Seven Day Thankfulness Challenge

As you will read, I was challenged, last week, to a Seven Day Thankfulness Challenge by my old Rainbow Girl friend in high school, Marilyn Krichko, in the italics here:
Day 4: I am thankful for this day and all the good things that come with it. When I look back at my life, and the times my life has been spared, I realize that we are all here for a reason. Every new day gives us the opportunity to impact someone's life in a positive way. Some days we have more impact than others and I thank God that each day brings new opportunity to try it again and again. I challenge my wonderful friend Mollie Lyon to the 7 day thankfulness challenge . Mollie is one of the sweetest people I have ever known and a true friend.
I wanted to share this all together as we look toward November. Gratitude sure sets the mind in the right place. My response to the challenge:

My friend Marilyn Krichko invited me to the 7 day thankfulness challenge. I think this came just when I needed it, so Day 1: I thank God for sending His son, Jesus to die for my sins and for sending the Holy Spirit to fill me so I can be the sweet person Marilyn knows. Some days, it is only through His strength that I can be who He has called me to be.
I challenge Mary Ellen Lyon to the 7 day thankfulness challenge, only because you'll soon be on break.

 Day 2 of thankfulness challenge: the written word, the highest being the Bible and how God speaks through it every day to me.
I challenge Katie Lyon to 7 days of thankfulness, if she is ever on facebook.

Day 3 of thankfulness challenge: I'm thankful today for family, where I came from and where I am going. Great brunch with my main four today that we haven't had all at one time in a long time. I challenge Diane Galicia.

Day 5 of thankfulness challenge, early again, because I have to get up to meet old friends at the Diner for breakfast and meet a new friend: I am thankful today for old and new friends, like the old Brownie song, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the others gold." I challenge my niece, Michelle Nealy to the 7 day thankfulness challenge.


Day 6 of thankfulness challenge: I'm thankful for a creative God who gives each of His children a different ounce of creativeness and Who also had a lot of fun creating this world, as Tony Campolo illustrated with his idea of God creating daisies- "Oo, again." I challenge Bonnie Fitzgerald Smith to the 7 day thankfulness challenge.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD9xdDNX_hk

 So this is day 7 of my 7 day thankfulness challenge and it's not that I can't think of anything to be thankful for, no, not at all, but to wrap it up with a profound thought is daunting. So today, what am I thankful for? This is not an end all. In fact, I look forward to November with thankfulness and reading Philippians every day, my habit for years now. I have been thankful for my Creator, His Son and Holy Spirit, His Word and how I hear Him speak through it. I love my family and friends, the companionship and history. I am thankful for creativity. So today, I am thankful for the technology that has enabled me to improve my writing and to communicate better to more people than I ever thought possible even five years ago- who had ever heard of a blog? Well, maybe ten years ago. Twelve years ago, I disciplined myself to write every day in a journal, if I were going to really be a writer. Then about three years ago I read Jeff Goins who challenge to not say, "going to be a writer," but "I am a writer." Now with a blog and two books published that journey is under way and I am thankful to be doing what God had planned for me. I am thankful, too, for Marilyn Krichko challenging me to this when I felt a little bit down. Thankfulness needs to be bottled as a medicine for what ails you. I challenge Dana F. Schroyer to the 7 day thankfulness challenge.

Wordless Wednesday

Hogback Creek, West Middlesex, PA

Teddy's Law Tuesday

Another reminder of weapons we use against children are our words. I have read a few books this summer about young men, especially, who dealt with distant fathers, yet overcame the unbelief they felt from the men in their lives, Rocket Boys by Homer Hickman and Bruce by Peter Ames Carlin. A man my age also remarked at how much he accomplished after high school. The guidance counselor told him not to set his goals too high. Teachers and coaches could have encouraged him in even a small way, but they didn't.
We have an awesome privilege to build up with our words. Watch them closely and chose the ones that give life. I ponder what could be achieved.

Small Town

Writing is a lifestyle that even when I am sick, I think about. My head hurt some of those days, so not much writing done. This morning, I again rolled around in my mind small town. Writers always think.
Back in the day, mothers put the children outside as soon as they were potty trained. Mothers cleaned, cooked, and chored inside while kids made up games and played in the fresh air without parents. Mom, proud of her fenced in back yard downtown before we moved, scooted me outside to play. I cried, lonely, the older kids at school. I might have been two and a half.
Mom cleaned up the playpen, placed it out front on Main Street. She plucked me down there. From the confine of safety, I waved hello to everyone who passed. Cliff, the owner of the laundry mat across the street, got, "Hi, Cliff."
Laddie, the yellow cocker spaniel, trotted along the street with George Cunningham, the funeral home director. I called out to Laddie by name. I could say the long names of people, too, "Hello, Mrs. Sagenich." I'm sure there were others, but this is all my limited memory allows today.
As I still indulge in Gilmore Girls, I can't help but see how this is so appealing. Everyone in Stars Hollow almost feels they own Rory, helped raised her, rejoice in her triumphs and cry with her failures. We love small towns, until a certain age, then we want to run. I didn't want a comment every time I left my front porch from the other front porch across the street. We laughed at the lady down the street who knew when we were back from vacation, so she could write an article for the local paper. I guess we do that now with Facebook, ourselves. Except we don't get paid a nickle a word like the "reporter" did.
Even in my city, the girls had their characters, the naked jogging guy. He wasn't really naked, but ran in short shorts and no shirt, even in winter. Now he is much older and wears longer shorts to his knees. There is the Forest Gump, in his non-shaving scene, still walking State Street. We had Kung Fu Guy with headband and black belt ambling up and down the main highway. They named them, but we didn't know them.
A sense of community is deep inside us. Yet we are fearful. A mother who would put a toddler outside today like Mom did with me would be put in jail. We are private, like I struggled with the announcement every time I left my porch often times choosing the side porch to avoid those eyes. We want help, but we don't want interference. We want comfort, but not smothering. But those from small towns long for the days of their childhood. Because we need community.
Writing is a lifestyle that even when I am sick, I think about. My head hurt some of those days, so not much writing done. This morning, I again rolled around in my mind small town. Writers always think.
Back in the day, mothers put the children outside as soon as they were potty trained. Mothers cleaned, cooked, and chored inside while kids made up games and played in the fresh air without parents. Mom, proud of her fenced in back yard downtown before we moved, scooted me outside to play. I cried, lonely, the older kids at school. I might have been two and a half.
Mom cleaned up the playpen, placed it out front on Main Street. She plucked me down there. From the confine of safety, I waved hello to everyone who passed. Cliff, the owner of the laundry mat across the street, got, "Hi, Cliff."
Laddie, the yellow cocker spaniel, trotted along the street with George Cunningham, the funeral home director. I called out to Laddie by name. I could say the long names of people, too, "Hello, Mrs. Sagenich." I'm sure there were others, but this is all my limited memory allows today.
As I still indulge in Gilmore Girls, I can't help but see how this is so appealing. Everyone in Stars Hollow almost feels they own Rory, helped raised her, rejoice in her triumphs and cry with her failures. We love small towns, until a certain age, then we want to run. I didn't want a comment every time I left my front porch from the other front porch across the street. We laughed at the lady down the street who knew when we were back from vacation, so she could write an article for the local paper. I guess we do that now with Facebook, ourselves. Except we don't get paid a nickle a word like the "reporter" did.
Even in my city, the girls had their characters, the naked jogging guy. He wasn't really naked, but ran in short shorts and no shirt, even in winter. Now he is much older and wears longer shorts to his knees. There is the Forest Gump, in his non-shaving scene, still walking State Street. We had Kung Fu Guy with headband and black belt ambling up and down the main highway. They named them, but we didn't know them.
A sense of community is deep inside us. Yet we are fearful. A mother who would put a toddler outside today like Mom did with me would be put in jail. We are private, like I struggled with the announcement every time I left my porch often times choosing the side porch to avoid those eyes. We want help, but we don't want interference. We want comfort, but not smothering. But those from small towns long for the days of their childhood. Because we need community.

Catch Up

New pathway to the park

 Join me on my walk Tuesday. Still abundant green, but colors readying for the peak.

This week, not sure what ailed me, gastro distress, headache, achy joints and dizziness covered with overwhelming sleepiness. I missed Teddy's Law Tuesday and Wordless Wednesday, my somewhat cheating days, so I spend more time writing my novel. I did write Tuesday, but yesterday was total wash out.
I woke early to feeling too warm. My balance off, making me stumble some. I peeked outside to see if the skies were clear for the lunar eclipse since I was awakened. The sky crystal with bright stars, one calling to me, it seemed. I couldn't see the moon at first because of the tree out my front door. Then I noticed white through the leaves. The moon, with a slight sliver edging away.
I grabbed my chair and sat in the shadows before six AM by my van. I stared at the moon creeping into the shadow of the earth. The silence of the morning, far away freeway traffic, crickets, the gentle breeze tickling the leaves surrounded me. I listened for thoughts, what came was what I just wrote about the silence.
As soon as the moon became muddy red, my gut rumbled. I ran for the bathroom. After a few minutes catching up on news between a few trips to bathroom, I succumbed to sleep. I wanted to sleep all day. Any one knowing me and how I push myself to stay up in sunshine would know I was sick. I had no strength.
So today, I'll share a story about child abuse and my pictures I took for Wordless Wednesday.
http://pittsburgh.cbslocal.com/2014/10/09/mom-charged-in-alleged-horrific-child-abuse-case/

Hang Out at the Diner

My daughter cruised through a garage sale last weekend, bringing home a case that looked like it could carry dolls, instead all the seasons of that wonder filled series, The Gilmore Girls filled it. My youngest daughter's friend first lent us her series, season by season,a few years ago and we fell in love with the witty writing and beautiful visions of a make believe small town in Connecticut. Coffee brewing, bagels and jammies led to us being 'Gilmored.' A phrase we made up for watching disc after disc, a sucked in phenomena of a fantasy land, a Connecticut strangely reminiscent of California, where the sun shines bright at five thirty in the morning on an early winter day.
 
The first suspension of belief to me, is how much the older Lorelai can eat, while still being tall and willowy. Every woman's dream materialized by hardly ever seeing her eat a salad. Most of us are more like the chef, Sookie. The second thing in the script depicts that they live in a dirty house. Yeah, my house isn't that clean on a good day. We are slobs. Maybe it is their lack of animals.
I believe another part of the charm is the eccentric characters that populate the town of Stars Hallow. I think of the book I'm reading by Maeve Binchy, a collection of stories about people around a small town in Ireland. Jan Karon's Mitford introduced many characters Father Tim learned to deal with. The book I finished recently, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil written about real people in Savannah also created community. We crave community, whether small town or as in the movie, You've Got Mail, a neighborhood in New York City. Think of novels you have enjoyed lately and maybe you find the same thing, a group of people and animals on the periphery of story that make up the book.
I miss that in my life at times. Living in a suburbia city and working seems to have kept me from knowing quirky people that interact. Working, now, in a nursing home gives me a micro community. Actions to be counted on happening every time I'm there. The lady asks me about dancing on New Year's Eve. The Queen rolls into the dining room. The husband wheels his wife around the square all day. Another man smiles as I call him "Sweetheart" and admonishing him to not tell the other men. Getting called Jessica by a daughter. All this makes up an evening. I look at it as background for a novel.
Community creates fullness for a story. Even loners in books have a cat or a neighbor, brother, sister , someone who cares. The newspaper stand owner or waitress the protagonist encounters regularly.
We, as readers, want those recurring characters. We crave community in our isolated world. We suspend belief to fall in love with a Miss Patti, Babbette, or even the nameless singer who fills in background song. They don't have strong stories on their own, or at least they are not given them, but the whole wouldn't be complete without them.
A picture of "Stove Hounds," men who hung around the pot belly stove in a general store in New England at the turn of last century makes me think I want to write about that someday. Yet a central story around it all must emerge. I'm feeling the urge to hang out at the diner. How about you?

Wordless Wednesday