’s checking over the form, and realizes he needs to have his doctor fill out a portion of the back page. I call the doctor’s office and they say to bring it in. I decide to take the car I unexpectedly purchased for my son out for a spin, just to turn over the engine, but it’s a no go. The ground is squishy and it’s stuck in the mud. Back into the house I go to get the keys for my car. I take the form to the doctor, and leave them with a self-addressed-stamped-envelope so I don’t have to make the trip again. That afternoon she calls and says my son has to sign the form in her presence. She won’t be available for that until Monday.

Sigh. I started out the week with a clear plan, everything written down on the calendar. I had a dozen things written down that I felt needed to be done, places I needed to be at a certain time. Five out of my dozen were accomplished, the rest were canceled or postponed, and three completely unexpected events replaced them.

Since our class on the Book of Exodus is about giving it over to God, trusting in Him to lead us to where we need to be, all I can say is God must have had other plans for me this week.

I’d planned to get my hair highlighted--instead I bought a sewing machine for a friend. I’d planned to attend a new faith sharing group meeting, instead I went to book club--where I was invited to a party, and they ended up accepting my recommendation for April’s book. I’d planned to take my son to get his learner’s permit--instead I swept out my garage and in a box found a book I’d been looking for. I’d planned to spend a day catching up on my writing--instead I spent two hours on the phone listening to a friend, who was much comforted by the call.

Who knows what a difference any of it will make? All I know is I’m learning to go with the flow, learning to trust God, and learning to live the Prayer of St. Theresa.

No Post Today

2011-02-18T10:59:00.001-05:00

No post today. Son is home from school and we're running errands. I keep hoping to get a chance to write, but no go. Not today :)

Valentine's Day Drawing Winner

2011-02-15T18:51:00.005-05:00

Thank you everyone, for stopping by!

The Winner of an autographed copy of Thin Ice for my special Valentine's Day Drawing is...

Diane Craver!

Congratulations, Diane!

Eric and Emily's First Kiss -- Thin Ice

2011-02-13T09:19:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I blogged over at the Long and Short Reviews Valentine's Day Celebration, where, among other great prizes, you can enter to win your choice of a Kindle, Nook, or $150 gift certificate just by making a comment on any of the posts there. The more comments you make, the more chances you have. On the Goddess Fish Party Pavilion Blog, where I shared some of my excerpts, it's the same deal. Just leave a comment for a chance to win. They're also offering several smaller prizes throughout the day, so if you leave a comment, be sure to check back and click on the posts where they announce the winners. (You can find the links to their announcements in the sidebar). You have seven days to claim your winnings.

One of my excerpts at the Goddess Fish Pavilion was of Eric and Emily's first kiss. So in honor of Valentine's Day, I'll share that here today, and choose my own random winner for an autographed copy of Thin Ice from the comments on this post today and tomorrow, Valentine's Day. The winner will be announced on Tuesday!

Emily has just, very reluctantly, given Eric a tour of her home. He refused to return her car keys (they'd traded cars and he's come to return hers) until she relented. Little does she know, he doesn't have the keys...read the excerpt below to find out where they are :)

I like it,” Eric said. “I like it a lot.” He turned to her and smiled. “Robbie’s very lucky.”
The nostalgic note in his voice made her wonder where he’d grown up, what his life had been like before he’d become a star athlete. He’d denied it that night in the ER, but surely he had family somewhere.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed six-fifteen. Emily looked at the kitchen clock in surprise. Eric had been in the house for over twenty minutes. “You’re going to be late.”
“I know.” His eyes captured hers. “Walk me to the door?”
She swallowed, knowing what he was asking. “Sure.”
But at the front door, she paused, suddenly unsure. What would happen now? Would he say goodbye and mean it this time? She doubted it. And how did she really feel about that?
“Thanks for letting me inside,” Eric said quietly. “I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
“Easier than I expected it to be,” she said wryly.
His eyes darkened to brown velvet. “I’m glad.”
Their eyes locked and he slowly lowered his head. Heart hammering, Emily went perfectly still. But when his lips touched hers, everything faded away but the moment. And in that moment, Emily Jordan tasted heaven for the very first time.
Never had she been kissed with such quiet reverence or sensual finesse. Never. After a brief first kiss that barely brushed her lips, Eric kissed each corner of her mouth with whisper softness, then returned to press his lips to hers again in a kiss that made every part of her yearn for more.
He pulled away just as she swayed forward, catching her gently by the upper arms. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then sent her a slow, sexy smile, a smile filled with a delicious sense of warmth and promise.
“See you soon,” he said and released her.
Emily nodded, too dazed to speak. Her headache was gone. Her muscles no longer ached. Every ounce of her earlier tension had evaporated. She felt warm and fuzzy all over, as if she were floating. Eric opened the front door and loped across the lawn.
“Eric, wait!” she called when he was halfway to his car.
He turned, a distracted look on his moonlit face.
“My keys.”
He pointed to the Suburban. “In the ignition.”

Happy Valentine's Day!

Fridays With Louis - The Male Brain

2011-02-11T10:14:00.002-05:00

A while back I read the book The Female Brain, by Dr. Louann Brizendine, MD, and thought it was awesome. It explained sooo much and I think everyone should read it. Honestly. If you are a woman or know one, this book is for you.

Last night I read The Male Brain, and couldn’t stop chuckling. Why? It described Louis to a T. In this case, T stands for testosterone, something Louis has in abundant supply. Six foot tall and 230 pounds with a deep Rocky voice and 19 inch biceps, Louis is the epitome of an alpha male. Rough and tumble as a kid, an impulsive risk taker in his teens and twenties, direct, independent, aloof, and competitive as all get out—no matter what the situation—until I came along, he never listened to anybody, no how, no way, no sir. It was his way or the highway, and don’t let the door hit you in the butt on your way out.

Seriously. I think I was the first person who ever got into his face and challenged him about anything. Probably the only reason I got away with it was I did it on paper. I now manage to do it in person, but it takes nerves of steel, because Louis likes to win, plain and simple. If I complain about something, he’s got a bigger complaint. If I’m feeling discouraged about something, he’s got more to be discouraged about….

But he isn’t. Which is his point. Louis is one of the most positive people I know. He doesn’t have time for anyone who feels sorry for themselves, and that includes me :). A few weeks ago he called and sounded stuffy, like he was getting a cold. I asked, “Are you getting a cold?” and he said yes, he thought he was coming down with something.

Me, being the nurturer that I am, immediately offered an Awwww of empathy. “Don’t be giving me that,” he snaps, and I quickly remembered how he told me he hates to tell me about anything unpleasant that happens in his life because I make (what I consider to be soothing) sounds of empathy.

Louis doesn’t want to be soothed. Louis is not interested in appearing soft in any manner, shape, or form. He confuses empathy with sympathy and will have none of either.

Not that I spend much time feeling sorry for myself—one, there’s no need to, and two, I’m much too busy to indulge in pity parties—but every now and then I’ll get a little funky about something and if I mention it to Louis, he’ll waste no time on coddling. The man always has a story to tell that puts my disappointment squarely into perspective.

Try having an argument with him—something we haven’t done in a long time, thank God, but for a while there we had some humdingers, as his male brain and my female brain faced off. An alpha male does not like to be challenged—on any subject. He’d be happy as a clam if his word was Law. But I’m a little on the independent side, myself, so I was, and still am, full of questions and challenges.

He calls it `firing arrows.’ If I fire an arrow—a criticism, complaint, or differing opinion at him—even inadvertently--he’ll immediately fire something ten times stronger back.

Think of medieval times, and the archers defending the castle. Picture me as a lone archer, attempting to breach the stronghold, aiming high at his castle walls.

Should I be so bold as to actually let an arrow fly, I’ll immediately get ten arrows shot back at me simultaneously. I used to get upset. Used to get my feelings hurt. Now I know enough to fire my arrow, duck, wait for his inevitable arrows to fly overhead, then stand up tall and unarmed, and say, “You want to talk about it now?”

There’s just something in an alpha male that needs to fire back with a show of power, and the book The Male Brain explains why.

I remember the first time I told him that’s what he was—an alpha male. He’d never heard of the term, but yes, he agreed that it describes him well, and now we joke about it—him being “The Boss.” He’ll say something, and I’ll wryly say, “You’re The Boss,” and depending on the situation or subject matter, he’ll either stop and say, “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” or laugh and say, “Yeah, right.”

I can’t tell you how many times I have told him, “You are not the boss of me.”

Probably as many times as he’s told me the same.

And so, after ten years, we’ve settled into this comfortable, easygoing, give and take friendship that seems to have weathered the fundamental differences between the male and female brain. We managed to do it without reading Dr. Brizendine’s books, but still, it’s nice to know they’re out there.

In Praise of Friendship

2011-02-06T10:44:00.002-05:00

I haven’t been around much lately, mostly because I’ve been off dealing with Life, running around in between snowstorms, trying to time it so that I’m home when the snow is blowing, and getting my errands done when the roads are clear and relatively dry. Dealing with Life can be pretty draining, and such was the case one night last week. I’d attended a class at the Y that afternoon, and during class we had a 20-minute demonstration of how to use the spin bikes there.

I hadn’t been on a bike of any sort in years, and while I thought my legs were in pretty good shape from my walking and Qigong classes, they didn’t hold up all that well during the demonstration. (I found out afterward I’d put my feet too far into the stirrups, which is what caused the awful cramping I got while pedaling).

Anyway, I got off the bike on legs that hurt and felt like rubber, hobbled around the track a few times, then decided that was not going to work. But I knew that to sit down and rest would only stiffen things up, so I went grocery shopping. A monster storm was due to blow into town, and we didn’t have any interesting food in the house.

After an hour and a half of reading labels and shopping, I came home and put the groceries away and started dinner. Suddenly it was time to leave home for another class, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d been on the go nonstop for four hours, felt sore and exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to just stay home and relax.

But a friend and I had agreed to attend a series of talks on the Book of Exodus at our church, and it was my turn to drive, so off to class I would go. I picked her up and we headed toward the church, and just as we were walking inside, I said, “This is the last thing I feel like doing right now. I so wanted to call you and say let’s just forget about it tonight.” And she said, “Me, too! If you’d called and said you couldn’t make it, I would have been happy just to stay at home.”

So we walked into the class laughing, because neither of us really felt like being there, but both of us were there because we didn’t want to disappoint the other person.

The class was awesome. Incredible. We learned so much about the origins of our faith, about how relevant the readings in the Book of Exodus are to our lives right here and now—today--in the midst of all our day-to-day busyness, and came out of there with a whole new appreciation for the seemingly routine traditions our faith practices weekly at Mass.

What can I say but it was eye-opening in the extreme. Thanks for that go to another friend, who is giving the class, and has an understanding of The Bible that is nothing short of phenomenal. My attendee friend and I practically floated out of there on a new wave of energy and understanding, and then had another laugh about not wanting to go, and what we would have missed if not for two friends not wanting to let each other down.

It really does make a difference when you have someone to do almost anything with, be it attend a class, lose weight, change your eating habits, tackle a home improvement project, go on a trip, perform a community service. Not only do you reap the benefits of success, but it’s just plain fun having someone there beside you, whether you feel like doing what you agreed to do or not. Especially when you don’t feel like doing what you signed up for.

Somehow, when a friend is involved, you try harder than you would if it were entirely up to you.

I’m so glad we’re experiencing this class together, and when the time rolls around again, no matter how exhausted I might feel, I look forward to once again going to class, soaking up the history and wisdom in Exodus, and coming out energized with a new understanding of my faith and the rich and deeply rooted traditions behind it.

But better yet, my friend and I will each have someone to share our new knowledge and insights with--and that’s what deepens a friendship.

Is there something you can do with a friend this week? Something you wouldn’t ordinarily do? Try it and see what happens.

Guest Author, Jana Richards

2011-02-02T09:19:00.003-05:00

Today's guest is Wild Rose Press author Jana Richards, who, like me, has an interest in promoting health and well being, so I invited her to do some guest posts on things that affect us all. I can't think of a person I know who hasn't experienced back pain at one time or another, and I, for one, have already learned a few things here I can do to make my back feel better thanks to Jana's research. That said, Jana and I invite you to sit back, relax, and learn what you can do to make your time in any chair more comfortable.

Like many writers, I spend a lot of time sitting in front of my computer. Add to that the time I spend working at the computer for my day job and it’s no wonder I’ve experienced back pain. It not only makes me feel miserable, it makes me a less productive writer. Time to take some action.

First of all, what causes back pain? Here are some of the most common causes:

Strains, sprains and spasms –The most common cause of back pain is an injury to a muscle (strain) or to a ligament (sprain) in the back. Strains and sprains can be caused by improper lifting, excessive weight, and poor posture. Even an awkward sleeping position or hauling around a heavy purse all day can cause a strain or sprain. An injured muscle may also "knot up." This muscle spasm is your body's way of immobilizing the affected area to prevent further damage.

Osteoarthritis – Osteoarthritis is also known as “wear and tear” arthritis. As we age, the cushions (disks) between the vertebrae in our backs become flatter and less flexible. Without the cushioning these disks provide, the joints between the vertebrae press tightly together, often causing back pain and stiffness.

Herniated Disk - Normal wear and tear over time can cause one of the disks in your spine to rupture (herniate). Exceptional strain or traumatic injury can have the same effect. Many people describe this as a "slipped" disk. Back pain results when the herniated disk pinches one of the nerves that come out of the spinal cord. If the sciatic nerve is affected, you may develop sciatica — a sharp, shooting pain in the lower back, buttocks and leg.

Osteoporosis – As we age we lose calcium in our bones, causing them to become less dense and more brittle. If you have osteoporosis, lifting and other routine tasks can cause fractures, called compression fractures, to form on the front part of the weakened bones of your back. These fractures result in back pain.

Fibromyalgia - Fibromyalgia is a chronic condition characterized by fatigue and widespread pain in the muscles, ligaments and tendons — including the lower back.

So what can we as writers do to keep our backs healthy and pain free? Some of the things we can do to keep our backs pain free are the same things we need to do to maintain good general health:

Keep Fit – Strong and flexible muscles will keep your back in shape. Both the back muscles and the abdominal muscles need to be strengthened in order to keep the back from hurting. Exercises for these “core” muscles will assist in this strengthening. To see a slideshow of core exercises from the Mayo Clinic, go here.

Keep your weight under control – Watching your weight not only keeps your heart healthy, improves your mood and increases your confidence, it also reduces your risk of back pain. According to the website “Back Pain Expert” weight gain may result in back pain “because the lower back, known as the lumbar region, supports the weight of the whole of the upper body, and gaining weight, as well as putting an extra strain on the knee and hip joints, can increase the burden on the lumbar region. This puts additional pressure on the bones, joints, muscles, ligaments and tendons of the back. Long-term, the extra weight can damage the discs between the vertebrae, the bones that make up the spine, can cause the spine to develop an unnatural curve, and can worsen the bone damage in osteoporosis.” Another good reason to say no to that extra helping at dinner!

Stop smoking – If you needed yet another reason to quit smoking, Dr. Mehmet Oz says that smoking can cause “accelerated disk degeneration and increased pain.”

Get some sleep – Dr. Oz also says that getting 7 to 8 hours of sleep a night allows the body to repair itself. Go to the above website for tips in finding the right sleep position.

Stretch it Out - I find that stretching helps to take the stiffness out of my back as well as alleviating the pain. To view a slideshow of stretches supplied by the Mayo Clinic please click on this website.

Even if we follow all the advice for good healthy living, if we aren’t careful about the way we work, it could be all for naught. Here’s some tips for keeping your back pain free while still being a productive writer:

The Chair’s the Thing – A properly fitting office chair is probably the single most important tool in keeping your back pain free. Make sure to adjust your chair to your height before you adjust your monitor, keyboard or mouse. If you don’t have an adjustable chair, consider using a lumbar support or a pillow to support your back, using a pillow under your seat if you’re sitting too low, or a footrest under your feet to bring your thighs parallel with the ground. Healthy Computing has good information on setting up your chair as well as information on what to look for when you’re buying a new chair.

Remember to Move – The body can only stay comfortably in one position for about 20 minutes at time. If you get too absorbed in your work and lose track of time, set a timer to remind you to change position.

Remember to Stretch – You can do a few stretches throughout the day, right at your computer.

Check your Posture - Relax your shoulders, keep your feet flat on the floor, and avoid leaning close to tasks on your desk. To see illustrations of good posture, check this website.

Rarely, back pain may indicate a more serious underlying problem, such as an infection, diabetes, kidney disease or cancer. If you’re struggling with back pain, and none of the measures mentioned here alleviate the pain, the best thing to do is to check with your doctor.
Have you experienced back pain while writing? What do you do to alleviate it?

Jana is the author of the newly released Jewel of the Night series novella, Flawless.

Stop And Smell The Roses

2011-01-30T09:51:00.002-05:00

Seems like an odd topic when you’re buried in snow, but of course I’m not talking about flowers. I’m talking about friends.

I have a friend at the Y, Don, who walks in circles around the track with me. Don is 82, a widower who lives with one of his three daughters, and a bright spot in my trips to the Y. He comes to the Y almost daily, and knows just about everybody’s name who goes there regularly. He smiles and tells jokes and visits, and can make the sound of a train whistle, which he does frequently. That, in fact, was how I first noticed him.

I go to the Y to exercise. Now and then I’ll stop to chat with someone I haven’t seen for a while, but most times it’s just a smile and a wave, and I keep moving. I barely notice new people—until I’ve seen them around a few times. But I only talk to people I already know, mostly from church. My plan is to walk in the door, put in my already-decided-upon time period of exercise for that day, and leave again so I can get on with my life—usually so I can go home and get something to eat. Going to the Y almost always makes me hungry.

It was during my 100 miles in 100 days challenge last year that I first encountered Don. I was on a mission to get my three miles a day in—since I didn’t go every day—and I was walking around the track like a fiend, one lap per minute, feeling the wind on my face and lifting my hair like I was rollerskating.

Don would say, “Look at her go!” as I passed by, and pull the handle on his imaginary train whistle. I’d smile and wave and just keep going.

Then one day I thought, who am I, to be too busy to talk to this open and friendly man, and decided to stop and say hello. Don fell right into step, although not as quickly, and we started talking. He tells jokes, and flirts with the ladies, and always has a positive attitude. He’ll ask, “How are you today?” and I’ll smile and say, "I’m here,” and he’ll laugh and say, “You got that right. Better to be seen than viewed.”

I’ll ask if he has any big plans for that night, the weekend, or the upcoming holiday, and he won’t miss a beat—“No, you want to go somewhere?” Always trying to make a date.

Friday I asked if he had any plans for the weekend and he said, “At my age, I don’t like to plan too far in advance.”

He was on his way to visit a friend that afternoon, in the hospital after having a stroke. “The guy was young,” Don said. “Only 67.” Then he looks at me. “Like you, right? That’s about your age.”

And we laughed again. At least I did :). Maybe he was serious this time :).

One day, I think it was after a big holiday weekend, I saw Don off in the alcove weighing himself on the old-fashioned scale that you have to slide the metal weights across to find out what you weigh. I snuck up behind him and put my sneaker toe on the back of the scale. He moved the weights, and then paused, and I couldn’t see his face, but I saw his head tilt to the side and imagined he was frowning before he moved the weights a little more. And then a little more.

Before he turned around and caught me, I stepped back, and resumed my walk around the track.

Before too long he comes into the main room, catches me as I come around, and we start walking. I mention I saw him weighing himself. “How’s it going?” I ask casually. “Weight holding steady?” “Nah, I’m up a few pounds,” he says,” sounding a little bewildered. “That’s because I had my toe on the scale,” I told him. And then I told him what I’d done.

We’ve been friends ever since.

Now he looks for me, keeps track of when he last saw me, and is always glad to see me when I come in for my walk. And I enjoy getting to know about Don. For many years, he drove a truck, delivering snack foods to stores in the area. The stories he has to tell…

He’s always saying how he can’t keep up with me, and tells me he’s a hindrance to me. Don can only walk around the track three to five times before he needs a rest. But when he’s resting somebody usually comes by and says hello, so he essentially takes a visit break between laps. Me, I pick up speed and keep zooming around the track until Don is ready to walk a few laps again.

I don’t find Don a hindrance. I find him fun and interesting to talk to. He’s lived a long and fruitful life, and I would miss him if he wasn’t there. I notice when our paths don’t cross, as I often go in at different times of the day, whenever it’s convenient for me to take a break from the computer.

He’ll ask what time I have to leave today, and I’ll tell him, because I always know. I’m a little compulsive that way, chopping my day into distinct time frames. And always, as I’m leaving, Don says, “Thanks for walking with me. It’s more fun when you’re walking with someone.”

Isn’t that the truth of it? Life is much more fun when we walk with friends.

Slowly Making Progress...

2011-01-28T11:09:00.003-05:00

Well, I'm up to my knees in snow and up to my hips in website updates...but making progress! I found the solution to my housekeeping procrastination...my church is hosting a program in February and is looking for people to host a few families overnight, so I called and volunteered to host one of the families. Now I have to clean my house! It will do me good, to dust and vaccuum and get rid of the clutter and throw out some things that need to be thrown out.

Louis keeps telling me I'm a hoarder, but I'm far from that...he just doesn't realize how fast things can pile up during the course of a few weeks. Mail, clothes, books, projects, odds and ends you take out and then don't put back right away.

I spoke with him this morning, and he's getting snow, too, but "Not enough." Meaning not enough to allow him to be outside most of the day, shoveling. Other than that, no news here...just enjoying my split pea with ham soup, and doggedly slogging through my to-do list.

Stay safe and warm!

You Don't Know What You've Got 'Till It's Gone

2011-01-26T12:48:00.002-05:00

Hey, all,

I've been so busy with website updates and other projects that I've kinda let the housekeeping slide. I look at the mess, then shake my head and head back to the computer with a fresh mug of tea. I have no idea how I'm supposed to get it all done. Work, writing, cooking, cleaning, errands, spending time with my son, maintaining the house, car, and kitty litter--I can not wait for summer!--keeping up with friends, family, and my faith sharing group....

Anyway, yesterday was my day to be a domestic Goddess. I did laundry, cleared clutter, went grocery shopping, made a huge pot of split pea with ham soup. Some time after dinner, I was getting partially dried sweaters out of the dryer to hang up and Whoa! All that bending and turning and set off a wave of nausea so strong I thought for sure I was going to be sick.

I thought I was coming down with the flu. Maybe I was. But my constitution seems to be so strong I was able to hold it back--as long as I sat very still and didn't do anything.

Suddenly I'm sitting in my living room chair, looking around at the clutter surrounding me, and there's nothing I want more than to be able to get up and take care of it. No way do I want to be just sitting there doing NOTHING.

Funny how the housework I've neglected the past few weeks suddenly looked good to me.

Fortunately, the nausea seems to have for the most part passed. But now that I'm feeling better--where am I again? Back on the computer.

But only for a little while. Time to go and vacuum :)

A New Appreciation for The Blessings of Friendship

2011-01-23T13:33:00.003-05:00

Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity. ~Voltaire

I’ve done quite a few posts on friendship, and how grateful I am for my friends. Friends who call, friends who come over, friends to go out to eat with, friends who sew, friends to sit in church with, friends to walk with, friends to go to shows and concerts and workshops or lectures with, friends who join me on trips near and far. In all of these areas, I have been extremely blessed. It wasn’t until this week that I realized exactly how blessed—or how much I take my friendships for granted.

I got a letter from Louis yesterday. For some time now, he’s been writing about someone he calls Kid. Generally, Louis only makes friends with older inmates, lifers like himself, who know the way of things and are going to be around for a while, but every now and then he takes someone young enough to be his son under his wing and befriends them. He hangs out a lot with kids, as he calls them, men in their twenties and thirties…plays handball and basketball and bocci ball with them. Goes running with them and challenges them to keep up with him. He’s always trying to make everybody be the best they can be, including me.

So he met this guy, Kid. Took a real liking to him. Said the Kid was like a sponge, soaking up every word Louis said--how could he resist? He decided to be Kid’s mentor. I met Kid a couple of visits back. His grandparents were up to see him on the same day I was there. He came over and said hello. Very respectful, very polite, very clean cut. After he left, I turned to Louis and said, “He seems like such a nice young man.”

And he is. Louis loaned Kid a copy of Thin Ice to read, and Kid sent me a very nice thank you letter, telling me it was the first book he’d read from beginning to end in years. He also said he liked it that Eric got to keep playing hockey and still got to keep the girl in the end :).

Unfortunately, after months of hanging around with Kid, things changed abruptly. Without warning, Kid was transferred to another block, and just like that, Louis’s favorite sidekick was gone. Such is the nature of prison life. The only thing you can depend on is change. So now Louis is wishing he’d followed his own rule of avoiding getting attached to anything. He still sees kid, at chow, but it’s not the same. They don’t get to hang out together, play sports in the yard, have their father-son type talks.

Kid was also Louis’s cook. Louis has few pleasures he can enjoy in prison, and food is one of them. Many in prison have developed ingenious ways of combining the ingredients purchased at the commissary into tasty wraps and sandwiches and stews and such. It’s hard to explain without a visual. But wherever he goes, Louis usually finds a cook. Louis supplies the ingredients, and the cook makes enough for several people. Louis is generous that way.

So Kid was Louis’s cook. He comes from a family that has a restaurant, and many of Louis’s letters would rave about Kid’s creative cooking. (You want to know what Louis and I talk/write about all the time? Food is extremely high on the list. We love to talk about food—breakfast, lunch, and dinner, you name it. This morning he was telling me there’s nothing better than boiled eggs and jelly on toast. Spent most of his phone call describing in detail how to make it just right.)

So suddenly he’s without a cook. But not for long. Louis is nothing if not resourceful.
A few days later, he sees Kid and Kid asked if Louis found anybody to cook for him yet. Louis replied, “Two minutes after you were gone.”

Louis is like that. He’ll never let on if he likes you, much less misses you. The way Louis shows his affection is to grump at you—tough love, he calls it—makes you strong in character.

So I told him he was being a bozo, Kid was looking for reassurance, wanting to know their friendship meant something to Louis. And although Louis might never admit it to Kid, he did write Kid’s grandparents a letter, letting them know how much he’d appreciated Kid’s cooking and company, and telling them not to worry, as Louis has many acquaintances throughout the jail, who will see that Kid comes to no harm. Louis even said if he could, he’d take Kid in as a cellie, just to make sure Kid stays safe. In his 33 years there, Louis has never taken a cellie. The man cherishes what privacy he has.

What’s funny is when Louis started this friendship with Kid, I was worried Kid would take advantage of Louis, and Kid’s grandparents were worried that Louis would take advantage of Kid. So both of them were hearing words of caution from people who cared about them.

Anyway, all of this got me to thinking, and made me realize how truly blessed I am in that not only do I have wonderful friends to spend time with in good times and bad—but I can also see them and spend time with them whenever I want to. I can get in the car and go over to a friend’s house to talk. I can call them on the phone. I can choose to go out to eat with them at the drop of a hat, or invite them over for something to eat. I can cook anything I want, anytime I want, and there’s nobody dictating to me how I spend my time or who I spend it with. And if I’m feeling low and missing somebody, anybody, or I just want to hear a friendly voice, I all I need to do is pick up the phone.

That is truly a blessing indeed. One I didn’t stop to think about until this week.

I’ve spent a lot of time on the phone lately. Stuff going on in people’s lives all around me. Fortunately, I’m able to be there for them, as I know they will be there for me when the time comes.

But Louis doesn’t have that luxury. When stuff happens, the only thing he can do is stuff it—the last thing you can do in prison is show any kind of weakness. I remember when his son was killed in a car accident. His family called the prison chaplain to see how he was doing. The chaplain told them he seemed unmoved by the news. I’m here to tell you he was far from unmoved. His circumstances simply dictate that he does his grieving in private. And now, with the loss of Kid, that wound has been re-opened, and he will do the same.

But it will be a long time before he lets himself get attached to anybody again.

If you ask Louis, though, he'll say it's just a lesson re-learned about the intransiency of life overall. And so, another layer of armor is donned, another cook is found, and time marches on.

Make sure you tell a friend you appreciate him or her today. You never know what will happen.

Guest Author, Jana Richards

2011-01-20T07:21:00.004-05:00

Today we welcome Jana Richards, fellow Wild Rose Press author, 2008 Eppie Award finalist, and author of one of the Crimson Rose line's popular Jewel of the Night series stories, involving the mystery surrounding an infamous Blue Diamond. Jana also has several Free Reads available on her website, including one about her pug/terrier mix Lou, that pet lovers won't want to miss. Jana and I share an interest in women's health issues, and Jana has graciously agreed to return on February 2 to guest blog about back pain, something most, if not all, busy writers experience from time to time. But today we'd like to help Jana celebrate the release of her latest novella, Flawless.

First, a little bit about Jana: She's tried her hand at many writing projects over the years, from magazine articles and short stories to paranormal suspense and romantic comedy. She loves to create characters with a sense of humor, but also a serious side. She believes there’s nothing more interesting then peeling back the layers of a character to see what makes them tick.
When not writing up a storm, working at her day job as an Office Administrator, or dealing with ever present mountains of laundry, Jana can be found on the local golf course pursuing her newest hobby.
Jana lives in Western Canada with her husband Warren, along with two university aged daughters and a highly spoiled Pug/Terrier cross named Lou.

Blurb:

France, 1942. The world is at war. The Nazis have stolen the infamous blue diamond, Le Coeur Bleu, intending to barter it for weapons that will destroy the Allies. Jewel thief Hunter Smith is given a choice; help the French Resistance steal back the diamond and avenge the death of his best friend, or stay locked up in an English prison. He chooses revenge.
Resistance fighter Madeleine Bertrand’s husband died when he was betrayed by Hunter Smith. How can she now pretend to be married to the arrogant American? How can she betray Jean Philippe’s memory by her passionate response to Hunter’s kisses? Neither is prepared for the maelstrom of attraction that erupts between them. To survive they must uncover the mysteries of the past and conquer the dangers of the present. But first Madeleine must decide if her loyalties lie with her dead husband and the Resistance or with the greatest love of her life.

Excerpt:

“From now on you will be known as Jacques Lemay, Monsieur Smith.”
Monsieur Gagnon filled his pipe, dropping bits of tobacco onto his wife’s immaculate floor. Madeleine sat off to one side of Monsieur Gagnon’s kitchen, watching as Madame Gagnon prepared breakfast for her husband and their “guest.” Madeleine silently seethed as Smith—non, Lemay—helped himself to another piece of bread. Did he have to eat so much? Didn’t he know that food was scarce here in Lille, just as it was all over France?
She listened as Smith handed over the new two-way radio to Monsieur Gagnon and explained its use.
“It’s supposed to have a clearer and stronger signal than the radio you’re using now,” Smith said. He flipped a few dials to illustrate. “They also told me it is easier to scramble the signal to avoid detection.”
“Bon.” Monsieur Gagnon beamed in pleasure. “Good communications are essential to our work. Thank you for bringing it.”
“No problem. What else can you tell me about my cover here?”
“You are to work as a junior gardener at the chateau. I wrote to the head gardener, as if I was you, inquiring about work. He’s desperate for help. The Germans have rounded up many young Frenchmen and shipped them east to work in factories in Germany, so there are few able-bodied men available. You start tomorrow.”
He paused as his wife set a bowl of porridge in front of him. Monsieur Gagnon could not be connected with Jacques Lemay in any way; their comings and goings to this house had to be done with the utmost discretion. Madeleine knew the importance of keeping Monsieur Gagnon and his wife safe. He was the heart of their operation, their connection to the outside world through the radio he operated. If something went wrong and Hunter Smith was captured, it was crucial that no trails led back to Monsieur Gagnon. The safety of their réseaux, their Resistance network, depended on it. She hoped Smith understood the danger.
“I said in the letter that you had not worked as a gardener before, so he is not expecting you to know the difference between a delphinium and a dianthus.” Monsieur Gagnon poured milk onto his porridge. “But he is expecting you to work hard. If you don’t, you could be fired, or your cover could be blown.”
“I can manage.”
“The job might require a little more than sticking a shovel in the ground occasionally and spreading a bit of manure,” Madeleine said. The others turned to stare at her.
She immediately regretted her sarcastic remark, regretted throwing his words in his face. She shouldn’t let this man get to her, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. They needed to work together for the sake of the mission. But she hated him. After what he’d done to Jean Philippe…
Hunter’s gaze locked with hers, and the heat of his anger scorched her clear across the room. She refused to back down from the challenge in his stare. She’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her.
“Madeleine, enough.” Monsieur Gagnon spoke sharply. “Regardless of your feelings, we need him. He is our only hope for getting the diamond out of the hands of the Nazis.”
He was right. If they couldn’t steal Le Coeur Bleu, Jean Philippe would have died for nothing. She couldn’t let that happen.
She inhaled deeply and looked away. “All right. We’ll work together.”

For more information, please visit Jana at her website.

The Blessings of Friendship

2011-01-16T10:13:00.004-05:00

The better part of one's life consists of his friendships. ~Abraham Lincoln

Good morning, Friends! Did you ever have a week that went completely off course? This past week didn’t at all turn out like I thought it would. The only time I was actually where I expected to be was during one of my two Qigong classes. I missed the first one. I also missed the first class of a program I’d signed up for at the Y. I also missed self-set deadlines for having three of my projects completed. I forgot, then almost forgot again, to make a phone call regarding my son’s glasses. I didn’t write to Louis all week. When I spoke with him yesterday, I said this is the longest I’ve ever gone without writing to you—(nine days now, and with the holiday, ten.) My Christmas cards still aren’t all sent out, the decorations are still up, and the house needs a thorough cleaning, top to bottom.

So what have I been doing? Well, I had my week perfectly planned, practically down to the minute, with a list of events to attend and projects to get done. Manuscripts edited, Christmas cards finished, house cleaned and such. Monday morning Louis calls at 8:00 and says the weather is good and I asked around and the roads are clear, you coming up? And that was that. I checked the weather forecast and was gone, since a heavy snowstorm was due to blow in on Tuesday.

Since I don’t usually cook dinner on the days I go to see Louis, my son and I had planned to go out to eat between the time I got home and my faith sharing meeting. On the way home, around 3:30, the phone rings. It’s a friend, and she’s found a car for my son. We need to meet to talk about it. I say we’ll be at the restaurant at 4:45, does she want to join us? She does. I call my son and say be ready, I’m just stopping by to pick you up. I get home at 4:40 and off we go. Dinner hits the spot and I’m home for ten minutes before I leave again for my meeting. Which means I’m away from the house for over twelve hours on Monday. I’m also exhausted, and actually fall asleep during the meeting :(.

Tuesday morning my friend calls, asks shall we do this?--and we go off to test drive a car. We get there at 10:00 and return the car at 4:00. We take it to my mechanics for a look-see, and go to lunch while they kindly fit us in. We take the car to a car wash and emerge with soap on one side of the car, where the gentleman there kindly lets us go through again. We text my son, something I rarely do, and ask if we can pick him up after school so he can see the car. He furtively texts back “k” and we stop by the school. We then take the car to another friend, who comes out into the cold to thoroughly look it over, and gives his seal of approval.

We take it back to the owner, driving headlong into the aforementioned snow storm as it blows into town, and barely manage to drop it off, collect my car, drop my son off at a friend’s and get back home before the snow starts to blow in earnest. Since the roads are so slippery, I cancel the Dinner for One event I have organized for my church group, much to the relief of those who’d planned to attend. Instead I spend the evening doing research on cars until I can no longer see straight. Another prayer is answered when my son’s friend’s father drops him off, instead of me having to go and get him.

Wednesday I manage to get a PMDD post written, but not much here, as I am on the phone all day with car negotiations, the insurance company--and then my mother calls. We usually talk for at least an hour whenever she calls. All told, I spent at least four hours on the phone. Wednesday night it’s storming again, so I opt out of my church group meeting, which in the end is cancelled as well. Instead, I spend the evening doing research for a series of blog posts I plan to write at the PMDD site. Thursday morning I make it to Qigong class, then get invited out for breakfast, and spend the afternoon running around dealing with paperwork for the car and shopping for groceries before the next storm hits.

Friday it’s snowing again, so I finally manage to stay home get some work done, although it isn’t the work I had planned for the week. Something new came up that needed to be addressed right away, and so I was busy sending out a flurry of emails. Saturday, it’s still snowing, so I spent 12 hours on the computer, trying to catch up. And now it’s Sunday--supposedly my day of rest :).

But even though the week didn’t go the way I thought it would, it’s all good. Better than good, actually. It seems God knew better that I did how I should spend my week, and so I spent most of it in His loving care, through the many friends He has blessed me with.

And so I thought today I’d do another post on gratitude, and list the things I am especially grateful for this week.

Actually, the schedule-skewing started last Friday, when my trip to see Louis was canceled due to bad weather. Then, on Friday night, I made an impromptu decision to go out to dinner. I called my car-shopping friend, and she and I and my son met at the restaurant. Saturday another friend called, and we made unexpected arrangements to go to Mass and a church program on prayer on Sunday morning, then ended up going out to breakfast afterward to talk about future travel plans--since we suddenly discovered we both want to go to Alaska, and have been wanting to go there for years.

Monday night it was out to dinner again, Tuesday it was out to lunch, and Thursday it was out to breakfast again. So I unexpectedly ate out five times in one week. And each time, it was with friends.

Therefore, I am grateful for:

Friends who look out for me, weather-wise, and are willing to spend hours just visiting.
Friends who are willing to drive when the weather is bad.
Friends who call and suggest going to programs and places I might enjoy.
Friends to go out to eat with.
Friends who take note of good deals and information on things I’m interested in buying/doing/writing about and either send links or save clippings for me.
Friends who call to gently remind me about things I need to do.
Friends who are willing to go traveling with me.
Friends who are willing to spend their day joy riding with me.
Friends who know about cars and other mechanical things, and are willing to check them over for me.
Friends who respond to emails asking for help—you know who you are.
Friends who don’t mind when I don’t have time to write, or when my Christmas cards arrive late.
And Friends who don’t mind when I fall asleep sitting upright on their couch.

Friends…In a time when there is so much going on in the world that brings such tragedy and sorrow to so many, I am truly blessed to know each and every one of you.

And The Winner is...

2011-01-12T13:08:00.004-05:00

Too much going on here today to even get into it. But I did want to announce the winner of January's random drawing for a copy of one of my books. The winner is....Mona Risk!

Congratulations, Mona!

Mona chose a copy of Ashton's Secret, which she said she'll be taking with her on a Fun in the Sun cruise later this month. This is the writers conference cruise I took--wow, was it two years ago already?--with several fellow writers, and it was wonderful. So wonderful I'm looking into details for my next cruise, sometime in 2012. For now, though, I'll stay on land, and keep working hard on the half a dozen projects I've got going at the moment, projects that are taking up my writing time, and leaving me with little to say here at the moment.

Soon as I have something to say, though, I'll be back! Until then, stay safe and warm, and I hope you find the time to enjoy the snow if you can, and a good book when you come back inside to get warm. Or you can skip right ahead to the good book :)

And now, I shall get back to working on my own good book...

Fridays With Louis - Are You Watching the Game?

2011-01-07T08:56:00.002-05:00

Not much going on here. I’m keeping busy with updating my websites and generating new ideas for blog posts over at the PMDD site, where I'm doing a series of posts on relationships. Getting some much needed fiction reading in, as well. I’ve hit three good books in a row, which is a triple blessing. DVD time at our house has dipped considerably, although we got the first disc of NCIS season three episodes yesterday, and enjoyed watching the season opener. (I’m not a fan of commercials, so prefer to watch TV shows and movies on DVD. Since the two closest video stores around here closed, Netflix has been wonderful about keeping us supplied with both. Currently, we’re concentrating on Westerns and enjoying Clint Eastwood’s movies.)

I was going to visit Louis today, but it snowed big time overnight and more is on the way. He’s doing well, busy shoveling snow and keeping an eye on all the games on TV. Since I don’t watch TV, I never know what’s on. He likes to tease me, asking if I’m watching the big game tonight. Seems there’s always a big game of one sort or another on, and if I watched them all, I'd never get anything done. Over the holiday weekends, I understand they were back to back, 12 hours at a time for both days.

For instance, when I spoke to him on Christmas and asked how he would spend his day, he told me there would be lots of games on, starting at noon.

“Good,” I said, teasing him, “Then you won’t have time to miss me.”

“I always miss you,” he says.

“You do?” I ask, surprised. This is news to me.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed I always miss you the day after you visit.”

“Really? That’s so sweet.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he grumbles, embarrassed.

Just now he called, saying, “I guess you’re not coming today.” He started shoveling snow last night after chow.

“Nope, I’m not even going to leave the house.”

Apparently it’s supposed to snow today and tomorrow. He ended the call by telling me to have a good weekend. I said same to you. He said, “I will. The playoffs start this weekend.”

I don’t even know what sport he’s talking about. I never know what’s going on in the world of sports, although several years ago I noticed huge displays of sodas on sale everywhere I went, and it wasn’t the middle of summer, so I asked him, “Is something going on that I’m missing? All the stores have soda on sale.”

Turned out it was March Madness. Now it’s a running joke between us. I’ll notice sodas on sale at a deep discount and ask, “What’s happening?” And he’ll tell me what’s going on in the world of sports.

It keeps him busy, just like my multiple projects keep me busy. I came up with a new idea for a series of blog posts this week, while walking around the track at the Y. Just hit me out of the blue. So now I’m on fire to start research for that, but I have about half a dozen other projects to complete, first. I never lack for ideas—just time to fit them all in.

House is warm, fridge is full, Louis is doing well, and I have projects galore to keep me busy. Life is good :).

Tips for Successful Family Gatherings

2011-01-05T10:30:00.005-05:00

Now that the holidays are over, how did your family gathering fare? Was it fun and full of happy memories, or are you just glad it’s over? Are you considering never attending another family event? Would you like to forget you even have a family? If so, you’ve come to the right place.

The easiest piece of advice if your family is toxic to you would be to Just Say No, and tell you never to go back, for your own sake and self-preservation. But life isn’t that cut and dried. There are a lot of us who genuinely would like to get along with our families and have our family gatherings filled with happy memories of good times shared. There are also a lot of us, who, for one reason or another, simply aren’t willing or ready to make that kind of a break with our fundamental family ties…because without family, even a dysfunctional family, what are we, but alone?

Nobody likes to be alone. Especially on the holidays, when, according to what see on television, everyone else is out having the time of their lives.

So today I want to offer some positive thoughts and information on things you can do to make your future family gatherings, be they over the holidays or for any family occasion, a little more pleasant.

1. Lower your expectations: Most people go into the holidays with Norman Rockwell expectations and end up deeply disappointed, even depressed and suicidal. Where do most of these expectations come from? Your television. Starting in October, advertisements abound showing happy families gathering and sharing their holiday joy. Keep in mind that these advertisements are designed to sell you products, and are not a realistic representation of what goes on in most families.

Just like skinny runway models are not true representations of the average woman, warm and fuzzy advertisements with everyone laughing and smiling around a holiday table as they pass the food and drink are not true representations of a holiday family gathering. They are somebody’s image of an ideal—and ideals are extremely hard to reproduce in everyday real life.

And don’t blame yourself if your holiday event falls short of the idealized version you see on TV. This is tantamount to blaming yourself for not having a body as hot as your favorite movie star’s. Looking good is what they get paid to do. If you got paid to look that good, you would, too. Any woman can look sexy with the right hair, clothes, and make up. If you don’t have access to the same spas, trainers, dieticians, life-coaches, cooks, housekeepers, nannies, drivers, and secretaries or assistants they do, then how can you expect yourself to look as good as they do?

Same with the happy families on TV. If you don’t have access to the same funds and production crews that they do, how can your family gathering, be it for a holiday or wedding, be as picture perfect as they portray theirs to be? They probably don’t even know each other! They’re just a bunch of strangers acting like a happy family.

So don’t fall for the emotional hype. Work with what you have, and stop trying to imitate some marketing specialist’s unrealistic image of what your family gatherings should be like.

2. Arrive with a smile and determination to look for nuggets of good humor throughout the day. If someone brings up a topic you’d rather not discuss, just smile and say, “Gee, I really haven’t thought much about that lately.” Then excuse yourself to head off for the food and or drink, maybe even asking if there is anything you can bring back for them. (If you're already at the table, pick up the nearest serving dish and offer some food. "Would you like some more mashed potatoes?") Switch the focus to them, in a non-confrontational way. Don’t let them get your goat. Once you’ve returned with whatever they might have asked for, or passed the green beans, just smile and say, “Here you go,” and then move on. Either way, the uncomfortable topic has been diverted.

3. Use the event as an opportunity for growth as a person. Practice the skills of patience, kindness, tolerance, acceptance, and/or self-control. Congratulate yourself every time you manage to take the high road and not snap out at the person who is trying to get you to lose your cool, either deliberately or inadvertently. Use it as an opportunity to learn about how you “don’t” want to be.

4. Set your intention to have a good time, no matter what. Get a good night’s sleep beforehand. Arrive rested and relaxed. Read up and prepare yourself to view the gathering as a spiritual event. One in which you know your spirit will be challenged, and you refuse to let anyone shake your good mood. One of the best books I’ve ever read that has to do with dealing with difficult people is Thank You For Being Such a Pain, by Mark Rosen.

5. Eliminate three words from your vocabulary for the day -- Always, Never, and Ever. The reasons why are explained in this article.

6. Stay sober. I know this is a hard one, because a lot of people use alcohol to get through the day, thinking it’s the only way they will be able to deal with it, but in truth alcohol only contributes to the problem, because it magnifies whatever issues are already on the table, or lurking just beneath the surface.

7. Don’t choose sides in any conflict that develops. Period.

8. Stay away from discussions involving sex, politics, and religion. Arrive prepared with alternate topics to bring up…bring photos of the kids or your last vacation. Anything important to you or your family that you’d like to share. Try not to get your feelings hurt if your efforts to share are ignored or dismissed. Congratulate yourself for at least having the willingness to try.

9. Invite a friend or two who might have nowhere else to go for the holiday dinner. Sometimes bringing new people into the situation will help to keep unruly relatives on their best behavior. Or will at least make them consider restraining themselves in the presence of guests.

10. Drive separately, so that you can escape if need be. If you can’t leave the house, then leave the room. Go into the kitchen and see if you can help there. Busy yourself with clearing plates and empty drink glasses/cans. Or just go and refill your own drink. Maybe spend some time in the bathroom, practicing deep breathing exercises. Go for a walk if you can. While you’re in the bathroom or on that walk, call a friend you’ve arranged to call beforehand if things get dicey. Enlist some moral support, and do it guilt-free.

11. And it may well go against the grain, but if you feel you absolutely must go to the family gathering, then go and aim for one positive encounter during the event, and build from there. Next time aim for two, and privately celebrate your successes. It might take a few years to get where you want to be, but if this is your family, or your mate’s family, you’ll have as many years as you need to, to work on it.

12. Another sanity-saving option is to arrive late and leave early. Simply limit your time with your closest relatives, so that whatever of the above you might be willing to try has a bigger chance of success.

Below are some other excellent resources for success:Overall tips on dealing with holiday stress:

The Happiness Project: Eight Tips for Dealing With Difficult Relatives over the Holidays

This article from Spiritual Zen has some really good ideas, such as be prepared and have a plan, seek to understand rather than be understood, and know when enough is enough.

And for the less spiritual and more practical among us: Practical Tips for Dealing With Difficult Relatives Over the Holidays

When all else fails, disengage.

Because sometimes nothing less than Just Say No will do. Plan an alternate holiday gathering/event and proceed with it guilt-free, telling your family you’re simply taking a break and will see them next time.

Christmas is Here! Hallelujah!

2010-12-29T08:56:00.004-05:00

Christmas is here! Christmas is here! Once it started, I haven't stopped moving. I can't believe its been a week since I posted, and I don't have time to post again today...my son is home from school, and I have too much going on. We had a wonderful, blessed Christmas, and good things just keep happening. Now I can send my cards out, so that's on the menu for today. I did want to post this on Christmas Day, but time got away from me, so here goes!

Fridays With Louis - Where's Your Christmas Spirit?

2010-12-22T08:56:00.006-05:00

Well, I felt so warm and fuzzy after my last post about Louis that I decided to take advantage of a supposed break in the weather and go to see him. It wasn’t a surprise visit this time, as he’d called the day before, but my arrival time was a surprise, since the weather decided to change up on me mid-trip and start snowing.

So I’m almost there and the phone rings. I debate whether to answer, knowing he will be stressed if I don’t, but then hit a stretch of straight road, so I do.

“I’m worried about you,” he says without preamble.

“I’m worried about me,” I answer glibly. “This is not fun.”

Silence. Louis doesn’t have a response to my comment.

“Fifteen minutes,” I say, and we hang up.

When I get there, he grumps, “You know, when someone says they’re worried about you, you’re supposed to say, ‘I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about.” Not ‘I’m worried about me, too.’ What am I supposed to do with that? What can I do if something goes wrong?”

To which I answered, “Then why did you call?”

He just rolled his eyes.

I’m one of those people who tends to take questions literally. If you ask me ‘How are you?’ I will tell you. I know the socially correct answer is to smile, say fine and keep walking, but to me that doesn’t feel right. If I ask you how you are, it’s because I want to know. I’m not just being polite.

This is where I differ from most of society—including Louis. No matter what is going on, Louis will say he is fine and there’s nothing to worry about. If I’m having trouble, on the road or at home, he’ll say the same thing. Everything will be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.

Easy to say, but not so easy when you’re the one living it. I suppose in the end it always does turn out fine, but when you’re going through it…

Not that I complain. I’m not one of those who will stop and tell you everything that’s going wrong in my life. I just don’t give pat answers to standard questions. For instance, when I go to the Y and people ask, “How are you?” I usually smile and answer, “I’m here.”

To me this means I’m feeling well enough to come here and exercise, so I must be doing all right.

There is one man at the Y who ‘gets’ me. He’s about 80, and I think the Y is a big part of his social life. Anyway, he’ll say, “How are you today?” and I’ll say, “I’m here,” and he’ll laugh and say, “You got that right. Better to be seen than viewed.”

Anyway, I’m not the most politically correct person on the block. So this naturally lead to a conversation with Louis about Christmas. He wanted to know what I’d done in preparation for it. How I do Christmas.

I said I haven’t done anything yet. It’s still Advent.

What do you mean? You didn’t decorate? You don’t have a tree up? What about presents? Don’t you have presents under your tree? What kind of Christmas is that?

My kind of Christmas. To me, it’s not Christmas until Christmas Eve. We do the Advent wreath, the Advent candles, and have an Advent calendar with little doors you open every day, counting down until Christmas. I write my holiday letter, but don’t send out my Christmas cards before Christmas Eve. I spend Advent doing Advent. Waiting and watching and reflecting.

Some call this opting out. Louis is horrified. He tells me I have no Christmas Spirit.

I said, “When Christmas comes, I’ll have plenty of Christmas Spirit. It’s not Christmas yet.”

“I’ll decorate the tree on Christmas Eve,” I said. “With the little Santa boot ornaments you sent me a long time ago.”

“And what? Leave it up for a couple of days?”

“No, it stays up until January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany, when the Three Wise Men came to see Jesus. It stays up through the twelve days of Christmas.”

“Oh, I get it. You don’t celebrate Christmas like everybody else. You celebrate the religious Christmas.”

I guess I do.

“Well, what about your son? What kind of Christmas is that for him?” Louis wants to know.

I said, “He gets that kind of Christmas from his dad’s side of the family. They have a huge tree with presents spilling out into half the room. I’m just showing him a different way. Then, when he has his own family, he can do whatever he wants for Christmas.”

So I thought about it on the way home, wondering if indeed I didn’t have any Christmas Spirit, and when my mom called later that night, I asked her about how we used to celebrate Christmas as a family.

“We didn’t decorate the tree until Christmas Eve, right?” I asked.

Right. And so she explained that we did it the European way. On Christmas Eve, we had a big dinner, then we decorated the tree, then we went to church, and then when we got home, we opened our presents—all of them. Although back then Christmas wasn’t the big extravaganza it is now—we usually got one big present and maybe up to half a dozen smaller ones.

On Christmas day,” she said, “and the day after, Boxing Day, we played with our presents and visited friends and family.”

I knew I got it from somewhere. I’ve simply returned to my roots. Advent first, then Christmas.

How do you celebrate Christmas?

Life is Beautiful -- If You Choose to Make it So

2010-12-19T11:28:00.007-05:00

Shows how humor is a rich spiritual resource that enables us to cope with the unexpected and to smile through the unbearable. ~ Just one review of the movie, Life is Beautiful, which opened tomorrow, December 20, in 1997, and received seven Academy Award nominations

This month, instead of discussing a book we’d read since the last meeting, my church book club gathered at the home of one of our members to watch the movie, Life is Beautiful. Reviews on the movie are mixed, some finding it profound, others finding it schmaltzy. You’d have to watch it to decide for yourself, but it was an Italian movie, dubbed in English, about a Jewish man and his family who were taken to a concentration camp during World War II.

The story is not true, in fact bills itself as a fable, but that makes it no less poignant. (It does come from truth, however, as the writer, director, and main character’s father spent two years in a concentration camp.)

In the movie, the main character, Guido, is able to keep his five-year-old son with him by hiding him in the barracks. What is so amazing about this man is how he turns their horrific death camp experience into a game for the sake of his son. Never does he show fear or lose his optimism. He convinces the boy that they are playing a game, and the first person to win 1000 points wins an army tank, something the boy covets.

To earn points, the boy has to do exactly what his father says. Stay hidden, be quiet, not complain, and not quit. The father then, after working all day to the point of exhaustion and beyond in an anvil factory, comes back to the barracks full of enthusiasm and smiles to entertain his son. Never once does his son know the fear that pervades the camp. And twice Guido manages to get a message to his wife, who is not Jewish, but insisted on getting on the same train with her husband, to let her know he and their son are alive and well.

The question was asked after the movie, Could you do that for someone you loved? Could you keep your attitude relentlessly positive in the face of overwhelming odds against a positive outcome?

Most of us with children insisted that absolutely for their sake we would try—and have successfully done so many times on a much smaller scale. Another told us of helping a loved one through a grave illness, without once ever showing fear.

Another question was who in our lives could be considered our Guido.

For me, the answer was easy. Louis. Like Guido, Louis has an overwhelmingly positive attitude about life. I’ve never met anyone who consistently finds the good in any situation. He has a way of finding the beauty in, and expressing gratitude for, the smallest things. Rarely, if ever, do I hear him grumble about his life, circumstances, or situation. And if I start to do so on his behalf, he eventually manages to talk me out of it.

“It’s not worth the trouble,” he’ll say. People take advantage of him, and things are either stolen or taken from him all the time, others lost or broken in transit. He once told me, “It doesn’t pay to get too attached to anything in prison.” This includes people, places, and things. The entire sum of his worldly goods fits into one footlocker, or the equivalent of two cardboard boxes the size of a case of paper for a printer or photocopier.

His life is not his own, and yet, wherever he goes, he somehow finds a way to make it his own, finds a way to make it matter. He’s found a way to be happy, day in and day out, even knowing he will never leave prison. In many ways he is more free--free in spirit—than most people I know, including myself. Hardly anything gets him down, and if it does, it’s not for long.

Even when he was locked up in isolation for nine months, waiting for a transfer, he was patient and upbeat and quick to assure me he was fine. No matter what negativity is going on behind the walls, whenever I go to visit him, he leaves all of it behind, and soon has me in stitches, laughing so hard that people stare.

How can someone who lives in such deprived—and often depraved--circumstances do such a thing? The answer is beyond me. But, like the movie, Louis’s life is a testament to the power of the human spirit. He’s the strongest man I know, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Completely independent of anyone besides himself, and yet he has a consistently caring, giving, and generous spirit that frankly, I have yet to encounter outside his prison walls.

Most people give when they have something to spare. Louis gives even when he has nothing, even when it means he, himself, will go without.

A National Institutes of Health study suggests that the region of the brain that inhibits risky behavior is not fully formed until age 25, which in part explains why most of us do the stupid things we do in our early twenties, when we think we are invincible and will live forever. Louis went to prison for life at the age of 22, before his brain was even fully formed. I have long said he is not guilty of murder, but of erroneous thinking, and this study would seem to validate that.

But now, at age 54, he is a man who knows right from wrong, who knows his own limitations, who no longer thinks he is invincible, and who is far from stupid. Among other things, he has learned how to turn negatives into positives, how to be flexible and flow with the near-constant winds of change in his environment, how to treat others with respect, kindness, dignity, and compassion, and how to make those who encounter him forget where they are and laugh. Laugh heartily and loudly.

Just like Guido in Life is Beautiful.

I have learned much from Louis in the areas of overcoming fear, extending forgiveness, treating people with dignity and honor, and expressing gratitude. I feel blessed to be able to continue to learn from him each and every day.

Because it’s people like Louis who do, indeed, make life beautiful.

A Glimpse Inside Two Very Different Lives

2010-12-15T10:34:00.004-05:00

First, a little housekeeping...The winner for November's monthly drawing of an autographed copy of one of my books, winner's choice, is....Pamela! Congratulations, Pamela, and thank you for taking the time to comment on my blog :).

My new electric stove has arrived and been set up, and yesterday I made an awesome soup with a package of 15 kinds of dry beans, soaked overnight, and then I added carrots, celery, onions, a can of diced tomatoes and half a pound of buffalo chicken from the deli that was a bit too spicy for sandwiches. It balanced out the beans perfectly, giving the soup a nice, tasty, bite. Nothing could be better on a cold, snowy day in December. The best part is this is one soup I can re-create for friends. Since usually I use leftovers to make my soups, that's not usually the case.

Today is a relatively light day on the blog. Over at the PMDD blog, I'm doing a series on Relationships, and today I wrote a post on How to Be a Friend to Yourself. So if you have the time, I'd love it if you'd stop by and check it out, as the advice in it applies to all women, not just those of us with PMDD.

The flip side of that is on Marc's blog, 400 Days, I posted a memorandum he wrote on the sorts of behaviors you can expect from a man recently released from prison. When I first read it, I couldn't stop laughing. It's the kind of insider joke that seems hilarious on the surface, but then you realize its because if you don't laugh, you'll cry.

Enjoy, and be blessed.

Advent Reflection Continues

2010-12-12T13:11:00.005-05:00

Advent is concerned with that very connection between memory and hope which is so necessary to man. Advent's intention is to awaken the most profound and basic emotional memory within us, namely, the memory of the God who became a child. This is a healing memory; it brings hope. The purpose of the Church's year is continually to rehearse her great history of memories, to awaken the heart's memory so that it can discern the star of hope.

It is the beautiful task of Advent to awaken in all of us memories of goodness and thus to open doors of hope. ~Pope Benedict XVI, written when he was still a Cardinal, in Seek That Which is Above, 1986

Taking the day to read and reflect. Advent blessings to you all.

Fridays With Louis - A Mishmash of Things

2010-12-10T13:05:00.006-05:00

Holy Cow, it’s after one and I just realized it’s Friday again. Here I was thinking I had nothing pressing to do or write today (for a change), and so I spent the morning leisurely drafting my first holiday letter in two years. Got my first Christmas card and letter yesterday in the mail—and Chocolates (Chocolates!) from a not-so-secret Santa (you know who you are!)--and was overcome with the Christmas spirit and nostalgia for writing my own letter again.

Letter drafted—it won’t go out until after Christmas--I took a break to eat lunch and realized what day it is. Fridays with Louis. How I keep forgetting about that is beyond me.

Probably because there’s nothing out of the ordinary going on to remind me--for which I am extremely grateful, and will not complain, thank you.

Anyway, I got to speak to him twice this week—he also called on Sunday night but spoke with my son, since I’d already bundled off to bed with my hot packs and bronchitis—and he’s doing well. (Didn’t catch my bronchitis after all, lucky devil.)

Not much new going on there…he got a haircut this week and visited the eye doctor for new glasses, and is sore from shoveling snow, but looking forward to more. I don't know anyone who enjoys the snow and cold as much as Louis does.

“Good thing you came to see me when you did,” he said this morning, and I wryly said, “Yeah, good thing I did.”

When I see him again will be determined by the cold and snow.

Anyway, he says my bronchitis still sounds nasty—actually, it still feels nasty—the Crud lives on--and is now trying to figure out the best way to deal with my latest dilemma—how to get rid of the army of ants who have been coming in under the baseboards daily now that the ground is freezing and they’re looking for food and water.

Drop a Cheerio on the floor and they are all over it. The other night my son dropped a piece of lettuce while making the salads, and by the time I was doing the dishes the ants had swarmed it.

Who knew they liked lettuce?

Since I am extremely sensitive to chemicals like pesticides, I’m looking for a natural solution. If anyone has ideas, don’t hesitate to speak up. (I'll even share my chocolates.) I do not want to be sharing space with hoardes of ants all winter.

Other than that, nothing is new, so I will see what I can find in the way of a Letters to Laura excerpt. Oh, here's one. It’s cut and paste from a previous post (but I’m sure nobody reads and remembers all of them), and it has to do with Christmas, and the kind of reflections we’re encouraged to make for Advent.

November 4
Dear Laura,
This may be long. Your letter caught me by surprise. When I felt the thickness of it, I thought it was a bunch of filler again. Wow. I really enjoyed your letter, but more importantly I now know you consider me a friend and that makes me happy.
I’m glad your storm doors are on and your house is completed. You’ll probably have a cozy Christmas.
Christmas is a bad time for me in the hole. Very depressing. Give me a TV and sports and I can hack the holidays. Usually, I’m compulsive about clearing my desk, but this year I’ll leave some stuff to do so I can keep busy over Christmas.
One year I was in the hole in Frackville and there was a mall across the street. I could see it from my window. It drove me nuts with all the Christmas decorations.
Let me ask you something. Why does a nice-looking girl go out with a not-so-good-looking guy? Because women look for signs of love and caring in their men, and men look to the physical first. Most of the time, that’s as far as it goes. They never get beyond the physical, never bother to find out whether the woman is nice on the inside.
Let me tell you a story. I knew this dude in here who re-connected with his first love, after 20 years. They wrote to each other every day. He made 30-minute phone calls to her--this was back when 30-minute phone calls were allowed. He hadn’t seen her in 20 years, and he still saw her as she was back then.
Then she visited him.
He told me he had to make himself smile so he wouldn’t hurt her feelings. He couldn’t deal with the changes in her.
To be honest, I don’t know if I could, either. I’ve never seen a woman age progressively.
If I were to get out and meet a woman, I’d tell her where I’d been for the past 20 years. It wouldn’t be my opening line, but in the course of the first couple of conversations I’d tell her, “Look, before we go any further I want you to know I was in jail.”
She’d either see my sincerity and appreciate it, or say, “See ya later.”
Listen, I’ve written to Coach’s wife twice a week since 1983. She’s very religious. I’ve written to Mrs. O since 1978. She’s very religious, too. They’ve tried all sorts of things to get me to believe in God, and I’ve tried very hard to do it, just to please them. My sister the Mormon preaches at me, too.
But do you know who got through to me about God? YOU!!
Do I believe? Yes!
But I don’t know which God is the real God.
Buddhism has helped me there. Buddha believed in a higher power, but didn’t know or say who God is. At least he hasn’t yet, according to the books I’m reading.
I think the emotional pain I’m feeling these days lies in knowing I messed up my life.
Now I’m praying there’s an afterlife. I want another chance.
Jeez, I must be going through some kind of mid-life crisis.
Well, my friend. . .thanks for listening.
Peace be with you,
Louis

Advent Reflections

2010-12-08T12:10:00.001-05:00

Things are trundling along here, slowly but surely. I’m in the fifth day of antibiotics for my bronchitis and finally feeling somewhat human again, thinking about heading out to the Y for a short walk. As long as I don’t have to talk to anybody, I should be fine. Talking makes me cough, as does eating, so I haven’t felt much like doing either for a while. But darn, this is getting OLD.

Still, it’s Advent and I have much to be thankful for. A warm house, lots of hot soup, books, music, and the cats to keep me company. A computer to write blog posts on, as well as letters and countless other things—like website updates, which are next on my list of things to do as soon as I get a chance.

Speaking of the computer, I would be lost without mine. As part of my Advent reflections, this year I thought I’d spend the next few weeks taking an inventory of my life, reflecting on what I have to be grateful for.

My first candidate is The Internet. Where would I be without it? Certainly not sitting here warm and cozy in my house and not having to deal with bad weather on top of not feeling my best.

A brief rundown of just 20 things looked up or accomplished via the internet recently includes:

A pumpkin pie recipe using fresh pumpkin
Recipes using maple syrup
The weather here and where Louis is
Song lyrics
What books are due at the library
A permission slip for a church event
Videos that made me laugh and videos that made me cry
Assorted medical information
My son’s grades
Blog posts by friends

Wrote and sold an article to a magazine
Received payment for work done
Ordered vitamins
Paid a bill
Renewed a membership
Shared information on PMDD
Made plans with and/or kept in touch with friends
Announced a church social event I am organizing
Passed on a prayer request from a friend
Exchanged manuscripts with a friend

No wonder my days are booked solid, with a choice of at least four things to do at any given moment. I do, however, turn off the computer each evening, to spend some time either watching DVDs with my son or reading. But before that, it’s usually on for 8-12 hours a day, depending on how many errands I have to run that day or if I’m off to the Y. That may sound like a lot of computer time, and it is, but all I can think about is the amount of time I’d spend running around to do the same amount of work. Mailing, calling, dropping things off and picking things up.

It would take days. And most of it wouldn’t even get done. It wouldn’t be worth the effort.

Hmmmm…I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Off to do some more reflecting :)

Advent Begins - The Feast of St. Nicholas

2010-12-05T09:19:00.004-05:00

I move to the beat of a different drummer, in that I celebrate Advent. I don't celebrate Christmas until Christmas comes. So I'm not part of the shopping frenzy, I don't decorate, and I don't bake. I'll put up the tree on Christmas Eve. I send my Christmas cards (if I do them at all) out after the 25th. I tend to avoid Christmas parties, but do attend shows and concerts of Christmas music.

But overall, this is a very quiet time of year for me, a time of waiting and reflection. Last year my Advent reflection produced my soup for the homeless project, which is something I've continued to do. I now have a friend helping me with it, and that makes it so much more fun. We get together every 4-6 weeks and make either soup or a casserole, and some kind of dessert, then drop it off at the homeless shelter.

On Friday we dropped off three gallons of homemade minestrone soup, and enough Christmas cookies for 24 men.

Tomorrow, December 6, is the Feast of St. Nicholas, so I've pulled this quote from a site with quotes about Advent and Christmas.

A St. Nicholas’ Note . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Edward Hays, A Pilgrim’s Almanac (adapted)

"It is fitting that the feast of St. Nicholas comes at the beginning of Advent and the beginning of the shopper’s season. As the patron saint of shoppers he proclaims, ‘Keep it simple!’ Keep it simple enough to fit in a shoe or a stocking.

"One gift that could fit in a…shoe, or in a stocking hanging on the fireplace, is a note that speaks of one of our most precious gifts, the gift of time. Such a St. Nicholas note might read: ‘The gift I give to you is half an hour of quality conversation each night right after the dishes are done.’ Or, ‘The gift I give to you is one Saturday a month to be with you and do whatever you want to do.’ We can appreciate the value of such a gift if we keep in mind that according to a recent survey, the average married couple in America has only 30 minutes a week of communication outside of exchanges that take place at the dinner table, and between parent and child is only 14 minutes. As you can see, the possibilities are almost unlimited for these St. Nicholas shoe gifts.

"Come, St. Nicholas, patron of shoppers and gift-seekers, and make Christmas this year fun, creative and love-filled."

Reading the above, I am extremely grateful that my son and I spend more than 14 minutes a week talking. And, according to this, I talk to Louis more minutes a week than the average married couple communicates.

How can this be?

It's something to reflect on in the coming week, as we continue to open the little doors of our Advent calender, one by one.

Busy Day - Catching Up

2010-12-03T09:38:00.005-05:00

The snow we were expecting last week has finally arrived, and I've got a busy day going. After three weeks of coughing and hacking, I'm finally going to see the doctor about this crud that just won't go away. Seems no amount of hot packs and fluids and vitamin C will do the trick this time. I made soup for the homeless shelter this morning for the first time in six months, due to 1) not being able to lift the pot while my shoulder was bad and 2) making other things besides soup during the summer months. Got a nice big pot of Minestrone going, and it smells heavenly, especially with the snow falling outside.

A friend from my faith sharing group made Christmas cookies, and brought a huge tray of them over, so we're meeting up after my doctor's appointment to deliver the soup and cookies. So....no time to post today. Louis is fine, spoke with him this morning, and now he's got a sore throat, cough and drainage, and of course, blames me and my surprise visit over the weekend :)

Aren't friends wonderful? Especially for sharing the good, and the not so good :).

Blessings to you all, and if it's snowing where you are, be grateful you have a home, stay warm and safe, and may you have a weekend filled with your favorite things and people.

Guest Author, Stephanie Burkhart

2010-12-01T07:40:00.003-05:00

Today's guest is Stephanie Burkhart, multi-talented and prolific author of too many genres to count! She also blogs like the wind, and is everywhere. But to catch her at home, stop by her blog, Romance Under the Moonlight, where she writes about whatever strikes her fancy. I myself was fascinated by her informational series of blogs on The Tudor Dynasty.

Last, but not least, Steph reviews books for EzineArticles.com. How she finds time to read and review books, in addition to writing so many--she has six coming out next year--just boggles my mind. She also has an adorable family that keeps her quite busy when she's not at work.

Steph has been here before, as a romance author and children's book author. Today she'd like to tell us a little about her Christmas novella from Victory Tales Press. Welcome back, Steph!

I'd like to thank Liana for having me on the blog and allowing me to visit today. Just a little about me: I was born and raised in Manchester, NH. When I was 18, this New England Patriot fan joined the US Army for a great adventure and spent 7 years overseas in Germany. I met a fair-haired California boy and we were married in Denmark in 1991. Little odd fact: I was stationed in Muenster, Germany in 1987 when Pope John Paul II visited that city.. Now, the adventure over, I work for LAPD as a 911 Operator.

My short story, "Christmas in Bayeux," is included in A Christmas Collection, Stimulating by Victory Tales Press. I'd heard only good things about VTP and they were looking for stories for their Christmas anthologies. I sent Becky an email – can you have me? Becky said 'sure,' and I was on board to write a story.

Now I had to decide what type of story I wanted to write. I hadn't written a contemporary for quite some time. I'm a big fan of Mona Risk's international contemporaries so I said to myself, I'd like to write international contemporaries and with my experiences I felt confident enough to do so.

Manchester, NH is the second largest French speaking city in the US and I took 3 years high school French. I love the language and in my studies, I grew to love the nation. France was the perfect setting for my story. I've been to Paris several times. I also visited Lembach, France in 1988 and that experience has been with me throughout the years. My experiences in Lembach made their way into the story.

Lembach is a small town in the Alsace-Lorraine region of France just over the German/French border. I was dispatched along with a fellow soldier, Private East to pick up a squad of soldiers in Pirmasens, Germany. East and I took a detour and ended up in Lembach.

Needless to say, we were an odd sight, walking around the town in our US Army military uniforms. The locals stared at us – hard. As we walked around the small town square an older man approached us. He spoke no English. I had my "French for Travelers" guide and my pronunciation was decent so I engaged him. He enthusiastically shook our hands. "Américains?" "Oui," I answered. He proceeded to thank East and I not only for our service, but also for the service of our grandfathers who liberated France from Germany.

It was a moving experience that humbled both of us.

It was lunchtime and East and I went to the local café for lunch. With my trusty "French for Travelers," I ordered our food – salad and sandwiches. We were quite the attraction in the café. Patrons stared at us. In fact, several of them approached us while we ate and thanked us. Before we left, the manager came to us. He told us our meal was free.

East and I wouldn't have it. We had francs for the occasion. Between the manager's English and my French, I learned the residents of the town loved Americans. In World War II, we had indeed liberated them from Germany's occupation. We were still heroes to them – 40 years later.

East and I were truly humbled by how the town embraced us. As we made our way back to our military van, we thanked God for this rare opportunity to visit France.

This experience found it's way into my story. Enjoy the excerpt:

She pushed two wooden double doors open and they walked into a wide open-spaced entrance hall. "Is this a museum?"
"Oui. It houses our best known prize – the Bayeux Tapestry."
"What is that?" His voice was laced in curiosity.
"Dix Euros," said the clerk. He was in his mid-thirties and wore a blue uniform.
Aiden put his hand over Noel's hand as she reached for her purse. "I'll get it."
"Vous êtes Américain?"
"Oui," said Aiden.
The clerk held out his hand. Aiden slowly took it, surprised by the gesture. What was he doing?
"Américains we like. World War II, yes? Merci – thank you," the clerk said in halting English.
Aiden was stunned. Noel said this occurred, but he didn't think it would happen to him.
"De Rein. Thank you, sir."
"Non, Monsieur, merci. Keep your money."
"Oh, I insist."
"Oui, thank you, merci."
Noel smiled at the clerk, thread her arm through Aiden's, and they walked into the museum. There were a few people milling about in the halls, but it wasn't as busy as he thought it would be. Maybe everyone was at the Christmas markets.
He paused before they got far. "You said—"
She gave him an easy smile. "You handled that well."
BLURB: Aiden Seward is an Iraq war vet who has gone to the Beaches of Normandy to heal his wounded heart. Noel Rousseau was the girl he knew as an exchange student years ago. Can Noel help heal the ache in Aiden's heart?

Buy Links:

Amazon: (print) http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Collection-Anthology-Stimulating/dp/1456304410/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1289273692&sr=8-1

Ebook, Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/29148

Create Space, Print book: https://www.createspace.com/3494425

Victory Tales Press: http://victorytalespress.yolasite.com/online-store.php

Check out the Story Teaser on You Tube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-muZ0dhOvSE

Goodie Time: Leave me a post and I'll pick out two winners to receive an autographed postcard of the cover. Tell me your favorite Christmas story and I'll pick a winner to receive a print copy of the Anthology. I'll come back on 02 DEC to pick the winners.

When Surprises Turn Out Well...

2010-11-29T11:06:00.003-05:00

Well, the ten inches of snow did not materialize, and I knew hunting season was about to begin, so I went to see Louis on Sunday. It was a surprise visit, so I didn’t know how he’d take it—he doesn’t like surprises any more than I do—but it turned out fine. He said he had an inkling I was on my way when he called at ten and I wasn’t home, but then he told himself, “Naw, she wouldn’t do that.”

She did. Meanwhile, I had my cell phone in my lap, and was hoping once he didn’t catch me at home, he’d call the cell phone so I could give him at least a few minutes warning.

He didn’t.

We had fun anyway. A short visit, only three hours, but well worth the drive. As you know, I have been feeling a bit under the weather for the past few weeks, with something I not-so-affectionately call “The Crud.” People have been emailing to ask what that is, so here goes: It’s that yucky, phlegmy sinus drainage that makes you cough every time you talk or after you eat, and if you’re a menopausal woman like me, the cough it causes, causes other consequences.

It’s also hard to sleep at night because of the drainage and you need to keep your throat lubricated, because if you don’t it can evolve into that dry tickle cough that just won’t quit. (I much prefer the deep, wet coughs that make you sound a lot more sick than you are. At least then you know things are moving, and there’s a chance of getting better soon.)

Overall, you just feel cruddy. It’s not enough to send you to the doctor, but it’s annoying and persistent and inconvenient and wears you down after a while.

I’m on the tail end of my case of it. So yesterday, while we’re talking, I feel a cough coming on, and turn my head and grab a napkin and cough into it, a nice long, full, wet one. I then set the napkin aside, and turn to find Louis looking at me in disgusted horror.

“Don’t worry, it’s not contagious,” I said. To which he replied, “Germs are germs.”

You know how he feels about germs.

I don’t want to make fun because he has at least 2300 valid reasons for wanting to avoid germs, but still, the look on his face was priceless.

When my son was little, he would use me as a human napkin. Everything he touched or ate ended up being wiped off on my sleeves, because he liked to touch my arm constantly when he talked (“Look, Mama, look!”), especially in restaurants.

Finally I gave up and stopped wearing anything that I didn’t want permanently stained. I figured it was more important to listen to what my son had to say than to look spotless, a decision I’ve never regretted making.

Anyway, once, when my son was with me, Louis did something, maybe he pretended to cough or sneeze on something, teasing my son as he passed over some food, maybe a bag of chips or candy my son wanted, the implication being that Louis wanted it and was going to make it so that my son didn’t want it any more, and without missing a beat, my son accepted the package, then wiped his hand on Louis’s sleeve, like he used to do to me.

Louis nearly shot out of his seat. It was so funny.

My son and I cracked up. Once I stopped laughing, I remember saying, “It’s obvious you were never a mom.”

We talked about the hunters, and why I refuse to visit him during deer hunting season. Louis, who is afraid of nothing, is taking this on as his new challenge, trying to talk me out of this seemingly irrational fear. He’s never heard of such a thing. People drive during deer hunting season all the time. Hundreds of people will have to drive on those same roads to get to work tomorrow, he says.

To which I said, “For which they are getting paid. I don’t have to come here.”

So he’s been asking around, and finding out that yes, the deer do tend to go somewhat crazy during deer season, especially the first week, and it’s not the best idea to be driving through the forest if you don’t have to be.

And the hunters were out in full force from what I could see. The local sportsman’s club was advertising a Hunters Party. The local motels had signs saying Hunters Welcome. Every watering hole within 45 minutes of leaving Louis had a parking lot packed with SUVs (then I started getting closer to bigger towns and less forest). Guys with down vests and plaid shirts congregated everywhere. Hunting camps I’d never before seen a car or truck at were occupied, smoke rising from the chimneys. The State Police were out in full force, stopping speeders left and right.

No, this is not an environment I care to casually go driving through next week, or the next, or the next.

Anyway, back to the visit. I like to tell Louis about how my son, when he’s been gone from home for a while, or I’ve been away and we’ve both been gone, will often walk in the door and start talking, and sometimes not stop talking for hours. Never mind that I might have been in the middle of doing something before he arrived. He has now arrived and wants my full attention. Which I am happy to provide because I adore him.

But I still think it’s funny that it clearly never occurs to him that I wasn’t just sitting there waiting for him to come home and take over my day.

So yesterday Louis tries to make that same analogy, comparing my visits to him to my son’s walking in the door at home and casually assuming I will drop whatever I am doing to sit and listen to him for however long he feels like talking. Especially an unexpected visit, like yesterday’s.

To which I just smiled and settled in deeper and said, “That’s right.”

And then I started talking.

Fridays With Louis - Just Doing Time

2010-11-26T09:58:00.005-05:00

Nothing new here. I’ve been busy being sick and working, and Louis took a day trip to the hospital this week for some problems he’s been having with acid reflux. He got scoped for scar tissue in his esophagus. (He would much rather have been going for surgery on his swollen knee, which everyone seems content to ignore, even though the doctor told him therapy wouldn't help.)

Anyway, they found out that yes, he does have scar tissue there, and the treatment is anti-reflux medication. I was supposed to visit him today, but the weather is not cooperating. We’re expecting ten inches of snow. Just spoke with him on the phone, and today’s daily meditation in the book we’ve read for years, Tao 365 by Den Ming-Dao, is about using common sense.

So home I stay, to continue to work. The weather is expected to remain bad over the weekend, and then on Monday deer hunting season begins. Since he’s in the middle of the woods, I won’t be seeing him for a while. More common sense. Between trigger happy hunters and terrified deer, taking a drive through the woods is not what I’d call the best of ideas.

That said, here is another excerpt from Letters to Laura. Enjoy, and I hope you had a blessed Thanksgiving.

September 17, 2002

Dear Laura,

My lucky day. I got to call you and received a nice letter, too. I’ll try to answer it now. Let me make a mug of coffee, first. My third of the day.
So you got a raise. Congratulations. I’m sure it’s in dollars and not cents like mine. I went from nineteen to twenty-three cents an hour.
I don’t usually eat hot dogs, either, but your birthday cookout sounded nice.
I may talk so fast on the phone to keep from stuttering, but lately I haven’t been worried about it. Generally people who stutter talk fast to keep it going, it’s an avoidance tactic.
Actually, I don’t remember worrying about stuttering at all this morning. Maybe at saying hello, which is hard for all people who stutter, but that’s it. I’m real comfortable talking with you.
I know I interrupt a lot, and that may also be due to stuttering. If I don’t speak now, I may not later, so I talk when I can.
Next Sunday night yard is over. In the winter we really get beat for yard time, so I signed up to be put on the volunteer snow-shoveling list.
By the time you get this, we will have met. Why will you be nervous? Because you’re coming into a prison? You won’t need to worry with me there.
It’ll be interesting to see who talks more on the visit, especially if I have coffee in me. I’ll try to be patient and listen to you. Just kick me.
At my previous prison I got a special food tray three times a day. All my meals were prepared in the diet kitchen by a guy who used to be a chef on the street, and were delivered to my cell. I made up my own menu and I paid for it. I only went to chow on Christmas and Thanksgiving because no food could be smuggled in on those days. Money talks and bullshit walks in prison, and probably out there, too.
Maybe I’m more compassionate about the issues women face today because I miss women in general. But I admit the courses I took on Women’s Studies really opened my eyes to women’s issues. Now I have a real respect for women, and Jews and blacks. To be treated as second-class citizens is wrong. Black women have it worst of all.
Some of the loneliest times in my life were when I was 28 to 38. I cried for a woman, but realized I was of an age where most women my age weren’t available. At the time I was making thousands of dollars and I’d be on a visit and see guys with their girls and I’d suffer inside.
Ironically, they’d be jealous of me because I had it all in prison, but I would’ve given it all up for a woman. I used to tell them that, and they’d tell me, “You can have the bitch.”
I really get on dudes when they call their girls or mothers bitches. I don’t like it at all.
Okay, I’m going to chow soon and will let this type out while I’m gone.
Louis