Off The Bookshelf

Earth, Wind & Fire -- Texas Style

2011-04-26T22:15:00.003-05:00

Readers might think this is a blog about the popular music group from the '70s. They are on tour and perform in Austin on June 11, yes. Earth, Wind & Fire appear at ACL LIVE! at the Moody Theater and tickets are still available.

That said, Texas has had its own version of earth, wind and fire the past few weeks: dry earth, high winds and wildfires that have destroyed homes and changed people's lives. Persons carrying lighted matches are forbidden. Campfires are prohibited. Fireworks are banned. Temperatures in Austin have been in the low 90s -- which is great for those who like summer in April -- but not good for the crops, lawns and blooming flowers.

As Texans look for relief from the heat and pray for rain -- Gov. Rick Perry formally asked for three days of prayer from citizens during Easter weekend -- other states are drowned in downpours. Hurricane experts predict an above-average Atlantic basin hurricane season, statistics calling for 16 named storms between June 1 and Nov. 30 this year.

Where's the balance? I ask. But there's a bright spot here and I've set the scene to simply focus on one humorous image that made me smile on my drive to work this morning.

I hurriedly drove Interstate 35 south into Downtown Austin and manuevered behind a truck to get nearer my exit. Though I hate trailing behind vehicles I can't see around, this one carried unique cargo. The sign on its rear end read "Hurricane resistant skylights."

Oh, really? I asked myself. "Hurricane resistant skylights?" Seriously?

I tried to picture it: Ike and Rita were both pretty ferocius, I recalled. Devastated cities. Destroyed homes as if they were made of straw like those in "The 3 Little Pigs." The hurricanes' power toppled towers, stranded people on rooftops.

"But, Mrs. Smith, if you'd only have purchased our 'hurricane resistant skylights' you wouldn't have all this water in your house."

No matter that Mrs. Smith's siding is gone and the grand staircase to the second floor lies across the road in her neighbor's yard!

I shook my head as I passed the truck, glancing at the flats of windows latched onto its bed. Not hardly, I thought, and laughed.

I suspect after a hurricane passes through, that new hole in Mrs. Smith's roof, compliments of Mother Nature, is more skylight than she might care to see.

Now the only question I have is, what was a truck with "hurricane resistant skylights" doing in Austin, Texas? We've not had a drop of rain -- let alone, a hurricane -- in months.

Or maybe that's where the company has success selling the products, in a place where there are no downpours of any kind -- on the dusty hills and parched plains of Texas.

Look at it this way: the promise of a "hurricane" might sound pretty good about now, to those of us wishing the skies would -- just for a day or two -- swell with thunderheads and pour forth roaring, cool liquid.

It would be an answer to prayers, washing away the high fire danger, filling lakes and streams to normal levels -- and then we can get on with life: pondering how to manage our frizzy hair because it's so darn humid here!

Hot Diggity Dog

2011-04-19T22:35:00.006-05:00

It's all in the title. I have a dog that digs. And digs.

She digs up my perennials. She tries to dig up the bushes. She's dug numerous holes in the backyard.

My life was content -- I had a lovable, trained Golden Retriever. Levi is a neutered male, almost 4. I thought he needed a playmate, and a co-worker convinced me to look to a local animal shelter.

Then I adopted Bella. That's the name I gave her when I brought her home from the rescue place on New Year's Day. She had been called Molly Ringwald. (I wonder if the actress knows she's had a dog named after her?)

It took Bella -- a black Labrador Retriever / Bassett Hound mix -- just 3 days to learn her new name. I figured I'd gotten a pretty smart dog! She's just a year old now, 3 months later. She and Levi played well together. She is cute, with the look of the black lab half -- except shorter and longer, like the hound side.

First it was one deep hole, in the middle of the best grassy spot in my spacious backyard. Then 2 more, smaller holes this time. I took to filling them in with dirt -- but she was at it again the next day, redigging in the same spot. I pulled out my hair (figuratively) while she pulled out the grass roots by the handful...uh, pawful...energetic and determined to defeat me in my repair work.

So I sought advice. "Use cayenne pepper." "Try setting mouse traps next to the plants." "Put her dog poop around the area where you don't want her to dig."

I tried them all.

The pepper worked for a few hours -- until she seemed to develop a taste for it.

Twenty mouse traps later, some plants were safe; others Bella just bullied her way through and bypassed them.

I dreaded the third suggestion, yet had no choice but to scoop the poop and pile it in rings around the posies. I wondered if next my flowers would rebel and I'd have angry blooms on my hands, along with the odor of dried dog dung in the air.

So far, the poop seems to have done the trick in keeping her from most flowers, but the open yard is still fair game. I have to watch where I step, as if land mines await, not to twist an ankle in her wake.

There was a bright spot in all this, however. One Saturday, I sat soaking in my hot tub after a day of gardening, and as the sun set behind her, darling Bella calmly walked over to the very first large hole she'd dug -- nestled herself deep in the cool ground, settled her head on the lawn's edge, her brown eyes smiling at me. She too was relaxing.

I laughed out loud, never imagining the hole's purpose was so she could be snug in her own way, being brought into a new home, with a new dog friend and a new owner -- adjusting to a new approach to life. I smiled back and enjoyed the moment.

Still, each daily deposit of turd is used to dissuade her from digging. So far, she's winning because she and Levi have the yard to themselves all day while I'm at work to do as they please.

That is, until last week. I've now had a dog run put in -- she can dig all she wants behind the chain link fence, try as she might to get out. My flowers and lawn gratefully recover from her wounds.

I hope that, by July, things will be coming up roses again.

Teens and "Sexting"

2011-03-22T22:45:00.004-05:00

It's certainly a different age today than when I was in high school (yes, stating the obvious). When I was in school, passing notes was the thing. I still have some of them saved in a box with my high school memorabilia -- truth -- tucked beneath and among the stack of yearbooks, photos and football game programs, yellowed and brittle with age.

Do teens today even know how to write with paper and pencil, given that their thumbs fly over cell phone keyboards in near constant motion, begging instant responses from dozens of friends?

It's not the same as it was in my day, breathlessly waiting to unfold a note written by that 'special' guy as he hid behind a book in history class, seeming to pay attention but not, then passed via another friend to land in my hands a few class periods -- or days -- later.

I see the advantages of texting fast and furious today -- I'm guilty of doing it myself and it's great.

But it's this bizarre practice of 'sexting,' as it's known -- sending nude photos via smartphones -- that leaves me speechless as to its stupidity. What are they thinking!?

Apparently, they're not.

Just one story in today's news is another instance of a teen romance gone wrong -- and what does the 'angry' guy do, but send to all his buddies on the football team the nude photos of the now-girl-who-dumped-him-who-was-once-so-special. What was he thinking?!

It blows my mind to picture these kids -- and that's what they are -- as being so open, so uninhibited, so non-thinking that they can't look beyond the present moment of 'being in love' and share in a global way their intimate photos -- assuming the recipient will 'never' be tempted to share these pictures with anyone else.

These kids were on computers at ages when the rest of us (note: parents) were managing training wheels on bicycles. They know the world of the Internet, they know the ease of pushing a few keys on a phone to blast information across the world in nanoseconds -- yet they take such risks without considering what they're doing is actually illegal, considering pornography laws. Because that's what it is -- and they get in trouble for doing it, if caught.

Yes, I realize Internet porn sites abound. I know our world is seething with images that many sickos can access from the comfort of their living rooms, and it's a sad state of decline, in my opinion. Let the adults deal with their own problems. I'm ranting about teenagers.

Kids -- WAKE UP. You most likely will not be marrying that current boyfriend or girlfriend -- and when you break up, if it's an ugly scene, realize that person may be hurt and angry and want to harm you. What better way to do it than to share personal information about you? Nothing is more personal than a nude photo of yourself, right? Do you really want it spread all over the Internet or sent to people who have no right to see you naked? Value yourself enough to keep what's private...private.

Parents -- watch what your teens are doing on those cell phones you pay for. Do you want your children to be forever tagged a 'sex offender' for photos they've e-mailed because they think it's the cool thing to do? Have you ever had a talk with your child about this 'sexting' thing? You should -- as soon as possible.

Call me old fashioned. But don't call me a prude. Just call me a woman who still believes that some things are meant to be shared behind closed doors -- and not transmitted in an instant for the sake of titillation or something so absurd as wanting to be 'popular.'

It goes without saying that that kind of popularity has consequences much more harmful than getting caught passing silly notes in class.

Starting life over -- again

2011-03-03T23:56:00.005-06:00

I'm not much of a cat lover -- though I used to be when I was a kid. Now dogs are my thing -- I have two of them.

But I suspect I'm part cat, because I've started life over enough since leaving my parents' home in the early 1970s that I'm slowly using up those nine lives each decade, it seems.

No blog posts here since November 2008 until now, March 2011, is a giveaway that life took a turn and this public writing thing came to a standstill. Starts and stops like an old klunker car, life seems to move slowly, but in reality, in the blink of an eye, more than two years have passed.

I left Colorado -- my home for nearly 36 years -- for the Lone Star State, landing in Austin, Texas, seven months ago. And things are lookin' up! The warm weather, the friendly people, the MUSIC, many eclectic restaurants, entertainment everywhere -- a dynamic future for the hottest spot in Texas, from what I can tell.

I think I'm gonna like it here...y'all!

Barack Obama chose death instead of life for infants

2008-11-02T17:18:00.007-06:00

With the state of the economy so much at the forefront the past few weeks, it seems to overshadow other issues that ought to be included when voters make their decisions and soon cast votes for the next U.S. President.

I believe the issue of abortion continues to define our society. What can be said about a culture that continues to ravage women's wombs, tearing life from an innermost, sacred organ that provides nourishment, warmth and safety for a growing human being? And then says it is okay?

Furthermore, what can be said about a man who has voted against Born Alive four times in three years and was the sole senator to speak against it on the Senate floor in 2001 and 2002? Is this a man who has the integrity to be the head of the most powerful country on earth? I think not.

You guessed it--his name is Sen. Barack Obama. All his smooth-talking rhetoric can't erase his record and stance on this very delicate issue.

The economy may be in shambles. Taxes will go up, no doubt, if he's elected. And botched-abortion babies will continue to be left to die in the shadows of hospitals--at least, in Illinois--because Obama apparently views them as items to be thrown away and not cared for.

If a man cannot stand up for the unborn--nor even those born alive though meant to be aborted--what will he do with the infirm, the weak and the unwanted members of our country, once he's in charge of running it?

I fear for our country if Obama wins.

As you cast your vote this week, consider the abortion issue and put aside worrying about your money. If you're on a computer reading this, chances are you're not homeless, starving, naked and cold. But botched-abortion babies have been left to die just that way.

Reprinted with permission from the Elliot Institute, Springfield, IL:

"Few people know about widespread unwanted, coerced or even forced abortions in America.
Few fully understand its heartbreaking, even deadly, aftermath for teens and women of all ages.
Why are they calling abortion The UnChoice?

* 64% of abortions involve coercion; 84% were not fully informed.
* Over 50% of women having abortions felt rushed and uncertain beforehand, yet
*67% received no counseling beforehand and 79% were not told about alternatives.
* Most suffer symptoms of trauma. Most face a higher risk of injury or death.
* Coercion can escalate to violence. Homicide is the #1 killer of pregnant women.

Those who pressure or force teens and women into unwanted abortions need to know:
* Risk of death for women is 62% higher after abortion.
* 31% suffer health complications after abortion.
* 65% suffer symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
* Clinical depression risk is 65% higher after abortion.
* Suicide rates are 6 times higher after abortion.

Please support leaders who advocate for authentic women’s rights, including freedom from unwanted, unsafe and unfair abortions. Learn more at TheUnChoice.com."

Dems and GOP making BBQ pork

2008-09-10T20:13:00.009-05:00

Politics never seems to change, no matter what the year or which political party has the lead in polls.

As much as the Republican ticket this year is a breath of fresh air, the air in the past few days is getting pretty stale.

As much as Obama seemed to be a “new” type of leader after the Democratic National Convention ended, he’s no different.

It's the same, old hot air. Nothing but insults being flung back and forth.

What don’t these political figures get?

Let's talk about economics, McCain. You did choose a unique running mate, but it's time to get the spotlight off of Sarah Palin and on to your plans for the country. It’s time to focus on the future and not on your POW past.

Let's focus on the issues, Obama. Quit with the "...ums..." and evasive answers. So you went on Bill O'Reilly's show. Seems that he pinned you in the corner a few times and you couldn't handle it.

Was your running mate, Joe Biden, really serious with the comment he made today about Hillary Clinton? That she is more qualified to be vice president than you are? Does the Obama camp think that will earn the Democratic ticket votes?

There are less than 60 days until the national election on November 4. That’s not much time to educate the public with specifics so we can make an educated vote about which person to vote for.

It’s being said this is a popularity contest. Well, in part it may be, but is that the best way to approach choosing the next leader of the most influential country in the world?

If we wanted to enjoy a pig roast, we’d go to the nearest BBQ restaurant.

McCain, Palin rally held in Colorado Springs

2008-09-10T20:08:00.003-05:00

I couldn’t help but notice the lack of African Americans in attendance at Saturday's Republican political rally for Sen. John McCain and Gov. Sarah Palin. The event was held inside and outside of a hangar at the old Colorado Springs Airport.

Thousands turned out to greet the nominees who arrived on stage about 12:30 p.m. and spoke for roughly 30 minutes total. Cindy McCain stood alongside her husband, bright and smiling from the stage dressed in a bright green dress with orange short sweater vest.

The hockey moms were there. So were Men for McCain, Hispanics for McCain, Democrats for McCain, Catholics for McCain. The signs read so. Cheerleaders, boy scouts, musicians, volunteers and community residents from infants to the elderly joined them.

Many braved the warming sun and stood for hours within the fenced-off area on concrete, crammed like sardines in a can. The lucky ones had credentials that allowed them into the shade of the open hangar, at the front, closer to the stage.

Mayor Lionel Rivera, State Rep. Amy Stephens, Rep. Marilyn Mugrave, and candidate for U.S. Representative Bob Schaffer were front-and-center to greet the crowd and participate in the rally.

One group of family members I spoke with at the end of the rally said they are long-time Republican volunteers. Melanie Richey and her two sons, Jim, 18, and Christopher, 17, said “the rally was phenomenal, energizing.”

The boys remembered working when they were younger to help elect George W. Bush. They went door-to-door handing out information with their parents. They plan to help again this election.

Jim, who attends University of Colorado—Colorado Springs, said he likes McCain because of his “view on economics.”

Christopher, a senior at Rampart High School, said he has been interested in politics and last year took an AP Government class.

“My husband, John, is an Air Force reservist,” said Melanie. “We’re strong supporters and all of us will help this year, as a family, making phone calls and going door-to-door.” She said she had been undecided about supporting John McCain until he chose Sarah Palin as his running mate—a viewpoint many people are beginning to express, if we’re to believe what we’re hearing from the national media.

The family watched McCain and Palin give their speeches on television last week from the Republican National Convention. Saturday's rally messages were identical, though shortened versions of last week’s. This didn’t bother the Richeys.

“It helps to reinforce the message,” said Melanie.

Mayor Lionel Rivera and his wife, Lynn, agreed. I caught up with them in the parking lot after the rally, and asked them what they thought about McCain and Palin doing a repeat of their convention speeches.

“What you learn in politics is to reinforce the message,” said Rivera, expressing the need for McCain to do that.

I, for one, am happy he's put a woman on the ticket. The Democrats didn't see the wisdom in doing it, and now it's sure to be an exciting race.

The question for me, after today, is whether or not that message will reach the African American community. Given that McCain is stressing “Country First” in his platform, doesn’t that convey a concern for all Americans? The U.S.A. cannot afford to become any more divided than it already is, when we think of current immigration issues, or concerns of the poor versus the wealthy, healthcare and the national economy.

Have we as a nation not come further than to look at the choice of candidates as being “black” or “white?” Voters do best when they vote conscience and stance on issues versus a mindset that was fought and mostly conquered in the 1960s.

Barack Obama has frequently said we shouldn’t be a country of conservatives or liberal, but that “we’re all Americans.”

It’s unfortunate that today a balanced representation of all Americans was missing at the rally. Let's hope it's not because they don't care enough to get out and vote. Or is it that McCain's message doesn't yet resonate with all segments of the population?

Palin Power electrifies the campaign

2008-09-10T20:04:00.002-05:00

“Palin Power” read the hand-written signs held up at last week's Republican National Convention during the speech by Gov. Sarah Palin as she accepted the nomination to be vice president.

Next might be “Pit Bull Power” as she unleashes the energy she’ll need in the coming weeks when Democrats attack her, referring to the joke in her speech about the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull (“Lipstick.”)

If nothing else, she’s infused electricity into this year’s presidential election in less than a week. No small task, given that the woman of the hour had recently been Sen. Hillary Clinton. One wonders what the senator’s thoughts about this newcomer are. National media doesn’t seem too anxious to put a microphone to Clinton’s lips these days.

Can Palin’s power build to the point that this country will make the move to elect its first female vice president?

If the reaction of last night’s Republican crowd—made up of males and females—is an indication of what the rest of the country is feeling about this new face in the national political scene, then the White House will soon be making room for a baby crib in the Oval Office. And that’s not a bad thing.

Palin, I believe, is relatable to the American public. As she said last week, she understands the challenges many families face. Her small-town upbringing is common across this country.
We don’t often hear much from the rural areas and communities of less than 10,000 population. It’s the big cities like New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco that make the nightly news.

However, it’s the residents of those smaller cities who are the backbone of this nation.

We love a good story about “small town boy makes good.” Now, it’s a woman’s turn.

Let the Democrats complain all they want. Let them fret and worry whether or not Obama is truly the most qualified candidate.

After Palin’s speech last night, it’s evident they have something to worry about.

Gov. Palin may be the answer to a young Democrat's question

2008-09-03T19:57:00.006-05:00

In less than an hour, Gov. Sarah Palin will speak to the delegates and the country at the Republican National Convention. She will be the focus of hundreds who will pick apart every line she utters in the weeks leading up to the November election.

What I wonder, however, is what one particular young black Democratic woman will be thinking as she listens to Gov. Palin speak tonight.

This past Thursday, the final day of the Democratic National Convention, a 20s-something woman raised a question in the Youth Caucus of the speaker, Lt. Gov. John Garamendi of California.

I know—I was there, listening to the question and answer session at the end of the session.

This young woman asked, “What ideas can you give to our generation of women to combat all the negative images that we are exposed to today in the media?” She then asked, “Where can young women turn to have better images of themselves and get away from all the images of sex that degrade us?”

Garamendi compared these times to the 1970s and 1980s when his wife was young. He said she and women of her generation spoke up and got mad about a similar time, when women were looked upon as sex objects, to try to change things. He and his wife are parents of five daughters, and the Lt. Gov. said he naturally has a concern about today’s culture.

His advice to the young woman in the audience was “to speak up and get mad.”

My advice to the woman is to look at Gov. Sarah Palin.

In less than one week, we’ve learned what this woman stands for. I believe she naturally will be a role model for women of today's younger generation.

To that woman in the audience of the DNC Youth Caucus, I say, “Here’s the answer to your question--examine Sarah Palin."

We have learned only a few things about Alaska's governor since last Friday, but what we do know is she is a woman of moral values, integrity, not afraid to speak out and do what is right.

To that woman in the audience of the DNC Youth Caucus last Thursday, I say, “I hope you’re watching and listening to Gov. Palin tonight and in the days to come.”

With a woman like Palin in the White House, she can only be a positive promoter of many things dear to the heart of women of all ages: personal respect, appreciation for one’s talents and abilities, love of country and love of family—the kind of woman that is surely needed in such a time as this.

Political Conventions--Or Is It Time for a Woman in the White House?

2008-09-02T22:43:00.002-05:00

Last week I was fortunate to work the Democratic National Convention for my job with FOX21 TV in Colorado Springs. For four days I interviewed delegates, attended caucuses, and primarily nosed around for interesting things going on.

I took a lot of photos, wrote numerous articles. They are posted here at this link at www.fox21news.com under the Blogs tab: http://www.kxrm.com/news/news_blog_post_list.aspx?author=Pamela%20Cosel

I will continue to post my reflections about the Republican National Convention, but from Colorado Springs because I'm not in St. Paul, either here or at the FOX21 blog site.

John McCain, you hit this one out of the ball park in choosing Sarah Palin as your running mate! Hooray for your courage, your wisdom, for being the "maverick" that you're called by many.

Is it time for a woman in the White House? Hillary Clinton thought so. (And just what does she think of the news of the past few days? I can't imagine she's very pleased.)

While we'll come to know more about Gov. Sarah Palin in the next few weeks, for now, she seems the brilliant partner for change that the Democrats espouse -- only, yes, we know Palin is a Republican.

For all those women who have said for years that we can have it all--home, marriage, career, children--Palin seems to embody that today. Do I hear those liberal Democrats quietly screaming because it's not a "liberal" woman who is at the forefront of the political world right now?

If Palin proves to be as good as she seems to be, McCain will be a shoe-in come November.

Back Among the Bloggers

2008-08-16T20:31:00.009-05:00

This blog has been dead, dead, dead for two months...because I've been busy, busy, busy.

Sad there's not enough time in the day to just write all the time.

But that's actually, indirectly, what I'm now doing.

Two days after my last post, I started a new full-time job with the local FOX TV affiliate. So now I'm on a computer all day there instead of doing my own writing at home. But it's a kick and I'm not complainin'. To be back working directly in media--means I have to be careful what I now blog about.

They're a great group of people at this FOX station, and I'm gonna like it there. Do so far.

There's been the Olympics starting (I don't work for an NBC affiliate, so I have no/can't have any opinion there theoretically, though it is amazing to see a 41-year-old swimmer do so well!)

And the Democratic National Convention will soon be here, just an hour to the north up I-25. Speaking of Interstate 25, do I really want to maneuver my way around Denver--now that Mr. O has caused the powers-that-be to close the main artery through the city? Who does he think he is!? The President?

In 1992-1993, I worked for World Youth Day '93, coordinating logistics with all kinds of government agencies for the event that had 250,000 people from around the world traipsing through the Mile High City. On foot and in cars. Pope John Paul II never asked to have the interstate closed for him!

I guess Obama feels he's of higher authority than...well...the pope..? 'Nough said.

So back among the bloggers means I'd better be more regular with this--if anyone's going to pay attention.

Maybe my new media credentials will help me get an inside scoop that I can post here! Check back soon, ya' hear?

Hillary Clinton's Not a Quitter

2008-06-03T22:08:00.006-05:00

Let the games begin!

With the Democratic National Convention looming in August, it seems tonight that Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton is not ready to give up the fight, though Senator Barrack Obama has garnered enough delegates to gain the nomination of his party.

I say, “You go, girl.”

Oh, I won’t be voting for her. I’m a Republican and delegate for my precinct. I supported Mitt Romney, truth be told. Even had a short conversation with him at this past weekend’s Colorado Republican Convention as he autographed my credential. A friend snapped the photo (that’s me in the picture, from behind, Romney responding to my questions).

As I listened to Obama’s fiery speech tonight delivered from Minnesota, I understand why many think he is the answer for “change.” He is a dynamic speaker, powerful in his energy, one whose rhetoric almost sounds “new” – as if no one before has suggested the ideas he puts forth. But they are mere words. Can he really run this country? I think not.

I hear the crowds cheering Obama and think of the enthusiasm John F. Kennedy imparted to people in the 1960s. I was an elementary student then, but remember how my parents reacted to his youthfulness and dynamism. Yes, our family cheered when he beat Richard Nixon for the presidency. Obama is not a Kennedy.

Obama is appealing, on the surface. What lies beneath will be revealed in the coming months. He’s a lot of talk, but I wonder what his agenda for this country really is. Young may be good in the eyes of some, but he lacks critical governing experience, in my opinion.

In the meantime, I surprisingly find myself cheering on Clinton and say, no, she should not have given up the race before now. I say she should yet hold on until Denver. She has been gaining on Obama as she’s won recent primary elections, and has more of the popular vote than he does. That surely counts for something. If the Democratic Party ignores those statistics, I’d cry “foul.”

Are the “good old boys” of the Democratic Party threatened by a woman? While I hesitate to raise the issue of her gender, it seems they’ve tried to get rid of her for a long time now. For what reasons?

Whether or not she is Obama’s choice as a running mate is yet to be seen. I’d say it’s what he needs to trounce McCain, if that’s his aim. Likely, he’ll not choose Clinton, not wanting former President Bill Clinton to make it a threesome in the White House.

Therefore, as we get to know what Obama really stands for and what his plan is for the future of the United States and its people, I think most will find he’s too radical and unrealistic, and cast their votes for McCain.

And may the best (wo)man win.

Policitians Ought to Walk the Talk

2008-03-25T14:00:00.006-05:00

The news focuses on yet another fallen politician. Sex, drugs, lies. There is nothing new under the sun, as is written in Ecclesiastes 1:9. News media sensationalize--and the politicians almost gloat--as they reveal details of their fallen ways. Tiresome, typical.

I suppose the power of position makes them think they're above the law. If not the law of the land, certainly the law of what's right and wrong.

But Jesus taught let he who is without sin cast the first stone. (John 8:7). None of us is perfect.

I think we expect our politicians to be. I get tired of seeing it plastered across the news every day, in a blow-by-blow description, all the details aired. Who cares? If it's not about Brittney, it's now about the Mayor of Detroit, Kwame M. Kilpatrick. Maybe they ought to take a lesson from this short video (link below) and Walk the Talk instead. Video by SimpleTruths.com

Do You Walk the Talk?

Did Romney Really Leave Us?

2008-02-08T11:27:00.000-06:00

I hereby register my disappointment that Mitt Romney has chosen to remove himself from the presidential race. How could he! Mitt, you’ve left too early! Yet your speech yesterday made sense, and it’s wise to put the Republican Party needs at the forefront, yes, if we’re going to hold strong against the foolishness of Hillary Clinton or the flowery speeches of Barack Obama.

A John McCain supporter I can’t be. Yet. He will need to be most persuasive the next few months to convince me he’s the best choice for the Republican Party. He’s too liberal, too old, too enmeshed in the routine of Washington politics to make me believe he has the answers to take our country in the “right” direction. The only thing he’s got going for him is that he has the war experience, which in this time of war, seems to likely be what we need to deal with these times. Is he really the better answer over Hillary or Obama? Only by default, I suppose.

While I realize Mike Huckabee is an option, I hadn’t leaned toward him as I did to Governor Romney. I’m not convinced a former pastor as President is something this country is ready for.

But it’s more than that. I was sold on Romney’s stance on the economy, states’ rights, health care, immigration and abortion. He seemed to have it all lined up. Why couldn’t other people see that?

For the first time, I am a delegate to the county assembly for my precinct, and also an alternate to the state assembly . I look forward to the process. Only thing is, our precinct voted overwhelmingly in favor of Romney! The vote was 54 of 84 votes. But he’s gone, and so now I’ll have to cast my vote for one of the other two – that is, of course, unless one of them drops out by March 8 (assembly day) and there remains but one choice.

I hold on to the small hope (delusion?) that by the time the Republican National Convention rolls around, the GOP decides to draft Romney as its nominee, anyway!

Yesterday I heard Shawn Hannity comfort a caller, a single mother, on his radio show (02/07/08) as she mourned over the loss of Romney. He pointed out that no matter who is elected, her world is directly affected by the decisions she makes in her life. He was terrific, and uplifted her spirits. While we moan over who our choice for President will be, and though the things politicians decide eventually affect us all in one way or another, our lives go on. Let’s not forget we are the deciders of our own destiny, based on the actions we take.

It’s nice to have a leader at the helm who personifies our own values, however, and that’s why we each vote for whom we will.

In the end, let’s realize that, overall, God is in control. He/she knows which candidate will win far in advance any of the rest of us will know. Perhaps the next four years are to be a test for our country, based on who becomes President.

I pray it’s someone who will keep America strong on the homefront, in our own homes, and one who will uphold the values that this Nation was founded on—whether it’s economic values, personal values, or the way we deal with other countries.

Let’s hope we remain the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.

In God We Trust.

NYC Midnight: For Love of Money

2008-01-21T18:39:00.000-06:00

For the first post of 2008, below is my entry into the NYCMidnight Short Story Contest. Quite a fun challenge! All entrants are assigned a heat with a genre and subject, and we must write about that in 2500 words or less. Stories are to be written in one week and sent to NYCMidnight. Judging ends and finalists notified by February 29. Finalists will then compete for $1,000 and a trip to New York to meet with editors. The trick is -- finalists have only 24 hours to write the next short story, again, writing the genre and subject given to them by NYCMidnight. I've never written fantasy before in my life. Below is my contest entry. I'd love feedback. Readers can post comments on this blog. Thanks!

My assignment: Genre: FANTASY -- Subject: ATM

Synopsis: Cooper Kingsley lives to be wealthy, near his money, and in control.

___________________________________________________

FOR LOVE OF MONEY

Cooper Kingsley lives to be wealthy, near his money, and in control.

If Cooper Kingsley could go back to riding a horse and buggy, he would. Automobiles are machines to him, and Kingsley hates machines. Though he drives a new Lincoln, the buttons on the dashboard confuse him. A horse might smell dank and sweaty, but it’s easier.

As a young boy, he wasn’t handy with mechanical devices, though his father had tried to teach him about contraptions in the garage before he was tall enough to see above the scarred workbench. He hated machines even more for the way his father admired them, always spending time in the workshop, tinkering day and night.

Turned off, machines sit dead and silent. Turned on, they’re loud with shrill, whining sounds. They made Kingsley feel out of control, and this dislike carried over to adulthood.

Making money is where Kingsley shines. Money is what he likes. He lives to be wealthy. Very wealthy, and in control.

Kingsley likes people, too, for one reason—to boss them, make constant demands. It’s his way or no way. Never mind that he wouldn’t be missed if gone tomorrow.

This morning—like every other morning—he reads the Wall Street Journal, comfortable in his executive office, soothed by the luxury of his leather chair, high above the street ten stories below. He sips coffee spiked with a touch of expensive liqueur. No matter that it’s 10:00 AM. Somewhere in the world, it’s after noon, he knows.

Inside his office, classical music plays softly, piped in from surround-sound speakers, programmed with his favorite selections. His secretary handles its operation. Van Gogh paintings line the north wall, while expanses of glass windows fill the south and west sides of the room. Here it is quiet, serene—a contrast to the crazed chaos that takes place on the other side of the ceiling-high double doors.

***

His telephone’s private line rings, disturbing Kingsley’s reverie. He doesn’t answer it, knowing his secretary will cover for him.

A smugness spreads across Kingsley’s jowly face. Let others do the work. Let them worry about the problems of life. It’s what he thinks at least ten times a day. If a conversation turns maudlin, he puffs on his cigar and waves away the secretary, attorney, or manager who bother him with sad details of their lives. He finds them boring, like his father used to be.

A quick rap on the mahogany door interrupts his musing. “Yes, what is it, Marietta?”

“Excuse me, sir…” His secretary leans only her tight-bunned head inside. Wide owl eyes peer over the top of reading glasses.

“Come in, come in.” Kingsley is irritated, but waves her in.

“The phone, sir. It’s urgent. Your brother, Tom…your father…”

“My father? What does he want with me?” Kingsley shoves away from the desk and stands, his back to her. “Tell Tom I’m not in…” A tenseness spreads across his wide shoulders.

“But, Mr. Kingsley, he said there was an accident. He’s holding on your line.”

He runs a hand through his thinning hair. “All right, all right. I’ll talk to him,” he says. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Kingsley forces friendliness. “Hi, Tom. How are you? How’s the family?” Kingsley thinks back, remembering he’d last talked to his brother at Christmas. Here it is, August. Could it have been that long?

“Hello, Cooper.” His brother’s voice is strained, heavy.

“Go on. Talk. You know I’m a busy man. D’ya need money again?” The words are unleashed and Kingsley knows he’s said the wrong thing.

“Damn, you, Cooper! Still the same arrogant jackass, aren’t you? Some things never change.” Tom’s voice is angry.

Kingsley is quick, hoping to defuse the coming argument. “Look, Tom, I’m sorry. What is it? Something about an accident…” He hears Tom breathe deeply. Sweat moistens his palms and he switches the phone to his right ear.

“Cooper, it’s Dad. A car accident. Drunk driver broadsided him a mile from his house. He’s in intensive care. Hooked up to machines.”

Machines. Kingsley pictures the tubes in and out of his father’s orifices, hears in his mind the noises from the breathing machine.

“Well, not a good situation, now, is it?” Kingsley tries to feel sadness, but the emotion is slow in coming. “What do you want me to do?”

Tom stutters. “Uh…uh. I thought you might want to know. Fly down and be here with the family. Doctor doesn’t know if he’s going to make it.”

Kingsley is slow to respond. He taps his fingers on the desktop, thinking.

“Tom, look. I don’t know if I can get away. Call me again tomorrow and fill me in, okay? I’m sure Dad will be better then, and this will all be a bad dream, right? With good doctoring, he’ll be fine. Whadya’ say?” He’s not sure he wants to see his father, let alone, in this kind of condition.

“You’re not serious!” Tom shrieks. “Does your money mean that much to you—you can’t leave the company for something like this? It’s your father, for crying out loud! King Midas shows his true heart…”

Kingsley tries to defend himself. “Now, Tom, you know better than that. I...well…it’s a busy time of year…”

“Forget it, Cooper. Don’t bother explaining. I’m sorry I called. If he dies, I’ll let you know.” That said, Tom hangs up.

Kingsley wipes his palms with a monogrammed handkerchief, then polishes the brass nameplate that sits on his desk. He knows he should be worried about his father, but he’s learned to care only about money. He turns his thoughts to his investment funds. The headlines say the stock market is expected to fall. That concerns him.

Kingsley opens the business pages. His gaze lingers briefly on a story about the newest development in banking—a machine that takes the place of a teller. A machine—ridiculous. A machine can’t bring my coffee. A machine can’t tell me what I like to hear in meetings. An automated teller machine. Absurd.

Kingsley digests what his brother conveyed on the phone. “Odd that my father is now on an automated life machine,” he says aloud. He pictures his father breathing through a tube, fed by another tube, with switches and lights blinking on a mechanical device next to the bed. Not a fate for me. Hooked to a machine – that’s worse than death.

To dissolve the vision, Kingsley opens the drawer to his desk where he keeps the expensive liqueur, forgetting that Tom said his father’s car was hit by a drunk driver. He takes a long swallow and reaches to buzz Marietta by intercom.

“Yes, Mr. Kingsley?”

“Don’t let anyone disturb me the rest of the day. No calls, no interruptions. I’m working on reports and want to be alone. No need to say good night when you leave for the day—got that?” He loosens his necktie and unbuttons his top shirt button. What he really wants is a short nap.

“Yes, sir. I understand,” she says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good day, sir.”

He unplugs the phone, closes the window blinds, then lies down on the leather couch. Within minutes, Kingsley is fast asleep, snoring.

***

He is awakened by a whirring sound out in the hallway. At first, he’s not sure where he is. The only light comes from a small lamp across the room. No sunlight filters through the closed blinds. He realizes he’s in his office, and remembers that he lay down for a nap sometime during the morning. He looks at his Rolex watch. It reads 10:00.

It can’t be 10:00! He stands and walks to his desk to view the digital clock. It too reads “10:00 PM” in white, glowing letters against a black background.

He recognizes the hallway noise as the sound of a floor buffer. He does a quick comb of his hair, straightens his now-wrinkled jacket, and picks up his briefcase. Kingsley unlocks the door, expecting to be met by a janitor. No one is there.

“Hmmm…must have gone to another floor,” Kingsley says to himself. He walks to the elevator and is surprised to see that the door is open, as if it knew he was coming.

Down on the main floor, he finds the lights in the lobby are off. He fumbles his way forward, leans against a pushbar to open the heavy, glass door, but it doesn’t move. He tries a second time. Again, the door won’t budge.

“Well, I’ll be…” Kingsley was sure the north doors were open 24 hours a day. He looks about for the security guard. He’ll have to walk to the opposite end of the building, go out the back and around to the main entrance. It means walking a quarter-mile distance to be in front and cross to the garage where his Lincoln is parked. How did I get myself into this? I’ve never taken a nap like that.

Unused to walking long distances, Kingsley’s breathing becomes labored halfway down the center walkway. In the distance he sees someone standing at the information desk at the south end. “Wait until I give him a piece of my mind!” he says in a huff. “Incompetence! Those front doors are to remain open!”

“Mr. Kingsley, I wouldn’t go down that way,” a soft voice says behind him.

He turns to see a beautiful, young woman with glowing, blonde hair. She is dressed in white with a gold cord tied around her waist.

“Why not? Who are you?” He doesn’t recall seeing her before.

“I am Angela. I’ve come from your father’s room.”

Kingsley thinks he’s hearing things. “That’s not possible.”

“You should call your father, Mr. Kingsley. He doesn’t have much time,” A tear falls from her eye and lands on the bodice of her dress.

“I’m going to, once I get out of here. I’ll call him from the car,” he says, resuming his walk to the south doors.

She touches his arm and he stops. “Call now or you may regret your choice.” Then she disappears.

His body shakes as he tries to understand what just happened. He wonders if he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s still upstairs asleep.

“Hey! You there!” he shouts to the man standing at the south entry desk. The man doesn’t answer. Kingsley runs to him. He slams his hand down on the granite countertop, thinking the guard is asleep. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Hello, Mr. Kingsley. I was told you were coming,” he replies. He is a short, dark man wearing a hat, black clothes, holding a cigar. His voice seems to come from nowhere and everywhere.

Kingsley feels a chill up his spine. “You were told? By whom? That woman?” He turns his head, looking for her. “Why are the north doors locked? They’re supposed to be open 24 hours. What’s your name? Who hired you? I’ll report you to your supervisor!” He spouts anger too fast for the man to reply.

“They call me Papa Ghede. I am here to guide you, at your choosing. You hired me,” he says through a wide grin.

Am I going mad? I’ve never seen him before in my life. Kingsley rubs his eyes, searching his recall. He apologizes. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t remember. Why are you down at this entrance?”

The guard points to something behind Kingsley.

He turns to see a strange machine built into the wall between the doors. “Automated Teller Machine” flashes neon red at the top. Below the sign is a darkened window, different shaped slots, and signage with print that is too small to read.

“You wanted someone here to protect the ATM after workers installed it last week. It was your order,” Papa Ghede explains.

“I ordered it? I only read about these contraptions this morning in the paper. I told no one to install this…this… machine! You’re lying!”

Kingsley walks to the ATM for a closer look. He reads the instructions. He sticks his fingers into the money slot, intrigued.

“Say, Papa, can I get money out of it now?” He turns to look at him.

The man is gone and the room lights blink off.

“May I help you, Mr. Kingsley?”

He whirls around, expecting to see someone. Again, he is alone.

“May I help you, Mr. Kingsley?” A voice, deeper this time.

He realizes it comes from the machine. His heart beats faster and he feels dizzy. The machine is talking…“Who…who are you? Where are you?” Beads of perspiration form on his upper lip and forehead. The flashing red sign gets brighter and brighter, as if a beating heart.

“I’m here, in the ATM. Would you like some of your money, Cooper?”

It knows my name.

Kingsley’s not so crazy to deny the request, and agrees. “Why, yes…yes, I would. But how do I get it? I don’t much care for machines, you know.” He wonders if he should have admitted that.

The voice is reassuring. “Look in your wallet. Your ATM card is there.”

Kingsley is amazed to find a blue plastic card titled “Bank ATM” next to his bills. “Well, yes, it is. Where did this come from?”

“From me. I’ll take care of you and your money now. I have your records. Your date of birth, source of income, your parents’ names...” The voice is hypnotic and inviting.

Kingsley’s thoughts are jolted. Dad’s accident. I’d better call Tom, especially after the way I treated him on the phone today.

“Cooper, put the card in the slot on the left and you’ll have more riches than ever before. A man like you should always be near his money.” The voice is louder and deeper. Like his father’s.

Kingsley is torn between wanting money and calling his father. He decides he’ll call the hospital as soon as he has a few thousand in hand. He wants his money first.

He pushes the plastic card into the slot. A shrill, whining sound screams from the ATM, like machine noises from his dad’s garage. Kingsley sees the neon ATM sign explode just as his hand is trapped in the slot and he collapses.

***

Kingsley is stirred by voices nearby. He can hardly breathe, though standing upright. He hears car horns, busy footsteps and the dings of an elevator. He feels a catheter beneath his pants. He’s encased in something like a coffin, except for the tiny window in front of his face. Someone is pushing a plastic card into his right shoulder. The pain cuts like a knife.

“Stupid ATM! This machine is out of order again!” A short, dark man wearing a hat is visible on the other side of the glass. He holds a cigar. He puts his face close to the window and whispers, “Don’t feel like working again today, Mr. Kingsley? Keep your money. Some things never change.” He winks, raps his knuckles on the glass and walks away.

A silver coin, like a tear, falls from the ATM and rolls across the floor.

_______________________________

(Author’s Note to Readers: Papa Ghede is a psychopomp. He waits at the crossroads to take souls into the afterlife and is considered the good counterpart to Baron Samedi. He has a very crass sense of humor and a deep hatred of European-based cultures because of the sexual repression they encourage. Papa Ghede is supposed to be the corpse of the first man who ever died. He is widely recognized as a short, dark man with a high hat on his head and a cigar in his mouth and he's constantly holding an apple in his left hand. It’s said that he has a divine ability to read others’ minds and the ability to know everything that happens in both worlds. Source: Wikipedia)

An Angel on Earth

2007-11-19T22:15:00.000-06:00

A friend sent me a link to the site GodTube today. I’d not heard of this video site. It’s the Christian version of YouTube. It’s distinctly Christian in nature and currently features a video clip of the most adorable little girl reciting Psalm 23.

Check it out! She’s beautiful and must be the reason why Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me…” (Matt. 19:14) She appropriately wears a pink t-shirt that says “Princess.”

The video was posted by Bluefish TV. You won’t regret viewing it. It will make your day!

Click on the link:

Little Girl and Psalm 23

"Talking With Heroes" Interviews Begin Airing; Third Trip to Iraq

2007-11-05T15:41:00.001-06:00

Pamela's note: The information below is not getting out to the national media, so here it is. "Talking With Heroes" is a radio show that airs interviews and comments directly from our wonderful soldiers fighting in Iraq. Bob Calvert, the man behind "Talking With Heroes" is a personal friend, and thus, I post this information for Bob here on my blog. If you want to hear stories from those serving our country, please click on the link below to hear the radio show. As a military mom and wife to a psychologist who counsels some of the servicemen and servicewomen who return from Iraq via the Deployment Recovery Counseling Center, I am grateful to those of you who would listen to what they have to say.

Colorado Springs, CO -- Bob Calvert, host of the "Talking With Heroes" talk show, and Jim Martin, CEO of Altitude Sports and Entertainment Cable Network based in Denver, CO, recently returned from a third trip to Iraq with progress reports for all of America to hear.

Calvert and Martin spent time with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, North Dakota National Guard, with 2ID 2BCT Army units from Ft Carson, Marines, Air Force, Navy, Iraqis and more. They filmed on sites in Eastern and Western Baghdad to report progress at a Children’s Hospital, Reconstruction at Baghdad International Airport, new buildings under construction, on convoys and more.

"Talking with Heroes" is not about politics.

The program is meant to help, honor, and support our men and women in the military and their families, and to give our military personnel an opportunity to share their mostly untold stories about the work they are doing worldwide. We believe the American people have a right to hear these positive stories and our military personnel have a right to have their stories heard by all Americans. Americans across the country can now hear many positive progress stories of what our men and women have been and continue to do in Iraq. DVDs will also be available soon.

The team reported from a New Water Treatment Plant in Shunidaq, Iraq and interviewed Iraqis there who sent a message to all in America of thanks from the over 10,000 people in that area of who are now drinking clean water for the first time. They visited a New Iraqi Police Training Academy near Camp Falluja. They interviewed and filmed at TQ Surgical Facility in Al Taqaddum, interviewed Iraqi refugees in Habbaniyu Tourist Village, and interviewed the Headmaster at Al Absaar Primary School in Habbaniyu in Iraq. They went on a Route Clearance Convoy with soldiers from Fort Carson, CO, plus other convoys.

Many military personnel shared stories about progress in their areas. The almost 20 hours of interviews, site visits, convoys and more are airing on "Talking with Heroes" 5pm (PST) Sunday night program on the stardustradio.com internet radio network through January 2008.

"Talking with Heroes" also announces that Denver based regional cable television network, Altitude Sports & Entertainment, will air Third Iraq interviews and footage throughout its 10-state cable territory beginning on November 7, 2007. Those with a sports package on DirectTV and Dish Network can also watch around the country. The broadcast times and dates along with the cities and channels are listed in the Talking with Heroes website at: http://talkingwithheroes.com/information.php?info_id=17

"You Tube" now hosts 11 "Talking with Heroes" 9-minute clips from on-site visits to different locations in Iraq. To view these videos go to: http://talkingwithheroes.com/information.php?info_id=20

Bob Calvert, the host of "Talking with Heroes," is available for interviews. Bob continues to conduct on-the-road, LIVE talk show programs in cities across America. The next live event will be Nov 17, 2007, in Columbus, GA. Details are on the www.talkingwithheroes.com web site.

For Media and Other Inquiries Contact:

Bob Calvert, Host
www.talkingwithheroes.com

Email: bob@youngheroes.us

Cell: 719-310-7814

Dog Days of Summer

2007-09-19T21:12:00.000-05:00

It’s been a busy summer. Two months of not posting here means:

1) out-of-state relatives visited
2) I took time out to enjoy the good weather
3) and we welcomed a NEW PUPPY to our home!

Levi has been here five weeks, and it’s now daily regimens of training, feeding, scooping up poop. He’s quickly becoming woman’s best friend.

Golden retrievers are the best dogs in the world. I’ve had two in the past. The first was shot about 30 years ago, killed by a farmer who says our dog was chasing his cows. We lived way out in the country of northern Colorado back then. Nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away on one side, a half mile to the other side. I can’t fathom that our dog intimidated those cows much. It was a sad day when we found Pug’s (short for Puggy Bear) body lying dead next to a friend’s dog, both accused of “cattle rustling.”

The next golden retriever I owned was a member of our family for 13 years. He is buried out in Inyokern County, CA, in the desert back yard where I used to live. A loyal, loving friend Ted (short for Teddy Bear) was. I came home from work one day to find him dead on the front step, a horrifying site. He was covered with ants. I can’t know how many hours he lay there. He’d been fine when I went to work that morning. I guess it was just his time. My boss and his wife were gracious to come help me bury Ted’s lifeless body in the back yard. It was hard to know I was leaving him when I returned to live in Colorado.

Thus, our new puppy, Levi, now three months old, is a welcome addition, now that we’re “empty nesters.” He keeps me company while I work from home. My husband—formerly not a dog lover—is enamored of this beautiful, blond boy.

I’ve not owned a dog for about eight years. I had missed the companionship of a canine. This summer that revelation came over me, and when a breeder friend said her bitch was pregnant with a litter, I was first in line to claim one of the new pups.

I look forward to the coming of Fall, taking the dog for walks in the crisp air (which will do me a world of good) and, later, watching him enjoy leaping in piles of snow.

It’s nice to have a new best friend.

Harry Potter Who? Or Am I the Only One Not Reading Him?

2007-07-24T13:53:00.000-05:00

Perhaps J.K. Rowling should run for U.S. President.

I, for one, have never read a single word, paragraph, or book of the Harry Potter series. Nor seen the movie (or are there movies?). Am I bragging? Not sure. I suppose I've not been tempted to turn those pages because I'm not one to follow the masses just because "everyone else is doing it." So all you Potter piranhas, go ahead--enjoy every last word. I hope Rowling did a great job for you!

I suppose it’s all the talk of witchcraft and magic that keeps me at bay. Seems to conflict with my faith beliefs. Now before you go and say, “Oh, it’s that ‘holier than thou’ attitude talking,” don’t be so quick to judge me. Maybe I’ve just simply lost my belief in magic and potions, and that’s not necessarily a good thing. In childhood, didn’t we all believe in things that fly (remember Peter Pan and Tinker Bell…I even named my first parakeet after that fairy) and knew to fear anything boiling and bubbly that a witch had brewed? After all, Hansel and Gretel had instinct enough to fear the witch in the forest whose focus was to eat them.

But not having read a word of the Potter series, I have no idea what the witches and warlocks (are they there?) do for a living—or for fun. Perhaps my disinterest can be blamed on being blasted with the reality of today’s world with its daily news bites about Lindsay Lohan’s next arrest (Oh, will they ever tire of telling us common folk we should care about what the wayward woman is up to? We can only hope…), the rising count of dead soldiers and civilians in Iraq, and another politician who thinks he or she has all the answers for our country when in reality, they are all just blowing hot air at this point, in my opinion. Wasn’t there another debate on TV last night? Missed that too.

With more than a year to go until election time, I’ll wait, thank you, until the field is narrowed to those who have a real chance to win before I devote my time and energy to hearing what they have to say. If the pattern holds true, they’ll all be changing their minds and words in the coming months, anyway, to reflect what they “think” the American public wants to hear without really finding out what are our needs and what is important to us in our daily lives. The ivory towers in Washington, D.C., are far removed from the wheat fields and ranches of our country’s heartland.

Perhaps a touch of Harry Potter potion is what they need. Look at the following he (rather, author Rowling) has. With readers in the millions (or is it billions?), our American politicians could learn a lesson from the bespectacled lad and his creator. J.K. Rowling was quoted in the UK’s Independent as saying that “children and adults had been united by the experience of reading the new volume.” Isn’t that what a good politician seeks to do?

"All the secrets I have been carrying around for so long will be yours, too...Those who guessed correctly will be vindicated, and those who guessed wrongly will not, I hope, be too disappointed!" she added.

Secrets and politicians. Now that goes hand-in-hand, as well.

Is Rowling making a bid for the Presidency of the United States? Potions, magic and secrets just might do the trick.

Or she could instead make a killing selling her recipe to the likes of Mrs. Clinton, the misters Edwards, McCain, Richardson, Biden, Gilmore, Guiliani, Romney, Tancredo…and on and on…will the list ever end?

At least Rowling knew when to stop a good thing, leaving her audience satisfied. It’s too early to know if our politicians can figure out how to do the same thing.

The Home of the Brave: Celebrating the Fourth of July Overseas

2007-07-03T17:49:00.000-05:00

In July 1996, I was priviliged to be a member of a community choir that took a two-week singing tour of Scotland and England. The following is what occurred on the 4th of July when a small group of us boarded a bus to make a day of celebrating our American holiday though we were thousands of miles from home. Today I think of the hundreds of American soldiers who yet fight for our freedom as they too are thousands of miles away in Iraq, Afghanistan and other foreign countries. As a mother of two sons in the military, I dedicate this story below, written 11 years ago, to those soldiers who have gone before us and who risk their lives today. May God protect them, and may they all come home safely to their loved ones.

CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND –

There are spacious skies and amber waves of grain in England.

There are no purple mountains.

Red, white and blue colors fill flower boxes, line stone walkways and drape near wooden gates. They are bright beauty beneath the rainy, billowy clouds.

Americans display these colors on their flags.

The fourth of July appears on the British calendar quietly behind the third, before the fifth, dutifully in line as a regiment of trained soldiers.

When Johnny comes marching home again…hurrah, hurrah.

There is nothing special about this day to the waking English, our cousins across the sea, who live amidst Cambridge academia where great kings and greater minds made some of the greatest discoveries we hold true today. The apple landed on Sir Isaac Newton’s head here, and scientists for the first time discussed over lunch the makeup of DNA at “The Eagle,” a local restaurant and pub where beer has been served since the 1300s when the Saxons invaded England, according to a local tour guide. Today’s tourist can view signatures on the ceiling written by American soldiers stationed in England during World War II. “The Wild Hair – 9th Squadron” and “Bert’s Boys – 196th Squadron” left their marks.

First to fight for right to freedom…

As the morning sun rose behind drizzling clouds over this North Sea island country, the fact that it was Independence Day at home was on the minds of most members of the Greeley Chorale and their traveling companions as we continued our two-week singing tour of Scotland and England. Independence Day for us dawned seven hours earlier than for friends and families in Colorado. While those at home slept peacefully, before the parade and pancake breakfasts, before barbecues smoked and children urged parents to light spitting Roman candles, Greeley’s singing ambassadors reflected inwardly about being away from home on this significant holiday.

Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light...

While stars glimmered in the Colorado sky, it was mid-morning in England on the 4th of July. It seemed an ordinary day, across an ocean and far away from the traditions we knew. What should we plan to do? we wondered. We knew we’d sing patriotic songs at our concert that night, “An American Hymn” and “Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor.” But could we make today special in another way, each of us, that made it feel like home while we were away?

...what so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming.

We were on an adventure, the small group of us, as we boarded a double-decker tour bus to explore the local sights. With no firm plan in mind, we were led more by the guide, not our spirits, as we settled into our seats. Leaving the city, the bus sped past open green fields in the clearing, sunny air. We rode a few quick miles and listened to the crisp, British accent share details about the college and veterinary school that lay beyond the trees.

It wasn’t until the woman with the microphone highlighted our first stop that flags went up inside our heads, unfurled red, white and blue, and there in the countryside, suddenly imaginary bands began to play. We were at the Cambridge American Cemetery. We were given a patriotic chance to celebrate our Fourth of July.

And the rockets’ red glare…

Stretched below us on the hillside were perfect rows of white crosses marking graves of American servicemen and servicewomen buried after the end of World War II. Cambridge University had given free to the United States this prime land in order to bury its brave, dead soldiers who lost their lives fighting to rid the world of enemies in the “War to End All Wars.” A framed letter from President Dwight D. Eisenhower expressing gratitude to the future Queen Elizabeth and one from her in return are displayed in the Cemetery’s reception building. Visitors can sign a guest book and leave a message for those who follow. A 3-ring binder holds photographs of other American cemeteries located in countries around the world. The last page of the book tells the heroic story of a soldier, John Valdez, Jr., who was awarded the US Medal of Honor for his bravery and actions, including losing his right foot, during the war before his plane disappeared while on his way home.

…the bombs bursting in air…

At the entrance to the grounds, an 82-foot high flagpole that was a gift erected by a father in honor of his son, Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr., greets visitors. The name of the eldest child of Joseph, Sr., is engraved on the white stone wall, along with names of the others who are buried there. Valdez’ name is etched in gold. The towering wall runs from the entryway alongside a rectangular pond overflowing with white and red roses amidst greenery built to reach just short of the steps of the memorial chapel located at the opposite end. The wall is punctuated by larger-than-life-size carved statues of men in uniforms, one for each branch of the American military services.

Inside the chapel, clear window panels to the north overlook the graves, bearing in their centers full-color, engraved seals of each individual US state, while the south wall depicts in miniature the operations of WWII. The display portrays the strategic attack paths the American plans and ships followed as they closed in on enemy territory in Germany to end the war.

…gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

And after we in solitude and quiet reviewed the scene presented as an unexpected gift that day, with somber thoughts of the sacrifice, honored the dead who gave their lives. The small group representing Greeley and its community chorale stood, hands on our hearts, at the base of the flagpole in a foreign land and sang in clear, strong voices:

Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...

2007-04-26T12:31:00.000-05:00

So we got hit with snow again this week – late April in the foothills of the Rockies. More than a foot of the wet, heavy variety piled on the driveway, leaving no greenery untouched in all directions. The day before, I’d been to the grocery store wearing capris and a lightweight, button-up shirt. It had been a 60-degree day. That evening, the wind blew in, temperatures dropped, and the making of a snow day was in the offing.

It was so bad, my husband got stuck having to sleep overnight at his office, south of here where it only rained. It’s amazing how much difference being just 12 miles away makes. However, there is a 1000-foot difference in elevation from here to there. Obviously, we live above the freeze line. He arrived home the morning after the storm to fire up the snowblower and clear a path for us to get in and out. Today the sun blazes a bright white across the landscape. The snow turns to water and seeps into the ground. Spring is coming.

I spent a few minutes during the height of the blowing storm with my gaze focused through a bay window on a tiny bird in an aspen tree outside. It was the only one in sight. It showed no fear of the elements as it bit at the bark, changed branches now and then, unaware of the cold and storm. I am amazed at God’s design of such a creature – not much meat on its bones, a few tiny feathers for clothing, fragile as porcelain Chinaware in its structure – and there it was, content to be living in nature and getting on with life. Perhaps it knows instinctively in whose hands it resides.

I am reminded of what Jesus said to his disciples about how God cares for each one of us. Luke 12:24 says, “Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!”

Jesus reminds us not to worry about things in life, as the chapter continues: Luke 12: 27-31 reads, “Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father know that you need them. But seek his kingdom and these things will be given to you as well.”

In His wisdom, his display of weather says though the unexpected storms come, we just need to go on with life as usual, trust that it will blow over, and we’ll be safe until the sun shines again.

Seung-Hui Cho Chose Evil to Solve His Problems

2007-04-17T15:56:00.000-05:00

Another senseless massacre of innocent people. More families whose hearts are broken now cry over the loss of a child, sibling, or parent after the shootings at Virginia Tech’s campus. Another tragedy that puts our nation on pause while we watch the images of horror and ask why the 23-year-old senior did it. How do we make sense of it?

President Bush said in today’s speech at the Virginia Tech convocation ceremony the victims were “simply in the wrong place at the wrong time…” It doesn’t explain why Seung-Hui Cho certain classrooms on that one particular day to vent his torment and anger.

Why did Cho feel killing would solve his problems? Why did he not seek a healthy way to deal with any anxiety, anger, loneliness or depression? Where did Seung-Hui Cho get the idea that is okay to slay others whom he may never have had a word with? Was his internal world so confused and removed from his fellow students that he viewed them as nothing more than moving targets as in a gallery game at a carnival midway? Did he score points for himself each time a bullet pierced flesh and poured forth its life-giving blood? And not care that his actions would, if no one else, hurt his own family? What of the effect on his sister and parents?

Apparently the Virginia Tech senior did not believe in the sanctity of life. Not his nor anyone else’s. Something in Cho's world did not convince him that he had value and reasons for living. Someone did not teach him that the lives of others hold worth and the goal of life is to love one another as well as himself. And if he was taught this, he didn’t believe it. His actions demonstrated a pure lack of respect and caring for his fellow man.

We see the killings in Iraq—a war rages on. We read of suicide/homicide bombers in the Middle East whose sole purposes are to kill others, believing they will have rewards in heaven. This week is the 8-year anniversary of the killings at Columbine High School in Littleon, Colorado. The list goes on: murder at a Bailey, CO, school in 2006. Lives lost the same year at the Amish school in Nickel Mines, PA. Hundreds of young children were murdered in Beslan, Russia, in 2004. School children were knifed to death in Osaka, Japan, in 2001. In Sanaa, Yemen, in 1997. It happened in Dunblane, Scotland, in 1996.

Hollywood movies and best-selling novels glorify killing and violence. The debate about the effects of such is endless. We look for the “why” of what moves one person to take the life of another. Is there ever an answer?

We live in a country that no longer upholds prayer in school and faith in God. Another perspective to find reasons for killing and violence—an endless debate that itself is shot down in the public arena when prayerful people try to turn these United States back to God.

Almost every third baby conceived in America is killed by abortion, according to information on the AbortionFacts.com web site, interpreting morbidity and mortality figures from the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, GA. It’s been said that this, this daily occurrence, contributes to today’s generation believing human life is an expendable commodity. A newly-formed life can get in the way of what you want for yourself, so get rid of it—is what abortion says today.

Did Seung-Hui Cho think these things? “No God exists, my life is worthless, and I’ll kill others because they are in my way.” Any and all of our culture’s dismissal of the value of life must have had its effects.

In the end, it’s always a battle between good and evil. Between love and hate. When will we, as a collective society, realize there’s no glory, but sickness, in seeking darkness? That there is no value in reveling in destruction and death?

When will we stop putting our money into the hands of those who promote evil, gore, and violence—but instead, uphold good, honor life and God’s creation, and reward those who demonstrate love and caring for another human being? We should put our focus on positive movies, life-giving novels, non-violent video games, uplifting music, a noble career, and speak out in public against those who promote distaste and hate.

We must turn around the evil in the world. Our lives depend on it. Unfortunately, it’s too late for the victims at Virginia Tech today.

Three Little Words: Don Imus, 0 – Jesus Christ, Won

2007-04-15T19:08:00.000-05:00

Three little words are what got Don Imus in trouble this past week. By Friday, he had lost his radio job, as most of the country knows by now. His remarks caused outrage across the board, from New York newscasters to California executives. Blacks called for his firing, while women’s groups demanded an apology. Not since Rosie O’Donnell mimicked on “The View” Donald Trump’s puckered personality has a media person’s comments enflamed passions on all sides. Only this time, it’s worse. Imus degraded women.

When I first heard media reports about Imus calling the Rutgers University black women basketball players “nappy-headed ho’s”, it wasn’t the racist degradation that so deeply disturbed me. It was the put-down and verbal abuse of women that lit my feminine fire.

Here again is an example of a man viewing women as less-than-honorable, stereotyping the team members simply because of their gender. Referring to them as “ho’s” – using the black culture slang so often heard in the rap music of this generation – blatantly states a woman is defined by her purpose to a man: to be used intimately and physically, when he wants, how he wants, where he wants. At the same time he needs her for his own masculine pleasure, he’s in no way respecting her as the beautiful creation God made her to be.

That’s how I hear the word “ho.” And I’m angered.

I find it ironic that this incident occurred just after Easter Sunday and the previous Holy Week. This being a time when much of the world honors the sacrifice Jesus Christ made for each one of us when he willingly gave his life and died on the cross, to take on the world’s burden and atone before His Father in heaven for mankind’s sins—past and future. His blood covered for us our mistakes, while He, innocent of wrongdoing, took our place, and was the sacrificial lamb.

The three little words that Jesus uttered were, “It is finished.” (John 19:30)

Jesus didn’t say, “I’m only dying for the rich, white men of the world.” His purpose for living on Earth was concluded and mankind saved because Jesus did the honorable thing. While on Earth, he respected each individual created and yet to be. He died for everyone. No matter the color of a person’s skin or gender. No matter if young or old—his death was for each of us, past and future.

My point is, Jesus didn’t look down his nose at the women of the world and say, “You’re nothing to me but a ‘ho’.”

In Luke 7:37-48, he accepts, respects and forgives a sinful woman, upholding her personhood before his dinner hosts. In John 4:7-27, he speaks with a Samaritan woman at a well, reveals truths to her about God the Father, and ignores the admonitions of his peers who criticized Him for talking with a woman.

And when He arose alive again after being crucified and sealed, dead, in a tomb, it was a woman to whom the resurrected Christ first appeared, not to a man. (John 20:10-17)

This blog has focused much on books that I’ve read or sold through my business. No book is more important in that regard than the Bible. It might do Don Imus and the rap artists some good to choose their moral guidelines and outlook from this book. Instead of saying hurtful, degrading things about women, they might learn from Jesus’s example of how he treated and viewed the feminine gender.

Imus is said to have contributed to charitable causes. That’s great and I respect him for that. I’m sorry his on-air remarks ended with the loss of his job. Don Imus made a mistake, as we all do in life. That’s why Father God made the Word flesh and created His Son by way of birth to a woman, crossing the veil between Earth and heaven, to live here as we do, in the form of a human being. We are not perfect. But Jesus was.

Jesus Christ set an example of how we should love one another.

Perhaps rap artists should read the Psalms for inspiration and direction as they compose lyrics about their world—looking beyond oppression, hate and anger. Looking instead to uplift and respect another.

Perhaps Don Imus will take time now (after all, he doesn’t have a job to report to) and read his Bible. There he will learn of the forgiveness for his verbal sin and understand that, despite his mistake, Jesus loves him anyway.

I don’t know of Imus’s faith beliefs. Despite my own anger at his comments, I do believe he should be allowed to say his apologies and move on. As much as his remarks about the Rutgers basketball team were inappropriate and unnecessary, he should be permitted a second chance (…after all, if Donald Trump can dish that out…). Let Imus show the world he has changed and is a better man, as he has said he would do.

And just maybe we’re all so angry because we see a bit of ourselves in Imus for the times we too have said the wrong thing.

Perhaps this incident last week was meant to be a lesson learned. By all of us.

Anna Nicole Smith Says She Believed in Jesus Christ

2007-03-08T21:45:00.000-06:00

This YouTube video from 1999 is an interview with Anna Nicole Smith at the Oscars--talking about her faith in Jesus Christ. What a surprise this was! View it for yourself and see what you think:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVILZlvc-pE

I will not make judging comments here about her lifestyle and choices since that time. But it's refreshing to see her talk about something positive!

Perhaps they ought to show this video on national news...

Anna Nicole Smith and the National Noise

2007-03-06T17:51:00.000-06:00

It’s been nearly a month since Anna Nicole Smith died and was nearly not buried near her deceased son, Daniel, in the Bahamas. To date, it seems a non-ending saga.

I’ll admit – I followed the courtroom hearings and daily episodes. I held a non-believing view that this was indeed taking place. It was too incredible—but all too real, as we saw. A novel with these bizarre characters and plot turns would not have made it to publication, I believe, because it was all so unnatural. The players were sinister Stern, likeable Larry, and mother-victim Virgie. A dead grandson and a newborn granddaughter. Cremation ashes and legal tangles with a dead husband’s estate and his surviving relatives, yet to be negotiated. Throw in Anna Nicole’s reliance on narcotics and a nutty “legal advisor” who seems to have pushed them on her. Ohmigosh!

The who-is-the-real-father puzzle (that made public notable male sex partners who talked with nostalgia of the nympho Playboy centerfold) remains nauseating in its insanity. Have Stern spit in a cup, get a soiled diaper from baby Dannielynn, and be done with this nonsense! Does DNA stand for “Don’t Name Anyone?”

Prove Birkhead the real daddy, nullify Stern’s name on the birth certificate, and allow Larry to set up a nursery for the cherubic child. Let Birkhead give Stern a nosebleed, and thereby, get the DNA sample he needs to claim his namesake. Nuclear science, this isn’t!

Many cable TV news reporters ask, “What is our fascination with her?” Why do people care and want this news that was overdone but hard to turn away from?

I think it’s because the actions and reactions of the parties involved are so unlike our own uncelebrated, “normal” lives. Our mouths drop open as each unnerving detail revealed about Anna Nicole’s life—and death—is outside what the majority of us believe is “right” about what should happen to another human being or about how we “should” live.

But at its heart, isn’t it caring about what is fair and dignified for Anna Nicole Smith—despite how undignified she may have lived her life at times? Shouldn’t justice win out amidst this nightmare? Because if not for her, someone with astounding beauty and millions of dollars, what then for us, the common masses? Do we stand a chance in this world? We like to believe we do, of course. In the end, we see that beauty and money don’t really matter. We all cry “let life be fair.” When we know it’s not.

My heart broke for Anna Nicole last September when her son died. Happening at the time of her daughter’s birth—it’s an unthinkable pain. We can identify with this celebrity who was forced to see her beloved son stone cold in a coffin, and feel grief for her loss.

I was just 10 years old when Marilyn Monroe died. I recall with distinctness my trek to the corner drugstore to view the black-and-white photos on the front pages of dozens of publications. I mourned for her. I couldn’t believe she was dead. I’d watched her movies. I suppose, in some ways, I viewed Marilyn as someone to aspire to be, back then, in 1962, when I was trying to figure out the world. But her tragic, early death told me, “No, that’s not the way to live.”

Not so for Anna Nicole. They say she idolized Marilyn Monroe. We all choose our heroes, our role models. It was Anna Nicole’s life to live. But in the end, what legacy does this now leave for Dannielynn?

If the nincompoops who only see $$ signs when they gaze into the child’s innocent face would step out of the way—if the newscasters and nearsighted money-grubbers would realize she’s a human being in need of love and not notoriety—if her natural father would be allowed to raise her surrounded by grandmothers, aunts and uncles instead of publicists and promoters—then maybe Anna Nicole’s legacy will turn in the nick of time and another neophyte Marilyn Monroe won’t emerge.

Those of us who follow this saga should pray that Dannielynn chooses a noble life, nonchalant about the nosy people who look at her as just a number in a world that counts dollars and cents instead of decorum and sense.

After all, that is what seems fair.

Knocked Out and On Drugs

2007-02-06T15:00:00.000-06:00

Two weeks ago I was knocked out, cut open, then told to go home. I am recuperating nicely.

Okay, so I had knee surgery. Not too dramatic, but a happening nonetheless.

Had I not been knocked out—anesthetized—it would have been pretty painful, I know. Of course, the surgeon had to cut into the knee to remove the pieces of my shredded meniscus. And since it was a mere 40-minute outpatient procedure, where else would I go afterwards but home? Besides, the food’s better at my place.

I’ve gone from sleeping for most of the first two days, to not sleeping well at night (I weaned myself from the Percocet too soon and pain woke me up—I am back on a lesser drug), from crutches to a cane (now and then) to the start of physical therapy. Ouch. Why is it that the PT person thinks if she hooks you up to electrodes which zap your muscles (“Yes, I can feel that! The current’s hit the fillings in my teeth!”), then piles 20 pounds of ice on top of the pained knee for 15 minutes, this is supposed to help..?! (OK, so the swelling did go down a little…) Visions of Frankenstein floated in my head as I counted down the minutes. All that was missing was the thunder and storm outside. She had on the obligatory white coat.

There is a benefit to having surgery: lots of time to read! I have had to slow my pace, walk carefully, and sleep off the drugs. When awake, it’s time to dive into the pile of books by the bedside…or write on my laptop…and peruse hardbacks stacked near the recliner couch.

I discovered the debut novel by T.L. Hines, “Waking Lazarus.” (The title seemed to fit my predicament.) It’s amazing! I loved it—suspense, twists, mystery, and believable characters. With an unpredictable ending that had me analyzing the plot for hours after I’d closed the back cover. Published by Bethany House, the story takes place in Red Lodge, Montana. The main character, Jude Allman, has died and come back to life three times (I know, it seemed a bit far fetched to me, too, but trust me—it’s a great book). Children are disappearing from the community (…seems all too real in today’s world…) and Jude is pulled into the puzzle. In January, this book was named to Library Journal's 25 Best Genre Fiction Books of 2006 list. Read it. It’s great!

I also read "White Chocolate Moments" by Lori Wick (what better way to feel good when laid up, but through chocolate?) via Harvest House Publishers. In this case, the 11-year-old heroine’s parents have been killed in an auto accident and she is raised by her grandfather, a wealthy Chicago business tycoon. She turns 18 and runs away, tired of knocking heads with an insecure, whiney cousin—grandfather’s favorite grandchild. It’s the personal discovery, growth and love that develop which kept me turning the pages. Not a mystery, it’s a feel-good book—and heaven knows, I needed something to help me feel good! It’s a book I recommend for those in need of a smile.

These books combined with issues of Writer’s Digest, author Randy Ingermanson’s “Clean Up Your Act” writing teleseminar, and Elaine Marie Alphin’s “Creating Characters Kids Will Love” have satiated my appetite for the written word and improving the craft.

The housework calls, but it can wait (“Aw, honey, my knee hurts.”). It’s almost dinner time (“But I can’t stand that long at the stove…”) and the laundry piles up (“You can wear sweat pants to the office just one more day, can’t you?”).

Me, I’m content being able to read and write. This hobbled up knee stuff ain’t so bad. I think I look distinguished sporting a cane.

Wait…it must be the drugs talking. I’m not ready for a cane! Five more weeks of P.T. and I’ll be good as new!

“Turn up the power, nurse. And I’ll have another serving of ice.”

New Year, New Life

2007-01-22T13:45:00.000-06:00

I have written here of late about New Life Church and Pastor Ted Haggard, as well as soldiers at Fort Carson whom I met during book fairs I’ve staged at the base’s hospital. It’s a new year and new things are happening, related to each.

I look out the window to the left of my desk and view mounds of glistening snow beneath majestic pine trees. We received another eight inches yesterday on top of the nearly three feet that fell during the past month. A winter wonderland yet covers this patch of ground in my part of Colorado. (It made for good weather to stay indoors and watch the NFL playoffs…go Bears…if the Broncos can’t be there!)

Recent occurrences:

New Life Church: Is going strong, two months after the national news about Ted Haggard. A pastoral search committee has been formed to select a new senior pastor. Nine members were chosen for the committee through a vote held among church members. We are blessed to have Pastor Ross Parsley, the worship leader and Integrity Music recording artist, serve as interim pastor. His sermons and message each week are inspiring and just what the congregation needs in this time of change. He has likened our current journey to that of Noah’s Ark. We are in the boat waiting for dry land to appear, and the process could take many months, as it did for Noah and his family. It’s the perfect metaphor. And at the end, there will be a rainbow.

Music: The church’s new CD was released on December 24, “My Savior Lives,” and features Ross Parsley and the Desperation Band on the Integrity label. Thirteen original songs, all fabulous.

Book Fairs: During January, we rest and attend a regional conference. The new fair schedule begins in February – and instead of attending the conference, I was in Las Vegas. My father turned 75, and most of my large family gathered from parts east and west to honor Dad. The slot machines didn’t get much of my money – I never win – but my two sisters and a niece walked away with a few extra bucks. As my 22-year-old daughter says, “They got all the lucky genes in the family.” OK, so I’m not a gambler.

Fort Carson: The biggest change is that my husband, Dr. Gary Cosel, a licensed psychologist, has expanded his counseling practice. Together we have opened the Deployment Recovery Counseling Center in Colorado Springs. The mission statement: Saving Families Wounded By War. Services are available for active duty, retired, reserve and National Guard military members and their families.

What This Means: I am therefore selling my book fair business. Will I continue to be involved with books? You bet. I am an avid reader, but also a writer. What happens to this blog? Its direction will change. I’ve tried here to focus on the people whom I meet at the book fairs I’ve conducted versus the actual business of fairs. Now and then, I’ve written about some of the books I’ve sold and those I’ve read. So as this blog metamorphosizes, stay tuned. Life is always about people and how we interact with them. Everyone has a story to tell. I hope you’ll like mine.

The Weather Outside is Frightful

2006-12-22T10:45:00.000-06:00

Here we are, having been locked inside the house for two days—not getting to Christmas shop, replenish grocery supplies, but enjoying the time to read, complete decorations inside the house for Christmas, and finish projects on the computer. The five-foot snowdrifts outside today twinkle in the bright sunshine, and are beautiful. A Colorado blizzard is not always a bad thing.

My book fair season ended the day before the snowstorm hit—what a blessing that was. No need to cancel events, nor attempt to drive in the mess, only to perhaps get stuck in snowdrifts and the snarled traffic that resulted. I was warm at home—even made time for a nap, midday. A Colorado blizzard is not always a bad thing!

My husband and stepson were due to fly this morning to Los Angeles overnight for a family bar mitzvah (unfortunately scheduled at Christmastime), but the snowstorm closed the Denver airport. We’ve fretted over this conflict in scheduling for a year and a half, only to have the weather take control and now allow us to enjoy time as a family to complete preparations for Christmas. While some may say that Christmas is just one day, it is more than that. It is a month of preparation, spiritually via our faith beliefs, and practically with all that must be done: shopping, baking, decorating, time with extended family, and time with friends. We feel badly for the family who will miss the presence of the uncle and cousin, but in the end, to not travel after the chaos of an airport closed for two days…well, it’s a relief.

Had the snowstorm hit a week earlier, it would have forced New Life Church to cancel its second weekend of the “Wonderland” performances. Again, all went as planned, and cast, crew, singers and orchestra members were safe at home the past few days. As a member of the worship choir, I was among the cast who participated in most of the eight performances over two weekends. Wonderland is a Hollywood-style, huge Christmas show that features a cast of hundreds singing and dancing not only Christmas carols, but much more. It featured a country western, line dancing version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” a show-stopping performance of “Be Our Guest” complete with bigger-than-life costumed “Luminaire” (the candle from “Beauty and the Beast”), hosts “Jack” and “Colby” who are supposed to be babysitting four children who together wreak havoc on the sitters throughout the show. If you’re in the Colorado Springs area next year, I suggest you buy tickets to Wonderland and come! It’s a fantastic show.

Merry Christmas to all! Blessings on your New Year. Keep the faith. The Lord has come.

War, Veterans and Pastor Ted Haggard

2006-11-11T13:04:00.000-06:00

What do they have to do with each other? Simply viewed, it gets down to the struggle between good and evil, and newsworthy issues of the past two weeks.

I am a member of New Life Church, and Ted Haggard has been my pastor up until his dismissal last week for what has been termed “sexually immoral conduct.” Today is also Veterans Day, and I am running a book fair at Fort Carson Army Base, south of Colorado Springs.

I have spent three days talking with family members and some of the soldiers who have returned from 12 to 15 months in Iraq. I am honored to be in the presence of those who have unselfishly served our country overseas and returned home safely, harbored by their families. The children are happy to have their daddies (and sometimes, mommies) home. Wives look relieved, anxious, happy, concerned all-at-once in their husbands’ presence. The “Mr. Mom” dads are ready to give back, if temporarily, duties of child care to the mothers whose recent concerns were of terrorist enemies and not “is it time to change the baby’s diaper?”

Each time a squadron of troops returns to Fort Carson, the front page of The Gazette is awash with colorful photos of heart-warming reunions—kisses to new babies, hugs to long-missed wives—tears abundant, wetting smiles.

Not so happy-looking was the widely published front-page photo last week of Pastor Haggard and his beautiful wife, Gayle, cornered by news reporters as the Haggard family left home one morning. Writers drooled over the sensational alleged transgressions made public by self-professed gay prostitute, Mike Jones, against the now former president of the National Association of Evangelicals. It rocked the Christian world and our congregation the week before the election, the intent of Jones who stated plainly he could not remain silent about his involvement with Pastor Haggard, a man who strongly favored the passing of Colorado’s Amendment 43 that would define in Colorado legal marriage as only between a man and a woman. Voters felt the same way, as #43 easily passed on November 7. I voted in favor of it.

I have heard some returning soldiers express strong opinions about US politics. They are proud to be in the military and know the media does not tell the entire story of the good they are doing in Iraq. On the home front, some are also concerned about the issue of immigration from Mexico. As I wrapped up yesterday’s book fair, a married couple who both returned this week from the war front explained their solution to building a fence at the US/Mexico border: “We need to do it. The entire border. And for those people we let in, there should be a requirement that they must speak English. And they each need to serve one year in the military, defending the country they want to live in. Then they can stay here.” I’ll admit, it sounds like a good idea to me.

President Bush has said the Iraq war is about good versus evil. I too believe it is. As a mother of two sons in the military (USAF and USN), I support wholeheartedly the US efforts to conquer the enemy who wants to prevent its own people from being free.

Pastor Ted admitted publicly he struggled in his soul with darkness that he eventually succumbed to. He is not an evil man. I know him to be a faith-filled, excellent Bible teacher, now known to have human failings. Yet this past week, we have learned of a new side of him, one that is hard to face: the hypocrisy, the deceit. Aside from the immoral sexual behavior and admitted purchase of drugs, the saying-one-thing, doing-another truth of his behavior has come out, and a world full of people (let alone, our congregation) now should be led to examine their own souls and attitudes before they point a finger at another and cry, "Liar." That doesn't mean we brush under the rug what this revelation tells everyone about Ted Haggard. Let's instead do a personal assessment of our own integrity and honesty and go on to become better people. Because being a hypocrit and deceiver is just as much a sin as any other. Choose good and "right" instead of evil and "wrong." How does one know the difference? I'd suggest start by reading the Bible as an instruction guide for how to do it right. That's my reference guide for life, and still, I too know I fall short. It's in the trying where there are blessings.

Our church will survive. As Interim Pastor Ross Parsley stated in last Sunday’s sermon, Pastor Haggard is “public proof that every person is indeed in need of a Savior.”

As we come into this Christmas season, let the world news shout of the one who came to conquer evil—Jesus Christ, the son of God. In only Him can eternal salvation be found. Through only Him, when this world as we know it passes away, will evil be banished.

In the meantime, we will yet struggle with wars, earthly temptations and human weaknesses. New Life Church has been open about what is going on internally. For that, I am grateful because it's the way a healthy family works.

I also thank God for the soldiers of our country and the soldiers of Jesus Christ who stand tall to do battle for others’ sakes in this world darkened by the evil that is sometimes unconquerable. It’s only for a while.

A Blizzard of Memories

2006-10-26T18:29:00.000-05:00

Like to ski? Come to Colorado. We’ve got lots of the white stuff swirling around now.

Overnight, a major blizzard hit our area, and while it is beautiful, and it’s given many people here in Colorado Springs the day off (most businesses are closed, as is Interstate 25 in many parts), the only thing it’s good for is skiing. OK, so maybe also for taking a few nice photos for use on a Christmas card. Me, I’m a warm weather person and don’t care much for bundling up in bulky coats and boots.

A day off is a luxury. We pampered ourselves and sat outdoors in the hot tub with the snow blowing around us—great fun. At the same time, I am responsible for a 2-day book fair at a nursing home that started yesterday. Which means, today my books and display carts are stranded there, while I’m stranded here, soaking away my guilt over not being able to work. Not making sales. Not serving the residents of the nursing home. But I can’t change it, so I’ll just wait until the roads are open again tomorrow!

Nursing homes are a world unto themselves. I am always amazed and filled with admiration for the staff people who daily care for the elderly and disabled populations who reside there. They are indeed angels of mercy.

I slow down when I’m working in that environment. I tend to be a high-energy person who is always moving or keeping busy with things to do. I talk fast. I move fast. Not in a nursing home. How can I be speedy when those whom I’m serving do nothing of the sort? They’ve earned this time in their lives to take a day slowly. They deserve to be cared for: helped on with a jacket, served food, have their hair combed or blanket tucked in around their feet. I imagine each of them has cared for others at one time in their lives, and now it’s their turn to be the recipient of grace.

I find myself staring intently into the faces of the residents when I’m conducting a fair in a nursing home. I can’t help but try to see each person as a child, a teen, or someone who jetted off to a honeymoon, lived as a young mother or father, as an active adult who held down a job, played on a softball team, or danced the night away with a loved one. I can’t help but wonder what my fate will be when I’m in my 80s, if the good Lord allows me time on earth that long. Will I be in a wheelchair? Will I need to be fed my dinner? Will I need others to help me with basic issues of cleanliness?

I believe each and every person under the age of 60 should at one time in his or her life spend time in a nursing home. I know it causes me to think about what is truly important in life. When all is said and done, and one sees the end of life just beyond the daylight, I think what matters is the dignity people deserve as human beings and children of God. It’s about the respect and human compassion each of us should be given after living a long life. Our society tends to look at youth as the all-deserving, the “stars”—the Hollywood mentality of our culture—but it’s the elderly, fragile people who help me to focus on what it means to care for another human being.

If I’m lucky, I’ll live to be 80 or longer, and I hope someone will care enough to remember that I too was once young and vibrant. And when I nod to sleep in my wheelchair because I’m tired with age, and you think I can’t hear you talking, youthful memories will still swirl like a Colorado blizzard around in my head, and I'll remember the kind of person I was. It will just be my body that’s aged and weak, not my spirit.

Guinness Book 2007--New and Improved

2006-10-02T22:59:00.000-05:00

”Good Morning America” has a new weekend show. I saw it for the first time this past Saturday. The hosts did a segment on the new “Guinness Book of World Records 2007.”

It just so happens that I have carried this item at my book fairs for the past three weeks. It was a pleasant surprise to learn I had a jump on the GMA-Weekend crew. Since many customers have been buying and reading this book of late, and GMA thought it important enough to devote air time to it, I want to share here a few of the unusual and bizarre entries listed as current records. The book is 288 pages long and comes with a set of free Guinness Record trading cards. My price at the book fairs is $16.49 (which beats Amazon.com by $2.62), while the publisher’s price is $28.95. Learn more about the book at www.guinnessworldrecords.com

The book claims to be the “World’s Biggest-Selling Book.” It is published in more than 100 countries in 26 different languages.

Most Pubs Visited in 24 Hours

A group of 19 students belonging to St. Andrew’s College, University of Sydney, Australia, set a new team record by visiting and drinking at 82 drinking establishments throughout Sydney on June 9-10, 2005. The individual record for the most pubs visited is held by Bruce Master (UK), who had visited 38,000 pubs and bars since 1960 as of February 27, 2005.

I say the guy needs to get a life.

Oldest Love Poem

Archaeologists have dated a love poem written on a clay tablet to the time of the Sumerians, who invented writing ca. 3500 BC. It was given the rather unromantic name of “Istanbul #2461” and is thought to have been recited by a bride of the Sumerian king Shu-Sin, who ruled between 2037 and 2029 BC. It begins, “Bridegroom, dear to my heart, Goodly is your beauty, honeysweet, Lion, dear to my heart, Goodly is your beauty, honeysweet.”

I say this isn't too bad for a gal who lived 5500 years ago.

Oldest Piece of Cake

The Alimentarium Food Museum in Vevey, Switzerland, has as one of its exhibits the world’s oldest cake. The 4,200-year-old confectionery was sealed and vacuum-packed in the grave of Pepionkh, who lived in ancient Egypt ca. 2200 BC. The cake, which measures 4.25 inches (11 cm) in diameter, has sesame on the outside and honey inside, and was possibly made with milk.

Apparently even the ants didn't want it.

Highest-Resolution Satellite Images

The best commercially available satellite images are those taken by Digitalglobe’s QuickBird Satellite. Launched on October 18, 2001, QuickBird can take black-and-white images of the Earth at a resolution of 24 inches (61 cm) per pixel, and multispectral images at 8 feet (2.44 m) per pixel.

Beware, all you nude sunbathers!

Highest Percentage of Body Burns Survived

David Chapman (UK) survived burns of 90% to his body after a canister exploded and drenched him with gasoline while he was filling his moped on July 2, 1996. During a subsequent operation, surgeons spent 36 hours removing dead tissue from David’s body.

Nothing funny to be said about this.

Survival Without A Pulse

Julie Mills (UK) survived three days without a pulse in her vascular system after suffering severe heart failure and vital myocarditis on August 14, 1998. Cardiac surgeons at the John Radcliffe Hospital, Oxford, UK, used a non-pulsatile blood pump (AB180) to support her for a week, during which time her heart recovered and the pump was removed.

I'd say she is one lucky woman.

Longest Fingernails

Lee Redmond (USA) has grown the fingernails of both her hands to reach a total length of 24 feet, 7 inches (7.51 m). She has been growing her nails for 24 years and treats them daily with warm olive oil and nail hardener. Lee lives a very active life, despite her fingernails, although she does attract a few “unusual” admirer: she was once offered money to have her nails nibbled, the prospective buyer suggesting that he buy by the inch! Even the prospect of the bathroom is undaunting to Lee. When asked how she “goes,” she replies: ‘Carefully!

I'd say this is one crazy woman.

And finally,

Largest Bubblegum Bubble Blown (Unassisted)

Chad Fell (USA) blew a bubblegum bubble with a diameter of 20 inches (50.8 cm) – without using his hands to steady or stretch the bubble – at the Double Springs High School, Winston County, Alabama, USA, on April 24, 20004. The secret of his success, says Chad, is blowing with three pieces of Dubble Bubble gum.

Hmm…I was a Dubble Bubble fan as a child. My dad used to call me “Gum Face” due to the fact that my bubbles were always popping and sticking to my face, and he had to clean the gooey mess off. So I don’t think I’ll be trying to set any world records for bubble blowing.

Then again, I wonder if I could fit four pieces into my mouth…

A Miracle Made My Day

2006-09-27T01:22:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, a Miracle touched my book fair. It came in the form of a 6-year-old girl who had just had surgery. Miracle is her name.

I had just completed a 3-day event at the local hospital. The day was slowing down, the hussle and bussle of daytime appointments, daily visitors, and a long work week settled peacefully alongside the setting sun. It had been a good three days of sales. Customers liked the variety and low prices. They bought many gifts for special people…for anniversaries, birthdays, or just to say “I love you.”

As I packed up the unsold merchandise, I noticed a black woman standing nearby at one of the display tables, about three feet away. Her back was turned to me so that all I saw was a head full of long, thin braids trailing down past her shoulders. She was quite short – less than five feet tall, from what I could see. She was the only customer in my vicinity, and I couldn’t tell if she was just passing time or intended to shop.

“The cash register is still on, if you’d like to buy something,” I told her, continuing to clear the table. I wasn’t trying to intrude on her solitude, just convey that I was nearby to help if she needed me. I soon learned that her need was not for salesmanship, but comfort.

“Oh, I’d like to buy something, but I don’t have any money,” she said, adding as she burst into tears, “I’d like to buy something for my niece – she just had surgery.”

I was caught off guard by her crying, yet my spirit leapt to attention. I went to the woman, touched her carefully on the arm, and said, “I’m sorry. Tell me what happened.” It was all she needed to hear, and she shared the details of her anguish.

Her niece was upstairs, just taken back into surgery after an operation earlier in the day. The woman explained that “just yesterday, she had been a flower girl in her uncle’s wedding.” The little girl had sickle cell anemia, and there was a complication from the earlier procedure that had the family worried and upset. They didn’t know what the second surgery meant, and were waiting to hear from the doctor. “I had to come downstairs to get away for a few minutes while we’re waiting,” she explained.

Miracle was the little girl’s name, and her aunt loved her dearly. I asked questions about the family—were there siblings, or was she an only child?

“She has a little sister—Savannah is one year old, and they’re very close,” she said as the tears streamed down her face. “Savannah is a miracle too. Her mother wasn’t supposed to have another baby, and she is perfect, healthy in every way.”

I was moved. And I moved—to the table across the way, where I had a display of white stuffed cats for sale. Cute things. Little girl things that might cheer up a hurting aunt and a sick little girl. I motioned for the woman to come look with me, and I said, “Do you think Miracle would like one of these?” I’d chosen a set of two kittens – one large, one small – thinking one perhaps symbolized the aunt, and the other, the niece.

“Here, this is for Miracle.” I handed the pair to her, said it was hers, no charge, from me.

She smiled a wet smile, exposing broken and cigarette-stained teeth. Gratitude filled her teary eyes, and she thanked me. “This is Miracle and Savannah…two kittens, one big, one small!” And it warmed my heart, no matter her lack of money. I was grateful that I was in a position to do what seemed right.

Yet the woman continued to cry. She seemed inconsolable. What more could I give to her, I thought.

And again my spirit moved. I could pray. No matter that she was a stranger. I should pray. I put my arms around her, rested my chin on the top of her head, and called aloud on Jesus Christ. I asked the Lord to watch over Miracle, to heal her, and prayed that this second surgery would be successful – that it would fix whatever was wrong. I asked for peace for the family. I asked him to protect the little girl. With a perfect stranger, for a first time ever, I was compelled to give of myself in a new way—to pray because it was the only thing I could do—and the only thing that mattered.

Aunt Penny was again grateful. Perhaps she thought of me as a passing angel, but I was the one who’d been blessed. I was the one who was able to turn to someone in need and give something that heretofore I only gave to my family or friends, or at my church. It was the end of my work week, and I was tired. But after hearing of Miracle and her family’s pain, I was energized by being able to reach out to a stranger, listen, and care. I knew it was the Holy Spirit, and it felt good to obey His leading.

After three days of sales, I didn’t care what the dollar figure was. I walked out of the hospital with a glow in my heart—and that was all the pay I needed.

A Miracle had made my day.

Horsing Around in the Animal World

2006-09-19T11:36:00.000-05:00

I was on horseback yesterday for a couple of hours, taking my fifth riding lesson. Here I am a grandmother (I do try to stay in shape), learning how to officially ride a horse. It's been a lifelong dream, fostered before I ever started school back in the 1950s. I saw each summer a herd of about 20 horses that grazed and nuzzled each other on open land, surrounded by billowing trees across from my uncle's cottage, located on the Fox River in Illinois. I'd stare at them for hours. To me, they were such majestic, magnificent-looking creatures. If I'd had my way, I'd have grown up on a horse ranch in Arizona instead of on the concrete sidewalks of Chicago. The site of those steeds got into my blood, and finally, I have a chance to get to know the animal and feel what it's like to groom one, saddle it up, and ride. I don't even mind picking the crud out of their hooves with the grooming tools.

Which brings me to one of the books I carry in the fall line-up at my books fairs, "Spirit of the Horse," by Bob Langrish and Nicola Jane Swinney, published by Paragon Publishing. The photography is artistic and portrays the animals in the wild and from around the world. Chapters cover horses on film, Arabian horses, Iberian horses, those from Europe, of the Americas, ponies of the world, foals and heavy horses. Two-page spreads in the 10" x 12-1/2" book size are beautiful, while Swinney's prose is informative and thorough. Given that our prices are 30% to 70% below publisher's prices, this 257-page book is a bargain at $14.99.

It's an interesting fact that many children's books are written about animals. There are books about rabbits and lightning bugs, kittens and puppies. And bears -- bears are big (no pun intended). New books released for Christmas are bear stories that hope to appeal to parents as gifts for children. A new title published by Margaret K. McElderry Books/Simon and Schuster is "Bear Stays Up for Christmas." It is written by Karma Wilson and illustrated by Jane Chapman. It's a cute story about a bear's friends who are determined to keep him awake for Christmas, helping him to fight his natural desire to hibernate by stringing popcorn on the Christmas tree, baking cookies, wrapping presents, and more.

"I've Seen Santa" is also about bears. Little Bear doesn't want to go to sleep, but tries to stay up to see Santa arrive on Christmas Eve. He discovers Big Bear, his father, eating Santa's blueberry pie. Little Bear is tucked back into bed, snuggling up to Big Bear, only to hear noises downstairs. The pair find Mommy Bear messing with the stockings hung from the mantle, and they all decide to sleep downstairs to see Santa. The book is written by David Bedrod, illustrated by Tim Warnes, and published by Little Tiger Press...and there's another animal for you!

"Snuggle Up, Little One--A Treasury of Bedtime Stories," features mice, lions, tigers, chickens, cows, rabbits, a bush baby--and of course--bears. This version is a padded hardcover, 171 pages, with 6 different bedtime stories. Its navy blue cover is softened by a beautiful illustration of a tan mother bear carrying her baby bear-child, snuggled in a red blanket. They walk in a darkened forest in the background, and human-like expressions of love between parent and child indicate the tenderness that the stories inside are sure to portray. The book retails for $29.99, but the book fair price is $12.99.

If these titles intrigue you, click on the link to Books Are Fun on the right-hand side of this page and shop online. You too may find an animal book that is just your style!

Random Thoughts For Fall

2006-09-09T18:49:00.000-05:00

In the world of blogs, does silence in the form of not posting get noticed? It's been one month since I've taken time to put my thoughts on paper (computer?) here. For those who view this site, my apologies. For those who are first-time readers, welcome!

Someone flipped a switch here in my part of Colorado, and we went from temperatures in the 80s and 90s down to the 60s. Overnight, the thermometer measures 40 degrees, and with an open window next to the bed, sleeping is fabulous. I grew up in Chicago in Midwest humidity -- where I can recall it being so muggy in the summer that even a light sheet on top of me while sleeping seemed too hot. The cool Colorado nights eliminate the need for air conditioning. It's great!

Fall can arrive so fast. It's as if when the yellow school buses hit the roads, to temper the shock of children having to leave their summers behind, the crisp air outdoors makes them want to be in the warmth of a classroom. OK, I may be stretching it!

My "theme" table at the book fairs this past month turned from that of gardening to back-to-school. Dictionaries, aprons for teachers, packages of colored marker pens, scrapbooks for school and various memorabilia now catch the attention of parents and grandparents.

Popular new books include a "Pirates of the Caribbean" book complete with telescope and small, round disks with scenes from the summer release movie. It reminds me of the old "viewfinder" toys I played with as a child. Johnny Depp's photo on the cover is the striking draw when the product is positioned on the corner of a display table. I chided an elderly male customer yesterday when he purchased the item, teasing him with my comment of, "Now there's a real pirate!" To which he replied, "There's a pirate in every boy!" -- meaning himself. (I thought so.)

Christmas products will soon be released for sale, and my schedule gets hectic. In November and December, I am double-booked with fairs...phew! That means two events at the same time, in different locations. Yes, I'll be adding staff. Finding the right person(s) is always the challenge.

Tonight we meet the new love of a close friend. He met her on "e-harmony.com" -- you've probably seen the distinguished TV commercials about Dr. Neal Clark Warren's matching service, as well as the cute spoofs about e-harmony on Saturday Night Live. Hey, I'm all for it! In this day and age of computers and the Internet, Dr. Warren's service has got to be safer than finding strangers in a chat room. I look forward to seeing who this woman is. Perhaps I'll post about her in a few days. Maybe there's a book in their story!

Stealing a Line from Forrest Gump

2006-08-11T00:09:00.000-05:00

Okay, I know it's been said by many others. With honors to Forrest Gump, my life lately has been like a box of chocolates, not knowing what I'm going to get.

Vacation was great. Restful, relaxing. Coming home meant facing a full schedule: the start of the fall season book fairs began. Then three out-of-state relatives here visiting at the same time for nine days. A husband's birthday. A child's birthday. And in the middle, a death in the family. Yesterday, it all ended, and I could barely move off the couch, exhausted from the emotional and physical bombardment.

Today was better. I had a busy, fun book fair day that continues tomorrow, to end the week in a productive mode. Yet my thoughts were of family.

The death was expected and yet, not. The person was important and meaningful in my life -- he was the father of my three children, a former husband -- and a loss that is a first for me.

Funerals and weddings were always the gathering place in my family when I was growing up. My four siblings and I didn't mind the funerals very much, because it gave us a chance to see our jillion cousins (...I came from a large family...), play in the basement of the funeral home, and eat lots of good food at one of our many aunts' homes after the service.

This week was not hard, but not easy. My children have lost their father. I had to close the door on a part of my life. In the process, I reconnected with many friends from long ago. Some I hadn't seen in 20 years. A few pounds heavier, dozens of hair shafts barer, with wrinkled faces, they smiled when they saw me. It felt great, despite everyone's grief.

Suffice it to say, death comes to us all. Some times are better than others. Selling books and staging book fairs had to wait. Life was more important this past week.

I'm back on track, a day at a time.

A Summer Recipe: Add Ocean to Warm Air--Mix with Good Books

2006-07-30T02:49:00.000-05:00

The Mexico vacation is over and I have spent two days slowly getting back to the reality of home, laundry, and gearing up for book fairs that begin next week. The white sand beach was all I expected and more. The Caribbean breeze from the east made the humid temperatures a soothing balm to the body each day. We started our days in swim suits, and ended nights in a Jacuzzi tub outdoors on our room’s balcony. The sound of the ocean surf lapping on the shore was all I needed to lull me to a restful sleep. It was the kind of vacation we hoped for—a get-away to lie around, enjoy siestas under a grassy palapa, and read books (see below) in between swimming in the ocean or the pool. A one-day bus tour inland to visit the Mayan Ruins at Chichén Itzá was fascinating and worth the time. The number of roadside vendors at the site were plentiful, but that didn't spoil the day. Kayaking and paddle boating were refreshing diversions when we wanted activity. I was fearless, as long as I had my life vest on!

The flow of daily conversations on the beach was relaxed, as we heard Spanish, French, and other dialects from various parts of the world. It was a comfort to hear human noise as people near us talked, yet not intruding because we couldn’t understand what they were saying. We were alone among many--a nice thing, being in our own private world, while sharing it with others.

Our first night there, we ate at the resort’s Japanese restaurant (one of five types at the hotel). We shared the hibachi-side table with a family from Barcelona, Spain. Only the husband could speak a bit of English, though the two sons were learning, he explained. A beautiful family—father Francesco, mother Angela, sons Pol, Nil, and young daughter, Maria—popped up at meals in the same places where my husband and I were eating, almost every day. Our communication was smiles, gestures, and a few words to each of them translated by the dad. The boys followed and loved American NBA basketball, and we recognized the athletes’ names as they excitedly told us who their favorite players were. We were surprised to learn that these young residents of Spain were avid enthusiasts, at ages 15 and 11. Eight-year-old Maria turned her nose up at the subject, her interests falling to dance and tennis. They all had lively brown eyes and wavy, dark hair, enhanced by deep tans.

I read three books during the eight-day vacation, something I’d not done, consecutively, in a long time. With my full in-season book fair schedule and all the administrative work involved after "store" hours (sales reports, unpacking of boxes, pricing inventory, and more), spare time to read has been sparse of late.

Three books I recommend:

I read Toni Morrison’s Jazz, the story of a middle-aged door-to-door salesman who shoots his teenage lover to death after she ends their affair. His wife, Violet, attacks the girl’s corpse in the casket with a knife at the funeral, thus earning her the nickname “Violent” amongst her neighbors. The story is set in the winter of 1926, and artfully portrays the times and culture of black urban New York with a feeling of authenticity. Morrison, winner of the Nobel Prize, writes in a lyrical style, expressing the character’s deep feelings in a calm pace that is opposite to what the story line is wont to convey. Jazz is not a story so much about the murder, but about the reasons why the lovers meet and connect as they did, and how the wife, with no children of her own, becomes obsessed with knowing who this young girl was, and thereby grieves her death in her own way.

Next, I read This Heavy Silence by Nicole Mazzarella. It is a debut novel for this creative writing teacher from Wheaton College in Illinois. The book was earlier this month selected to receive the prestigious "First Novel" Christy Award at the annual International Christian Retailers Show (formerly known as the Christian Booksellers Association convention) held in Denver. I had purchased the book online from the publisher, Paraclete Press, before the award had been given. So I was pleased to hear that my selection was indeed recognized, and therefore an excellent choice to read on my trip.

This Heavy Silence is the story of an independent woman, never married, whose passion and life’s breath is the toil and soil of her family’s three-hundred-acre farm land, which has been in the family for three generations. When she is named legal guardian to the young daughter of a close friend, killed in a house fire, her life is changed beyond expectation. Set in the rural Midwest, it is a story about choices, vows, broken promises, and the disappointments and pleasures of life. Mazzarella writes with an easy-to-read style that flows smoothly, properly punctuated by colorful descriptive passages that are “ah-hah” sighs tucked within the paragraphs. I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and suffered with the heroine in her emotional struggles of a middle-aged life that had to look back in order to move forward.

The third book I chose to read is a true story, The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky, written by Ken Dornstein, about his brother, David, who was one of the 259 passengers killed on December 21, 1988, when Pan Am flight 103 exploded in the skies over Locherbie, Scotland. The book is not so much about David Dornstein as it is Ken’s quest to learn who his older brother really was, through passionate and painful research about his brother’s life. It is Ken’s journey through grief, growth, and gut-wrenching analysis of his brother’s diverse and odd scribblings in dozens of notebooks written almost daily in teen and young adult years. David was 25 years old, had earned a creative writing degree from Brown University, and was in search of his future as a writer at the time of the plane’s explosion.

It is the connecting with David’s friends, including two of his brother’s former girlfriends (one who later becomes and remains Ken’s wife) that adds dimension to the myriad of David’s words on lined pages that takes Ken to Israel and back again, searching to understand the mind and life of David before his death. The book conveys angst through the disturbing world David writes about, and in parallel, paints a portrait of who Ken was growing up, hidden in the shadow of his older brother in life, and for a time, afterwards, in his death. Ken triumphs through this life study, and does an excellent job of bringing his brother to life for the reader. Oddly, I completed reading this book on the plane flight back to the United States, soaring at 30,000 feet in the air. In Dornstein’s book, he is for a time obsessed with imagining what book his brother might have been reading on the airplane at the time it exploded. I thought it was fitting that, if our plane exploded on the way home from Mexico, I would be reading a book such as this. (Was I trying to tempt fate?)

I’m happy to say, we made it home safely. Buenos noches. Hasta mañana.

Vacation Time

2006-07-15T00:09:00.000-05:00

This blog has been silent because I'm swamped with end-of-the season book fairs! We survived inventory count--now it's off to our regional book conference before heading to Mexico for a week! In between, I turn another year older, so that's a reason to take a vacation too. The sand and ocean water beckon. My staff and I have done five different book fairs in the past seven days (some of them 2-day events) and it's time to relax.

My Fabio life-size cardboard cutout turned heads yesterday. For the first time, he stood behind our cash register--an employee and I dressed him in our work apron and stuck a name tag on him. One customer (who wasn't paying close attention) thought he was a person standing there--as she wrote out her check, she struck up a conversation with "him" -- and laughed in amused embarrassment when she looked up and saw what and "who" it was! Much fun!

This week I set up a "Christmas in July" table and was pleasantly surprised to see many customers were ready to buy snowman ornaments, wrapping paper, and other themed items. I've never been one to focus on Christmas in the summer, but I saw this week that many people do. Once August arrives, I'm afraid it won't be long before we think "snow." In this part of the country, it can happen in September. For now, I'm thinking "beach."

Some of the best selling items recently have been:

1) Rachael Ray's "30 Minute Meals," No. 1 & 2
2) Chronicles of Narnia, 19-CD collection
3) Book Tote Bags
4) Handmade greeting card sets
5) Leather portfolio
6) "Amazing Grace" book with CD
7) "Baby's First Bible" with white plush stuffed lamb
8) Betty Crocker's "Bridal Edition" cookbook
9) "Through Indian Eyes"
10) "New Complete Guide to Landscaping"

The list tells me that my buyers want a bit of everything. They have business needs, personal wants, a need for gift items, and they like to work in the garden and cook. That covers just about most of us, I'd say.

This blog will take a short break, unless I can find a computer to connect with while I'm laying under a cabana in the Mexican sun. On second thought, maybe I'll just catch up on some reading and some sleep.

Hollywood -- Colorado Style

2006-06-30T23:56:00.000-05:00

Selling books also means counting books. Yes, it’s mid-year inventory time. Because I carry more than 550 titles, it’s quite the project to stack, mark each with a SKU tag and count the items. Phew. Okay, my inventory is not as large as the chain stores, I know, but counting it is still a daunting task. Never mind that I only got three hours of sleep last night, finishing the details before the “official” counters arrived this morning. Why? Because I had opted to attend the annual church choir banquet last night, held at New Life Church in Colorado Springs, my home church. This, instead of working in the warehouse—whereby I shorted myself on sleep time in the process. Starting next week, the fall season begins in a rush right after Independence Day, and we start a deliberate slide into the Christmas season. I know, I know—it’s too early to talk about Christmas shopping! Yet here we are, halfway through 2006 as July 1st lands this weekend.

Speaking of my church choir, last night’s event mimicked the Academy Awards in Hollywood—it was the “red carpet,” Colorado style. Each year, a chosen committee selects a banquet theme. Last year, we had a Fifties Party. The year before, a Western Hoedown. At the other end of the scale was last night’s formal, sit-down dinner affair, complete with the little gold statuettes. We gave awards that Hollywood can’t compete with, except for choosing the Song of the Year. Choir members cast votes two weeks ago in anticipation of this week’s award ceremony, complete with the theme music from the annual televised show.

The “Paul A. Awards” (named after a beloved staff member, who is a dynamite clarinet and saxophone player) recognized those in our nearly 200-member choir for outstanding achievement for being the:
Loudest Alto, Tenor and Bass singers
Person Most Likely to Forget His/Her Vocal Part
Person Most Likely to Ad-Lib the Words
Funniest Choir Member
Person Who Smiles the Most
Most Demonstrative Worship Singer
Most Talkative Choir Member
Person Who Disrupts the Choir the Most
Best Hairstyle
Best-Dressed

These were designed to make light of the idiosyncrasies all singers have, striving for attention in ways that only persons on stage can. However, I’ll mention that we in the worship choir know our focus is to be on God, and not on ourselves. We also selected three members (one from each section) whom we admire as each being the Most Inspirational Singer—an honor for each of them to receive.

Chosen as the Song of the Year was “Your Name,” a song co-written by Dove-award winning Christian singer, Paul Baloche, and our very own guitarist and member of New Life Church’s worship band, Glenn Packiam. Of the five nominated songs, this dynamic composition combines harmonious chords and expressive lyrics that recognize the “strong and mighty power” that is the “shelter” of our God. Packiam is also a member of the Desperation Band, a group that releases CDs through Integrity Music. Its latest release is "Who You Are" and is available online.

Black Hawks, Mary Kay, and Elvis

2006-06-21T00:21:00.000-05:00

On the final day of last week’s book fair at a local US Army hospital, I met and talked with a Black Hawk helicopter technician. The soldier had been working on the legendary transport aircraft for 19 years. Equipped with two machine guns and weighing more than 20,000 pounds, the agile helicopter didn’t intimidate this soldier, according to the story she told me about her career with the Army. She said she really enjoyed her work.

Read that again—I said “she.” Yes, the soldier who knew the ins-and-outs of this versatile flying machine was a woman. “Jenna” was youthful and energetic, auburn hair pulled up into a neat bun on top her head—not looking like the kind of woman one would expect maintains the magnificent Black Hawk. How could I not be interested in learning more about her, surely unique among women her age? I’d guessed her to be in her 30s, but she said she’d reached the 40-mark a couple of years before. (Jenna attributed her youthful look to Mary Kay cosmetics…the softer side of a helicopter mechanic in view!)

She is a single mom to two daughters who have traveled with her when Jenna’s assignments allowed it. They each see their father regularly and have benefited from living in other parts of the world, Jenna explained. After 19 years, she remains dedicated in her service to our country, and never thought of doing anything else. She’s served her time in Iraq.

Nineteen years is long enough to do any one job, though, and Jenna is in active pursuit to switch to another role in her Army career, that of scheduling movement of troops. The job change should take place in the near future. In the meantime, she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty, even when desert temperatures on a flight line reach into the hundreds. After all, Mary Kay sells great hand care products, too!
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Another Elvis sighting: My Elvis Presley celebrity life-size cut-out elicited a story from an elderly man who sauntered through the book fair at the end of the fourth and final day. I was packing up the assorted CDs from the nearby “impulse” table, tired but pleased with the week’s sales. Elvis stood nearby, as if to oversee my taking proper care of the music—frozen handsome and smiling in his gold lamé suit.

I glanced at the aged man as he approached, then focused on his deeply wrinkled face when he stopped directly in front of me. He pointed a cigarette-stained finger at the cardboard man and said, “I was his platoon sergeant in Germany.”

“Who? Elvis?” I thought perhaps he was making this up.

“I sure was. He was my scout squad leader. He could read a map like a son-of-a-gun. He was mean…” The odor of cigarette breath was strong, and I wanted to back away, but the story I was about to hear intrigued me too much to pass up. I inhaled carefully and listened to the man.

“Elvis and I were in a bar, and there were two soldiers there with their uniform sleeves rolled up,” he explained. “That was against the rules. I pointed it out to Elvis – ‘See those guys?’ I said. Elvis went over to ‘em, told ‘em to roll down their sleeves. They did. But as soon as he turned around, they rolled ‘em back up. He took those two guys and throwed ‘em down the stairs, out the door! Yeh—Elvis. He was a real nice fella…” The man smiled as he shuffled away, recalling the memory.

Did I believe him? I had no reason not to. It was a nice surprise ending to my busy day.

To VietNam and Back Again

2006-06-15T00:21:00.000-05:00

It has been a number of years since I’ve talked with a VietNam War veteran. Today I had a rare opportunity to do so. I noticed the man because his suspenders were bedecked with nearly two dozen pins of various types, some indicating his volunteer service to the Army hospital where this week’s book fair is staged. He was relaxed and smiled as he stepped up to the cash register, two books in his hands. I asked him if he’d ever been in military service, indicating his array of pins. Judging by his thinning hair and slight paunch, I understood it would have been a few years ago, if he had.

“I was in VietNam for 18 months—the first time. I enjoyed it,” he said.

Enjoyed it? How was that possible? I probed for more information. I had been part of that generation—the ‘60s, the anti-war protest years, hippy “flower” children. I remembered how many young men and women had died in a country far away in a war many did not support. How could this grandfatherly-looking man tell me he enjoyed VietNam?

“I’d been assigned duty as a guard in Germany, and I wanted out of that,” he explained. “So after pestering my commanding officer, it took just 10 days, and I was out of there, and on my way to the war. It wasn’t so bad. I worked with supplies, but when I got shot right here in the stomach (he touched his right side to show me where he’d been hit), they sent me home. I asked to go back, even though I was suffering from PTSD (note: post-traumatic stress syndrome). I was put on 100% disability, but I wanted to go back. I served a second tour of duty for six months before coming home.”

At that point, it didn’t matter to me what he had enjoyed about VietNam. I could do nothing but thank him more than once for his service, hearing he had voluntarily returned to fight that unpopular war. Today he stood before me an aged, but proud, man. He bore no anger and hatred against those who jeered and cursed him and other soldiers upon their return—he just said, “It wasn’t so bad. I was okay.”

I was face-to-face with a real-life hero. I thanked him again for what he had done almost four decades ago, grateful for people like him who gave years of their lives for our country at a time when it seemed the “wrong” thing to do. He turned and walked away with dignity—and with peace.

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Book Fair Notes: With Father’s Day this Sunday, many shoppers are looking for the perfect gift to buy dad. Sports books are selling well, as are CDs and DVDs from “Motorcity” (a 4-CD set of original Motown tunes), Celtic music sets, to the History Channel’s “American Revolution.” Other items selling are binoculars, “Country Wisdom: Everything You Need to Know to Live Off the Land,” gardening books, and the latest “Road Atlas.” Many shoppers are going out of town to visit their dads, and a few of them have their fathers flying here to spend time together as a family.

Consider a book as you shop for YOUR dad! Visit http://www.booksarefun.com/ via the link on this page on the right-hand side, using the discount customer code of COSEP2 for low prices.

A Chaplain For Nearly a Half-Century

2006-06-14T00:18:00.000-05:00

The chaplain was quite cheery for 6:30 in the morning. Though I rose at four a.m. to begin my day, I was not yet in time with his joyous mood, two-plus hours later. I went about my task of setting up the first day of this week’s book fair scheduled at the Army hospital. The gray-haired man tagged along and chatted. He looked more like a physician than a man of the cloth, dressed in his white smock, his I.D. tag hanging from around his neck. I politely listened and nodded as I unfolded and positioned tablecloths, then moved display racks into place. At first annoyed by his banter, something told me to “stop and listen” to him. “The tasks can wait a few minutes,” I thought, then gave this man my full attention.

“I’ve been in the service for more than half a century,” he beamed. “And I’ve been in the chaplaincy almost half a century too!” That WAS impressive. I noticed the pride in his eyes, not dimmed by the thickness of his wire-rimmed glasses. I stood silent and with respect as he continued his tale.

“I was a chaplain in World War II, and my dad fought in World War I.” Now I knew I was in the presence of someone who deserved honor. “I wanted to go into the Navy when I was young,” he explained. “My dad was in the Army, and he would have none of that.” I pictured this aging man in his youth, standing up to his father, at odds in their opinions.

He described the scene at the recruitment office. “There were two lines formed—one was for Army, and the other for Navy. They’d shout out to all of us there, ‘Army!’ ‘Navy!’ and we’d choose a line to stand in. Well, I had flat feet. (I started to feel a bit sorry for him, hearing this.) I’d been an athlete all through high school, but my flat feet kept me out of the Army. I was in that line for the Navy, and they stamped my hand with the letters N-A-V-Y – and it didn’t matter if I had flat feet. I was glad.”

I thought his story was finished, was poised to thank him and turn away—when he grinned, eyes twinkling, “With my flat feet, I figured if the ship ever sank, I just might be able to walk on water!”

We both laughed out loud, me the more surprised of the two. He’d just jump-started my morning, and my smile didn’t fade for the next half-an-hour. He knew exactly what he was doing when he’d started the conversation. Unsuspecting, I was taken in, and given a gift to start my day.

Serving Those Who Serve Our Country

2006-06-13T05:38:00.000-05:00

Today I begin a 4-day book fair staged in a local Army hospital. It is one of the military bases from where many of our soldiers are deployed overseas to fight the war in Iraq. Many of my customers will be the staff who care for those returning with injuries, whether they be physical or emotional. Some will also be the soldiers.

Three months ago, I had been in this same facility conducting another book fair. An incident happened that clearly showed me how these soldiers continue to live in some way with the trauma of fighting a war. I had been blowing up some helium balloons to use with my display. I unintentionally overfilled a mylar balloon. To my surprise along with everyone else's present in the area, it exploded. The sound echoed loudly in the tiled atrium hallway--to my embarrassment. In an instant, I realized it sounded like gunshot, as did all the others. With a racing heart, I cried out, "It's only a balloon--it's not a gun!" I could tell by the wide-eyed expressions on many faces, that was exactly what they were reacting to. One soldier commented, "With most people here suffering from PTSD, you're lucky we didn't all hit the floor!" I put away the helium and left the display balloon-less.

This week, I am honored to serve those who are serving our country. Please return to this blog each day to read about the soldiers whom I will talk to.

DaVinci…DaWhat?

2006-06-07T23:08:00.000-05:00

Okay…so I’ve held off reading “The DaVinci Code” and also have not yet seen the movie. Maybe it’s just for the sake of saying, “Nope, not read it. Not seen it.” (Why, I don’t know, because eventually I’ll probably go for it.) I’m a big movie fan, so it’s hard to resist running out to the nearest theater to join the masses that had to be among the first in the seats. As a book seller, I’ll admit to carrying a few copies of the famous-and-debated work of fiction. Yes, yes. I do have to give the customers what they want—that’s simply smart business sense.

In my own way, I was playing a silent game with my customers. “The DaVinci Code” copies were carefully positioned in different places on my “bestseller” rack at different book fairs. At one event, I’d place them on the top shelves to see how fast they sold. The next time, I’d position the book toward the bottom to see just how badly people wanted it—if they had to search for it, would they still buy the book? Did that embossed, golden title jump off the dark-red cover enough to trip people as they walked by, out of immediate view? Buried between Jimmy Carter’s “Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis” and Frank Peretti’s “Monster,” I thought perhaps those titles might instead catch a shopper’s gaze, who in turn, would have a hard decision to make, choosing between the three types of ethical discussions.

What I noticed was that during the week preceding the movie debut, the DaVinci copies did not sell—and that was when the book was placed on the top shelves of the rack. I’d wondered if people had gotten bored by the voluminous clamber on the airwaves about Dan Brown’s legal predicament. Tom Hanks’s promotion of the movie was a bit overdone too (I thought), as he appeared on every television channel most nights, gushing over the merits of his new film.

However, after “The DaVinci Code” premiered in theaters, the copies of the book went quickly…sold right away. I had a single hardback remaining when a man who had seen it displayed the day before came back to buy it, but it was gone—sold to someone who had been there an hour before.

I haven’t seen a man that age pout so sadly in quite a while! Maybe he should just go see the movie…

What Is a Book Fair?

2006-06-06T11:50:00.000-05:00

There are county fairs and state fairs, but perhaps some readers wonder, “Just what is a book fair?” If you have young children, you may have been exposed to a similar event at your children’s schools. However, I stage my events in the corporate world. Human Resource departments like book fair events because they are an employee benefit that workers look forward to. It is book shopping brought to the work place. Saves gas, and helps keep employees happy.

From my perspective, the best kind of book fair is one scheduled for two, three or four days at a time. Less set-up and tear-down. Yes, the one-day-ers can be killers, but we manage! I have three part-time employees who work into the mix of those physical tasks of moving carts, setting up tables and assembling attractive displays. It can take about two hours to do a complete set-up (remember, I carry more than 500 titles!), but in the end, it’s worth the time. A full-service, attractive bookstore is right there, in a company’s cafeteria, the lobby of a major hospital, or living room of a nursing home. It’s festive, and a nice change from the daily look staff and clients grow used to.

Employees love the free drawings that are standard at the book fairs. It’s normal to hear, “Now make sure you draw my name,” or “I never win anything” – and to that person’s surprise, when his or her name is drawn, many times it is indeed the first time that person has ever won something – or so they say. Happy to know I allow the winner to choose a free book, it makes that person’s day! It’s also fun for me. Many times the winner will say they’re selecting a book for a sister, son, mother, or friend. Now that’s generosity.

Speaking of generous, one important element of my book fairs is the “rebate.” In being allowed to sell products at a business, the company earns a percentage of my sales. Always. Many times this money is contributed to a charity of the company’s choice, but the funds are also given to employee hardship funds, or will add to the money employees have to stage their yearly Christmas party. I love it because I am happy to contribute to these causes, knowing a portion of the proceeds will be used in positive ways.

All in all, book fairs bring happiness and variety into a day’s routine – and who doesn’t want that as part of a hard day’s work?

Daddy's Little Girl

2006-06-02T22:55:00.000-05:00

In the book fair business, it’s a known fact that a majority of the buyers are women. Shoppers at heart, they seem to have (or take) more time to linger over lyrical pages of prose in a novel, or push buttons on a talking book being considered for a grandchild. I love the women who turn out at my book fairs because I know it means titles will move off the shelves. It’s not the money—it’s the satisfaction in knowing I’ve made their day and hear, “This is just what I was looking for.”

That said, my heart is most touched by the young dads who buy books for their children. They are a study in opposites, when dressed in a 3-piece suit.

Mid-week I conducted a 2-day fair in the lobby of a somewhat ritzy office building downtown. As expected, shoppers filled the aisles during lunch time. The rest of the day, people scurried to and fro, briefcases in hand, off to important meetings and appointments. They’d stop but a moment at the bestseller rack or cookbook display, then back on pace toward a job task. Whenever a businessman approached the cash register, I expected he’d pay for a copy of a business book or the latest profile of an athlete who makes millions. But not always. When a smartly-dressed man places a copy of “Chicken Little” or “Pooh Stories” on the countertop, it is a treat. His soft side shows, and it’s something to see.

One of the best parts of the retail book business is talking with the customers—and overhearing conversations amongst them. Picture this: two fortyish lawyer-looking types head my way, a bit rushed, it seems. One wants to pay for his books, the other waits beside him. The buyer comments about the World War II DVD set he’s buying, his voice casual as he talks about his interest. But his demeanor switches to excitement when he points out his second choice, a book called, “Third Grade Detectives #6: The Secret of the Green Skin.” He tells his friend it’s for his daughter—“She’s in third grade and loves to read! I saw this title and knew I had to buy it for her!” His pleasure is heart-warming to me because love for his daughter is apparent in his selection, and he wasn’t afraid to share that with his gray-haired friend. In my mind, I see an enthusiastic little girl, hugging and kissing daddy who brings a new book home for her to read.

I suppose it’s why I’ve always treasured books so much. They are a means of connection and emotion between people of all ages and for all times. Dad may have a busy day at the office, but if he can spend a few dollars at a book fair, he takes home much more than white pages glued between two covers.

Elvis Has Not Left the Building

2006-05-31T23:53:00.000-05:00

For the past two days, Elvis Presley, Fabio and Marilyn Monroe were at my book fair. Derek Jeter also hung out at the men’s section. Bozo the Clown decided to stay home, as the high-class office building where the book fair was held didn’t permit clowning around. They all got a lot of attention, especially Fabio, his bare chest in broad, full view. Women asked how much it would cost them to take Fabio and Elvis home (funny…not many men were interested in Marilyn, even with the slinky red gown she wore. Many of them were lawyers in suits and ties. But get them in a pair of jeans…). When I quoted a price, none took me up on the offer. They’d frown and walk away. (“What price, fame?”)

“But wait,” you say. “Elvis and Marilyn are dead.” And you’d be right. In fact, none of these celebrities uttered a word, except for Elvis. He says a few things now and then – three phrases, to be exact. “Thanks for letting me talk to you,” “Hi, I’m Elvis Presley,” and his trademark “Thank you very much.” He’s not much on reading, though. Never spends a dime at my book fairs, despite the great selection of books that surround him. Just stands there in his gold lamé suit, grinning. He speaks when I turn him on, and quiets when I turn him off. The switch is hidden behind his left elbow. (Ever met a man you could turn on and off by a simple switch on his arm, ladies? No offense, men!)

If you haven’t guessed by now, my “celebrities” are life-size, cardboard cutouts. And they look real enough to slink up to and chat with a while. I set them up at most of the book fairs I stage for the single purpose of drawing attention. It works every time.

It amazes me how much interest these cardboard creatures draw. Immortalized and frozen in time, a simple photograph enlarged to six feet tall creates reactions that put a grin on my face whenever a book lover asks how much it would cost to take home a fold-up piece of stiff paper! Last week, female employees of an assisted living facility where I held a book fair took photos of themselves standing with Fabio. I didn’t care – they were having a blast as they admired the hunk and shopped for the products I’d brought.

My point is obvious and I’m, in my own way, taking advantage of it: people are fascinated by and interested in celebrities. They fantasize. They drool. And they stop and look at my books for sale. It’s all in the presentation.

Perhaps one day, I can arrange to have Fabio at a book fair, live and in person. But wait, first he’d have write a book. (Does he know how to read? With a mane like that, does he even have to?)

Until next time, happy reading!

Recognizing Memorial Day...And My Two Sons

2006-05-29T18:49:00.000-05:00

Today I was lucky enough to connect and have lunch with my oldest son, who turns 28 tomorrow, the former "official" Memorial Day date, that being before the government moved most holidays to Mondays. He serves in the US Air Force, and has for 8 years. His younger brother is a member of the US Navy. It being Memorial Day today, I want to thank and honor those who serve our country -- my two sons included. I am proud of them and their choices to devote their lives to the freedom of our nation.

As for book talk, two of the titles I currently have available at my book fairs which recognize our servicemen and military history are these:

1) Absolute Victory--America's Greatest Generation and Their World War II Triumph. It is from the Editors of TIME, with a foreword by George H.W. Bush. The book is a 60th anniversary tribute of V-J Day, and comes with a reprinted Life magazine dated July 2, 1945. Amazingly, the cover cost of the magazine at that time was a mere 10 cents!

2) Soldiers of Freedom, by Kai Wright, is an illustrated history of African Americans in the Armed Forces. It has been a popular seller this past week at the book fairs. The book begins with the Revolutionary War, through Vietnam, the Gulf War, and the ongoing war in Afghanistan. It traces the full history of African Americans' involvement in every branch of the US armed forces.

We are lucky to live in the United States of America.

The World of Book Selling

2006-05-28T01:49:00.000-05:00

School's out for summer and in many families, that means regular trips to the library. It's what I did when I was young. From the time I could read, I had my nose in a book much of the time. So much so, that I remember my mother scolding me at the age of seven for reading too much, and telling me to "go outside and play." (I had been reading a book about how to tell time.) Sad at having to end my intense study, I obeyed, and silently forgave Mom for not understanding my fascination with books. Didn't she know I was happiest when reading?

Nancy Drew mysteries caught my attention early. No sooner had I finished one, and I'd hurry off to check out the next book in the series. Later, I focused on Perry Mason and Edgar Allan Poe stories. By then, in junior high school, I was buying my own books through book clubs I'd joined. With book and transistor radio in hand, I'd climb up into the ancient weeping willow tree in our back yard to hide from the world, reading away a summer day -- after chores were done, of course.

That love of the printed word has stayed with me throughout my life. Having written for newspapers, magazines, and worked in public relations and marketing (with special event coordination thrown in), I am now in the business of book selling. Not your every-day, chain-store-variety type of book sales. Not even sales on E-bay. I stage and run book fairs. I sell directly to employees and the public at places of business after setting up what amounts to a "mobile" book store, complete with shelves, tables full of products in 12 different categories, sales signs, appropriate decor, and cash register. This season, I carry more than 500 titles -- for children, men, women of all ages.

"Isn't that a lot of work?" you might ask. Well, yes it is. But it's also fun and gives me (and my employees) a lot of pleasure. After all, we're in the business of fulfilling customer needs by providing a means to explore new worlds. Isn't that what reading is all about?

And so, this blog begins. I will share stories about the people I meet. I will talk about their reading interests, and what's popular in the world of book sales (I can't keep enough Raechel Ray cookbooks in stock right now!). Because a book fair is also a "special event," now and then, a horror story of sorts will be thrown in. After all, dealing with the public can be a challenge! The customers from hell are always out there...but it's my job to smile and serve their needs, and I do.

Won't you join me and follow this blog? I promise it will be informative and entertaining. If nothing else, you might find out about a book title that piques your interest enough to go out and buy it...or check it out from your local library.

Happy reading!