I'll Cheer You to the End

How are you doing friends? 

Here we are just beginning to wade into Autumn; I couldn't be happier. I love everything about this time of year. It makes my heart happy and feels me with so much hope. The crisp morning air is perfect for walks when time allows. It was such a morning when I caught my social distancing friends chattering away one cool sunny morning.

Are you still hanging in there?

 Do you feel like things are beginning to feel somewhat normal? 

I don't either. I've been in school three weeks, it has helped even though it has kicked my backside. Some days have been easier than others; and, it sure helps when younger teachers are saying they are whipped at the end of the day as well.

I know we will come to the end. Perhaps the end will not look quite like where we were before, but we will turn the corner when the time is right. I know, we are ready now, aren't we? It's hard, but let's hang in there. Let's give grace to not only our friends and family, but those we might not like so much. Be gentle with yourself. No one is breezing through this.

I am rooting for you, 

for me, 

for our country

 and the world. 

We can do this... I promise!

Have the very best week ever!

Hugs!

(shhh.... I'll be back with some book talk.)

Taking Risk

Most young children are risk takers. There is little, if any fear of being made fun of. Why would there be, children see themselves as stars.  Some might call this arrogance; I believe it is innocence. It doesn't last long. Somewhere around eight or nine, cliques and groups begin to form. It only takes one person to zero in and share a weak spot.  Suddenly all the confidence once held secure disappears. The innocence is gone. It is easier and safer to blend in, to be one of the crowd. 

I know the exact moment this happened to me. It is history, and though I have long let the incident go, I keep a tight fist around the fear of failing. A little less than ten years ago I signed on here, wrote a little blurb and after a few days, probably weeks I hit publish.   I shared this step toward conquering my fears with a sweet few. If I did share, I would sort of whisper it, in hopes no one would know what I was talking about. I didn't believe anyone would want to read anything I wrote; if they did, they for sure wouldn't take me serious.

This trip has never been about gaining a following, although I do appreciate each and everyone who visits, reads and stays. It was and is about stepping away from my safe place, facing a fear, taking a chance and finding my voice. And friends, you have allowed and encouraged me to try on many voices.

I guess, I might as well stop here and tell you, I have, once again, taken a deep breath and jumped.   Several months ago I was looking through our neighborhood magazine when I came upon an ad asking for writers, no experience necessary.  I folded the page down and put it away. Weeks later I found it, turned to the dog-eared page and stared at it. At dinner I told my husband about the ad and ask his thoughts.  I went through all my ifs and buts, the biggest being my lack of qualifications. He didn't hesitate to encourage me to submit something. Once again, I set it aside to ponder.

A few weeks ago, going through the mail I happened upon the January edition of the magazine. Flipping through, reading about new neighbors, family pets, well-kept yards and child athletes, I happened, once again, upon the ad asking for writers. This time I folded back the page and placed it by my computer.

A couple of weeks ago, after publishing my last post here, I wrote a letter to the contact person stating I would like to write about books, if this fit into their vision. I stated all the disclaimers I post here... I  am not a writer,  but I have a passion for reading and love sharing this passion. I wrote about my blog writing and my book talk on Instagram.  The letter was pitiful...no exaggeration.

I sent it!  If I could have retrieved it I would have, but it was gone.  I slowed the rising panic by assuring myself the letter would be read and quickly discarded.   The next Monday morning I checked my email and there waiting to be opened was a response saying my letter had been forwarded to the editor.

My blood pressure might have gone up a little.  Soon I had a very nice response from the editor saying they would like for me to write book reviews and perhaps help with other stories; would I like to write a book review for the March issue.  I said yes... what was I thinking?

My first review is finished.  It is due at the end of this week, but I will send it out tonight. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit nervous. I am not a brave person.  I am much more sensitive than I want to admit.  
This is not a whisper.

(I know this has been long. Sorry, I am a southerner; I can't say anything in 30 words or less.)

I am sharing this adventure with you, because I hope, if there is something you are wanting to do... please,  just take a deep breath, close your eyes and fly.  Yes, we may fall, but we will know we tried.  That alone is success, don't you think?

Hugs!

Sunday Thoughts... A Radical Resolution

I hope your New Year is off to a good start.  

I love the New Year.  

It's a concrete moment when we can close the door to the past and begin afresh.  I love the chance to hit restart.   Though, I stopped making New Year's Resolutions many years ago, I've been thinking about these pledges made in anticipation of a new calendar year lately.

What if...

instead of making a one time obligatory resolution in January, what would happen if we woke each morning in prayer, asking to be the best we can be, do the best we can do, just for that one day.... not to be the best, to have the most, but be our best throughout our day.   This may be listening to someone's story... holding a hand of someone who is scared... bandaging a knee... smiling at a stranger... giving a hug.  And, sometimes our best is simply taking care of ourselves.

 Think about it.  

If we begin each morning prayerfully making our resolution, we can't fail.

And think...

                                                                      of the tidal wave. 

Wishing you the best New Year ever!

Sunday Thoughts...Mary Did You Know?

"Mary did you know your baby boy would one day walk on water?"

One of my favorite Christmas Carols is "Mary Did You Know".  Each time I hear it, my thoughts turn to the young teenage pregnant mother, Mary, preparing to deliver her baby.

 I look back just weeks before I gave birth.  I was 29 and had been married four years.  It was an exciting, but scary time.  Instinct, hormones, something took over and I began the process of "nesting".  Everyone fussed over me.  Neighbors visited, friends called and my mother packed her suitcase.  There might have been a baby shower or two.   Baby clothes were washed and hung.  There was a good stash of diapers stored in the nursery closet.  Arrangements had been made months ahead of time for delivering my baby.  I knew there would be a room available.  I knew there would be nurses and a doctor to care for both me and my baby.  All asked of me was to wait, plan and dream of my child's bright future.

Though we are in the last week of Advent, ready to rejoice in the birth of Jesus,  this mother's heart continues to return to the young pregnant girl traveling, with her soon-to-be-husband, to a distant city.  There was no nesting... no parties... no one to fuss over her.  Instead doors were slammed in her face, until she and her fiancé were offered a cave, a dwelling place for animals.  Was she terrified?   Instead of nurses and doctors taking care of every need,  she gives birth in the presence of cows, goats and sheep.

As a mother and grandmother, I wonder what Mary hoped for her child?  She had been told she was giving birth to the Messiah.   Did she still hold in her heart the same hopes and dreams I had for my own child? 

Did she know?

As I rush around wrapping up all the loose ends of holiday preparations, I continually find myself in awe of the faith of this young Mary who gave birth to our Savior so many many years ago.   And I give thanks for the gift she gave to the world.

"Mary did you know...."

          "when you kissed your little baby,

you kissed the face of God?

Merry Christmas!

(my favorite Christmas carol)

The Cold Air Cometh

How was your weekend?  

Are you busy preparing for Thanksgiving, or

are you already onto Christmas?

It was busy around here this weekend.  With temperatures threatening to fall below freezing, it was time for the big plant move-in.  We've had unseasonable warm (sometimes hot) weather, this autumn,  postponing the necessity to winterize the garden.  In other words, yes, I procrastinated. 

Saturday was spent cleaning out and storing garden pots,  rearranging and moving weather sensitive plants into the sunroom and garage.   Moving the Meyer Lemon is always a challenge, but well worth the effort.   We will enjoy these lemons through the holidays.  And, because of the warm autumn, I have tons of baby lemons.  (I'm always looking for the blessing.)  Keeping my fingers crossed I don't lose too many from the transition.   

Coming in wet  (I was the one with the hose cleaning the pots and saucers) and cold at the end of the day, soup was on the dinner menu.   

     

Using vegetables on hand,  from the freezer and grabbing a few things from the pantry it wasn't difficult to stir up my version of a Creole Vegetable Soup. Do you like making soups?  Soups are so easy to create; and they are good for the body and soul. 

Sunday afternoon was spent curled up with this month's book group selection, A Prayer for Owen Meany.  It is a reread for me.  I am enjoying it very much this second time around    Oops, with the sun streaming in, a little nap might have slipped in as well.  I do love Sunday afternoons!

Sending you a big Thank You for staying with me through my absences, and

wishing you a safe and Happy Thanksgiving!

The Feast of St. Nicholas

Jolly old Saint Nicholas,

Lean your ear this way!

Don't you tell a single soul

What I'm going to say.

Christmas Eve is coming soon;

Now you dear old man

Whisper what you'll bring to me;

Tell me if you can.

When the clock is striking twelve,

When I'm fast asleep

Down the chimney, broad and black,

With your pack you'll creep.

via vintageimages.org

Nicholas of Myra.
Today as we celebrate The Feast of St. Nicholas, the saint of children and sailors I have thoughts and memories of children swirling through my head and heart.

I love children.
There is nothing  makes my heart happier than to see a smiling child.   Nothing can take me to my knees quicker than hearing of a child being mistreated or harmed.  St. Nicholas loved children.  He cared for all children; most of all, he aided those in need.

We need St. Nicholas today, perhaps more than any other time I can remember.
 I turn on the news, open the newspaper and there are stories of children being locked away, left to perish, or harmed in unspeakable ways.  It is often said "children are our future"  ...no, children are our now.

Though St. Nicholas Day was not a tradition in my home, my mother taught us the need to care for those in need.  Long before there were Angel Trees or red kettles my mother would find a family, through the school, to help out with Christmas.

I grew up in a small Louisiana town.  There was one department store, a dress shop, a gift shop,  two Five & Dimes, and a Sears catalogue store.  Each year, the week after Thanksgiving, Mother would take me to Sears to see Santa Claus.  I've told you, I was told there was no Santa Claus when I was very young, and though heartbroken, I've never stopped believing.  I will now admit, that man dressed in red, scared the beegeezies out of me.   I would leave the house feeling so brave, but the closer we got the more apprehensive I became.  By the time we walked through the door I was clenching my mother's arm and begging her to not make me talk to him.

With my heart beating outside my body, we took our place behind the line of children and moms stringing in and around the washers, refrigerators and lawnmowers.   As I squirmed and whined,  Mother would whisper encouragements; and, as we drew closer she would point out a child or two in the line,  explaining how a visit to Santa would probably be their only Christmas gift.  Some of you may think she was trying to guilt me into accepting a visit to Santa with gratitude.  No, she was setting up act two of our outing.

 Though I always had a long list to recite, it seems once I arrived before HIM I only managed to whimper out....a new baby doll please.   Talking to Santa was never as bad as I made up in my head, but I joyfully welcomed my mother's hand and our quick exit.

After the treat of going to a restaurant for lunch, it was time to fill Mother's wish list.  Her list was filled with children's names, needs and sizes.  We walked from store to store picking out a complete outfit for each child.  Mother selected the clothes, and left the toy buying to me.  Well...she would tell me how much I could spend and I, along with my friend and owner of my favorite dime store, selected one toy for each child.  I always suspected Mr. McGregor pitched in on the toys.

Once home and the gifts were wrapped our outing was never mentioned.
 I was told, after each trip, if I saw someone at school wearing anything we had purchased, I was to keep quiet.  Most years I never knew where, when, how or to whom Mother delivered her bounty.

Today, children visit Santa Claus at malls.  Department stores no longer hire the man in red.  He is an employee of a photography company.  The visit is no longer about the magic or the mystery.    It is about someone making money.  I've heard a visit with Santa this year is about $25.  He is now grouchy and impatient instead of jolly.  Crying children and those with special needs are being sent away.  And, once again those who are the least will be left out....I can only imagine the tear in the heart of St. Nicholas.   Maybe, today as we contemplate and celebrate the life of Nicholas of Myra we need to don our cloaks and take up the staffs and care for those who are in need.  We needn't look far.

Tomorrow we enter the second week of Advent, the week of preparation.  I can't think of a better way to prepare our hearts for Christmas than to give to others.

Hanging in a row
Mine will be the shortest one,
You'll be sure to know

Bobby wants a pair of skates,
Suzy wants a sled
Nellie wants a picture book,
Yellow, blue, and red
Now I think I'll leave to you
What to give the rest
Choose for me, dear Santa Claus;
You will know the best.

Enjoy your weekend!

December 31st - Reflections

 As dawn breaks on the last day of 2013, I also close another year.  Yesterday was my birthday.  The number isn't really important.  My mother once said, "age is not a number, but a life long accumulation of dreams, expectations and experiences".   I was young and didn't understand.   Now, as I move closer to another decade, I am coming closer to the appreciation of her words.

 As 2013 prepares his departure I am compelled to admit it will not be listed in my top 100.   He left scars, and seems determined to not exit quietly.  I am not sad to see his departure, yet...

we survive.
We hold on to those we love, and those who love us.  My dad, when diagnosed with cancer several years ago, told me "you put one foot in front of the other and you walk the path put in front of you".  I think, I had very wise parents.





A birthday,
a passing year,
is a good time to look back,
evaluate, and assess the lessons
 learned from living life.

Always look for the unexpected.
There are delightful surprises waiting just outside your window.

Surround yourself with those who encourage you to take flight,

but if left alone, fear not,
you are stronger than you can imagine...
just soar!

Find a place that soothes, refreshes, heals.

Take care of those who find themselves in the cold.

When something works, take notes.

Eat dessert...
yes, eat dessert!

Have a dream.

Find something that ignites passion,
and fight to keep it alive.

Surround yourself with things you love.

Once in a while slow down and look at yourself through someone else's eyes.

Don't be afraid to change directions when necessary.

When lost...
be still...
silent...
believe in something greater than yourself.

Be gentle with yourself.

At the end of the day, when the path ends, remember...
just beyond the horizon is a brand new day....
a brand new year.

Possibilities are beyond imagination.



 Thank you for your visits, your encouragement,
and your kind comments.

May the New Year be good to you and those you hold dear.
Happy New Year!

Time Flies

I hope you are having a wonderful week.  

 I am hiding in my studio under the construction paper, paint,

photographs and glue.  

It is, as my husband states, the May ritual.

I gather all the art my children have created throughout

the year and all the photographs I and others have taken,

add a little bit of me to create a memory book

for each of my children.

Many of my friends have finished their books,

and this time tomorrow I, hopefully, 

will be waiting to bind.  

This time next week,

I will be preparing for my last day of school.

Oh, how time flies.

I'll be back soon.

 I have things to  share.

Deletions and Roses

“Music expresses that which cannot be said 
and on which it is impossible to be silent.” 
                                                                         Victor Hugo

This morning while checking my email on my iPad I found three comments to my latest post.  I read each one and with my new handy dandy pink stylist I hit publish.  Well...at least on two I actually hit publish.   On the third, I must have joggled when I should have jiggled, because the next thing appearing was the notice I had refused the comment.

The comment I deleted was from Arleen whom I follow regularly and have enjoyed getting to know through this thing we call blogging.  Arleen's blog, Starting Over, Accepting Changes...Maybe is about life and the accompanying changes and adjustments.  She almost always finishes the first sentence of each post with "and I am doing okay".   Arleen's comments are always thoughtful and well-thoughtout.   I look forward to hearing her perspective and would never intentionally delete
something she wrote.

I am sharing her comment with you, because, as always, her words added to the post.   It also brought up memories and started my brain jumping up and down.  And, when my brain starts spinning, (sorry) I find the need to share.

"When you get a good day, breathe it all in. It has been a long winter and it does not seem to want to go away. As the white flakes come down, I think of the lyrics to the song, The Rose. 'Just remember in the winter, for beneath the bitter snow, lies the seed that with the sun's love, in the spring, becomes the rose.' " 

With the mention of the Bette Midler song, "The Rose" I immediately thought about how many times I sang this song as a lullaby to my daughter.   While some may say, "really?  a lullaby?"...   I was never one to sing the usual little sing-song lullabies.  Just as  I feel many of the books published for children should be read by adults, I feel many songs peddled for adult listening make beautiful lessons for children.  Sometimes you change a word here and there, sometimes...not.

   I hear the song "The Rose" and I hear a promise.  A promise that is sown from courage and patience.  Courage to risk failure.  Patience to wait for the sunshine.   I often find myself on the short side of both of these characteristics; it doesn't stop my believing and desiring the beauty of the promise.

So, to you who find yourself overcome by currant life events and changes, feelings of being over-whelmed and abandoned or have spent one day too many indoors awaiting Spring.  I share with you the promise of the

"The Rose"

Some say love (life), it is a river
That drowns the tender reed.

Some say love (life), it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say love (life), it is a hunger,

An endless aching need.

I say love (life), it is a flower,

And you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance.

It's the dream afraid of waking

That never takes the chance.

It's the one who won't be taken,

Who cannot seem to give,

And the soul afraid of dyin'

That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long,

And you think that love (life) is only

For the lucky and the strong,

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose.

Thank you Arleen for always adding to the conversation and for your inspiration.
 May each of you wake up soon to find roses blooming all around you.

*******

I do read and enjoy each and every comment.  It is through the comment that we continue the conversation.  Thank you for talking back to me. 

Torn Between Two Loves

It was a rather bookish Christmas and birthday here at Living Life.  I both gave and received a number of books and gift cards to purchase books.  My family and friends were very sweet and generous, so to say the books were my favorite gifts would be like choosing a favorite child.  Seriously,  I love and appreciate everything gifted to me.

Now back to the books. 

One book I received from Santa (well, sort of...another story) was My Bookstore, a compilation of essays by various authors bragging on their favorite bookstores.  Several of my favorites are represented, making this book even more enjoyable.  

Once the last box of Christmas decorations was packed, carried upstairs and stored away for another year, the last of the evergreen needles swept out,  I had the luxury of time.  Time to brew a cup of tea and sit down to visit some of my favorite bookstores.

When beginning a book I often skim the Introduction with plans on returning upon reading the last word on the last page.  It is my way to extend the pleasure of a good book.  It is also how I evaluate what I gained from my reading against the point the author might have been wanting to express.

The editors of My Bookstore selected Richard Russo to write its introduction.   To skim anything written by Russo is to miss out on his amazing talent.  His intro tells us about his own love of the bookseller while giving a slight warning that the independent bookstore might be an endangered species.  We also are given the hint that this is not just a collection of stories, but of love letters written to those who allow us to browse, sit, and read.  It is to those who greet us with a smile  and help us find our next favorite book.

Three of my most favorite bookstores are listed in this book; I began with their essays.  They did not disappoint.

My very favorite bookstore?

Lemuria is in Jackson, Mississippi.  I would love to sit here and expound on all the attributes of this wonderful place, but Barry Moser says it all in the very beginning of his celebration of Lemuria.

"A few years ago I was writing a speech and wanted to quote a line that Lt. Col. "Bull Meacham says in the film The Great Santini.  I had not read Pat Conroy's book at that time and wanted to know that what I was about to quote was in the book, not just in the movie.  Now understand that I live in one of the most bookish places in the country, home to Smith College, Amherst College, Hampshire College, Mt. Holyoke College, and the main campus of the University of Massachusetts, all within ten miles of each other.  But when I started looking around the area for a copy of Conroy's book, I couldn't find one.  Nary a single copy was in any bookstore---new or used, big box or independent---in the valley.  So I decided to call John Evans.  John owns one of the finest bookstores in America:  Lemuria Books in Jackson, Mississippi, which specializes in books by Southern writers and all manner of things Southern.  I called Johnny and asked if he had a copy.  His response?

"Yeah, Barry, sure I do.  You want it in paperback, hardback, or signed first edition?" "

My own copy of My Bookstore actually was purchased at Lemuria, after a slight reminder to Santa it was missing Christmas morning.  The clerk not only made sure Santa received a copy signed by Mr. Moser, she marked it with one of their wonderful bookmarks assuring us it was one of the best articles in the book.  A point I concur with wholeheartedly.

We always schedule a stop to browse when passing through Jackson.

Okay, so now onto explain my title for this post.   I am sure many noticed in my last post there was a photograph of two books stacked on top of my ereader.



As I am reading through a book extolling the virtues of independent booksellers and the necessity of keeping them alive, nodding and agreeing with every word, I am reeling with guilt because I not only download some of the books I read to an ereader, I am now the owner (a birthday present from the above mentioned Santa) of an....

iPad mini.

I will not lie, while I love nothing better than holding "a real book" in my hands, turning the pages,  inhaling the aroma of paper and wondering who might have opened the covers hoping to find a good read,  I enjoy the ease and convenience of an electronic book when traveling.

The thought of the demise of "hard copies" of books and subsequently bookstores makes me extremely sad.  To know there may at sometime be a generation of children who not know the pleasure of holding their very own first  "real" book tears at my very core.  And yet, I am in a small way part of the very problem.  We all know a lot of smalls make one great big "large".

I hope, and I believe there is a place for both the bookseller and the digital book in our future.  What do you think?

Do you have a favorite bookstore?
Do you download some of your reads digitally?

Rainy Day and Last Few Pages

It has been a busy week getting back into my routine at home and at school.

My Friday afternoon didn't work out quite as I had planned, but all is well that ends well...

or so the saying goes.

Once I returned home I began hearing drops falling on the skylights in the sunroom.   Although I am still a bit skittish when I hear the drip drip drip of water, this was the sound of rain and it was warmly welcomed. 

I took care of a few chores around the house then settled in to finish  the last 50 pages of The Lost Wife.

I began it shortly before leaving for Ireland, and honestly, I stayed too busy to spend too much time with it.   The late afternoon rain gave me an excuse to sit down and finish.

The Lost Wife is not a pretty story.   It is not a happy story.  It is a multi-layered story of first love and the role love and memories of love have in one's ultimate survival under the most horrendous events.  It is also a story of strength of family and loyalty.  We begin in Prague shortly before the Nazi occupation and end decades later in New York celebrating an upcoming wedding.

In the Author's Notes, Alyson Richman states she did not set out to write a romance, but a story about an artist who survives the Holocaust, however her story took an unexpected turn.   Many of the characters and events are from actual accounts woven together into one, making this novel even more poignant.

There were times during my reading I didn't know if I wanted or could continue.  Some of the details are too inhumane.  They are stories we do not want to think could really occur, but stories I strongly believe we must never forget lest we allow history to repeat itself.  Thus as hard as it is to read the holocaust story even in fiction, authors should never cease telling it.

I appreciate that Ms. Richman did not succumb to ending the book with a fairytale happy ever after ending, but gave us simply a moment of intimate recollection.

This was the end of my "summer reading frenzy".  My book group met and selected
our books for the year while I was away.  It is an interesting and as always an eclectic selection.

Today has been another rainy day giving me the opportunity
to begin our September book.
I already have an opinion, but I will wait until I am finished
to make my final judgement....
for what it is worth.

I hope you are having a wonderful weekend.

More pictures from Ireland to come.

    

Too Hot to Worry

All creatures great and small are just trying to survive as best they can.

This baby can't hurt the hosta anymore than the heat, so I am not going to bother him; he doesn't seem to concerned with my presence.  

Pink walks around looking for the sprinkler.  She no longer hides in her shell when I approach her with the hose, but lifts her little head to catch a few water drops.

Yesterday I was giving the turtle a shower and the blue tailed skink ran out to get a little refreshment.  Everything is stressed and feeling fearless.

May you find a bit of relief from the heat this week.