Dog Days of Summer

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?

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”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

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

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

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

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

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

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.