Anticipation

NaNoWriMo Eve. I'm tingly with a new story. I'm also apprehensive. Will I have enough story to write 50,000 words in a month? And on that last day will I be writing nonsense to get the word counts to jive, like last year? That's a month away and I need to focus on each day. 1667 words a day, a minimum to reach the goal.
I haven't drummed up any local budding authors to join me. As much as writing in the Diner fascinates me, I think I'll start here on my couch at the stroke of midnight. I have the first scene to set on laptop. Oh, boy and ideas jump all the time.
I got more thematic stimulation for Country, too, this morning, but she'll have to wait. I need to keep posting, too, on the blog. I may resort to editing and reposting past stories.
So less than twelve hours an adventure to The Last Free Exit begins. I'm finding I want to listen to the Summit radio station more for those creative phrases. The twenty two year old girl from New Hampshire may find a place in this story. Or maybe the nineteen year old thin blonde that visited my dreams with David as the older brother and his younger brother- he has none, but dreams are strange. I'm also seeing a "Jersey Boy" character. Who knows? Each day, I'll visit and see what comes out of my imagination.

10 Things to Tell My 22 Year Old Self

A perfect fall day with the brightest, clearest blue sky, colors not quite at peak and coolish temperatures created a New Hampshire feel for me. I thought of my sunny little second bedroom in Dover, New Hampshire, thirty years ago. The white four poster bed covered most of the room with a hand me down desk against the wall. I pretended to write there. The scene out my window revealed other garden view apartments with the dark wood beams against the tan stucco, and  parking lots. A tree right outside the window could have it pass for more country feel if I looked only at it. I sat there and wanted to write but had no story to tell at that time. I wrote complaining entries in my ringed notebook that I found after my walk today.
I had been married a year and a half already and my husband worked long hours on his boat, the Archerfish, in dry dock at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard. I lived sixteen hours from home. I had moved twice already and missed not only home, but the newest friends I had made in Connecticut. I also worked full time midnights and despised being a charge nurse, even then, calling it being a secretary.
I came up with ten things I would tell that twenty two year old girl agonizing at that flimsy desk wishing she were a writer.
1) You will publish books.
2) You are a writer- write.
3) You will still miss the same husband, separated by a government job now.
4) Love grows stronger, as does desire.
5) Mom didn't die bitter. Contentment filled her last four years and she was a blessing to visit.
6) New Hampshire is beautiful, but Pennsylvania is home.
7) Being a charge nurse is still being a secretary, but you can work in ICU, rehab and home health and in an LPN role in a nursing home to do nursing duties. Home health is the best, most satisfying. You will enjoy that the most, but will still need lots of rest and writing will always be your first love.
8) Being a mom is GREAT!
9) Being a grandmother is pretty good, too.
10) Being a Jesus follower, allowing Him in every part of your life is better than just believing about Him.

Wordless Wednesday

Teddy Tuesdays

From the Teddy's Law website. They are making progress in awareness. So much I am reading is mothers trusting their children to men they hardly know. Please be aware and speak up:

 

Please help in the fight for Teddy's Law

Introduction

Our mission is to fight and protect children from abuse around the world. We will fight for stronger laws and ask our politicians to become actively involved. We all need to be part of this team. Child abuse exist this is a fact. My son Theodore Foltz-Tedesco was tortured to death by his abuser. Penalties must be severe in cases of child torture. We are the voice of these children. Children remain silent out of fear. Fear is what abusers want their victims to feel. It is now time for us to fight and stand up to children services, the states, and the federal government. More needs to be done to protect and save these poor children. It’s time for these agencies to listen and not ignore what’s going on. They are being paid with our tax dollars and yet there are still children dying. That is why Teddy’s Law is so important. We want to see it illegal to remove a child from public school and put them in home school during an open children services case. Operations within children services must improve. We would like to ensure there are no longer appointments being made when children services responds to a case. In addition if no contact is made by the second visit a search warrant is to be issued to enter the home. Local police and children services need to be able to work side by side to serve and protect our children. These are just a few things we want to see done. But like anything it takes a team of people to make this possible. We will be the voice of Teddy and other abused children to make this law a reality. It is our mission to make sure everybody hears us.

Please join in our fight!

Sincerely,

Shawn Tedesco and the Team Teddy Team

Excitement Builds

I am getting excited about NaNoWriMo starting this week. I had a dream last week, basically giving me a plot, always important to novel and a point to the story. I'm going to leave my comfort zone of my couch and try writing in coffee houses and the Diner in West Middlesex. I'm leaning to writing about Amber's friends after graduation from my novel, Summer Triangle. But it may go in a totally different direction.
The abandonment of writing and the thrill of exploring new places, faces and expressions beckons me in the month of November. I have the first scene in my mind, but after that, I don't really know how it will roll. And that is the fun adventure.
I'm trying to inspire writers and pre-writers to join me in this month. The NaNo site keeps track of the writer's progress and offers tips, encouraging blogs and comradeship. The local write-ins bring lap tops and coffee together in coffee shops. Quiet tapping of keyboards and nods of friendship build up the momentum, I imagine. I haven't participated in any write-in's. Years ago, Katie met with an indie published writer at our mall's coffee shop. I would love to do this.
I'm bolstered going into this week with positive reviews of my novel. My writing surprised my mother-in-law. She didn't know I was so talented. She isn't on line and has had an eventful year. Someone gave her a copy of Summer Triangle to read.
I extend encouragement to any one who has a story to tell. This is the month of freedom. Get a program with spell check, so those simple words don't drive you crazy. Check your word count every day, sign up with NaNoWriMo- http://nanowrimo.org/dashboard. Get into a chat room, if you can't find someplace local or e-mail me for a rah-rah! You can do it! Join the fun and be amazed at what you can do. Editing is for much later. Like a good soup, writing needs to simmer and sit for a few days for the best flavor.

From a Reader

Doesn't this look inviting?

Christina's House

I have been forming a Gables and Gingerbread series in my mind for several years. I loved the house I grew up in. I hardly ever saw another house quite like it. I began my home health job in Ohio and then houses similar in design seemed to pop up in Trumbull County. One on Five Points Road, Hartford, set in the country set my mind to thinking. I traveled north and saw one without the gingerbread. These houses pricked my imagination, as I wondered about the people who built them.
I looked up some ideas on the internet and found Andrew Jackson Downing and the almost religion of designing these "cottages." His life alone would make a great story, but that is not where these stories grew, yet.
My first one that I am polishing for publication is Main Street. This is my prove it-I-can-write-a-novel that I started writing in the lonely hours when no one was looking, my secret, I-don't-want -anyone-to-laugh-at-me. I am quite proud of it and cannot wait for others to read it, but some bumps in the road of publishing keep it from view, yet. I have some hopes to have it traditionally published.
A house on Ohio State 193, south of Fowler, intrigued me. I started forming a second story around it. I would plan my routes so I could look at this house for inspiration. I sneak up from behind, placing horse stables and a barn there. I could see the main character horseback riding. I could see the angry clouds from the first scene. I developed it more from a vague idea to a theme with no plot.
I started writing it two years ago for NaNoWriMo. Stories begin with some grains of truth that we cover and coat until we have a pearl of a story, we hope. I formed this story around the house and made it loosely set on my Grandmother Evans and her sister, Jim, as the grain. They grew up on a farm in the rolling country of Mercer County, not flat Trumbull County, but Aunt Jim did settle, raise five children across the border in this area.
A couple Sundays ago as we drove home from Cortland, Ohio, I asked David to keep driving down 193 to go past Christina's house, as I came to call it. He had been bugging me about getting a quilt repaired and I said, "Well, this house I'm setting my story in also has a quilt shop."
In true Lyon fashion, David investigated the site on the internet, and then, so did I. The owner used her grandmothers' names to call her shop, Olive Grace. Olive Turner was one of her grandmothers. Olive Turner was Aunt Jim's daughter. She was a little younger than my mother because the sisters, Hazel and Jim, used their mother's name for their daughters. Mom got Mary, as she was born first.
So the story I have been building and having some trouble finding direction is set in a house owned by the grandson of my lead character, of sorts. I have been admiring this house for years, scanning it from the north, south, east and west. I hesitated to stop in the quilt shop always "too busy." I moaned I couldn't do the house tour the Saturday after Thanksgiving because I was three hours away in Emporium.
But now, they are relatives and this week, I'm taking the twenty minute ride over to meet my cousins. This was one of the great things that happened two weeks ago. The other was I was accepted to guest post for my blogger friend, Anita Mathias. Alas, the cottage in Cornwall she is visiting does not have internet or it would have posted this weekend. I will keep you informed.

Tiny Rant

I have found that Saturday morning is my old Sunday nap for the extra sleep I need, since I have found my weekend rotation at my new position is every weekend. Why nurses love their jobs.

Six Things I Gleamed from Watching Too Many Bon Jovi Interviews

I never was a Jon Bon Jovi fan, until I saw him on a Southside Johnny Youtube video and I started investigating him. He seemed to be in the background. I had heard of him, but couldn't name a hit of his back in the eighties, nineties or the early part of this century before a few months ago. I didn't listen to hits that much while raising children and sheltering them from secular music.
The first time I heard Jon gush about Southside, I thought, he can't be that bad. He wanted to be a Juke when he was a teenager. Last night, I slipped into that zone of too much video, as I started watching some from the Southside concert we attended in August. And as those little thumbnails pop up on the side, I kept picking one, then another. I wanted to see if that handsome guy mentioned Southside in any of his interviews. The only reference came on the Conan O'Brien show, when the band played Talk to Me, as Jon walked on. He said, "Oh, the Jukes." And that was it.
I watched the Biography episode to get a general background and history. Then, too many to count interviews (and I didn't even drink chai when I got home from work.) One of my favorites was when he was in England and another guest conversed with him about his success and creativity. Jon admitted that he never doubted himself. The other English artist tried to pin that confident spirit to living in New Jersey, the grittiness of working class America, the American spirit. Jon didn't really generalize his drive to being raised American. This was probably the most original interview and the host was clearly uncomfortable he wasn't in control.
I'm always impressed with staying power of relationships and Jon with his high school sweetheart, Dorthea, promote that. He admits, though, as much as he loves being a father (of four), he didn't rule the house, because of his touring schedule. With my husband's job taking him out of town all week for the last nine years, I could emphasize with that relationship.
Jon also cares about his people, his neighbors, his community. He gives back. His family runs a upper class soup kitchen, as it were. He washes dishes when he's home. Hmm, so does my husband.
What did I gleam from this all nighter of Jon Bon Jovi interviews?
1) He's really not in it for the money. He could have stopped any time. He lives on a sixteen acre estate with a wonderful mansion, five minute walk to his studio and a pub on his grounds in New Jersey. He has made it. But he loves to write songs. There, he has to write and he will, as long as he loves it.
2) Generosity. He lives generosity and can do it with his great amount of money. He cares, though, for his community. He chose his New Jersey community last year over campaigning for the President in Ohio after Hurricane Sandy. The Britain interview was right before the election last year. He seemed to jump out of his chair when he said he needed to be back in Jersey for his "people." First plane out of there.
3) Staying power and commitment. His parents also are still together. They met as Marines. His mother is most proud that Jon is a family man. She believed in her family, though, doing great and different things, like encouraging her husband not to take the traditional route of being a plumber, but to go to beauty school, which he did. She also gave Jon his first guitar at seven. Hmm, I know a mom who gave her seven year old daughter a small guitar and lessons. We stick to our dreams for our family.
4) Speaking of family, we all have trouble with our children when they strike out on their own. Even when it seems a person does everything right, there are pitfalls for the young adults. Have we not all gotten that call we would rather not get? Either from the high school, the college or the police? If you haven't, don't hold your breath, but you most likely will. A family then pulls together. I stood in awe at the love my family does have for each other in the times of crisis we experienced.
5) A sense of humor in gratitude with blessings. He jokes he couldn't run for political office and his job really is better than being president, because he gets to keep the house and the plane. I wonder if his house is lighted pink this month?
6) We do live in a great country where working for dreams can pay off. It isn't easy, but we do it for the love of the dream, not necessarily the success. I do admit, though, an estate near the Atlantic Ocean is dreamy. My own studio to write, instead of my corner of a second hand couch, is ideal. But I work at my writing and even though I haven't pursued it from high school, like Jon did, I believe with that plucky spirit, I can make a living at it some day.

And Jon is playing at the Mohegan Sun tonight in Connecticut I saw on a post from a bed and breakfast on Facebook. Yeah, too much time on the internet.

Be Patient, It Will Change

I woke up to big fluffy flakes falling slowly. Against the pines, a mountain feeling flooded me. Against the green trees with tinges of yellow, the snow looked wrong, like mixing the fall and Christmas decorations at Thanksgiving time. Seasons clashing their swords for attention.
I know the snow won't last long. It lingered for a short morning on the roofs. The sun fought to brighten the noon hour but the clouds didn't allow her today.
I have seen snow in October before. I have seen snow's furry with many inches and Buffalo can testify to the abrupt arrival in a season of change. Snow can't indicate our winter or even the rest of our fall. We haven't even seen our colors peak, yet. Green dominates the trees, yet.
Will this snow hasten the colors? I have noticed over the years the peaks fluctuate. I have a picture of Katie in her stroller under the then medium maple in full yellow leaf on October 27. Then last year, I observed the older tree almost leafless on the same date. Nothing remains the same, even from year to year.
Two years in a row, violets surprised me on my walks. The first time was the end of October, with the second after Thanksgiving. A hint of spring joking before winter. I couldn't even say the weather had been practically warm those years. December can feel like spring some years.
January comes with the winter solstice. Generally, she behaves as winter should in those time tables. Yet, there is the proverbial January thaw.
Nothing is really constant, is it? I'm reminded today. I remember weather better I think because I write and with pictures I always wrote the exact date before we had computers. Don't be discouraged by the weather, as I grew up hearing, "Be patient, it will change."

Wordless Wednesday

Teddy Tuesdays

I am going to write on Tuesdays about Teddy and the campaign to have the law with his name to bring awareness to child abuse. As we know, though, abuse is not just for children, it affects adults, too. I read about Robin McGraw's site in memory of her mother in this month's Reader's Digest. https://www.whengeorgiasmiled.org/#home
I cannot emphasis enough how we must be aware of abuse around us. We cannot let people suffer and even though it is chancy, we need to notify authorities. We cannot ignore this.
Here is the number again.

The Atmosphere Changes, Not Jesus

Clear, cool day, the sunshine deceives through the window. The sun doesn't lie, because she is always radiant. The circumstances of moisture, tilt of the earth and other scientific reasons changes the warmth we feel. So is this the way our walk with God can be?
Jesus is the same, yesterday, today and forever. He is there for me, even if the clouds hide His face. Or I can be in His direct Light, yet feel distantly cold, like a bright winter's day. How often I pray for the atmosphere to change. A static in the air strives to keep us apart from Jesus. Ephesians talks about the rulers in the heavenly realms. I'm sure I memorized rulers of the air, but I can't find that in any of the versions I looked up. Maybe that reference comes from the older NIV that would not be on line?
The point in Ephesians 6:12, our fight is not against people, but evil that exists in this world, set up in domains. We are not weak, though, when we have Jesus and know that a war continues.
Some scrimmages seem victorious when the enemy isolates the weak. But don't you let them(James Taylor song) isolate you. Always have the Bible at the ready- the Sword of Truth. I cannot emphasize enough keeping that Word in your heart. Reaching out to friends, especially fellow believers, creates that greenhouse effect on a frigid winter day. Don't discredit areas that aren't completely Christian. I remember one day, after all my Bible reading and devotions, the truth of it all came from Prevention magazine editorial. And I have mentioned the secular songs that can have a phrase diving into your heart, just recently "Let My Love." I know that was not the intent, yet lately in trials, that song penetrates my thinking.
The temperature climbed just one degree while I was writing. I'm not sure I'm ready for the colder temperatures. The sun shines and though, I don't believe the lie of warmth, I joy in the brightness, looking forward to a slightly warmer afternoon.

Sunday When I Have to Work

A few thoughts on a Sunday when I go out to work and have little time, but thoughts are bubbling as I scratch words on my notepad during church. I think since it is Youth Sunday, known by the excellent smell of sauce before I opened the door, the Youth are the church. (I can hardly wait for the pasta dinner after church.)
I get tired, in a way, of hearing the Youth are our future. No, they are the church now. If we could impart this more to the teens, they maybe would have more sense of belonging. Our teens give generously to Speed the Light, our Assemblies mission to get vehicles to missionaries that the Youth participate in.
Assemblies of God mission is Missions. As I think this morning how many missionaries have to fill positions of administration. Nursing also has the same problem. We go into this field to help people. In my case,  I wonder, do I help in small ways or big ways. One person at a time or a platform, is the dilemma. I disdain career climbing in nursing for myself, but I still want to be thought I'm able to do management. Well, maybe not management. I look at myself and know I love patient care, but we don't dare call the people "Patients" any more.
The thought that floated down as I thought of how many persons we reach was this: It's not how many lives you touch, it's how many lives God wants you to touch.
I struggle with significance. Writers feel this too. We want our words to mean something, to reach out, but we also want the numbers. I don't deny, I pray for a big platform. I look at my numbers, but try to ignore them at the same time. I had to stop myself last night from thinking writing would deliver me from my problems. No, God is my deliver.
Which led me to this morning and thinking I need to be in God's will. The sermon title was "God's Heartbeat" from the Great Commission- go into all the world and make disciples. My favorite part of that is "Lo, and I am with you always." God's heart beats for all to know Him. My job is to introduce as many people to Him as I can, but if that introduction is in small ways of tending wounds, placing someone on a bedpan or giving them a smile, as long as Jesus is with me, that is what matters. Wherever God goes, like Moses pleading with God in the desert, "Just let me be in Your presence," I want to be there. I haven't been moved from what I am doing, Jesus stay with me.
The pasta dinner tasted as delicious as it smelled. I love looking at our church of all ages. Press on.

A Little Hiccough

I watched people drive all the time. I paid attention to the surroundings. Dad explained dimming the high beams. I loved to ride. I was confident that day I got my permit and Dad had time to take me out on a June day.
I don't remember how I got out of the drive, but I made two right turns with little hesitation. Dad quietly told me to turn onto School Street off Main Street. My first left turn and the little silver Nova cleared that foot high curb and bent the sign post.
Dad sat quietly and then he must have gotten out and fixed the situation of a car hung up on a curb. Amazing thing was,  not rattled, he permitted over confident me to get back in the driver's seat. I continued down School Street into the parking lot to feel the power of the steering wheel under my hands. I ran into a fence. Dad remained calm, believing in my ability to learn, not my first attempts of controlling a car.

The curb and sign post...

thirty six years later, still bent

The yellow painting on the curb is new. I don't think it would have helped.

The best part of this is Dad never complained to Mom about my disastrous attempts at driving. We returned home and he remained quiet. He never insulted me. I did enough self ridicule.
Another day, Dad invited me to drive over to Mercer. Curving roads tested my new abilities. I missed staying on the road and a tire caught the high edge of a country State Route 318. I lost control a bit, but I guess I managed to get it straight again. Glad it was the middle of the afternoon with no on coming traffic.
I let the driving lessons sit a bit. I did pass the test in July, but I didn't try to drive solo much. I did a gentle bump into a young man, maybe thirty, on the way to the Mall one afternoon, but fortunate to do no damage.
Finally, when I consider how many miles I have logged, the few accidents, mishaps, ratio wise are minimal. The thing is I get in the car every day and drive. I have learned to not rush or get anxious. I must anticipate the traffic, what the crazy person is going to do. My big fear is I'll be rear ended, because I'm not sure how you can avoid that. One time I was rear ended on a snowy day, as I slowed down for a school bus. My friend, actually that I was going to be orienting with at a new job, was the one who hit me. Talking on the phone, she looked up at my slowing vehicle. Again, thankfully, no one hurt or no damage to the car. We continued to work, but left early that day. A little stress headache crept up on me during the day.
As with driving, I continue my writing. I don't give up. I know I'll make mistakes, but some day, maybe I'll get the break older, experienced drivers get. I had compliments, too, when driving through cities. Once in Youngstown, when I was seventeen and another time from my brother, when I drove to the Cleveland Clinic the first time.
We take the good with the bad. The compliments with the raised middle fingers and screaming are part of the driving experience. Every day, we drive. Every day, I write. If for a reason I miss a period of time, I start slowly and build the habit and endurance. Not horseback riding, but an analogy the same.
I may hiccup, but I plan to stay steady. The house and Country story, next week, I promise. The weather and working put a crimp on my plans, but the road still stretches out.

I just like this picture and the tree did witness me in the school parking lot.

A Dream Placed the Foot

I don't recommend relying on dreams to write, but when they do give you wonderful ideas, I say run with them. Tiny seeds flickered about my imagination for my novel I'll write next month for NaNoWriMo(National Novel Writing Month, in November). I even decided on a title, Last Free Exit.
I didn't have a plot or really even a story, just the time setting and that was it. This is the fun of NaNoWriMo. You fly by the seat of your pants to write a novel in thirty days. No inner editor questions the structure or results. I wasn't worried about the plan, as I anticipated the craziness of it all, reading the forums and attending write-in's. I plan to do it all and have been inviting local people to join me as I try to get a Shenango Valley group involved in crazy abandonment.
The other morning, a dream that explained the dream I had earlier, woke me. I knew then, this was the start of the novel for this creative month. I even bemoaned the fact it wasn't November first, yet. I sketched a few brief ideas, even though, I kept reviewing them over and over in my mind, that I thought I'd never forget. I couldn't sleep. I wrote down the ideas briefly so as to not break the rules that it must all be written in November. There is nothing about not having an outline, but the fun begins with spontaneity.
The dream placed my foot in the stir up for writing that I spoke about yesterday. I also say it put my goals in a new perspective. I probably won't finish Country this month. I hadn't been able to focus as much as I wanted on it as my nursing profession posed dilemmas. I faced many battles.
And tomorrow, I'll tell you why not finishing Country fits in a plan not of my own making.

Always Learning

http://terrywhalin.blogspot.com/2013/10/three-ways-to-get-your-book-into.html 
And I just walked in and gave them copies. I do have a lot to learn, I guess. I do believe in the law of generosity. I never thought of asking them to buy my book.

Get Back on the Horse

As a writer, I should be able to explain the last few weeks, especially the last week. Many positive moments filled my life, yet, discouragement crept into my soul. My donation of my books to libraries met with enthusiasm. As I excited the door of the Farrell library, I overheard Miss Margaret, the librarian, exclaim, "Cool." My copies came in before the last Waterfire in downtown Sharon. Geri at Designs by G gladly accepted my few copies to display. I had fun going to these places.
Still the spirit of poverty trumped my sense of success. I received a few e-mails about my publishing my next project, Main Street, I took as dampening. I'm not that good. I have grandiose dreams. The poverty of time overwhelmed me. I can't write, I don't have enough time, my life seemed to scream at me.
Main Street won't be published in October like my original goal I set. I will publish it; I need to hire an editor. As Jesus warned on the Christian life, we count the cost before constructing a building. I'm planning a strategy. This happens a lot when a person commences an endeavor.
Even in the midst of remarkable serendipity, I felt unable to complete my dream the way I wanted it to happen. Then blog posts came up to buoy me in my downcast state. One comparing writing to riding a horse. You fall off a horse, the best thing everyone knows is getting back on. This reminded me of a sunny October Sunday afternoon when I was in ninth grade.
My mom's friend, who was my sisters' age, took kids in under her wing. She and her husband were unable to have children. She had many miscarriages and they were in the process of adopting. The couple lived outside of town in the country, owning two horses. She taught us all aspects of horses. We mucked out the stables, fed the horses, bathed them and brushed them. Penny, the mother, was a thoroughbred, high strung. Sandy, her daughter, a golden palomino, accepted the kids riding on her. She was a great horse.
I spent many weekends there in their trailer. We put on puppet shows as well. The lady loved to play, a big kid at heart. Her husband, more calm and shy, joined in, but mostly allowed her to play. She also showed us dog grooming, as she did that as a business.
A beautiful fall day, we saddled up the horses, just Darlene and I, and headed east on State Route 318. The sun shone hot through the orange and yellow leaves. A couple men on horses joined us as we turned down Bethel Road to ride around Nych's lakes. Actually, these are farm ponds on an old farm with rolling meadows. Suddenly, Penny, reared up. Darlene thrown from the saddle, was then crushed by Penny losing her balance as she fell on Darlene's hip.
As I said, every rider knows, thrown from a horse, you get back on. Penny righted herself and stopped. She turned to look at Darlene on the grassy ground. Darlene tried to lift herself up, but with a crushed hip, she couldn't. One of the men, kicked his horse's side and galloped to the farm house. Sandy and I froze silent. I had no idea what to do. My mentor couldn't do what she taught me. What we all had done at one time in her field, when we fell off a horse.
The ambulance straddled the bumpy field finding the way to the fallen woman. I sat on the horse, calm it appeared to Darlene, she told my mom later. I can't imagine the pain she endured. She spent many months in a cast, in a hospital bed, first in the Sharon Hospital, then at home beside the wide window of her trailer. The poodles she owned, jumping on her sore leg, barking at the many visitors.
It took Darlene a long time to ride again, but she did.  A year later, a three year old boy entered their lives, whom they adopted and the long weekends weren't the same. A few years later, they adopted a beauty with black hair and deep blue eyes, a baby girl this time.
By this time, the power of the automobile and the freedom of driving myself took over the love affair with horse riding. I thought of boarding a horse at their stable, but high school life proved too busy. Yet, like this morning, as I drove past Nych's Lakes on I-80, I think of that ride and trying to get back in the saddle.
I'm back in the saddle with my writing. I, again, have turned it over to God's timing. I'm plucky with optimism and I believe I can do this with the hard work I need to put in. The right people will come along, like those men on the horses, who knew to ride quickly to the nearest house to call an ambulance- no cell phones or even 911, then. I'm back and I won't give up!
Tomorrow, some more remarkable happenings in my life to affirm my writing.

Wordless Wednesday

A lot of serendipitous happenings, but no time to write. Will tell the whole story about this picture in a few days.

Wordless Wednesday

Heading to Sharon to peddle my book...

Let His Love

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4FZbcoWrUsw
I know I relate too much to songs I hear. I think they are for that moment that I hear them. Last night when I was praying with the ladies for revival, this song came into my head. I had first thought of Revelation 3:20, Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in and sup with him and he with Me.
Except for a few words in the Pete Townshend song, don't you think that fits with how Jesus calls us. He wants incredibly to love us. We have to open the door. He can shower His love, but unless we receive, it falls on unploughed ground.
Call me crazy, but all I saw yesterday was God's love. I think He wants us to know how crazy in love He is with us. He wants to be in every part of our lives, though. We can't be so busy doing works for Him that we forget Him.
Let His Love...

Awareness

I'm going to plug again for child abuse awareness. My friend on Facebook posted about the Teddy Law and I instantly liked the page and read more. I linked on all my previous posts about Teddy to  Teddy's Law link. I put the link at the end of this post, too.
I am also going to tackle child abuse in my next novel, Country. I've plug away on this for almost two years and I know when I finish it, it will require great amount of revision because I have struggled with writing it consistently. Main Street took me almost one year because I wrote it in secret at first. Summer Triangle born in the crazy month of NaNoWriMo. I tackle a different topic in each book.
I know we can't keep silent if we suspect child abuse. The Teddy story pulled out my heart. Then I get caught up with other issues. I don't want to leave this one on the shelf. Maybe I'll make a once a week post to remind us to not be silent any more.

http://teddyslaw.org/

When Nazis Rattle Your Gates

^{From Daniel chapter 6:}
 Finally these men said, “We will never find any basis for charges against this man Daniel unless it has something to do with the law of his God.”
⁶ So these administrators and satraps went as a group to the king and said: “May King Darius live forever! ⁷ The royal administrators, prefects, satraps, advisers and governors have all agreed that the king should issue an edict and enforce the decree that anyone who prays to any god or human being during the next thirty days, except to you, Your Majesty, shall be thrown into the lions’ den. ⁸ Now, Your Majesty, issue the decree and put it in writing so that it cannot be altered—in accordance with the law of the Medes and Persians, which cannot be repealed.” ⁹ So King Darius put the decree in writing.
¹⁰ Now when Daniel learned that the decree had been published, he went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he got down on his knees and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before. ¹¹ Then these men went as a group and found Daniel praying and asking God for help. ¹² So they went to the king and spoke to him about his royal decree: “Did you not publish a decree that during the next thirty days anyone who prays to any god or human being except to you, Your Majesty, would be thrown into the lions’ den?”
The king answered, “The decree stands—in accordance with the law of the Medes and Persians, which cannot be repealed.”
This passage has been playing over and over again in my mind. Daniel didn't rail against an unjust law. He didn't form a protest group. He didn't grumble in his tent (another passage that speaks volumes to me). He learned about the degree and went to his room to pray, as was his habit. 
Life is unfair. I have a lot that irritates me. I strive to be like Daniel, for my first response to be to pray as troubles pester. Daniel established prayer as a habit.
I keep in mind also the nun from Sound of Music. The Nazis are chasing the Von Trapp family, rattling the gates at the convent. The nun unhurried in her black flowing habit strides to the gate. She smiles oh so faintly as she fumbles with the keys- she knew which key she needed, she was stalling for time. In real world, the leader would have been cursing her and flinging all kinds of insults. She nods and slowly opens the gates. Her confidence is in the peace of serving her God and doing right.
I aim for prayer as a habit and inner peace from that habit. I'm glad I have words and images to bring to mind when troubles rattle the gate to my world. Because Nazis and evil bang on the gates of my life I try to control. But as I read a quote from Charles Spurgeon last night:






 Well, maybe I haven't yet, but ever forward with the nun's smile of inner peace from spending time alone with my God.

Living by Beauty

Now they call the part of Connecticut where we lived, the Quiet Corner. Truly, a beautiful area that we explored. The first fall we lived there, we bought a Ford Escort, a stick or standard. By all means, the transition of gears, David proclaime easy for this end of season car, never owned by anyone else. We didn't divorce as he taught me how to drive it.
One Saturday, we rambled around the country side, that looked much like this picture. We came upon a big stone gate with an abandoned old mansion like home. We never saw it again. We ventured out without a local map, just enjoying the scenery.
I fell in love with the deep woods bursting onto a seashore. It always amazed me, in Connecticut and New Hampshire, how ordinary life sat next to the mighty Atlantic. Tourist traps did not exist every where, people ate suppers here, got ready for work and made lives next to beauty. Did they appreciate it? Were the kids better? Or did they just play like other kids anywhere?
How about now? Do they sit inside watching TV, or cruising the internet? Do they look out the window?
I tried to walk every day or ride around. Was this because I knew my time in this lovely area was finite? I wish today sometimes I could just take that ride down to Mystic through places like Gales Ferry, Ledyard and Groton. Driving through the woods of Uncasville, Montville, and Stonington. Loving the little towns of Noank, Niantic and Groton Long Point. But I, too, ended up living there, working, going to community college, having a life and maybe some days not experiencing the beauty like I did. But not too often.

Shade Just Now

I'm shaky again about the writing. I feel at times like this is silly and I'm not making progress. I need a dose of courage. I don't have resources. I'm chasing a wild dream.
I ordered copies of my book today, but not as many as I wanted. Lord, I pray like the fishes, multiply my efforts. I got a message that a friend wrote a review after he read Summer Triangle. This added a boost to my doubts.
Prospective covers for Main Street, waited for me in e-mail tonight. The idea I have doesn't seem to transfer to a cover. I like one, but I don't feel it conveys what I want to express. I wish I were an artist, too, or had that wand to make it exactly how I see it. I don't want to doubt Teddi's expertise, but my heart speaks to me, too. I guess creative people listen to inner thoughts.
I wonder about my nursing career, too. I don't feel right about what I'm doing, but I see no other choices at the present. Again, those bills must be paid and I can't complain. I have a nagging discontent, not hate or even dislike, I feel something is amiss.
Maybe the weather has been too humid for the beginning of October. I like the heat and I never want to say good bye to summer. Today with thunder storms an oppression fell on me. Yet, I heard on the radio from Anne Graham Lotz that God is in the darkness, too. He called Moses into the darkness to see His glory.
I trust my Lord. He promised bread not stones. I know my father continually gave us the best he could, not only material possessions, but emotionally as well.  My heavenly Father gives so much more.
So as I deal with doubts, I pray to see Jesus in my dimness. I don't feel dark, but a shade covers the light. And maybe, I need that shade just now.

Wordless Wednesday

Miss my mate. Been a long two weeks...

More Than Conquerors

^{Romans 8:28-39
28} And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who^[i] have been called according to his purpose. ²⁹ For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. ³⁰ And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

More Than Conquerors

³¹ What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? ³² He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? ³³ Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. ³⁴ Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. ³⁵ Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? ³⁶ As it is written:

“For your sake we face death all day long;
    we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”^[j]

³⁷ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. ³⁸ For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,^[k] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, ³⁹ neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I felt I needed to share this today. As you know, I spin through the radio channels often. I look for songs that uplift or meet my mood, as well as the reception, leaving the static. I enjoy hearing what is out there.

Lately, it seemed the Christian radio station, K-LOVE played songs about defeat. I'm sure they were to comfort those struggling with various trials. Strength comes from God. I heard them over and over. But I feel we need to know we are victorious.

Two Sundays back, negative thoughts invaded my mind about numerous areas in my life. I lay in bed, and each time a thought came, I, at first subconsciously, then consciously, countered it with, "More than conquerors." Got so, I didn't have the negative thought. It had no chance to take root, as I am "more than a conqueror."

Dear readers, if you have a struggle or many as I seemed to have had a few weeks ago, fill your mind with God's Word. Rest in Him. He fights the battle. He will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory. On a glorious fall day here in Western Pennsylvania, I fix my eyes upon Jesus and every thing else grows dim. Follow Him.