Does God Love an Atheist?

I ran across an interesting article about Julia Sweeney, a former SNL cast member (http://marty-center.uchicago.edu/sightings/archive_2006/0525.shtml). She quit the show in 1994 to go out on her own in Los Angeles. Shortly after, a series of tragedies including the death of her younger brother caused her to question and eventually give up her faith. She had been a practicing Catholic.

At first she came out with a comedy monologue called, God Said, "Ha!", implying that God had a weird sense of humor. Then when she finally gave up on God entirely, she put together a monologue called, Letting Go of God. The article describes it this way:

Furthermore, she finds that the Bible contains no satisfactory response to her personal tragedies. In a manner at once poignant and comical, she recalls her brother's months of "unspeakable suffering," comparing them bitterly to Jesus' relatively quick death and resurrection: "Someone once said: 'Jesus had a really bad weekend for our sins.'" As the Bible study course progresses, she finds herself turning away from the "bi-polar" deity found in the Bible's "nutty stories." Finally, she accedes to a little voice inside that has been whispering, to her horror, "There is no God."

The line that bothered me was "Jesus had a really bad weekend for our sins." A bad weekend? Perhaps Sweeney is only considering physical pain. She discounts mental anguish, verbal abuse, and a broken heart. Also discounted are the three days he spent in hell. Been there lately? No, neither have I but I can't imagine the horror of that. And, what is time? I can remember an auto accident when a few seconds felt like hours as I watched the windshield splinter ever so slowly before my eyes.

But all argument over whose pain was greater, Jesus or her brother's, aside, Sweeney isn't exactly the atheist she portends to be. After all, she named the monologue, Letting Go of God. How do you let go of something you don't believe exists?

Thankfully, Jesus spent that weekend...and more...because he loves Julia Sweeney too.

Audio Books

For a long time I fought the notion of listening to a book instead of reading it. I didn't want my imagination to be tainted by the inflections of a reader, or the interpretation of the voices of characters. Then I started driving to Wheaton each year for a conference. I found it much nicer to listen to a book for six hours than to keep jiggling the seek button on my radio to tune in a station every 50 miles or so.

Now, I'm really into the audio thing. I always have a CD or tape of a book in my car. Sometimes it takes a couple of months to finish a book. (I don't do a lot of driving. I'm sort of chained to the computer at home.) I only get books that are non-fiction for driving around town. They are easier to find your place again when you haven't listened in a while. The novels I save for the long trips--like down to Columbus to visit the grandkids. I was tempted once to circle the block to finish off a good book but with those little eyes watching out for Grandma, I figured it wasn't a good idea.

I've learned to time the endings better.

DaVinci Da Choice

I've always thought of life as a series of choices. You choose to follow an occupation. You choose a spouse, where to live, how many children to have. You choose what books to read and movies to see. You choose to believe...well, whatever you believe.

I have had an unusual amount of hits recently on a previous posting from over a year ago. It was about visiting Milan and viewing DaVinci's Last Supper--before reading Brown's code. It wasn't intended to open a debate. It was posted to say merely that I enjoyed the work of art and did not look for hidden meanings. That was my choice.

These are some of the other choices I have made:

• I choose to believe the Gospels are true, written by men who walked with Jesus, saw Jesus and recorded what happened. When the Bible was put together, the criteria was that it be the earliest writings (less lost to memory) and from those closest to Jesus.
• I choose to believe God had a hand in what was written in the Bible.
• I choose, by faith, to believe in Jesus as my Savior and Lord.
• I choose, by faith, to believe that God chose to send his son, Jesus, to sacrifice himself in order to give those who believe the gift of salvation.
• I choose, by faith, to beleive that Jesus rose from the grave to show us that we can have victory in life as well as death.
• I choose to believe in that sacrificial act of love and the freedom God gives me to make those choices.
• I choose not to remain anonymous in my faith.

[Check out The DaVinci Code: The Biblical Response]

SMILE!

Microsoft Robotic Mania

This week I spent several days in Las Vegas with my husband at a conference for Microsoft's Embedded Devices. At least I think that's what it was. I don't do well with the technical stuff. I went to spend some time with him, get rid of the distractions around the house so I could concentrate on some new book ideas, and yes, to enjoy the excitement that only neon Las Vegas creates.

Wednesday night was a special dinner for the conferees and guests at Tao's restaurant and nightclub in the Venetian. The entertainment for the evening was a robotic competition. Now when you say "robots" to me, I conjure up pictures of large people-shaped metal creatures with arms and legs and a voice that says, "Danger, Will Robinson!"

Uh-Uh.

We stood on a balcony overlooking three large boxes with white rings on top of them. Men were paired off at each box and at the signal of the referee, they placed little square 8" boxes of metal parts in the ring and pushed a switch. When the program finally started running, little red lights flashed and the boxes began moving--sometimes in circles, sometimes straight for the competition. The winner was declared when his robot pushed the other robot out of the ring.

Men stood around cheering, jeering, and high-fiving. Huh?

Is this the future replacement for boxing, wrestling, and chicken fighting?

Farting Dogs and Meatball Weather

What fun to spend a day with the grandkids! We spent hours walking around the zoo having as much fun balancing on the curbs while we walked as we did in seeing the elephants and their friends. But the best part of the day was the quiet time we spent when we got back. We did my favorite thing--read.

Children's books have gone far beyond Dr. Seuss. The two good reads we did were about a farting dog that almost got sent back to the pound because of his flatulence and a town called Chewandswallow that never had to shop for food because it came from their weather every day. The dog saved himself from the pound by fending off some burglars--by farting, of course. But the townspeople had to desert their homes when their weather went haywire and gave them more than they could eat. When the weather said "Cloudy with meatballs" they ran for cover.

Ahhhh, what little imaginations will do with those stories...

Heart Blossoms

Have you been enjoying our spring this year? Are you like me and go outdoors and just breathe in the freshness that this time of year brings, especially after an April shower? It is like being set free from winter and ready for a new adventure as the garden begins to pop with color. I found a passage in Isaiah that kind of describes those feelings.

“Even the wilderness will rejoice in those days. The desert will blossom with flowers. Yes, there will be an abundance of flowers and singing and joy! The deserts will become as green as the mountains of Lebanon, as lovely as Mount Carmel’s pastures and the plain of Sharon. There the Lord will display his glory, the splendor of our God.” Isaiah 35:1-2

The mountains of Lebanon are a beautiful place, snow-capped and greened with cedar trees. Waterfalls flow down the sides of the mountain, especially in spring as the snow melts back. Imagine the burst of color when the trees bloom with their reddish 2-4 inch long catkins—the blooms that produce the cones.

As mountains go, Carmel is not very high. It sits near the Mediterranean Sea. Anemones and cyclamen grow wild on the sides of the mountain. As you look south along the coast you look over the plain of Sharon with its fertile fields fed from the cool waters that flow from the mountains. What the joy that all that blossoming must bring.

We drive across the Cuyahoga Valley to church each Sunday. It is probably the best measure of the coming of new life that the spring season brings. While in the winter it can be beautiful with a fresh snowfall, when there is no snow, it is full of barren trees and brown grasses. Everything appears dead. But as soon as the weather begins to warm and spring rains and sunshine begin to comfort those dormant plants, the valley begins to show a tint of yellow green that turns into a deeper green speckled with white and pink blossoms as plants and trees burst forth in bloom.

That’s kind of like our lives many times. We feel barren, dead, colorless. But then God shines the light of his Son on us and rains down blessings and we blossom with new life—new hope. It is there in that blossoming dessert Isaiah says, that God will display his glory and his splendor.

My lilac bushes are just about to open up and grace my yard with color and fragrance. I’ve been watching them—expectantly. If, instead of opening their buds and welcoming God’s sunshine and rain, they remained closed and dried up, the glorious color and splendid fragrance God gifted them with would never be known.

Open your heart to God’s son and accept his rain of blessings and let his glory and splendor be shown in you.

As it says in Isaiah, “The desert will blossom with flowers. Yes, there will be an abundance of flowers and singing and joy!” When our dessert flowers, our joy soars, and yes, we may even start singing.

Buy a Building Name

A recent news story told of a community that was selling the rights to name a school in their area. This buy-a-building-name craze is really spreading. What happpened to the idea that public buildings were named for people who had done something for their community, state, or country?

Our arena which is home to the Cavaliers used to be known as the Gund, named after the owner of the Cavs. I believe he helped build the place and certainly has contributed to our community. Now the fellow from Quicken Loans has bought the team and immediately the name of the arena changed to the Quicken Loan Arena. It is sheer out and out advertising--albeit expensive advertising. Every side of the building has a huge Quicken Loan sign in blazing lights. The side facing Jacobs Field (our ballpark) is prudently placed where it can be seen by most people in the stands and, when a home run is hit, stands a good chance of being seen by TV viewers.

And now we are going to sell naming rights to schools?

I would ask what's next--names for babies? But that's already been done on e-bay. Maybe we'll sell the rights to name the Washington Monument or the Empire State Building. After all, if it's all about revenue wouldn't that help add to the coffers of state and federal governments? Maybe lower taxes? Sure. Do you suppose someone would go for buying the right to name my house? I see mortgage payments disappearing with that prospect.

It will be sad to see this turn into a vanity or marketing ploy with all of our public buildings. Sad because it's a sign that we are loosing respect for the memory or appreciation of the people who never ask for anything in return when they contribute to society but are at least honored by their name being on a building or a monument or sometimes only a plaque on a wall--not even lit by lights.

T. Davis Bunn Shark Attack

When I first heard of the shark attack on T. Davis Bunn, author of the Lazarus Trap, I thought it was a joke--something to draw me into a new marketing ploy. Boy, those authors will think of anything. And then I checked it out. Sure enough, he was attacked while surfing near Melbourne, FL.

That is precisely why I would rather dive with sharks at their level than be floundering around at the surface like a wounded fish. It's an invitation to dinner.

The question that arises now is what will Davis Bunn do with this experience? As a novelist he is sure to incorporate his extraordinary encounter into his work somewhere. This is a guy who rides around in taxi cabs in New York just to get the feel for the cadence and color of a cab driver's language. As the story went at the writer's conference where he taught, he also got the lowdown on some other interesting aspects of city life and applied them to his novel.

But Bunn is also a Christian and I'm sure is thanking God for looking out for him. A hundred and twenty stitches later, I'll bet he's not thanking his lucky stars...he's thanking his Protector.

Weeding

This spring I am suffering for the lack of interest I took in cleaning out the flower beds last fall. They should have been weeded one more time before winter arrived. I remember looking at them and thinking--hoping--that winter's cold would kill them off.

Well, it didn't. Those weeds are tough old characters. As long as the roots are still in the ground, they'll grow back and twice as bad. Ask my aching legs and back.

When you're on your knees a lot (I've been at it for a week now), you begin to think about praying and other spiritual things. I couldn't help but see the analogy between the weeds I was plucking out of the ground and the weeds we let grow in our lives. If we don't keep the garden of our life weeded out, the weeds will take over and destroy the flowers and the beauty of that garden.

My sins of omission--not weeding in the fall--have certainly made my life more painful this spring. Makes me want to look and see if I've been omitting anything important in the rest of my life.

Okay, one more analogy and I'm done.

I've also been spreading weed preventer in all the beds. Hopefully when all those spring seeds from dandelions and maple trees start floating through the air they won't sprout when they land in my flower beds. Scripture reading and prayer seem like a good weed preventer for life.

Done.

Papua New Guinea

The following is a sample story from my newsletter, JOURNEYS.

“Shout our name from the mountains to seas, Papua New Guinea.” The strains of their national anthem still play in my mind. I expected a great dive adventure. I didn’t expect to fall in love.

Perhaps it was waking anchored in calm inlets to hazy purplish sunrises with the distant call of exotic birds, or looking out at the lush green islands of Milne Bay that contrasted sharply against the clear skies and deep blue waters that drew me in. Without a doubt it was meeting the wonderful people of the villages that dot the islands so far away from the usual conveniences we take for granted.

Silently the dugout canoes sliced through the water from each village as we neared. Men, women, and children in canoes congregated at the sides and back of the live-aboard with fresh fruits and vegetables to trade for staples like rice and sugar. Some displayed crafts of wood and shells to sell or trade for T-shirts. Some fished. But all watched as we came and went in our dive gear. We were the entertainment for the day.

The paradise above was magnified in the treasures below. Abundant colorful marine life in all shapes and sizes played over a patchwork quilt of brilliant corals. An abundance of lionfish, countless varieties of nudibranchs, endless fields of anemones with their guardian clownfish, and the unusual--the hairy ghost pipefish, kept us diving back in for more. On this 10 day trip, we were limited only by our ability, stamina, and common sense. (Read the rest of the story.)

News-Wordy

Okay, so it seems lately I'm doing a lot of complaining but I need to get this out. When I listen to the news on TV, I want to hear the news. Instead I hear "Coming up is..." and then there are four or five teasers which may or may not be coming up any time soon. This wastes at least a minute and a half--long enough to give me another news story.

Then there's the one that really drives me nuts. Waiting for the weather. There are two teasers in the half hour news program and at least three in the hour version and two of those promise the full report after the next commercial. After the third commercial the report is finally given.

I liken this to writing a story and rambling on and on. Good writing is tight writing especially when writing non-fiction (that's what the news is supposed to be). Readers lose interest if you promise them something and make them wait. TV viewers do too. We turn the nightly news off way before the weather finally arrives no matter how many times they promise it's coming. After all, when we get up in the morning, it will still be weather and we'll know whether the sun is shining or not.

Gas Prices--Shorter Drive Thru Lines?

This noon I stopped at Wendy's to get my son some lunch. I was going to use the drive thru. When I saw that it was wrapped around the building, I decided to go inside instead. We were through the line and back in our car before the last car made it up to the ordering box.

Now, I'm no expert on how much gas is wasted on an idling car but as the pennies, dimes, and quarters keep getting added to the price, doesn't it seem ridiculous that people would be waiting 15 minutes in a drive thru line?

As we passed McDonald's on the way home, I glanced at their drive thru line--around the building just like Wendy's.

What's it like in your neighborhood? Maybe we should do a study on drive thrus and the waste of energy sources. I'm sure the government would have some kind of grant available for that--probably even at a drive thru window.

...And Babies Were Three

Scratching and chirping continued over our heads in the dining room long after our intruder was carted off by the animal warden. With the help of our son, Bob removed the speaker in the ceiling of the room and began to pull down the insulation. It wasn't long before he pulled the first baby from the warmth and comfort of its nest. Two more followed.

Instead of the usual chicks and ducks, we were graced with three baby raccoons for Easter.

The Intruder

The animal warden arrived that afternoon to see if she could determine what was in the attic. The minute we mention chirping sounds, her face clouded. The consensus was that we had a raccoon in the attic and she probably had babies. Apparently baby raccoons sound a lot like baby birds.

We set the box trap in the attic and baited it with some cat food. The warden assured us that we would know when we had caught our intruder. Well, we didn't hear much that evening and when Bob checked in the morning, the trap was empty--the food was gone!

Clearly we were dealing with a clever raccoon.

Undaunted, Bob bought some more cat food--two varieties--and reset the trap adding a bowl of water and wiring the bait to the cage.

His efforts were rewarded. The next morning two beady eyes blinked at him when he inspected the trap. He left his trophy catch on the porch for the animal warden and went off to work. Her report came back that indeed the raccoon was a female and she was obviously nursing babies.

The trap sits in the attic awaiting some hungry babies. If they don't show up, they will be routed from their nest this weekend. Usually kids get chicks and ducklings for Easter. Looks like we get raccoons. Stay tuned.

More Noises

The scratching was incessant in the evening. During the day there was only an occassional shuffle. Whatever was between the floors was nocturnal. That began to narrow things down. Mice? A raccoon? A skunk?

A skunk was frightening to think about. That could mean de-stinking the whole house if it let loose when cornered. A raccoon is destructive as are mice.

Bob opted for mice and set a couple of traps with his favorite bait--peanut butter. In the middle of watching our favorite shows we had TiVoed while gone, we heard a horrible clunking sound that seemed to run the length of the dining room. Something was in a trap and it was desparately trying to get out. And that something was BIG and angry. Rule out mice.

"Call someone," I began to chant. We have an animal warden and there are other pest control people. "Call someone."

Bob just kept shaking his head. "What could it be? What could it be?"

"Whatever it is, it's big and mad. Call someone."

He went to work the next day and, sure enough, the consensus at work was that he should call someone. He contacted the animal warden for our city and set up an appointment. At four, we would get an expert's opinion on what was in attic.

Did You Hear That?

What is it about husbands? When you say you hear a noise they just look at you as though you had just said the voices in your head were back. There couldn't possibly be a noise in the engine of the car. A tow and a repair bill always proves that statement wrong. What about the noise in the attic?

For weeks I said I thought I heard something walking in the eaves above our front porch and the response I got was, "I don't hear anything." Well, of course not! I was talking to the man who couldn't hear the stereo cries of his twin babies when I laid them down one on each side of him while he slept. And in thirty-some years, that hearing has faded even more.

He humored me and looked in the attic. There were no footprints in the fluffy layer of insulation so it was obvious I was just hearing the wind. We went on vacation.

Two weeks later we returned and while relaxing in front of the TV one night heard a terrible racket that sounded like a nestful of starlings. Were they back and in the attic? Oh yes, that was another noise--in the chimney--a couple of years ago that I imagined.

There was no denying it this time. He actually admited hearing the rumpus. To add to the mystery, we happened to look out the front door and find that part of the flashing over the porch had been bent as though something had fallen through it. The nosies began again.

What in the world was up there? Was it feathered or furry? Big or small? And how in the world had it manuevered between the first and second floor to lodge right above the dining room table?

Millenium Cruise Tragedy

We have just returned from our South American/Panama Canal cruise aboard the Celebrity Millenium. I meant to post while we were gone, but I left my password at home and for some reason my computer would not remember it for me. Can computers have senior moments?

At our first port, Arica, Chile, a group of passengers arranged a tour with a local company to go into the national park in the mountains just outside the city. Tragically, on a narrow winding road, their van swerved to miss on oncoming truck and went off the road, tumbling down an embankment for about 300 feet and killing 12 of the 16 passengers.

We had no idea what was wrong as we waited for the ship's crew to cast off the lines that evening so we could make our way to Callao, Peru. As passengers began to gather to watch the ship's departure, rumors began to circulate that there had been an accident. There are always rumors abounding when there is a change in schedule and we didn't take them seriously until we began to see more official cars arrive and cruise staff (we later learned a doctor and nurse) leave the ship with suitcases.

About two hours past our scheduled departure time, the ship's captain informed us that there had been a tragic accident and 11 people had died (one more passed away in the hospital). The details began to filter through. One man recounted having seen the van at the bottom of the embankment when their tour bus had returned down the same road.

It began to sink in.

There but for the grace of God...

While we had not been on the same tour--ours was an excursion to a coastal walk, arranged through the cruise company--it could still have been the scenario for us. We might have done the same thing had we not chosen the coastal walk instead. We love to explore parks and nature rather than the cities.

The ship was quiet that night. The nightly entertainment was canceled. No one would have attended the show. Many were lined up at the computer centers aboard ship. All with the same idea. The news media would be broadcasting with no names mentioned and there would be hundreds of families wondering if their loved ones were okay. Thankfully, I had wireless on my laptop and didn't have to wait long to let our children and family know we were all right. The messages, I hear, arrived just before or after they received the news.

We stayed the night docked at Arica until arrangements were in place with families and friends of those who died and the officials cleared the ship to leave after their investigation into the accident. The Millenium crew and the Celebrity Cruise company were outstanding in their handling of the situation as far as we could tell. While due respect was given to those who lost their lives--a room was arranged for any who desired to pray or meditate and counselors were available--the cruise was not given a melancholy atmosphere. Passengers went on to enjoy their vacation time but stopped for a memorial service the following week to remember those whose lives had come to such an abrupt end.

I'm sure that this week as we all return home, we will hug our families a little tighter and feel a little more thankful.

Tornado Wimp

Okay, when it comes to tornadoes, I'm a wimp. The minute the little boxes go up on the radar screen, I go into my tornado preparation mode--leaving the TV on to watch the storms approach and pacing with an ear for that train they say you hear and a small flashlight in my pocket in case the lights go out.

I've never been in a tornado. Had one pass close to another house we lived in. All the while it was tearing up a garage a mile down the road from us, the sun was shining in our yard--is it any wonder I get nervous?

I have had plenty of "tornado dreams." They are right up there with the dream of being in a convertible and driving up a hill that gets increasingly steeper and then the car starts to free fall. Thankfully I wake up then--sometimes screaming. In the tornado dreams, I see them coming in the distance, ripping up houses and buildings. I know they're getting closer and sometimes I can even feel the wind pick up...of course that could be my husband snoring in my face. I wake up before they hit but the anticipation sets my heart racing.

This morning amid news reports of the storm system approaching us (after leaving houses in ruin in Missouri) I looked outside to see--sunshine? Taking advantage of the warm weather and the sun and knowing it wouldn't last--this is Cleveland, good weather never lasts--I went for a morning walk. To the north, the dark gray skies told the story of the storms out over the lake. To the south, the sun shone through a small gathering of clouds. As I walked back east however, I had the sense of being followed. I looked over my shoulder and there they were, the thick black clouds of the front that was approaching. I picked up my pace and by the time I arrived back in the house, the sunshine was gone, replaced by dark twilight and the ominous rumble of thunder.

I'm a wimp. The TV is on broadcasting the storm's progress. I have my trusty flashlight, and my eye wanders to the window to check the skies outside. It will probably just be a lot of noise and rain but my heart will race as fast as it does in a good action-thriller-suspense movie or book. I'm such a wimp.

Snapshots of Life

Random thoughts of what has passed and what is to come:

• Watched our Antarctica trip on video...how magnificent it truly was.
• Looking forward to our next trip--South America and the Canal.
• Anticipating VIP night with Tyler at his preschool.
• Remembering Kotomi yelling at Grandpa in Japanese.
• Encouraging Tracy in her new venture--http://trig-out.blogspot.com/
• Wondering what kind of adventures Danielle will find in life--something in those eyes...
• Amazed that Caleb is sitting up already. Is he six months old already?
• Blessed and encouraged with feedback from speaking at the women's retreat.
• Excited at the prospect of more opportunities to speak to groups.
• Waiting...waiting...waiting on news about my novel.
• Eager to begin the next book.
• Praising God for all the opportunities in my life to serve Him.
• Thanking Him for all the good snapshots of life.

Take Two Laughs And...

In the 10th century B.C. the writer of Proverbs said, “A cheerful heart is good medicine.” In 2005, a researcher at the University of Maryland Medical Center said basically the same thing. Dr. Michael Miller, director of preventive cardiology released the results of a study showing that laughter may be an important factor in reducing the risk of cardiovascular disease leading to heart attacks.

“At the very least,” he said, “laughter offsets the impact of mental stress which is harmful to the [lining of the blood vessels].” Stress causes constriction of the blood vessels.

Dr. Miller is not the first to study the impact of laughter on our health. Dr. William Fry of Stanford’s Medical School has also looked into the impact of laughter’s effects on pulse rates, oxygen levels, and blood pressure. He found that 100 to 200 deep “hee hahs” can benefit your body as much as ten minutes of rowing.

Norman Cousins is one of the pioneers in humor therapy. He suffers from a very painful crippling form of arthritis. He found that watching 30 minutes of funny videos provided him with 2 hours of pain free restful sleep. He documented all his research in a book titled Anatomy of an Illness.

Another advocate of humor therapy is Dr. Hunter “Patch” Adams who gained notority by dressing in a clown outfit—red rubber nose and all, to make his hospital rounds. A movie about him came out in 1999 starring Robin Williams. Dr. Adams says, “Joy is more important than any other drug.”

What does all this mean? Have a good laugh. You might find yourself reducing stress and enjoying better health. And don’t be surprised the next time you see your doctor and he tells you, “Take two laughs and call me in the morning."


[http://www.umm.edu/news/releases/laughter.html, http://www.jesthealth.com/art13jnj.html,
http://www.patchadams.org/home.htm ]

Joyful Retreat

This weekend I spoke at a women's retreat. The theme was joy. A more "joyful" group you'd never find anywhere. They were fun and certainly enjoyed each other's fellowship. An Unbirthday Party took away the sting of adding another year onto our ages. Our gift bags included a small rubber duckie--something the organizers never realized could be filled with water and squirted.

The best gift of all though was the gift of encouragement and love that was shared among those who attended. Those are the things that help us to realize we're not alone when the going gets rough in life--when we hit the rocky roads or the potholes of life. God puts those loving caring people in our path to remind us of the joy he gives to those who love him. His joy goes beyond the "happily ever after" in life to the forever joyful.

(Information on my speaker's topics can be found at http://www.karenrobbins.com/Speaker%20Information.htm).

Smoking Bans

There is a wave of smoking bans overtaking the country again. Communities, cities, counties, and states have passed bans for smoking indoors in public places or are considering legislation to effectively move smokers to the outdoors or their own homes. I haven't done the research but I'm wondering--is this how Prohibition got started?

While personally I'd be happy to see all smoking done away with for health reasons (my father had emphysema), I'd hate to see the country go through another round of underground commercialism. Instead of speakeasys there'd be "smoke-easys" springing up in backdoor alleyway joints. Can you imagine raids on attic tobacco growers? If you purchased too much tissue paper for wrapping gifts would you be suspected of rolling your own cigarettes?

There's no easy solution to the insanity of smoking. We all need our "drugs." Mine is chocolate. I can appreciate the addictive qualities of tobacco and chocolate but my chocolate addiction doesn't harm the person in the same room with me when I eat it.

Which leads to another whole imagined scenario--lawsuits. If we banned all smoking in all public places and it was only done at home, with our lawsuit mentality I could imagine children suing parents over being raised in a home with smokers. It's not too farfetched to imagine a slew of lawsuits in apartment buildings. There's already been one on record where a woman claimed her neighbor's smoking was causing her ill health.

How do we get the kids to stop thinking it's cool or awesome, or whatever the teen volcabulary dubs it now? That's where the promise is. If we can stop the younger generations from getting hooked, then we may see smoking disappear from public as well as private view. Of course, what's the chances the smoking habit would be replaced by something worse? Like I said, we all need our "drugs."

Revisiting My Da Vinci Post

What I wrote about the Brown book, The Da Vinci Code, Monday has been preying on my mind since. Here I am saying that his book is fiction and therefore should be discounted when I am a Christian fiction writer. I wonder, do people discount Christian fiction because it's fiction?

I guess the answer is in my philosophy of life--life is made up of choices. I choose to believe the Bible. I choose to believe Jesus is the son of God, the Savior and Lord. I choose to believe that he never had an affair with Mary Magdalene that produced children. That would have been contrary to all he taught, to his purpose here on earth and in eternity.

In my writing, my protagonists reflect those beliefs. They struggle with growth in their faith and the influences the world has on them--like rumors of those accusations found in the Brown book. There will always be opportunities to discount the Biblical records of Jesus' ministry then and now (you see I choose to believe in the resurrection and a living savior). Those who choose not to believe will always find reasons to justify their non-belief.

Did Brown set out to win support for the suppositions in his book? I don't know. Like I said before it was a great puzzle to figure out--suspenseful. I'm sorry that people who look at the Last Supper now will look to it for the clues it is purported to have rather than the great work of art that it is.

The controversy is good in some ways. It forces people to reexamine their faith. It forces people to make choices. Will you believe in the Bible and the Savior it portrays or will you follow the premises that demean him?

Da Vinci -- Da Rumble

Do you hear it? It's beginning again. The rumble over The Da Vinci Code can be heard in the distance, getting louder as it approaches. The release of the movie in May is already causing a buzz as the movie trailers are beginning to pique curiosity all over again.

I read the book. Ho-hum. It was a decent adventure/mystery story--a good puzzler, if you like solving puzzles. A great novel? No way. It was slow and sluggish in places and the characters were not so deep that you really cared that much about them. If the publisher is smart, he'll take the profits from all the hoopla surrounding the book and publish something that is truly worth reading and caring about.

So what about this hoopla? Where did it all come from? Whoever started it--publiscists, media, evangelicals--it certainly paid off in dollars for author and publishing house, and now the movie makers. By the way, in case you've really been out of all the loops, the commotion has been over the premise that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had children together. The protests raged when the book came out over the propagation of the premise as though the author had presented a theological dissertation. Dan Brown wrote the book as FICTION.

I can't help but wonder if the book would have quietly gone into the night had the Christian world not taken up arms against it. Of course it sold millions of copies--to those who who wanted to find out what all the rumble was about. Now Tom Hanks and Ron Howard will add to it. Will I go see it? Probably. My husband hasn't read the book--too long, so he'll want to see it. After all, he's curious to know why everyone is in such a dither over the whole thing, as are so many others--guaranteeing it to be a box office hit.

Parenting Tips

When I was raising five kids, I could have used a parenting tip everyday--probably two. A writing friend of mine whose expertise is in early childhood behavior and parenting is offering a Daily Discipline Tip each Wednesday. Her wise counsel can be obtained at http://www.brendanixon.com/ . Click on the sidebar that says Daily Discipline Tip to sign up.

My tip for the day: A piece of chocolate can calm the nerves, lift the spirit, soothe the beast, and refresh a weary soul. The trick is to let it s-l-o-w-l-y melt in your mouth. By the time its gone your troubles seem a lot smaller.

This tip comes to you free of charge from a confessing chocoholic.

Ah, Chocolate

The love affair with chocolate in America extends far beyond eating it. A trip to Hershey PA, the town that was built on chocolate, will engulf you in all sorts of chocolate themed activities—Hershey’s Chocolate World where you can learn about chocolate making—theme park rides centered around chocolate bars—and of course the ultimate: the Chocolate Spa where you can immerse yourself in a cocoa bath or be covered in a chocolate body wrap. All guaranteed to be calorie free treatments.

Personally, I’d rather eat my chocolate.

You do have to be careful in your chocolate forays however. I did have a near death experience about a year ago. We were on the Queen Mary 2 and eating at the specialty restaurant on board ship. The desert was called Fallen Chocolate Cake. It arrived warm from the oven in the shape and size of a large muffin. The aroma wafted up and began to set my taste buds for the treat ahead. There was a scoop of vanilla ice cream beginning to melt next to it on the plate.

I took my fork and gently cut a small wedge from the cake. As I pulled it away, dark lush creamy chocolate flowed like molten lava from inside the cake and pooled around the ice cream. Ah…

The waiter had described the dessert as “death by chocolate.” I ate every last bit of it anyway.

Well, if I’m going to die—let it be by chocolate.

Web of Lies

Arachnophobics beware! Brandilyn Collins's new book will send you screaming back to your therapists. I just finished reading Web of Lies and must admit that I now make sure my shoes are on before I tramp around in the basement. Her characters, Annie Kingston, a forensic artist, and Chelsea Adams, a Christian whose visions have helped to solve crimes, come together in this book. Their combined efforts finally nab one of the creepiest villains you'll ever find--emphasis on creepy.

I met Brandilyn at Mount Hermon Writers' Conference last year--sat in on a couple of workshops. To look at this lovely lady with a beautiful sense of humor and spirit, you would never guess that somewhere in that mind lurks the creative fodder to chill you to the bone. Her forays into the minds of her villains are remarkable in creating the suspense that holds you in your seat turning page after page.

The Hidden Faces Series (Annie Kingston) and the Chelsea Adams Series are recommended reads--especially Dead of Night, my favorite. These books are best read during the day unless you enjoy that spine tingling little feeling that comes when you read a thriller shivering under your covers with just a reading light on.

One more thing--when you read Web of Lies, do it with your shoes on.

Be A Barnabas

Barnabas, the man who was nicknamed "Son of Encouragement" in the Bible, seems to keep cropping up in my life. A few years back when I needed some real encouragement myself, I decided that you get what you give and tried to "be a Barnabas." It worked. My attitude about people changed when I had to look for the good in them and encourage it.

Encouragement is not just praise. It is also comfort and consolation. It's what helps someone through those despairing times in life.

Barnabas cropped up again when I joined a writers' forum online. I became a part of a group of encouragers. We cheerfully refer to ourselves as the Barnabas Babes. When someone is down due to rejection, illness, stress, you name it, we jump in with words of encouragement and prayer support. On the other hand, we also applaud accomplishments and try to keep the green eyed monster of envy from ruining our honest good-wishes for each other.

Praise is good but encouragement is better. Praise needs you to be successful to be received but encouragement is given rather you succeed or not. Praise is a part of encouragement but if it is the only part, then there is no room for growth. Encouragement urges us ahead despite our circumstances.

In a few weeks I will be giving a talk on encouragement to a group at a womens' retreat. Its title? Be A Barnabas, of course!

Life Jacket Drill

We have been on enough cruises to know the drill. At around 4 or 5 p.m., after everyone should be aboard and ready to sail, the announcement is made that the alarm will sound and everyone--and they do mean everyone--needs to get their lifejacket from their room and proceed to their muster station indicated on the back of the stateroom door.

Some ships insist you wear the bulky orange vest that makes you feel pregnant all over again all the way to the muster station. I think that's to keep people from tripping on the straps if they aren't wound around the life jacket. Everyone assembles while those in charge take attendance. A demonstration of the proper way to wear the vest follows along with sometimes humorous descriptions of all the nifty attachments--a light for reading and whistle to irritate the marine life. Everyone is usually good natured about the whole thing. Although there was one cruise where the photographers (who are often irritating enough) decided it would be cute to take picures of everyone up to their chins in orange covered cork.

The Antarctic cruise actually had two life jacket drills. The second was for the inflatable life jackets that we would wear while on the zodiacs. The information went something like this:

You will proceed to the gangway with your parkas zipped and hoods up, holding any loose items in your right hand while the crew puts the life jacket over your head and secures the straps for you. If for any unfortunate reason you should find yourself overboard, your life jacket will inflate automatically. If the automatic inflation for some reason fails, there are two red knobs you pull to inflate the jacket. If for any reason that should fail to inflate your jacket and you have not sunk and are still conscious, you can manually inflate with the tubes at the top of the jacket. Of course by that time, hypothermia has probably set in and your life jack will only serve as a means of recovery rather than rescue--which explained the big loopy strap on the back of it.

The Iceberg Souvenir

Well, a little update on the delivery of the "iceberg" from Antarctica.

It was a great hit!

Tyler couldn't have been more pleased. He and Danielle ran and got their plastic seal, penguin, and polar bear (although polar bears are from the northern hemisphere--but then the iceberg was from my driveway...). They played with the iceberg in the plastic container for a bit and then decided we could float it in the bathtub.

Lori ran some cold water and we set it in the tub. Next time I'll have to give my iceberg more of a solid ice base. The packed snow absorbed water too fast. Tyler kept insisting he was going to get in the tub with it. We finally convinced him it was too cold.

The play continued in the bathroom for a while until Tyler noticed the iceberg getting smaller.

"We haffa put it in the freezer. It's gonna melt!" He fretted.

We rescued the melting berg and plopped it back in the container. Lori saved its life by putting it in the freezer and we went on enjoying the rest of our visit with all the grandkids.

When we got back home late Saturday night, I checked my e-mail before going to bed. A note from Lori said, "Tyler had to kiss his iceberg goodnight."

If he becomes too attached, I might have to make another trip to Antarctica and get another one. Hope he doesn't want it in the middle of summer.

Iceberg, Ho!

I'm a little late in posting today. I've been out making an iceberg.....

Yes, you read that right. I'm making an iceberg. We've had about 6 inches of snow over the last few days--perfect for iceberg making. Let me explain.

Just before we left for our trip to Antarctica we called our grandkids to say we'd send a penguin postcard. Tyler (our 4-year old grandson) burst into tears over the phone. For some reason he'd gotten it into his head that we were taking him with us so he could see the glaciers and icebergs. He has developed a fascination with them and has seen our Alaskan pictures with the glaciers and small bergs in the water. I felt terrible.

When it came time to buy souvenirs, I decided I wanted to get something really nice. I was surprised to find little to choose from for grandkids. Somebody missed the boat--er, ship--by not ordering more things for grandparents to buy. There was little to choose from.

I ended up with a couple of fleece vests, the word Antarctica written across the back and "free" mittens snapped inside the pouch on the back of the vest. Clothes. I could imagine the disappointed look on Tyler's face. The girls might enjoy the clothes but he's far beyond that.

In one of my more creative moments--I do have one or two--I decided to make him an iceberg. I've packed some snow in a large plastic container and we plan to put it in a cooler with lots of ice packed around it to keep it from melting too fast when we take it to him. I will explain to him that the glaciers are made of snow that is packed down and when it slides to the ocean, it breaks off and floats in the water. We'll put it in the bathtub--with Mom's approval, and maybe float a couple of boats around it.

I know he's probably smart enough to figure out it's not really from Antarctica but what's an imagination for if you can't use it?

Penguins and Penguins, Oh my!

Penguins and penguins and penguins. And then more penguins. Our trip to Antarctica was filled with them. It’s summer in the southern hemisphere and the penguins have migrated to their breeding spots. If you have seen March of the Penguins, you sort of have the picture. We were not as far south as the Emperor penguins so the conditions were not severe.

Thousands of penguins (we saw mostly Gentoo and Chinstrap and then Magellan in Argentina) cover the small islands and outcroppings of the Antarctic Peninsula where the ice has melted. During the winter, Antarctica is twice its normal size because of the ice that forms around it in the sea and the penguins live out in the open sea. When the ice breaks up and begins to melt, the birds return to their rookeries, find mates, and do what comes naturally to perpetuate the species.

At one of the lectures aboard our ship, the expedition team leader had given a talk about what we would be seeing. His specialty was something other than birds and penguins and he poked fun at the other team member who was to talk about the different kinds of penguins on the continent. The leader showed a slide with a shot of two penguins, one facing the camera, the other with its back to us. “There are really only two kinds of penguins,” he quipped. “Black ones and white ones.”

At each rookery landing, it was hard to stop taking pictures. There were too many good shots and we wanted to make sure we got them all. Thank goodness for digital—we took over 700 pictures plus video.

This week Bob put most of the pictures on a CD so we could begin to share them with others. He didn’t take a lot of time to edit so the slide show is almost an hour long—only for the stout of heart and those, like family, who have to watch. Somewhere in the midst of all his work, he sat back and said, “You know, that expedition leader was right about penguins.” He flipped through a few pictures. “There really are only two kinds.”

Colorful Antarctica

Our first day in Antarctic waters was gray and misty with spurts of drizzle that tried to dampen our spirits. No way. This was an adventure and we were awed by our first glimpses of large icebergs and a rookery of penguins.

The next day, however, brought bright sunshine and clear skies--clear blue, blue skies. This is where it gets difficult because I am going to try to tell you in words what I saw not only with my eyes, but my heart and soul as well.

Bright whiteness, pure white snow, whiter than anything I have ever seen graced the mountains and glaciers that ran down to the water's edge. It was made more shockingly white by being set against a backdrop of crystal blue skies. Here and there coal gray rocky cliffs poked through the ice and snow and were met by the surf of the ocean gently licking at their base.

How I wished that for just a few minutes the buzz and hum of the ship could be silenced, for I know that the quiet would have felt holy.

As I stood on deck and drank in the pristine beauty of my surroundings, the words, "whiter than snow" came to mind. This was the whitest snow I had ever seen and yet the Bible says Jesus washes our sins whiter than snow. What a wondrous miracle.

Not My Cup of Tea

As we explored the shopping area of Buenos Aires, we noticed some unusual items in many of the store windows. I’m not an expert on drug paraphernalia but these items looked suspicious. They were round cups made of wood (actually a gourd) and a variety of other materials and each had a silver/metal straw in them that ended in a little silver strainer-type contraption on the end that was inserted into the cup. Did you smoke something in it, I wondered?

Window after shop window, we passed the same thing with unique designs, materials, and decorations. This was getting to be too much, I decided. At an outdoor craft market there was a table full of these cups with their unusual straws and a fellow whose English was pretty good so I gathered the courage to ask.

“It is mate--our national drink!” He was amazed that I didn’t know that. From a chair behind him, he picked up his own cup and showed me. “It is our tea. See?”

I peered into the cup at a concoction of liquid mixed with some sort of leaves. There was more leaf material than liquid it seemed. Then the light bulb went on in my head. Of course, they put their tea leaves in the hot water in their cup and the drink is strained through the straw. How clever. It reminded me of the Japanese teapot my daughter-in-law had given me where the strainer was in the spout.

I lifted the cup close enough to my nose to take a whiff. It was not the aroma I expected. While the gentleman insisted it wasn’t tobacco, I was sure it had to be at least a first cousin to the plant. It reminded me of my grandfather’s old cigars when they would get wet in an ashtray he kept outside.

The opportunity arose to purchase some tea and one of the cups but I passed. I can’t imagine it tasting any better than it smelled and tobacco juice isn’t my cup of tea.

A Different View

[Apologies to those of you who read regularly. We were without internet for two weeks traveling through Argentina and the Antarctic. Yes, you will be hearing about it. Here's the first...]

Rain dripped off the end of my nose as I watched my footing on the catwalk at Iguazu Falls in Argentina. We were treading carefully on the Superior Walk, the higher level of trails for viewing the falls. Even through the mist and the rain, the falls were a spectacular wonder of nature (will post pictures and review on my website soon)—tons of water spilling down more than 200 different waterfalls. While they aren’t as tall as Niagra, they stretch over a wider area.

Just like Niagra, however, the Iguazu Falls are viewed from two sides—the Argentinean and the Brazilian. Of course there ensues a debate over which side is better. Some argue that the Falls are best viewed from Argentina, others say Brazil. As our guide put it, “It’s a different view.” We heard that phrase a lot.

“Take the lower circuit. It’s not necessarily better. It’s just a different view.”

“Be sure to go out to San Martin Island. It’s a different view.”

“For a different view, go down to the river.”

Every time we rounded a corner and saw the Falls from a new angle, we laughed and said, “It’s a different view.”

And our guide was right. Everyone had their own opinion about which was the best view.
But isn’t that how the world is? Everyone getting “a different view?”

Where do babies come from?

In FAO Schwartz there is a baby nursery similar to what you might find in the maternity ward of a hospital. A half wall is topped off with Plexiglass to allow you to view two rows of bassinettes each containing a brand new life-like baby doll. The sales clerk is dressed like a nurse and will pick up the baby of your choice and bring it out for you to hold. Then if you so choose, you may purchase the darling bundle for a cool $80.

This unique marketing idea could create all sorts of complicated issues with the age old question, "Where do babies come from?"

"Mommy goes to the hospital and they help her get the baby," Mommy explains.

Little Janie sees the babies behind the window just like at FAO Schwartz and turns to Daddy. "How much do these babies cost?" Daddy just shudders.

Now little Janie wanted a baby sister but Mommy shows her a little baby brother. Janie knows that when you buy something at the store, if you have a receipt you can return it.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Where's the receipt for Baby John?"

"Receipt? Why do you want a receipt?"

"I'm gonna take him back and get a sister."

Of course that's more of an exchange. She probably wouldn't need a receipt.

Shhh! Don't tell her.

Hearts Anonymous

Hello, my name is Karen and I have a problem. It came with my computer. It's Hearts and I can't stop playing it. I do limit my playing time and use it as reward for goals met in my writing. My true problem arises with Pauline, Ben, and Michele--the other players (computer generated). I think they look into my hand sometimes. How else could they know I hold the queen of spades alone and then play a spade for me to suffer the consequences of having to play it and be penalized?

I find myself talking to Pauline. She seems to love to take all the tricks and leave the rest of us with 26 penalty points. "That wasn't nice, Pauline...You already played the ace of hearts--didn't you?"

Of course Michele always wants to send me the queen of spades when she has it along with the king and ace. That would be fine if I had all the high cards in the hearts suit. Then I could be like Pauline and take all the tricks. Michele's very sensitive though and I hate to yell at her.

Ben just sits there and chuckles at us girls but we get even with him every so often. We gang up on him and let him take the queen of spades along with all but one of the hearts. "Gotcha, Ben. It's not so funny when it happens to you, is it?" Of course if we do it too often his penalty points add up and the game ends sooner.

Do you see my problem? Instead of talking to myself, now I'm talking to computer generated card playing friends. I think I'm safer going back to talking to myself. It's a little more conventional.

Love, Janis

Janis Joplin and James Dean. I will never understand the need to esteem them. James Dean was just getting his career started when he died tragically--0nly three movies, albeit in one year and with two academy award nominations--but he has become a Hollywood icon. Maybe that's because he didn't have time to make a continuing success of his life...or a mess of his life as so many actors have done.

Last night we went to the musical, Love, Janis. We left at intermission. I didn't appreciate the psychedelic music when I was in college at the time and my tastes haven't changed. Besides, it's TOO LOUD! I could have sat through the music (my fingers were in my ears to reduce volume--Bob hates when I do that). And I would have sat through the music if the story was intriguing or compelling but it was the story of a girl gone wild in pursuit of...well, I'm not sure. I thought it was great music but as the story unfolded I couldn't tell if it was the music or the high she got from the recognition and the crowds and the drugs.

It was watching the actress down some pills with a bottle of alcohol and drape herself across a chair as if in a drug induced stupor that sealed the decision to leave. I knew what was going to happen. There wasn't going to be any redemption--just more drug influenced music and ramblings about how great she was at defying the conventional way of life. It was sad to think of what might have been if she'd have used her talent without the drugs but I couldn't garner enough sympathy to sit out the second half of the show. I knew the ending. She overdoses on heroin.

Now what is there I'm missing here? This was someone great? This was someone who changed the world for the better? This was a dope addict who played loud music and, as her mother noted, screamed when she sang. She wasted the talent she had. What's to admire? It's just a sad story.

Roller Coaster Rides

I'm embarking on a roller coaster ride. That's what happens when you submit your work to editors/publishing houses. My agent sent out ten proposals for my book, In A Pickle. Thus begins the clackety-clacking as my coaster car begins its trek out of the loading area.

I don't do real roller coaster rides at amusement parks any more. I can't stand the feeling of free falling and, in today's new modern contraptions, I don't want to be zipped upside down while twirling through a corkscrew and free falling at the same time. Whew! Just the thought of it makes this morning's coffee churn.

For me, the fun will be in the survival, not the ride. So, here I am facing the roller coaster of submitting my writing for publication, teeth clenched against the inevitable ups and downs. I'm not even going to think about those corkscrew turns. I'm already out of the loading area and through my first couple of free falls. I'm going to have to cut back on the coffee and hope the ride isn't too long. Survival will come with a contract clutched in one hand while the other one unbuckles the seat belt.

King Kong

We went to King Kong yesterday. To be blunt, it was an exercise in bladder control. By the time the commercials and trailer run, you can add almost 15 minutes on to an already long movie. We sat down at 3:45 and didn't get out until almost 7:30.

Was it a good movie? It's a remake. The original was a good movie. This one made fun of the first and the second. It was comical but way overdone. At one point I wondered how much footage of Jurassic Park they had inserted. It seemed to go on and on.

The computer generated Kong was interesting to watch. They did a great job giving the ape human qualities--right down to the sign language exchanged with his little Barbie doll as they watch the sunset and sunrise.

I guess I'm a bit cynical but, you know, if a writer did that much narrative storytelling, she'd be told to cut it out and move the story along. At least when you're reading a book, you can take a potty break and pick up where you left off.

The KID in Christmas

Over the weekend, I gave two very different presentations about the KID in Christmas. They were sparked by an ad I saw for the Elf, a Christmas movie in DVD now. The ad said, "For the kid in all of us."

The first presentation was for Toastmasters and I spoke about letting the kid come out at Christmas to make the holiday more fun--Kicking Christmas off with the enthusiasm of a child, Indulging in childish things (candy canes and snowmen), De-Scrooging Christmas.

The second was at my church. I used the letters K-I-D to talk about Jesus being born a King, Incarnate God, and Delight of His Father. I added an exclamation point--rejoice!

It was actually a shameless way of showing off my four grandchildren. You see I made large letters and an exclamation point and put their pictures on the letters that spelled out KID! I used them to make each of my points in the talks.

While everyone chuckled over what I'd done I did make my overall point: Christmas is a time to celebrate and who celebrates better than a kid at Christmas?

So I wish you a Merry Christmas and remind you to let the kid in you come out to celebrate the KID!

Ground Zero 3

We took the subway to the station we thought was near Ground Zero and found ourselves about a block away. Walking toward the area was like walking through a pass in the mountains and suddenly having a huge valley open up before you. The noisy hustle and bustle of the city was shut out by the awesome quietness I felt as I looked at the gaping empty space in the middle of a city full of skyscrapers.

We walked to the fence and peered through. Below us there were bulldozers and construction vehicles looking no bigger than my grandson's toy trucks compared to the vastness of the empty foundation they were working on. There were still spots where you could see where the iron rods had supported walled structures. It didn't look like new construction. It was obvious that the rods and walls that were exposed below ground level had been attached to something--something that was no longer there.

Across the street, was the church where so many rescuers found refuge for short spells of time as they fought to find survivors in the ruble. Remnants of the memorials left on the fence, pictures and tributes were scattered about the church in displays that showed part of the story of those days following 9/11.

Out in the old graveyard in front of the church, there is a stump from a 100 year old tree that was the only thing destroyed in the yard when a beam from one of the buildings fell across it. It is amazing that nothing on the church was harmed. I couldn't help but think that maybe God felt that among all the suffering there needed to be a place to find comfort. Even today, the church continues to offer comfort to the relatives, the rescuers, the survivors who are still sorting out the tragedy that changed so many lives.

I wonder what NYC will ultimately do to the 16 acres of emptiness in the middle of lower Manhattan. Will they rebuild and cover the scars left behind of that terrible event? Or will they place something there to remind us that even though the scars may be ugly, there is healing.

Ground Zero 2

All of my kids were home except for Andy who looked as though he might be stranded in Washington state. He had some trouble getting home when they grounded all the airplanes, but eventually made it safely back to his wife.

I remember the eerie silence of the skies. Noise that we had assimilated in our everyday life and didn't notice, was suddenly gone. Life was unsettled. What did the future hold? Were we still in danger? I imagined the feelings our generation was going through were similar to those of our grandparents' generation when Pearl Harbor was hit. This seemed closer to home though. This was the continental US.

Like most of the nation, I was glued to the television trying to absorb the enormity of the tragedy--praying for rescuers and those needing rescue. I watched as the remains of what had been some of the tallest buildings in the world were carefully moved and searched. But what was on my TV screen, I knew could only glimpse the full extent of the destruction. The human tragedy was almost too much to bear. The faces of those who waited word of their loved ones haunted me.

Eventually, I pulled away as I am sure millions of others did as well. The event had been life changing--world changing, but it was time to move on. Now, four years later, I was offered the opportunity to visit NYC. There was no way I would go and not visit Ground Zero--not spend a few moments thanking God for those he spared and praying for those families whose lives now had a hole in them--a hole as big as the one left in the middle of NYC.

Ground Zero

I remember where I was when it happened, do you? I was sitting at my sewing machine and listening to Good Morning America (I wasn't a Today fan yet) and the phone rang. It was the secretary from our church asking about some activity I was involved with. As she talked, I watched the bulletin interrupt the programming and Diane Sawyer and Charles Gibson's anxious faces as they began to relay the news--a jet had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers.

"Oh, my gosh!" I exclaimed and repeated what I'd just heard to the secretary. We finished our conversation and after I hung up, I continued to watch as the news unfolded and the second jet hit the second tower. Then it became frightening. This was no accident.

I had planned to take our son, Don, shopping for furniture for his first venture into the world of independent living. This was a big deal for a young man with Don's mental handicaps. I didn't want to disappoint him. We started out and found that every store we went to was practically deserted. Employees were gathered around TVs whenever they were available or just huddled together under a speaker that was piping in the news as the morning progressed. I wanted desperately to know what was happening but I didn't want to frighten Don either.

Don and I quickly found what he needed and then headed for a pizza shop for lunch. I sat where I could see their TV and let Don ramble on in his excitement, nodding my head as if I were listening, but keeping an eye on the events unfolding on the TV screen. A shot of the first tower collapsing was shown. I gasped. It made Don turn and look. Fortunately, he didn't understand the full impact. It was just another disaster or maybe a building being imploded.

This was unreal. Suddenly, life was uncertain. I wondered if I was going to be able to let him go out on his own. For that matter, the mother in me wanted to gather all my "chicks" together and make sure they were safe.

When we went home, I began making phone calls. Where were the rest of my boys? Were they safe?

Five Seconds of Fame 2

Well, we managed to inch our way to a space behind three women dressed in "I (heart) NY" pajamas and Santa hats. Sure enough Al Roker came out and paused for a moment to look at their attire. Just as he did, the crowd squeezed in around us and any chance of our being on camera faded with three signs thrust in front of our faces.

I was about ready to give up and go get something to warm the icicles forming around my nose and eyebrows. The focus had shifted to the other end of the Plaza where the Eurythmics were performing. As soon as they were done with "Sweet Things are Made of This," the crowd began to thin. I looked at Bob. "Should we tough it out and see if they come over here again or just leave?"

"It's your call," he said bouncing up and down and clapping his hands together to get them warm. We decided to stay until the top of the hour--9 o'clock.

We watched Ann Curry come out to do a promo from a platform near us. She was much prettier in person than on TV and was warm and friendly to the crowd around her even though she was visibly shaking from the cold.

They were preparing to seque to the next song by the Eurythmics when a cameraman stopped in front of me and looked down at the sign that I was beginning to drag now. "Nice sign," he said nodding his head up and down as much as he could with a big camera on his shoulder. He climbed up to the same platform where Ann had been a few minutes before. The Eurythmics began to sing. He pointed the camera at me. I held the sign high and saw the red light come on. It seemed like it was on for an eternity and I watched as the lense zoomed in. Was he taking a close up?

Bob was behind me watching the monitor and suddenly called out, "That's our sign! Hey, you're on!" Just about the time he turned around, the red light went off and our five seconds of fame were over.

Fame is so fleeting...

Five Seconds of Fame

Bear with me...I'm still rehashing the wonderful time we had in NYC this past Thanksgiving. It included an early morning--very early and very cold--trip to Rockefeller Center Plaza for the Today Show.

We had searched the nearby drugstores for poster board and markers almost to no avail. Everyone was making signs to hold up for the big parade. We finally found some foam board and a smattering of fine point markers--not the best for filling in lettering on a sign.

Next came the question of what to put on the sign. I was torn between "Hey Robbins Family! Save some Turkey!" and a "Checkin' Our List" sign. I had seen turkey signs before, so we opted for the List sign. I drew blocks like bullet points for our list and wrote, "The Today Show, Parade, Turkey Dinner, Top of the Rock, Christmas Shopping." Each block except the shopping one was checked. We filled in the Today Show with diagonal bands of color loosely resembling the colors that NBC uses in its trademark. The rest was done in black and dark purple when the black pens began to run out of ink. It took us most of Thanksgiving afternoon, but it was a good time to rest and relax and stay warm after being out in the cold for so long at the parade.

Sign in hand--both hands--fighting the icy wind, we trekked down to Rockefeller Plaza. It was 6 a.m. The show didn't start until 7, but we were already late. The plaza was almost full to capacity with people. Security checked our sign to be sure it wasn't advertising or offensive or, I'm suspecting, political, and we oozed into the middle of the crowd that was facing the far end waiting for the live concert by the Eurythmics.

Once in a while the camera suspended on a boom above the crowd would swing over the top of us and people would go wild cheering and waving signs. Bob noted that the camera wasn't even on yet. I knew I wanted to be in the back of the crowd closer to where the Today personalities would come out to do the weather. There was a lot better chance of being seen there and I certainly didn't want to disappoint my grandkids who were watching or TiVoing.

Carefully, and slowly we inched our way closer to the barriers as people got too cold and gave up--leaving for hot chocolate or coffee. It was getting closer to 8:30, their scheduled appearance time in the Plaza. Would we be close enough by then?

Toys Toys Toys

Christmas shopping is getting to be less fun for me. My own kids and their wives are far enough removed from my everyday life that I don't see the little things they need like I used to when they lived at home. (No, I'm not asking that they move back in.) Often they provide lists but that reduces the element of surprise even though it saves on returns after Christmas.

The grandchildren, however, offer a spot of delight in the holiday excursion to the mall and toy store. I envy the grandparents who get to shop at FAO Schwarz in NYC. When we visited there, we found a wonderland of awe and excitement. The first floor was filled with every kind and size of stuffed animal imaginable. The second floor had designer toys. As we neared the top of the escalator, we discovered the giant keyboard that Tom Hanks danced on in the movie Big. There were some accomplished young musicians dancing out tunes as onlookers watched in amazement.

Moving to the dolls department, we happened upon the nursery section. Behind a plexiglass window were hospital bassinets with lifesized baby dolls wrapped in blankets waiting for "mommies" to claim them as their own. The sales clerk for the area was dressed as a nurse and would retrieve a baby now and then for a perspective mother to hold.

In the action toys area, there was a bank of computers where kids of all ages could design a custom Hot Wheels car--color, body, detailing. We passed by wishing we had Tyler with us and found ourselves staring up at a giant dinosaur whose head swayed back and forth as it opened its mouth to roar. Beyond the prehistoric creature lay a wonderland of Legos--kits, pieces and parts of all sizes and colors, and huge buildings and creatures made of thousands of Legos.

We rounded another corner to discover a lifesized Barbie dollhouse that contained every Barbie and accessory made to delight the Barbie fans. I was truly feeling like a babe in toyland.

There were numerous stations along the way where toys were being demonstrated. I didn't realize how significant the demos were until the demonstrator of one toy asked if the buyer wished him to sign it. He was the inventor of the toy!

While Toys R Us was huge and carried every toy imaginable, FAO Schwarz was unique and truly made me feel like a kid again. I was wishing I'd brought an extra suitcase--but then one wouldn't have been enough to hold all I wanted. Just like a kid I wanted more than I needed.

Macy's Parade Balloons

Scarf drawn around my head and neck, clutching my coat closed, I shuffled through the crowd of people heading for 81st street. It was a windy cold Wednesday night before the Macy's Parade. As Bob and I rounded the corner, we were greeted by the 10 foot wide smile of a big brown dog hoovering just slightly off the pavement. Scooby Doo looked plump with helium and ready to bound down Broadway in the morning. With the predicted winds, he would be a tough character to hang on to.

Other balloons in the parade were at various stages of inflation. Some were just being unrolled from bags that looked no bigger than those which would contain a good sized tent for camping. They lay pancake flat on the street until all the guide lines and appendages were unfurled and the hose from the industrial sized tank of helium on a truck nearby was attached. With a hiss, the flat fabric begins to take shape. Arms, legs, ears, lips, all fill with the lighter than air gas and it begins to float hampered only by the netting thrown across it to secure it for the night.

The next day we were awed as the balloons paraded by us tethered by two jeeps and 25-40 people who held guide lines to move the characters down the street. It was windy. They struggled at intersections where open spaces created cross winds. But, except for one mishap, they all made it safely to the Macy's department store on 34th Street--a miracle indeed.

Often, as the balloons passed by or stopped for a short time in front of us, the wind would cause the huge characters to sway--sometimes right over the top of our heads. Their size was overwhelming and the danger they presented should they get out of control was always a consideration.

I thought about how we inflate our worries so often like those big balloons. They become overwhelming and dangerous if we let them. They loom over us, darkening our world. Macy's used to release the balloons when the parade was over (they were smaller then) and let them float away to be taken care of by wind and air pressure that would eventually explode the inner cavities. It is a good analogy--let go of those inflated worries and let God take care of them.

Holiday Greetings

Life has been moving in the fast lane lately. Unfortunately that led me to neglect posting my musings and stories for the past week. But life has also been good. FYI we went to NYC for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (more to follow) and my BIG news--I now have an agent for the novel I have written, In a Pickle. I am one step closer to seeing the first of a series featuring Annie Pickels, pickle entrepreneur and world traveler. Yes, it is humorous. Yes, it has a dash of romance. And yes, I AM EXCITED!

The contract came just before we left for New York and needless to say, Bob wondered if he would have to tie a string to me to keep me from floating down Broadway with Scooby Do and Chicken Little. It was a little strange being away for Thanksgiving. Except for the year I was sick, I think it is the first Robbins Thanksgiving we've missed in 37 years. Not to worry though, we did have a great turkey dinner.

Bob made reservations with the restaurant in our hotel for our Thanksgiving dinner. There was a huge salad buffet and a modest dessert buffet (but tasty!) and inbetween the two was a plateful of turkey, dressing, gravy, cranberry relish and sweet potatoes. Mmm-mmm.

When we were first seated, our waiter came over to take our drink order. He introduced himself and I answered with "Happy Thanksgiving!" He straightened and stepped back. I wondered if I'd made a faux pas. I hate empty space so I filled it with, "I'm so glad you're here today so we could have dinner."

He started in to say, "What can I get you..." and then he shook his head. "You know, you are the first person today who's said 'Happy Thanksgiving' to me...and before you asked me to get you anything!" I felt tears rush to my eyes. I'm not a weeper so that surprised me. Here was this gentleman working his tail off all day (his shift ended shortly after we came) to make customer's happy with their holiday dinner and no one had taken the time to wish him good will.

Perhaps we shouldn't be worried with how we are greeted in the stores this season but more about how we greet others. There may be someone God has put in your path who needs to hear, "Merry Christmas!"

Mending Broken Hearts

I just returned from a grueling three day seminar on speaking. The motto was "never let them rest." The leaders (CLASServices) lived up to the motto. It always amazes me to see the collection of people God gathers together at these types of seminars and conferences.

As Christian writers and speakers, we want to reach out to those who are hurting and need encouragement. Why? Because at some point in our lives we've been touched by some of the hurt or the ugliness of life. We remember the broken heart. The stories I heard in just three short days could fill volumes of works...and may, if the tellers also become writers.

While a speaker or writer cannot be the mender of the broken heart, she can be a vehicle for God to do his handiwork. What a privilege to be used in such a way.

"For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." Matthew 12:34b

Had Me at Hello

This has been a year of natural disasters starting with a horrendous tsunami, followed by earthquakes, hurricanes, and floods. People have lost great numbers of loved ones, homes, jobs, all the things that were important in their lives.

We live under the threat of terrorists who bomb discriminately or indiscriminately at will. An expert commented the other day that no country is safe. A suicide bombing is not a matter of "if" but "when."

Crime, poverty, unemployment, disease, homelessness, death,--the list goes on, affecting our lives no matter where we live.

Wouldn't you think that we would have more important things to worry about than whether a Wal-Mart greeter says "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" to us as we enter the store? How about "Hello?" It worked for Tom Cruise and Renee Zellwinger.

Typing 101

Do you remember Typing 101? After all those years of learning the alphabet--singing the song--suddenly you were faced with a keyboard that seemed to make no logical sense. Credit goes to inventor Christopher Lathan Sholes for what appears to be the haphazard organization of the keys. Originally the keys were arranged alphabetically but as his skill and speed in typing increased, he found the keys colliding and sticking together. Thus he had to reorder the keys to make the process of typing easier and more efficient and keep the mechanics of the typewriter in better working order.

Our lives are often like the keyboards upon which we type. Seemingly haphazard and out of order. Often nothing makes sense. We question, "Why?" But, just as we place our hands upon the letters on the keyboard and make words, paragraphs and even great works of literature, so God's hands upon our lives can bring order, grace and great works of love. The keyboard will always seem disordered but the master's hand upon it will determine its production.

Pink, Blue, or Yellow?

Okay, now here's a conversation starter: What's your favorite sugar? Pink, blue, yellow, or white?

Have you noticed how colorful the litttle container of sugar packets that sits on the restaurant table has become? There used to be only two choices--granulated sugar and Sweet N Low that came in pink packets. Along came Equal in blue and now we have Splenda adorned in yellow. Add to that, for the naturalists among us, the packets of brown containing raw sugar--especially good in cappuccino.

It's no wonder life is so complicated when our choices only continue to multiply and we are forced into constant decision-making throughout our day. Calories or no calories? Processed verses raw? Sucralose, asparatame, saccharin, or sucrose? Alright, my head is spinning already.

Have a sweet day!

Tacking

There is nothing more frustrating when you sail a boat than seeing your destination but you can't get there in a straight line. Rarely does the wind cooperate and blow from just the right direction for you to make a bee-line to your destination.

In order to get where you're going, you have to tack. That means you zig-zag back and forth toward your destination. The captain at the helm (usually Bob) yells "Come about!" The crew (usually me) then lets go of the line on the jib sail (the one in front) and the boat is turned to catch the wind from the other side. The line is pulled from the other side and fastened off on the cleat when the sail is in the right position. In the few seconds it takes the sail to cross over the bow of the boat, momentum is lost. But as soon as the wind fills the sail again, the boat pushes forward and get closer to its goal.

Now if you had a power boat, you'd just buzz right to the marina in a straight line. But that's noisy and not nearly as challenging.

This week my writing adventures have seemed a bit like using a sailboat to get where I want to be. I was moving right along and then the wind changed--I got another rejection. Since I am the captain of this ship, I yelled "Come about!" and set the sail to the other side (I sent my proposal out again). There were a few moments where the sail lufted in the breeze--I lost a little momentum but I am still heading for my publishing goal, albeit on a different tack.

Inanimate Personalities

As we pulled out of Hamilton, Bermuda, the cruise ship's horn sounded mournfully long and loud--a heartbreaking wail to the ears of those who loved her. This was the last time this ship would see Bermuda.

When we set sail in Philadelphia, we were aboard the Horizon, the very first cruise ship we had ever sailed on back in 1993. It was a young ship then--only about 2 years old. It was magical. I remember the first afternoon so clearly. We checked into our stateroom and were directed immediately to the lunch buffet being served on deck 11. I don't remember what I ate but I do remember sitting outside at a table, looking out over the beautiful harbor of San Juan, Puerto Rico, and thinking, "It's just like the Love Boat on TV." (It was a popular show back then.)

We sailed on two more cruises aboard Horizon after that--one more to the Caribbean and another to Bermuda. While on the Millenium (another Celebrity ship) we heard that the Horizon was being sold/transfered to a subsidiary of Royal Caribbean. It was a wild and crazy thing to do, but we booked the last cruise of the Horizon for nostalgic reasons.

Arriving at Bermuda, we couldn't pull into the port of St. George's because of the weather. Hurricane Wilma was pushing wind and unstable weather conditions ahead of her. The channel to reach St. George's is very narrow allowing for little error. More than 8 knots of wind makes it precarious for a cruise ship. We docked at Hamilton instead.

We anticipated traveling by ferry and/or bus to St. George's and other interesting spots on the island. What we didn't anticipate was what was about to happen to the Horizon...

Hot! Hot! Hot!

We were in Bermuda last week and visited a glassblowing demonstration in St. George's. It was the first time we'd ever seen someone make a plate.

A glob of molten glass was placed on the end of the long metal blow rod, heated in a raging furnace until it was red hot and then rolled in little granules of colored glass. The process was repeated a few times and then the hot glass was rolled in very fine white granules.

It was heated in the furnace again and then with a few gentle breaths, it became a round ball at the end of the rod. Thrust into the fire again, it glowed an ugly red-hot when the assistant handed the rod to the artist. She took tongs and gently shaped the ball, making it smooth, removing irregularities. The assistant took another rod, added a dollop of molten glass to the end and stuck it to the ball of glass held by the artist. The artist clipped the ball off of her rod and the assistant returned to the blazing fire again to reheat the glass.

Little by little, the artist enlarged the opening of the ball--each time requiring her assistant to reheat the glass. Eventually, as the glass cooled and the ball became a flat plate with fluted edges, a brilliant display of color was revealed. It came from all the little colored pieces that were first rolled into the glass. The bright colors swirled out from the center of the plate and became even richer in tone and hue as they caught the rays of the sun.

I couldn't help but think of how God refines us through our "fires"--our trials and sufferings. In the hands of the Artist, we become beautiful creations, richer still when caught in the rays of the Son's love.

Needle Phobia

I am a wimp--no way to pad that to make me look better. I'm facing my flu shot today and already feel that nibbling in my stomach. It's not as bad as it used to be though. I think having kids helped some.

BK (before kids), I passed out when I saw a needle approaching. If it didn't happen prior to the prick, it happened after. My mother, who seemed intrepid, sent me down to the lab one day one my own. I was around 17 and checking into the hospital to have my appendix removed. The lab did the blood test and then scratched my ear (it had something to do with seeing the blood clot). I must have caught sight of the needle then because as I left the room and walked to the elevator, I could feel the world gray around me.

I pushed the button and the elevator doors closed. The next thing I remember was falling forward into the arms of a nurse.

Along came kids. I assigned the task of "puppy" shots to Dad. He went most of the time. At first the pediatrician thought it was because we had twins and Dad was helping. Then he caught on that it was my needle phobia. He worked with me. When Dad couldn't make it, Dr. Rohweder made sure I stayed in the chair a while before he let me leave.

It's been 34 years since those puppy shots. I've had my fill of blood tests, shots, and IVs. I can usually make it through without fainting but the flight or fight adrenalin rush still courses through my veins and turns my stomach inside out.

Wish me luck today. I'd almost...almost rather have the flu.

(P.S. I'm taking next week off from my blog...Please don't think it's from my needle phobia. Smiles!)

Good Morning

Are you a morning person? I could be...if the morning started a little later. It's hard to shuffle past my husband at 6 a.m. as he stands at the sink, lathering a face flushed from a half hour workout on the treadmill. He chirps a "Good morning!" and I try to answer. It isn't pretty. I wake up with a throat that is voiceless until I have my coffee. I croak at him and move on to the kitchen.

Somewhere along the line--after having children who woke me at all hours of the night--I learned to do things without being fully awake. This isn't bad when everything goes well. But a few miscalculations can have you drinking hot water instead of coffee or wiping raw egg off the floor.

My voice returns in time to bid hubby good-bye. I go to my computer, coffee cup in hand, and turn it on. Now there are some mornings where it springs to life and is ready to go before I finish my morning draft of caffeine. Other mornings it keeps thinking, "Do I want to boot up or don't I?" I can sympathize with that.

At a writers conference this spring, someone quoted Mary Lou Redding of Upper Room (a devotional magazine) as saying, "Good morning is a statement of faith."

Good morning has to do with expectation. I've never wanted to set those expectations too high. I'd rather wait for the review. But by then it's afternoon and...well...everyone is saying "Good afternoon!"

How do they know? I know, I know...have faith.

Chaos Theory

The Chaos theory was a big part of Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park--so big in fact, that I skipped through a lot of the detailed description he wrote. Now I think I could sum it up in a simple sentence: Chaos is three preschoolers going in three different directions amid a store full of delicate collectables with a grandfather chasing after them.

We had lunch with Tyler, Danielle, and Kotomi yesterday--and their moms too. Grandpa decided to take them off for a walk when they got antsy at the table. He made a wrong turn and ended up in a gift store. With squeals of delight, the three took off to explore. While I wasn't with him, I can imagine (from experience) what went on. Display carousels were spun, doilies were waved in the air, and bundles of stuffed animals were cuddled and tossed back on the shelves...or floor.

When I saw the place he had taken them, I could only shake my head in amazement.

"You had the kids here and you didn't have to pay for anything?"

That man leads a charmed life.

Encouragement

Yesterday I went to a writers conference in our area. It was a small conference but featured some dynamic speakers I had missed hearing at earlier conferences this year. When I entered the breakfast room, one of the speakers, author Cec Murphy, recognized my name and rushed over to me to give me a big hug and thank me for all the wonderful e-mails I had sent him.

Cec is the author of Committed But Flawed, a wonderful book on modeling our lives after characters in the Bible that weren't perfect but were committed to God. I used it for 26 weeks of study in the adult Sunday school class I teach. I had e-mailed him a couple of times to tell him how much the class enjoyed it and some of the responses to the book, and I'd invited him to come and meet the class if time permitted while he was in the Cleveland area.

I didn't think much about what I'd done. Cec is a prolific writer (about 100 books to his name) and I just figured he got that kind of feedback all the time. Maybe he does...maybe he doesn't. His response yesterday though reinforced my belief that no matter how big or small, how popular or unknown, how successful or not, everyone needs words of encouragement. His response to mine has encouraged me to continue to look for ways to make people feel appreciated.

Is there someone you could encourage today?

Midget Massacre

Last week, Kotomi, our almost two-year-old granddaughter, came to visit. One of her favorite things to do is draw. She spent hours drawing on a magnetic erase board and on paper with pencil. The most fun, however, for her and Grandpa was the sidewalk chalk on the driveway.

The two of them started out drawing flowers and trains and writing "Kotomi" and then Grandpa got a bright idea. He laid Kotomi on the driveway, arms stretched out, and drew the outline of her little body. When she stood up, he drew in the eyes and a big smile. She was thrilled--so much so that she laid down again and yelled, "Granpa, Granpa!"

About six body outlines later, Kotomi made Grandpa lie down and and she drew around him.

After the dust settled and Kotomi was on her way home, we surveyed the driveway, remembering the good time with her. We had to laugh at the image before us, though. It looked like a criminal investigation team had been in and drawn body outlines for a midget massacre that took out one giant as well.

Toastmaster

A few weeks ago, I joined the Toastmasters club in our area. I wanted to sharpen my speaking skills especially when it comes to having to think on my feet. You know, when someone you are trying to impress with your latest book proposal asks you a question, totally off subject, and expects an answer.

The Toastmasters have what they call "Table Topics." Someone prepares a list of questions/topics and we take turns standing up to give a one to two minute talk on whatever subject comes your way. I was having great fun listening to questions that had the theme of a newlywed game show. Since there's nothing more fun than talking about your spouse's habits, I volunteered to take the next one. To my surprise, the list of game show questions was exhausted and I was given a serious subject to speak on. I faltered, grasping for ideas of what to say to a group I really didn't know well yet. I learned that a minute can be an awfully long time and I have a long way to go yet to smoothly field uncomfortable subjects among unfamiliar people.

I guess the old saying's true...be careful what you ask for...I'm learning.

Still, it's too bad the subject changed. I had such a good story about linty black fuzzies on the rug from hubby's dark socks.

The Fly Lady

Did you just say "What?" I did to when I saw that listed as a topic at our Ladies' Day activities at church. The description of the workshop said the Fly Lady was going to get me organized. O...K..., I thought, if she can do that, she must be a super-hero...ine.

What I found was a super creative mind that has organized household tasks, cut corners, given encouragement, and forgiven the untidy. The FLY stands for Finally Loving Yourself. The house didn't get the way it is in a day, you won't get it organized and cleaned in a day.

You start with the sink--developing a habit of getting it clean each night before you go to bed. If you wake up with a clean sink (one area of your house that shows promise) then you can feel a sense of accomplishment and it encourages you to push on.

Her website, www.FlyLady.net , is full of ideas for whipping the house into shape and keeping up with it. She divides the house into zones, and if you sign up on her site, she will e-mail you reminders and challenges for cleaning each zone. There is also a reference to another site that helps with meal planning--one of the chores I hate. I just may sign up for that one.

It was a fun seminar. The gal that presented it (not the actual Fly Lady) was sold on the idea. She said even her young children know what a five minute cleanup is and how to set a timer.

Well, time to go shine the sink...I forgot to do it last night.

The Moxie Grandmother

Many thanks to those of you who have congratulated me on becoming a grandmother again. While the distance makes the longing to hold a new baby in my arms excruciatingly painful, the wonders of cyberspace and the internet help to ease the anxiety.

Within hours of Caleb's birth, we had pictures of him as he was being cleaned and dressed for his appearance in the nursery. My son took a break and went home to e-mail pictures for the hungry grandparents in Ohio and Arkansas to see. During the weeks that have followed, he has continued to update us with all the little nuances a newborn has to offer right down to that smile we all know is just gas tickling the tummy.

One of the best pictures comes from my daughter-in-law who knew that one of my greatest desires was to see my son holding his son. It's a picture I'll treasure.

I think back to when my son and his twin were born. They were the first grandchildren on both sides. We lived in Maryland at the time and our families were in Ohio. My mother had planned to come out to stay with me, but came down with pneumonia the week before they were born. My mother-in-law came in her place. Knowing my mother, I cannot imagine the angst she must have experienced. It was probably close to a week before she could get the first pictures. We had to take them, have them developed, and then send them by mail--snail mail.

I had printed "Do not bend--Precious pictures of first grandchildren" on the envelope. She told me later that the mailman had blown his horn when he delivered them so she'd know they had arrived. I'd bet she was hanging around the box everyday--waiting, pneumonia or not.

I'm glad I'm able to understand enough of this modern technology to get by. I sure would have hated to wait as long as my mother did. In a few days, I get to hold that little guy--the one who's smiling at me from my computer screen.

It's great being a moxie grandmother--or maybe I should make that foxie...