The Great American Supper Swap

Note to my readers: I don't usually do book reviews and blog tours but this is a book that has lots to offer young moms. I only wish there had been something like this when my kids were little and I reached the 4:30 panic of what to make for dinner. Trish is a good friend and I know this works for her. Hope you enjoy the interview.

The Great American Supper Swap
Solving the Busy Woman’s Family Dinnertime Dilemma
By Trish Berg

Many moms struggle with their endless to-do list, and dinner is just one more thing that usually doesn’t get done. Author and speaker Trish Berg has a great way to solve your dinnertime dilemma and shares all her secrets in her new book, The Great American Supper Swap.

Thanks for being here, today, Trish.
Thanks for having me.

I wanted to begin by asking you what IS supper swapping?

Supper swapping is really a simple solution to that ever present “What’s for dinner,” question that hits most moms at 4:30 every afternoon.

Supper swapping is moms helping moms by sharing the cooking responsibility for their families. Moms cook in bulk then swapping meals during the workweek.

To give moms an idea of how supper swapping works, could you share with us what your supper swap group looks like?

Sure. Right now we have 3 families in our group, though I have swapped with 4 families in the past as well.

Our typical week looks like this:
Monday – Nann delivers supper to us at 5:30, hot and ready to eat.
Tuesday – Kelly delivers her meal at noon, prepared but not cooked. At supper time, I throw it in the oven and voila!
Wednesday – Our day off. We eat leftovers from Mon and Tues.
Thursday – My cooking day. I prepare my meal Wednesday evening, and deliver it Thursday around noon, prepared but not cooked.
Friday – Since we have had larger meals already, it’s easy on Fridays to make something simple like spaghetti, sandwiches or grilled burgers.

Each group can decide what constitutes a meal. We only swap one main dish and one side dish, and each family adds salad, bread or vegetables on their own to complete teach meal.

We usually plan 3 months at a time and print out meal calendars so everybody knows what meals are coming when. (Moms can print FREE meal calendars at http://www.trishberg.com/)

Why do you think families have given up on dinner?

I think moms are just exhausted. Run down. Stressed out.

According to current research, only 50% of American families have supper together regularly today. Of those meals, 34% are fast food or take out.

Why is the family meal so important to our kids?

Eating dinner together as a family opens communication, helps children to eat healthier, feel more connected to their parents, feel loved and cherished. These benefits have a lifelong impact on our children.

According to research from Columbia University, children who eat dinner with their family on a regular basis are 60% less likely to smoke cigarettes, 50% less likely to use drugs, and 66% less likely to drink alcohol.

The family meal has a lifelong impact on our kids!

In your book, you also mention saving money through supper swapping.

Supper swapping can save families up to $4000 a year or more as they buy groceries more in bulk, shop with a plan wasting less food, and reduce their expenditures on fast food and pizza.

I give several examples of how supper swapping can save families money, but here’s one quick example:

Ordering pizza or take out costs around $25 for a family of 6. If you are now ordering pizza or buying take out 3 times a week:

$25 * 3 = $75 a week
$75 * 4.5 weeks a month = $337.50 per month
$337.50 * 12 months = $4,050 per year

You could save over $4000 a year on that alone, and that’s not even counting the money you’ll save buying in bulk and shopping with a plan!

With so many other dinner options out there, why do you think supper swapping is becoming a hot trend?

Basically because moms need help. Today families run at a fast pace unheard of 30 years ago. Usually, dinner is a fast food, on the go grab bag, or relegated to pizza, take out or frozen quick fix meals. These meals are unhealthy and expensive.

Supper swapping cuts a moms cooking by up to 80% since she only cooks one day a week.

For about 1-2 hours of meal preparation and 15-30 minutes or less of meal delivery one day a week, you get a week’s worth of hot, fresh, homemade dinners.

If a mom wants to start supper swapping, where can she get more information?

There is a ton of how to information, delicious recipes, encouragement and support in my book The Great American Supper Swap, available at bookstores and online at amazon.com, christianbooks.com and barnesandnoble.com. Moms can also contact me through my website to order a signed copy.

What do you hope families gain from The Great American Supper Swap?

Supper swapping can save families $4000 a year or more, reduce cooking by 80%, create a greater sense of community by adding deeper faith and friendships, and help families eat healthier food.

BUT MOST OF ALL – it gathers families around their dinner table together. That’s my mission. A return to the family meal.

Though I’m an avid supper swap mom, each family must find what works for them and re-claim their family dinner however they can. Supper swapping is just one simple tool to help moms make that happen.

For more information on The Great American Supper Swap or Trish Berg, go to http://www.trishberg.com/.

The dark side of Disney--Fantasmic

Those of my readers who subscribe to my Journeys newsletter received a Disney World edition this week. We had planned for the whole family to be together for a week there but learned shortly after making deposits on the vacation home that one son and his wife were expecting to deliver a baby that week. They allowed us to take the "big sister" along however and so 11 of us (7 "big kids" and 4 under the age of 5) spent a whirlwind week soaking up all that is Disney and remembering the times together when our boys were small.

Disney World has changed over the years. I wonder what Walt would think of it now? More and more, the rides are getting darker and spookier. While we enjoyed many of the shows and rides with preschoolers (It's a Small World, Dumbo, The Little Mermaid, etc.) there were some we entered and had to quickly exit. One such show was Fantasmic.

Fantasmic is the huge production put on in the evening at Disney MGM. The last time we saw it--a few years ago, it was a spectacular water, laser, video, parade, and fireworks show all rolled into one. The theme was Mickey's Fantasia movie and pink elephants danced across walls of water spray, green laser lights drew cartoon characters in the mist, and boats full of princesses and other happy Disney characters passed before the crowd. If Dorothy had been in the crowd with Toto, she might have turned to her little dog, hid his eyes, and exclaimed, "We're not in Disney any more!"

The villains--mostly female, by the way--have been made as popular as the heroes and heroines. They are featured in honored positions in the parades and in Fantasmic, they are the stars. Mickey's dream has turned into Mickey's nightmare and it will be the nightmare of many a young child in the weeks following thier Disney adventure watching the "evening spectacular."

So, a word of warning for those of you taking those impressionable youngsters. When the ride says "might frighten young children," you can almost count on it. If you can, ride first to preview the ride. Some of the rides are on video segments at the Disney site and may give you some idea. Also, The Unofficial Guide to Walt Disney World is an excellent reference, giving you some idea of what to ride with each age group you take.

One more thing: Don't expect to see everything all in one week. That's why all the signs leaving the park say "See ya real soon!"

Time Spent

In a few weeks it will be my 60th birthday.

At 30 I felt like I had definitely reached adulthood. At 40 I was using L’Oreal (a darker shade than I do now) but I was worth it! At 50 I was looking at a writing career that had some potential. At 60 I’m thinking of my mother who died at 62.

Time is a gift given every second of every day.

We enjoyed a comedienne and singer, Judy Kolba, a few weeks ago on a cruise ship. She ended her performance with a reminder of how precious time is. It’s something we cannot bank for tomorrow or borrow from yesterday. It is here and now in the moment. We are each allotted the same amount of hours, minutes, and seconds each day.

Another comedian, Will Rogers said, “Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save.”

Time management becomes a hot topic for busy people but it usually means adjusting schedules, time saving applications and devices, or how to do more in less time. To what end? To have more time to be more productive, or to make more money, or sometimes, hopefully to relax. But how can we relax when we continually stress out over how we can save time? And time can’t be saved. It can only be spent.

Today you started with 86,400 seconds. About 28,000 of those will be spent sleeping. That leaves around 58,000 to be spent working, eating, exercising, playing and all the other little odds and ends we don’t even think about. The seconds tick away like the cursor that blinks at you on your computer—waiting for you to do something.

How will you spend those precious seconds today? Some people say they can determine a person’s priorities in life by looking at their checkbook. I would challenge that. While money may be a good indicator of what you consider important in life, I think taking a good look at your PDA, your Blackberry, or, if you’re like me, the old fashioned calendar on the wall will show you where your heart truly lies.

I remember the last time I saw my mother alive and well. Dad had just bought her a new car and she came to the house to show me. I was busy cleaning. We were expecting company that evening. (Don't snicker. When you have 5 small children, you have to clean for company!) I took some time to look the car over and compliment her on her choice but I was rushing and she knew it. She didn’t stay long. She had something to do, she said. How I wish I had spent a few more seconds with her that day--long enough to say, "I love you, Mom."

You can borrow money. You can save it for tomorrow. But the time you have today is only for today. Horace Mann penned this little classified ad: "Lost, yesterday, somewhere between Sunrise and Sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever."

The gift of time. 86,400 seconds today. How will you spend them?

Thank you for smoking

Yesterday I had to take my car to the E-Check where they look it over, stick a probe in the tailpipe and test for bad emissions. My little car passed. Since it's a newer model, our state only requires I do this every other year before renewing the license plates. The last time I took the car (my husband did it in '05), I had to pay around $20 or so to have it done. This time it was free!

"Free?" The mantra my kids have heard over the years is: Nothing in life is free.

"Yes," the man answered, "you can thank all your friends who smoke."

I chuckled. What are we going to do when we finally convince people that smoking is bad for their health? Not smoking could be bad for our economy. After all, around here we have a stadium, an arena, improved city blocks, an arts program, and a free E-Check (I'm sure there's more I don't know) thanks to all those smokers paying a hefty tax to destroy their lungs.

So, to you who smoke: Thanks for all the freebies! I hope you will live long and be healthy enough to enjoy them too!

New Grandbaby

Yesterday I had the privilege of helping to bring our fifth grandchild into the world. For the second time, my daughter-in-law asked me to stay in the delivery room. She always worries about my son and how he will stand up as he participates. This time she was right to worry. After no sleep all night and nothing to eat, he was a bit pale and shaky as time went on.

I took over for him just as our little grandson was beginning his entry. I watched the doctor as she pulled him toward her and lifted a beautiful little baby into the air for mom to see. "He's perfect," I said, "just perfect."

We all shed tears of gratitude and joy at this wonderful little miracle.

This morning, I was reading in Romans and this passage jumped out:

"From the time the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky and all that God made. They can clearly see his invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse whatsoever for not knowing God." (Romans 1:20)

I've always thought that when people see and realize all the intricate details of that little miracle put together in nine months they couldn't possible deny God's creative hand. But then this morning, I wondered, what if I had not been able to say, "he's perfect" at that moment I saw him yesterday? Not all babies are "perfectly" formed.

I puzzled over this a while. Why is such a little word with such depth and often anguish. I prayed and as I did, I discovered that God makes everything perfect--to his purpose. Why is answered with "Because I am and all that I do has purpose for my perfect will."

Our imperfection is that we do not seek to accept, we do not trust, we do not acknowledge that he can take what we might discount or discard and in using it for his purpose, make it perfect.

Cold Reality

Okay, so I was off wandering again last week. We found a bargain cruise and escaped the cold weather for eight days. It was a beautiful warm meander through the Eastern Caribbean. Our last stop was in Nassau (no we didn't go see Anna Nicole's home). I caught a picture of the Celebrity ship Millennium as it sailed out of the harbor with the sun setting. Already I was beginning to anticipate what awaited at home--snow.

We had heard that the snowfall was tremendous. What we didn't know was that it would snow again on our way home. We had to be shoveled out of the parking spot at the airport and had to shovel our way into the garage. (Thankfully we have a plowing service that had the major part of the driveway done). I awoke this morning to see the accumulation. It has to be at least 2 1/2 feet deep.

The encouraging side: the temperature is rising and it could almost be gone by this time next week. I'm really not a cold weather person. Could you tell?

The Wandering Writer

I knew I picked the name for this blog for a reason. It seems like that's all I've been doing is wandering this month. After we returned from our holiday cruise, we wandered down to visit our grandchildren and have Christmas with the one who was in Japan over the holidays.

Back home, my mind wandered (it does that a lot at my age) through all the preparations for the Christian Booksellers Association Advance show in Indianapolis. I pondered what it would be like, who I would meet, and whether or not I would interest anyone in one of my book projects. Wandering through Indy was exciting as the city was preparing for the Super Bowl. Everything in that city was blue and stamped with a horseshoe!

I wandered home through the cold and frigid temperatures--encouraged and discouraged at the same time--wondering if I'll ever get to publish another book. Maybe if I took to meandering instead. . .?

Let it Snow--In Florida!

Over the holidays, we spent some time visiting with our son and his family and were treated to a snow storm—in Florida! Homestead has an annual breakfast with Santa affair and to make it truly special, they create a pile of snow from shaved ice.

I was fascinated with its creation. I’m familiar with the snow-makers up north in our area that turn our bunny hills into “ski resorts.” They spray a fine mist of water into our cold temperatures to add a cushion of snow to the slopes but Florida snow is a whole different process. Large refrigerated trucks brought in huge blocks of ice that were run through a machine which reduced the ice block to shavings of snow and spewed it out through a large hose.

It took about an hour to create a large area of snow for the kids to play in but they were more than appreciative. In sandals and using socks for gloves, they scrambled onto the pile of snow and reveled in the feel and cold of their homemade snow that was quickly melting in the 75 degree temperatures. The pile lasted long enough for each of the 300 kids gathered to play in it.

It gives a new appreciation for God-made snowflakes.

"Mary" Christmas!

Yesterday I used "Mary Christmas" as my theme for the Sunday school lesson I taught. I looked up the phrase "Merry Christmas" thinking it might have something to do with Mary, mother of Jesus. It didn't. It's an old English term that originally meant "pleasant." In England however, it has come to refer to drunken revelry so the Queen prefers to say "Happy Christmas."

Undaunted, I decided to wish everyone a "Mary Christmas." Our scripture lesson was in Luke and told of the angel appearing to Mary to explain God's plans for her. First he told her she was highly (most) favored. She had been faithful and obedient to God in her young life. He told her not to be afraid but she was talking to an angel who was telling her things that troubled her sense of humility. She was anxious.

Gabriel, the angel was patient and explained carefully how everything would happen. "Nothing is impossible with God," he told her. After all, her cousin, Elisabeth, was pregnant even though she was past childbearing years. Mary was reassured.

Finally, Mary says, "Let it be done." Yes, Lord.

So I wish you a "Mary" Christmas:

• May you find favor with God. Seek Him to keep


• Anxiety from overriding your life. Be


• Reassured of His love. Then decide to serve Him. Say,


• Yes, Lord.

With a "Mary" Christmas, you can't help but have a Joyous New Year!

Let It Snow, Let It Snow. . .somewhere else

It's snowing. I know everyone is dreaming of a white Christmas but I sit and sigh as I watch the gray skies empty white fluff. I sip coffee and try to hate the fact that it's snowing. I watch the flakes fall--each unique in its creation. The snow builds up on the ground in soft piles of white.

In the quiet hush of the snowfall, I think of how God pads the fall when life knocks us down as if we were landing in a soft drift of snow. I think of how He covers the ugliness of life with the purity of His love like the pure whiteness of the new snow.

Okay, Lord, you got me. Let it snow.

Jesus and Santa

I don't believe Santa had anything to do with my children accepting Jesus as Savior and Lord in their lives. The Santa game we played taught them that Christmas was a time of gift giving and receiving. That opened the door to them learning that God's gift was salvation through Jesus and that they could receive that gift by realizing that they weren't good on their own. That they had to ask God to forgive them. In doing so, they could receive the gift of eternal life.

God gave us the gift of creativity and imagination. If we use it wisely, it can enrich our lives. Use "Santa" wisely.

The Santa Dilemma

Is Santa a part of your Christmas celebration? He has been and still is a part of ours. Our adult children still receive their gifts from "Santa" although our grandchildren get theirs from grandma and grandpa. Santa visits their house, not ours, with their gifts.

Santa has always been presented in our family as the spirit of giving--not spirit as in personality or ghostly apparition, but as the part of our celebration of Jesus' birth that causes us to want to give just as God gave. And to recognize that this is a special occasion just as the three wisemen did with their precious gifts.

As our children grew, we stressed that the gift-giving part of Christmas, Santa included, was our way of learning to love others and express that love and remembrance. That is what Jesus taught--love one another just as he loved us. Our children's gifts to other family members were thought out. What would make Grandma smile? What does Dad need? (Over the years, he has collected 50+ pointy screwdrivers.) Sometimes my gift came in the form of a shelf built in a cupboard or a clothes pin glued to a stick to hold my recipe cards.

Santa became a game the older they got. I'm not sure at what age our kids became absolutely positive about Santa's real identity because whenever I caught that shadow of doubt, I said, "If you don't play the game, Santa doesn't bring anything."

Did my kids have a problem understanding that Jesus was not a game? That he did exist even though Santa was a creature of imagination? I'll take that on in my next post.

The Christmas Story House

Thanksgiving weekend is always the beginning of the Christmas traditions in our house although there have been a few changes along the way as our family has grown and we have gotten older (ouch! did I say older?). Most weekends, we drag out the old favorite movies--A Christmas Story and Christmas Vacation.

This year we added to the festivities by driving past the newly restored Christmas Story house in Cleveland. This is the house where the outdoor shots were made for the movie. The owner has renovated it on the inside so that it resembles the movie set rooms where the infamous Bumpuss dogs ran through the kitchen destroying the turkey dinner and Ralphie paraded down the stairway in the lovely pink bunny sleeper.

Sure enough, there in the front window sat the leg lamp in all its illuminated glory reflecting those childhood memories of Christmases past we share with Ralphie. I remember my mother telling my brother, "No, you'll shoot your eye out."

Greetings from the Thanksgiving Turkey

The Scarlet and Gray

Yes, we were among the thousands who went to Columbus even though we had no tickets to the Ohio State/Michigan game. I have never seen so many people gathered for a Buckeye game in my life!

Everyone wondered how the death of Bo Shembechler would affect the way Michigan played. I don't believe it was a factor. He was remembered fondly before the game at both the band's skull session and during the pre-game show. One can only imagine the two legends, Woody and Bo, together once again, wearing their respective colors while they cheered on their teams.

So, it is on to Arizona for the Buckeyes. The only question remaining is the name of the opposing team. And, of course, the Heisman.

Go Bucks!

TBDBITL

A true Buckeye fan/booster/alum knows what those initials stand for: The Best Damn Band In The Land. Every football Saturday played in Columbus starts with the "skull" session in St. John's Arena on the OSU campus. Actually, rather than a last practice for the band, it turns out to be more of a last minute pep rally for all.

The seats fill up fast (it's a free event) with the band parents and alum band members taking front and center. The excitement builds as the familiar "O-H" is answered with "I-O." Then the tingling begins in your spine as you feel the reverberations of the percussion section as the band assembles for their entrance onto the old basketball floor. Your pulse begins to match the tempo of the drums as they strain to be let free to the cheers and applause of all the scarlet and gray clad fans.

Tradition. There is much to be said for tradition. During his tenure at OSU, Jim Tressel has established a few of his own. First, it is mandatory for the team to attend the skull session and for one of them to speak to the crowd. At first I think some of them resented the intrusion on their pregame meditations, but now you see them getting as excited as their fans.

Then, after the game is over--win or lose, the team gathers at one end of the field in front of TBDBITL and sings the alma mater. Lately I've also noticed a few moments of prayer/meditation as well. That explains a bit about the problem Tressel had when he first got there and learned how to address the band. Unlike Woody, he had difficulty with the word damn. Listen closely when he says it. Does it sound more like darn band than damn band?

Go Bucks!!

Woody Hayes Lives On. . .

As we watched the Texas game on TV earlier this fall, I suddenly sat up straight and yelled, "Honey! It's Woody!" There beaming out at us from our television screen was the indomitable Woody Hayes--or so I thought for a fleeting second.

Woody Hayes went on to football heaven back in 1987 where I'm sure he's coaching a team again beneath a grove of buckeye trees. He was a complex man, dedicated to his football team and, believe it or not, education. I remember his passion as he spoke to encourage our future teachers group to strive for better education--to be a part of the solution--and yes, I'm sure he said something about winning the game.

Mr. Roger Thomas, a soybean and corn broker from Tipp City, has found himself in the uncanny position of being a look-alike Woody Hayes. And he's having all kinds of fun with it! Thanks to a Cleveland Plain Dealer story, the mystery behind the look-alike has been solved. I thought maybe some well-meaning booster had hired him to evoke the spirit of Woody football but it turns out Mr. Thomas is doing it all himself. A big "Thank You!" to him for resurrecting some wonderful memories to spur us on to victory.

Three yards and a cloud of dust! Here we come! Go Bucks!!

That School Up North

This is the big week! The big game! The one all Buckeyes look forward to for the whole season no matter what the standings.

We went to school in the days of Woody Hayes. He never called it M-m-m. . . (gosh, just can't say it). He always refered to that other university as "that school up north."

I watched last week as Indiana played "TSUN". It was in Indiana's stadium. Our game with Northwestern was played in their stadium. Both were televised at 3:30 and we switched between the channels to watch the scores almost copy each other. What amazed me though was that the Northwestern stadium had a tremendous amount of scarlet mixed in with their purple. While Indiana's crowd had little blue and maize that we could see. As a matter of fact, at one point the shot of the crowd showed a lot of empty seats. Hmmm. Could the Buckeyes be better fans?

Sentimental Effusions of the Heart

How many times have you heard a man end the conversation on a phone with the words, "Me too"? You know what's happened. The woman on the other end has just said, "I love you," and he's not willing to say those words and be overheard.

While reading Founding Mothers by Cokie Roberts, I had to chuckle at Abigail Adams. She was having the same problem with John albeit by correspondence not by cell phone. They were separated while John was off to Congress in Philadelphia. She missed him terribly and longed for him to write those words all wives want to hear from their men. Things were not simply written back then but her point was clear when she wrote, "I want some sentimental effusions of the heart. I am sure you are not destitute of them or are they all abosorbed in the great public."

I don't know if John answered properly but the story goes on that shortly thereafter, his correspondence to his wife was embarrassingly intercepted by the British. Not only was he more careful not to expose patriots in his correspondence, but I'm sure his "effusions of the heart" were veiled as well.

Founding Mothers

For our book discussion group this month, we are reading Founding Mothers by Cokie Roberts (Harper Collins). It's a little slow reading because of all the quoting Roberts does from the correspondence of the women who "mothered" our founding fathers--sometimes even though they were the wives.

At the very start, my attention was captured by the story of Eliza Lucas Pinckney. At age 16, she was left in charge of all of her father's plantations, an ailing mother and toddler sister while her father went of to Antigua to fight in the war and her brothers were off in England being educated. This amazing young woman managed multiple plantations, researched her best business opportunities for exports, and studied and researched how to grow indigo to become an important importer of indigo to Europe. (Indigo was used to make blue dye--especially for military uniforms). Eventually, after much trial and error--and ridicule, she succeeded in growing the indigo and extracting a dye from it. She passed along the seeds to some of the farmers around her in an effort to make South Carolina a source of important exports to England.

Needless to say, Eliza didn't have much time for the frivolities of life although her uncle did try to encourage her to lighten up. At age 22, she finally married Charles Pinckney, who was 45.

I understand that it was a different era, but for a woman--a teen-aged woman--to have been that successful and determined is truly remarkable for any period in history. I can't help but wonder if she didn't learn more than those brothers who were sent off to England for their education.

I read on. . .

Courage--Michael J. Fox

Caught in a maelstrom of criticism and controversy, Michael J. Fox has exhibited the courage it takes to face some of life's most difficult challenges--first, his disease; second, public opinion. Issues aside, he has had to deal with a disease that will probably continue to gnaw at his quality of life and in the end, his very life. It's not a pretty disease. Putting yourself in the public eye when you can't control your body's physical movement takes an extraordinary amount of courage. No one wants to be that kind of poster child and yet, because of the public awareness he has brought, there will be greater understanding of the ravages of Parkinson's.

Public opinion always has two sides. One is supportive and the other tears down and can become ugly. No matter what side of the issue you stand on, you have to admire his determination to pursue his belief that this type of stem cell research is the answer. I wonder how many of us would have the fortitude to put ourselves in such a position given the same circumstances?

Agree or disagree, he deserves a round of applause for his courage.

Segway to the future?

Last week we were privileged to go on another cruise. (DH can't pass up a good bargain.) In Cozumel, we had the opportunity to try out the newer mode of transportation on foot: the segway. It was a real hoot!

We learned how to start it up and step on without wiggling back and forth. Then our instructor had us practice on an obstacle course of cones to get the hang of turning. Your natural inclination is to turn the handle bars but the turning mechanism is actually in the left handle bar. You rotate the handle left or right--slowly.

After about a half hour of practice we were ready to head out on an excursion. He took us down to a blue hole and then on to a beach where we had the option to snorkel. The sensation of moving along by simply leaning forward a bit and stopping by leaning back was exciting. After a while, we were actually able to stand in one place by balancing our weight--sort of like on a bike.

Unfortunately I would have to pass on a segway as my mode of transportation. It didn't exercise your legs much and I don't do well standing still for long periods of time. My toes started to fall asleep. So much for segwaying my way into the future.

The Difference a Word Makes

We toured the Kennedy Space Center today. It made me feel old. . .very old. The tour guide told the kids and their parents about how people back in those days watched on TV as Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon. Yup. That was me. We watched with our neighbors from the upstairs apartment.

Apparently there was a lot of consideration given to what he would say when he placed that first foot in the moon dust. NASA officials had actually written the words, “That’s one small step for a man. One giant leap for mankind.” Armstrong however, decided that he didn’t want to focus any attention on his accomplishment alone. It wasn’t just a man who was landing on the moon, it was representative of thousands of men and women working years to get to that point. When he stepped off the ladder, he omitted the little “a” before man and made it “That’s one small step for man. One giant leap for mankind.” In doing so, he included all those who had worked on the space project as well as those of us with him in spirit as we watched on TV.

What a difference that one little word made.

Word of the Day--oeuvre

Are you like me? Do you read along in books or articles and come across a word that makes you stumble? Depending on the level I'm reading, I often have to sit with a dictionary at my side.

Well, this morning, I was enjoying a second cup of coffee and perusing (I looked that up--impressed?) my new copy of Writers Digest. There was a great story about a new book, fiction, that gives an account of the mysterious death of Edgar Allan Poe. It uses the author's extensive research to propose a theory of why he died. I was intently reading, or perusing, when I suddenly fell flat on my face as my eyes hit the word, oeuvre.

At first I thought it had something to do with hors d'oeuvres. After all, it has the word oeuvres in it. But no, they weren't talking about food. I tried to fit it into the sentence to figure it out and failed. Webster was all the way in the den and even though I called out to him, he didn't answer.

I shrugged it off, finished the article and went on to read another. Bam! there it was again-twice in the same magazine! Well, that was too much. I hauled Webster out of the den and flipped him open. Sure enough, there was such a word without the appetizing reference to food. According to Webster, oeuvre means a substantial body of work constituting the lifework of a writer, an artist, or a composer.

Hmmm. Makes sense. I was reading about writers. But it's close relationship to hors d'oeuvres has me craving chips and salsa. Go figure. Guess I'll peruse the pantry next.

Dreaming

It's election time. Are you tired of the ads yet? I am.

They are beginning to get down and dirty now. The other guy is never any good--doesn't matter how many other elections he won or what he may have accomplished on the way to the election, he's just no good. It amazes me the amount of money that is spent to tell me how bad the opposition is. Did it ever occur to the campaigners and their managers that I might want to know what makes them so good that I should vote for them?

We have one ad in our area that says some people just aren't right for the job and shows an obese man sitting in a chair, eating a donut and leading an aerobics class. Another says that the opponent had the audacity to defend child sex offenders. Huh? I thought everyone had right to an attorney. Isn't that what the public defenders' office is for?

Wouldn't it be interesting if for some reason--a law say--candidates were required to state only what their plan is should they be elected? They would not be allowed to say anything derogatory about their opponent only what they themselves have done to prepare for the job. The voters would actually have to make a decision based on whose plan of action, whose experience might be best suited for the job.

Wow. Now that's really dreaming.

Holy Hypocrites--Not These People

This morning I was reading about how the Pharisees were up in arms over Jesus healing a man on the Sabbath--a no-no. It broke the laws that said no one was to do any work on the Sabbath. As I read on I saw in his response the true hypocrisy in their claims. Whenever it came time to circumcise their sons, they did it right to the day--even if it was on the Sabbath.

Examples of hypocrisy are what often kept my parents from church. Once such incident was when a neighbor's son was scratched by another neighbor's dog. The dog was a companion to a thirteen year old boy, severely crippled by cerebral palsy. The neighbors who were faithful church-goers, threatened to sue. In addition to wanting the dog taken care of, they were trying to get money from a family that had little to spare.

When it was discovered that my grandfather had witness the incident and saw the boy teasing the dog with his jacket, the issue faded. But it had spawned a nasty phrase in our house, "Go to church on Sunday and punch your neighbor in the nose on Monday." Needless to say, it did not draw my family to church.

There was an incident this week, one in a terrible series. A gunman shot and killed five young Amish girls in Pennsylvania. I have been amazed and encouraged by these loving people who have lost so much--one family lost two daughters. In their grief and pain they have told a world of onlookers that God is good. They have reached out to the gunman's family and recognized their pain as well. They are living out their faith from Sunday to Sunday.

It makes me want to examine what I'm doing on Monday. Holy hypocrite? I hope not.

Word Surgery

I have been terrible about posting to my blogs lately. Part of the reason is that I am embroiled in word surgery. I need to cut close to 30,000 words from a novel I wrote and is being considered by a few houses for publication. One house said it was too many words (they prefer 60,000) and if I cut it down, they would reconsider. I'm always up for a challenge, I thought, and I've never had a problem cutting back on word content.

Well, it's been quite a journey in the "operating room" so far. I am having fun. I actually laughed out loud the other day at something I forgot I wrote. The trouble with word surgery is trying to decide what to cut out and what to leave in. I certainly don't want to kill the patient by cutting out a vital part and I don't want want to leave something in that is best cut out like a cancer. I have to truly ask a lot of questions before the "scalpel" selects and deletes. Maybe I should consider liposuction instead--just remove the fat.

LPs and Vinyl Records

Whoa! Just when I was about to pitch my old LPs and 45s, CNN reports that vinyl records are becoming popular again. I didn't know there was anyone who owned record players anymore. We gave up long ago trying to find needles to replace the one turntable we had left in the attic.

Part of the story said that dance music was better on vinyl. Hmmm. Is that because they can scratch it back and forth as they rap to it? Or, that could explain why our ballroom dancing isn't as polished as it once was.

The vinyl craze seems to be spinning out of Great Britain. That makes sense. Afterall, they gave us the Beatles too. What's next though? An 8-track tape revival? Unfortunately that trend lasted about as long as Beta tape players did.

If you've wandered on to this blog and haven't a clue as to what I'm talking about, ask your parents. . .some of you may have to ask your grandparents. But I guarantee it'll be a great conversation starter and they won't lack for stories of the past vinyl/8-track/Beta era.

Prayer Power and Acceptance Letters

Last week was rainy and gray. The sun hid until Friday and even then I had to go south about 120 miles to find it. It also started out with a memorial to 9/11. Watching all those who had lost loved ones was a bit depressing. Then came the news that my daughter-in-law's grandfather had suffered a major stroke and wasn't expected to pull through.

I didn't know her grandfather--had only met him once or twice--but his stroke and her family's vigil renewed memories of my mother's death. Even though it was 22 years ago, it brought back tears. (The anniversary of her death was last week also.)

"I'm feeling as gray as the weather," I e-mailed my online writing buddies. "Having a hard time deciding what I want to write--what direction to take this week. I wish I could get just one acceptance letter for encouragement."

All were quick to cheer me on and pray but one in particular, Trish, wrote the most beautiful acceptance letter for me. It was written from God's point of view and how He accepted what I was doing for Him. My eyes filled as I read it.

I was also feeling apprehensive about major changes that are about to take place at our church. I'm getting to the age where change is a little more difficult to deal with sometimes. I talked with my writing buddies again about their churches and was encouraged by what Leslie and Cathy told me.

Toward the end of the week my spirit lifted. I made the trip to stay with my grandchildren while their mom and dad went to the funeral on Friday. They were so well-behaved and entertaining the whole day that by the time I left, I was feeling happier. Still, it was hard to see the pain of grief in my daughter-in-law's eyes.

By Sunday, I was excited about our Sunday school lesson, the antics of our pastor and Sunday school director in trying to allay the fears of change, and I was smiling comfortably as I exited the worship service. One of the members of the adult class I teach stopped me on the way out. He haltingly explained that he had been praying for me that week. He didn't know why the Lord had directed him that way but he thought I should know.

"That explains it!" I exclaimed. "It was a tough week but my attitude had surely changed by the end of it. Thanks so much."

His kindess in telling me that he had obeyed the call to pray for me was a welcome affirmation of God's love--sort of another acceptance letter.

9/11--Forever etched in my mind

I was seventeen. My mother had picked me up from school and we stopped at the donut shop so I could run in to get a dozen donuts to take home. The radio in the store blared the breaking news: President Kennedy had been shot. Mom said I looked as white as a sheet when I came out of the store. JFK had been an idol of sorts. The first president I learned to care about. I will never forget that weekend.

It was the morning of April 19, 1995. I was doing laundry. Two of my kids were at college. One was married and the youngest two were at school. I sat down in front of the TV to fold clothes when the breaking news of the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City interrupted the morning programming. I watched in horror as people, bloodied and in shock, walked trance-like in the street until someone came to their aid. Then, the heartbreaking news: there was a daycare center in the building. How? Why? Who?

September 11, 2001. The last child would be leaving home soon. We were to spend the morning buying furniture for his apartment. Before I left, I sat in my sewing room (my daughter's old room) with a small television tuned to Good Morning America and worked on my quilting project. The phone rang. It was the church secretary with a question for me. I don't remember the question because as I turned to answer the phone, Diane Sawyer and Charles Gibson announced the breaking news: a plane had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I remembered pictures from a old newsreel I'd seen on the History Channel of the plane crashing into the Empire State Building. How odd I thought, history repeating itself.

Then the second plane hit. This was no accident. Anyone could deduce that. Why? Who? We would soon know.

I left the house, glad to have something else to do. I remembered how watching the Oklahoma City tragedy had affected me and I didn't want to experience the depths of that emotion again. . .little did I know. . .

Don and I shopped for his furniture and household supplies. Every where we went the stores were disturbingly quiet and most employees were glued to TVs or standing in the middle of aisles listening to the speakers that were filling hearts with the enormity of the tragedy.

We stopped for lunch at a pizza restaurant and I positioned myself where I could see the television. Suddenly the picture showed a tower collapsing, then the second one. When they replayed the scene I realized what I had missed in my morning's busyness. Don ate most of the pizza. In his limited mental capacity he didn't understand the implications of what was happening.

I dropped him off at home and hurried off to a funeral at church. On the way, I heard the news that the pentagon had also been attacked. I didn't realize then that overhead Flight 93 had turned away from Cleveland and headed for DC. Now a gnawing emptiness began to fill me. What did all this mean? Who? Why?

Those days immediately following were eerie. The noise of airplanes in the sky to which we had grown accustomed, suddenly was gone--the quiet was deafening. What would we do? Did this mean invasion? Did it mean, at the very least,war? Who? Why?

The whos of JFK's assassination and the Oklahoma bombing have mostly been answered as have the whos of 9/11. But the whys. . .will they ever have acceptable answers? What is it about the quest for power that drives men to kill, that drives one group of people to try to destroy another? I believe it all has to do with power--the need to control. The destruction, the death, will not stop until the need for power, for control over others is harnessed by spirits that seek peace and respect and love for each other.

Until then, I take comfort in knowing we are all in God's hands. I pray there will be no more dates like these etched in my memory.

An Apple for the Teacher--Conclusion

Torn paper swung from the bulletin boards. The chalkboard was spattered with tempra paint. Broken jars of color spewed their contents onto the tiled floor. Desks were overturned and schoolbooks lay open where they had landed from their flight.

Jill's desk was still upright but books, papers, pencils, tissues, everything that had been on top of it was now heaped on the floor. In the corner behind the desk stood Cassie, her back turned to Jill.

"Cassie!" Jill felt her fury rise. As the child turned, the red ceramic apple, Jill's prized possession, slipped from her hands and shattered against the floor.

"What have you done!" Jill cried out as she surveyed the broken pieces of her dream strewn at Cassie's feet. Her face flushed and her cheeks burned.

Cassie stared at Jill and backed into the corner. She slid down the wall until she was curled into a ball, knees tight under her chin. Fear lit her eyes.

Jill started forward, frustration and anger raged. But before she reached Cassie something--the memory of another frightened little girl, made her stop. A tidal wave of tears cascaded down Jill's face. She dropped to her knees sobbing. Slowly she began picking up the broken ceramic pieces.

Cassie peered over her knees at Jill. Cautiously she rose, picked up the tissue box, and made her way to Jill. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm not a very nice person. People keep giving me away because I'm bad. My new mommy prob'ly will too." She handed Jill a tissue.

Jill looked up. She realized what had kept her from reaching out to Cassie. It had been her own fear of rejection and failure. She had been afraid to get too close to this child who reminded her too much of herself. The pain that she tried to shield herself from was mirrored in those large sad eyes looking at her now. Gently she took Cassie into her arms. "I can always get another ceramic apple. It wasn't nearly as special as you are."

For the first time, Cassie smiled.

An Apple for the Teacher--7

Jill spied Cassie sitting in her chair, head between her knees, shaking her head wildly about.

"Cassie," Jill said softly. She didn't respond. "Cassie!" Several students jumped as she shouted. Jill crossed the room, took Cassie by the hair and righted her in her seat.

Cassie stared at Jill defiantly at first, then hung her head as though repentant. Jill was shaking. She had never handled a child so roughly before. What was she to do? She couldn't get Cassie to finish her work. Her attention span was next to nothing and she was like a jack-in-the-box jumping out of her seat every five minutes.

"Cassie, this paper is not finished. You must do the whole picture and be neat. Learning to color in the lines is as important as getting the answers right."

Jill's anger grew. doesn't this child appreciate what she has? Doesn't she want to impress her new mother? The pangs of jealousy hit hard. Jill wished she had a mother with whom she could share the excitement of her teaching award. A mother who would be proud of her and encourage her.

After lunch, Mr. Bridges introduced the visiting committee from the state PTA organization, his comments made Jill feel guilty about her reaction to Cassie. "Mrs. Passep is an outstanding teacher. Her students leave this classroom each year working well above average. She takes time to get to know each student individually."

All but Cassie, Jill thought. How could she be jealous of a little six year old? It was ridiculous--ridiculous but true. Resolving to make a concentrated effort to reach Cassie in spite of her feelings and Cassie's difficult behavior, she arranged to have some time with Cassie after school to help her catch up with her work.

"Please finish up that paper, Cassie. Your mother will be here soon to pick you up. I'm going to the office for a moment. I'll be right back."

Jill let out a hissing sigh as she walked down the hall. This was a waste of time. Cassie had spent a half hour on a paper that should have taken ten minutes and she still wasn't done.

An envelope poked out of Jill's mailbox in the office. She grabbed it and tore it open. The letter explained that Jill was one of ten educators being honored at the state PTA convention. One of the ten would be the state's nominee for the national award. Jill's heart pumped faster. As she walked back to her classroom she read the questionnaire that was enclosed.

Jill was so distracted she failed to notice the paper on the floor until she stepped on it. When she reached down to pick it up, her eyes caught a glimpse of the rest of the room. She gasped.

(Continued. . .)

An Apple for the Teacher-6

"Tom, I'm sorry. I had a difficult day with a new student and I took it out on you." The newspaper rattled as Tom turned the page.

"Well it seems to me you should be able to separate work from home. After all," he added, "isn't that what you expect me to do?"

"I guess I deserved that remark." Jill paused. "It's just that I feel everyone at school epects me to be able to handle any situation that comes along. But this student is so demanding of my time and attention. . .I can't let the other kids down to pamper one child." Jill ignored what really bothered her most about Cassie. She had a mother who had chosen to love her. It was a relationship Jill would never know.

Tom peeked over the newpaper as Jill's eyes began to well with tears. He put the paper down and reached for her hand. "Look, what was all that hoopla about the other night? That big red apple you earned? Doesn't that tell you something? You are a very capable teacher. You will find a way to reach out to that child. I know you can do it." He stood and hugged her. "Now, let's go enjoy that great dinner I smell."

She appreciated his confidence but on Monday morning, her doubts began to overwhelm her once more.

(Continued. . .)

An Apple for the Teacher-5

Tom was so preoccupied with his expected promotion, Jill felt neglected and left out. She was sure their marriage was headed for trouble.

"Hi, Hon. How was your day?" Tom stalked through the kitchen and pecked at Jill's cheek as he passed by. He doesn't want to know how my day was, Jill thought. That was just an announcement of his arrival.

Their relationship was too predictable. Had she grown dull? Maybe that was why Tom drew deeper into his work.

Tom returned to the kitchen and investigated dinner. "Heard a good one today." He popped a piece of carrot into his mouth. "Seems Steve and Julie have decided to call it quits. Steve says the spark is gone. Julie said she wouldn't fight it. Really makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"No, not really," Jill replied tartly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jill could almost see the chip on his shoulder. Well, she was just the one to knock it off. "I'll tell you what that means. Men do not want to work at marriage. The minute it takes effort to keep the spark going, they get lazy and decide to bail out."

"Is that the way you feel about me too?"

"If the shoe fits. . ."

Tom grabbed the newspaper and stormed out of the room.

Jill sank into the nearest chair. Why had she deliberately provoked him? All she wanted was a little reassurance that their relationship was alive and healthy. She couldln't bear it if Tom left. Tom was the only one who had ever loved her. She had to find some way to east the tension she created just now.

Jill rose slowly, took a deep breath and headed for the family room.

(Continued. . .)

An Apple for the Teacher-4

It began to rain as Jill's meeting with Mrs. Marquette ended. Jill gathered papers to grade and turned out the lights. Gray clouds filled the sky. She shivered in the light misty cold while she fumbled with her car door. That day had been gray and rainy too, Jill remembered, as she pumped the gas pedal to get the old yellow Volkswagon started.

She had fought hard to hold back the tears as she struggled up the steps of the children's home, rejected and alone again. A "forever family" was what the case worker had said. Well, forever didn't last long. It was all right though, she told herself. She was eleven years old. She could take care of herself. She didn't need a mother and father. They would only boss her around and tell her what to do . She'd make it on her own.

And she had. Jill let the VW rest for a moment. It was probably flooded again. She glanced in the mirror. What did Cassie have that she didn't at that age? Jill remembered her school pictures. She wasn't beautiful but she was cute. Cassie on the other hand was homely and her personality wasn't the least bit pleasing. How had Cassie attracted an adoptive family and Jill failed?

Well, Jill thought, as the VW roared to life, I have Tom--that is as long as he still wants me.

(Continued. . .)

An Apple for the Teacher--3

As Jill greeted Mrs. Marquette, she recalled the pictures she had poured over as a child. Each one had reflected the image of an ideal mother; the kind any child would be happy to have. Mrs. Marquette could have posed for all of them.

"We are so excited," Mrs. Marquett said, "now that Cassie has been placed with us for adoption."

For a moment, Jill blocked out what this picture book mother was saying. The word "adoption" had cut through Jill, hitting an old wound. She sat stiffly in her chair as she listened to Mrs. Marquette describe Cassie's numerous foster home experiences and the original neglect Cassie experienced in the birth home. Mrs. Marquette was concerned about the strange behavior that had resulted.

"Mr. Bridges recommended you highly. I am confident Cassie will adjust to your classroom and we will see a lot of growth and development in her this year," Mrs. Marquette said as she stood to leave.

As she shook Mrs. Marquette's hand, Jill felt her shoulders grow heavy as if the load Cassie's mom carried was shifted onto her now. Could she carry it?

(Continued. . .)

An Apple for the Teacher--2

Cassie seemed to draw deeper into herself as the day progressed. Jill sensed a real challenge to her teaching abilities as she observed her new student.

When she wasn't wandering around the room as if in her own little world, Cassie sat and chewed her fingernails. She didn't even attempt her schoolwork unless Jill stood next to her and coaxed. During the week, Jill found the extra attention Cassie needed quite taxing. Cassie needed to straighten out--soon.

The class sensed Jill's tension and took advantage of it. With a sigh of relief that Friday had arrived, Jill opened the door for the students to run out to the waiting school buses. Maybe with a fresh start on Monday. . . , Jill thought. She eased into her chair.

"Hello." Mr. Bridges, the principal, appeared in the doorway. Jill stood and realized that he was not alone. "This is Mrs. Marquette, Cassie's mother. She'd like to talk with you about Cassie."

(continued. . .)

An Apple for the Teacher

Every so often I get ambitious and begin going through old files to see if there is something I wrote a while back that is worth resurrecting, rewriting and submitting. Here is a story that I thought my blog readers might enjoy. It's timely since school is starting all over the USA now. It was originally written in 1987--on a typewriter!

An Apple for the Teacher

It was ceramic. Without pencils sticking out of the top, it might be mistaken for a real apple. Jill set it on her desk afraid should she drop it, it would shatter against the hard schoolroom floor. The apple represented a long hard road traveled and held the prospect of better things to come. She wasn't superstitious, but she didn't want anything to happen to this honored trophy bearing the words "Jill Passep, 1987 Educator of the Year."

Jill's morning routine was interrupted by the school secretary at the door. "Mrs. Passep, this is Cassie." The secretary smiled as she nudged a very shy six year old girl into the room. "She was just enrolled and Mr. Bridges felt you would be the best choice for her teacher."

"Hello, Cassie." Jill crossed the room greet her. "Let me show you around the room before everyone else gets here."

Cassie barely glanced at Jill. Her eyes seemed focused on the ceramic apple on the desk. Jill directed her toward the bulletin boards, the collection of leaves and bugs on the table along the window, and finally to the supply cabinet where she found Cassie the books and worksheets she needed.

Silently Cassie accepted the school supplies from Jill. She shuffled to the desk Jill assigned, stored her things, and sat quietly with her hands folded awaiting her classmates.....

Poor Pluto!

What are they doing to the solar system?
Redesigning?

If you haven't heard, Pluto is no longer a full-fledged planet under new guidelines that redefine the qualities of a planet. There are now 8 planets and 4 dwarf planets, including Pluto.

Pluto has been classified a planet since its discovery in 1930--long enough for most of the population to have had to memorize it along with the other 8. My favorite way to remember them and their order is: Mary's Violet Eyes Make John Stay Up Nights Period.

Now, I ask you, how can you have a sentence with out a period? Perhaps the way they name the other dwarfs will lend itself to more punctuation...Exclamation Point

Cruise-ing on his own.

What is happening in Hollywood? Lindsay Lohan gets a reprimand from a director and now Tom Cruise is set free from Paramount!

"It's nothing to do with his acting ability. He's a terrific actor," Viacom chair Sumner Redstone is reported saying. "But we don't think that someone who effects creative suicide and costs the company revenue should be on the lot."

Of course Cruise's publishing partner's response is that he quit first.

I have to say, Redstone is right. Cruise's behavior does affect the way he's perceived on screen. It took me more than half of the recent Mission Impossible to separate the character from the personality. I kept thinking, "What a jerk."

I'd like to think this is the beginning of Hollywood cleaning up its act but I'm not that naive. It's a start though.

Hell Has a Zip Code

You read the title correctly. Hell now has a zip code. It’s KY1-1400. The hot little burg in the middle of Grand Cayman island along with the rest of the Cayman islands now has a zip code. It seems the citizens of Cayman were having difficulty receiving packages from online orders because the country did not have any zip codes so the government applied zip codes to all the little towns and areas of the islands.

Ivan Farrington runs the little establishment in Hell and sells postcards for you to mail to friends and family. He dresses in a devil costume and tells devilish jokes upon request. His new postal stamp will sport the new zip.

Yes, Hell now has a zip code…but it’s still closed on Sundays. Hmmmm.

The Worry-Free Parrot Fish

Diving in Cayman the other day, I couldn’t help but be amused once again by the colorful parrot fish of the Caribbean. They are brightly multicolored mostly on a turquoise blue background with a mouth that looks like a beak—thus the name parrot fish. They go along crunching on rocks and then excreting them. Know those sandy beaches you love? The parrot fish helps make them.

While this may seem like a mundane job, the parrot fish seems to be quite happy in his lot in life. With all that roughage, he’s probably not constipated which certainly helps his mood. When you see the parrot fish from the side, his eye looks bright and clear and his “beak” is shaped like a smile. Rather than swimming along, he seems to skip through the water making him appear carefree and happy-go-lucky. You can almost hear him singing, “Don’t worry. Be Happy.”

Ah, yes. The Caribbean. Even the fish are happy!

How Hot Is It?

I knew it was hot when the A/C started running almost continually.

I knew it was hot when I couldn't walk barefoot across our wood deck.

I knew it was hot when the kitchen windows were fogged up on the outside because it was cooler and drier inside.

I knew it was REALLY hot when the Canadian geese started cooling off in the mist of the neighbor's sprinkler.

Mona Lisa Speaks?

She's always been a mystery but now a Japanese acoustics expert is claiming he knows what she sounds like. Dr. Matsumi Suzuki measured the face and hands of the famous Mona Lisa. and created a model of her skull. Somehow with all those calculations, he figured out her tone of voice.

He claims the voice he has created is 90% accurate. Because the lower part of her face is quite wide she would have a lower voice but the pointy chin would add mid-pitch tones. The voice he has created says, "I am the Mona Lisa. My true identity is shrouded in mystery."

All of this leads me to wonder if the voice of Mona really is that low, perhaps it is something of a self-portrait of DaVinci. Or is it just an early version of Marlena Dietrich?

(Apparently at one time there was a link to the voice but I was not able to connect to put the link here. If anyone finds a working link, please leave a comment with the link. I for one would like to hear the old girl talk.)

Crazy Baseball Statistics

We watched the Indians win over the Detroit Tigers last night at the Jake. Normally I don't watch all the statistics and biographical notes they post as each player comes to bat but last night, my eyes wandered to the scoreboard as Travis Hafner came up to bat. A blurb appeared next to his batting stats. It was another statistic. He has hit the most career home runs for a player from North Dakota second only to Darin Erstad.

And I need to know this because...???

Where do they come up with all this stuff? I can understand batting averages, ERAs, etc. but do I need to know how a player compares to other players from their home state? I spent a little time at Google and found that the Elias Sports Bureau is the official statistician for MLB as well as most other sports venues. Once they get the stats down, all sorts of available software can quickly scan them and put them together in any sort of comparision you'd like.

Did you know about the O-zone factor? Me neither. It is data that measures a team's success at scoring runners from second or third base as well as it's success at preventing the opposing team from doing the same thing. Is this what I've been destroying by not giving up my aerosol hairspray?

I'm waiting for the next statistic to go something like this: "Now here is the only left-handed batter with six toes who has astigmatism in the right eye and has hit five times against a pitcher who is right-handed, less that six feet tall, missing a toe on the left foot, and has a hangnail. He hits one into center field. A way back. Waaaaay back! That ball is outta here!"

Mommy, What's a Book?

"Mommy, what's a book?"

"Well, honey, a book was something your grandmother used to read to me. It contained stories of faraway places, funny animals, and goofy things that happen to kids. When she went to school, she had to buy books for her classes so she could study from them. I remember her telling me how wonderful it was to hold a new book in your hand and touch it's crisp new pages as you explored the story inside. She said the paper and ink of a new book was like a perfume to those who loved to read."

"Mommy, what's paper?"

How many decades down the road will it be before books are obsolete? I mean real books with printed pages between a book cover. Books on tapes/cd, e-books, ipods, and probably a dozen more gadgets I've never heard of yet are becoming more and more popular. Technology seems to change doubly fast as we speed into the future.

Will there be a paperless society? Did Henry Ford's generation seriously think we'd ever build a space station? It's dizzying to think of the possibilities for the future.

Ghostwriters

No, those are not ghosts who write but rather people who usually remain anonymous while writing books for/with another person who most likely has some celebrity status or is well known in a particular field. They are not named or necessarily acknowledged as having contributed to the production of the book. They are paid for their work with a flat fee or some other type of contract that may allow for a portion of the sales.

This week on the writers' forum to which I belong, we have been discussing the ethics of the practice. Some say it's a business and ghostwriting is just another way to pay the mortgage. Others are concerned that it is unethical and deceptive to not mention the ghostwriter somehow, i.e. using the "author's" name and "with" or "as told to" the ghostwriter. (Some of Tom Clancy's recent books have added an extra name.) In the Christian publishing arena this has become quite a debate. Some "authors" have accepted awards for writing their book when it was actually ghostwritten. Ethical? Business? Part of the job?

There are some famous people from the past, Corrie Ten Boom and Dave Wilkerson among them whose books were ghost written. Joel Osteen and Joyce Meyer use ghostwriters as well to some extent. Hilary Clinton's book It Takes A Village was actually ghostwritten by Barbara Feinman. The novelization of Star Wars was actually written by Alan Foster not George Lucas.

For those of you who are not writers, I would be interested to know how you would feel if you purchased a book only to find out later that it was written by someone other than the proclaimed author.

The Master Painter

Back in my college days (I was an art education major) I was required to take a series of art history courses. They always seemed to be scheduled at 8 a.m. and they always followed the same format: slides and a droning lecture. It wasn't easy to stay awake sometimes.

I did perk up when we got to Impressionists. I love painters like Renoir and Monet. But I was surprised when the instructor pointed out that many paintings were not done entirely by them. They would put in the basics and then their students, those they mentored, had to copy their style and, under the master's eye, finish the paintings.

For some reason that came to mind this morning. It was probably a result of a discussion on ghost writing on a writers' forum. A ghost writer often writes a book for someone else and many times does not get the credit for it. He is the master of the work, creating the framework of the story, putting the words together and making them come to life, but someone else gets credit.

If we see God as the master in our lives, we can choose to be like the student painters, copying the master, filling in what he has begun in our lives but giving him the credit. Or we can choose to be like the self-acclaimed celebrities who never credit their ghost writers, letting God set the framework, put together the story of our life, but not give him the credit and hoping that no one discovers how fake we are.

A Red Paper Clip

It's all the buzz in the news. A young writer trading a red paper clip for a house. Well...there were a few other trades along the way. I think it's more a story of how publicity can work for you. Once the ball got rolling, Kyle MacDonald caught the attention of the media and after a few appearances on TV in Canada and on "Good Morning America," he was contacted by Corbin Bernsen (L.A. Law and Major League).

It seems Bernsen was looking for some publicity as well. He offered MacDonald an item to trade on his blog: a speaking role in the movie he was directing. Give the kid (MacDonald) credit. He wanted to keep his quest legit so he kept Bernsen's offer in his back pocket until he could find something valuable to Bernsen to trade for it. He did--a snowglobe featuring KISS. (Bernsen collects snowglobes and is a KISS fan).

Meanwhile, a little town in Saskatchewan, Canada, named for the author, Rudyard Kipling, decided to get on the publicity bandwagon. They needed a boost for their dwindling town population and saw a way to draw some tourist trade. The members of Kipling's council bought a house and offered it for trade to MacDonald. In addition, they are going to hold an "American Idol" type audition for the role in the movie. More publicity now. More publicity when the movie comes out.

So how is MacDonald going to pay for the little things like heat, lights, taxes? He'll probably be bagging groceries at the corner store until his writing career takes off. It should do well. After all he's got the publicity thing down pat now.

Googled!

It is always fun and interesting to see who is reading this blog. I use Sitemeter.com . It gives me general areas of where people live, what pages they've visited, who referred them to my site, and how long they stayed. I love to see the referrals from Google.com because they list the search words that led the visitor to me.

Yesterday I was looking over the statistics for Writer's Wanderings and found that someone had visited through a search for "water squeegies". That led them to my post about our flood. Now how many people search for water squeegies? Not many, I'll bet. I wonder if the searcher expected to find a story that drew an analogy to God cleaning up a life of sin?

I have never purposefully intended for this blog to be evangelistic. The only thing I intended to do "religiously" was to post on a regular basis. But God, Jesus, and my faith are all a part of who I am so if you've googled (that's a word in the dictionary now) something and you've landed here, maybe it was by divine appointment...and maybe not.

Panda Birthday

Happy Birthday, Tai Shan!

The National Zoo's baby panda is one year old today. From a tiny four ounces to a whopping 56 pounds, Tai Shan has certainly been well nourished by his mother and zoo officials. The tiered birthday fruitsicle must have been a real treat for his young taste buds.

Tai Shan's name means "peaceful mountain." I remember the angst when our grandchildren were due and needed names. Somehow Anglo Saxon names just don't translate as poetically as the Asian names. I wonder if the name was wishful thinking on the part of zookeepers? After all gaining 56 pounds in one year, he's on his way to becoming mountainous and wouldn't you want something that big to be peaceful?

The Hoax

Last night was date night. We went to the theater to see Pirates of the Caribbean. I love watching Johnny Depp at work. What a great actor. He truly gets into character. The other thing I like about him is that he doesn't seem to be part of the outlandish Hollywood scene.

I was disappointed though, in the to-be-continued-ending. Two and a half hours of action, comedy, adventure, and no resolution. Do I really have to wait a year to see how it all works out?

The real reason for my post however is one of the previews shown before the movie began--The Hoax, starring Richard Gere. The scenes showed him at a publishing board meeting pitching his book and demanding a million dollar advance. The hook is that the book is a hoax--he is making it up as he goes along. He makes a comment to a friend, "The crazier I sound the more money they'll offer."

The Hoax is based on the story of Clifford Irving who wrote a bogus autobiography of Howard Hughes with the help of his friend Richard (Dick) Suskind.

Alas, Richard Gere is not paired with Julia Roberts this time, but the movie will be interesting. A new look at the world of publishing.

The Ugly Duckling

Two white swans appeared this spring in a marsh area near our home. Each Sunday morning as we traveled to church, we would see bird watchers with binoculars and cameras spouting long lenses, observing the couple.

It wasn't long before the obvious happened. The couple produced an egg and it soon hatched. The offspring looks nothing like his parents. He is gangly, oddly fuzzy, and gray. He reminds me of Hans Christian Anderson's story, The Ugly Duckling.

Since I seem to be into analogies lately, I drew this one. A new Christian is like an "ugly duckling." He starts out eagerly following those before him. He's a bit awkward at times as he begins to learn scriptures. But before long, he becomes more graceful as he is filled with God's grace. God gives him a new look--clothing him in pure spotless white.

I will watch the little swan as he adapts to his world and I will think about how God is still feathering my life with his grace and remaking this "ugly duckling."

A Flood of Thoughts

Last week during all the heavy rains in our area, our basement flooded. My Barnabas friends (a group of writers formed to encourage each other) tried to encourage me by saying, "You'll get through this. You're a writer and you'll even find lots of things to write about from this." At the time it seemed a little crazy. But they were right. There were a lot of analogies to be drawn from the experience.

As my husband and I used squeegies to push the sludge back into the sewers (they had gushed raw sewage into our fininished basement), I thought about how God cleans lives. He can, in an instant, clean all the filth that sin has deposited in our lives. Our cleanup took much longer and was not nearly as efficient.

Remembering the chaos that ensued when I realized the basement was filling with dirty water, I thought about how I frantically went through each room looking for what seemed most precious and setting it on higher ground. Later, as we went through boxes that were soggy, I pulled out a couple of old flower containers. They were not sentimental nor were they expensive but I was beginning to fight back. I wanted to hold on to some of those things--not throw them on the heap that was growing at the curb.

How often do we hold on to things that keep us from God--unimportant things--when He is trying to clean our lives of what keeps us from Him.

Then there were the goldfish. If they had stayed hidden in the rocks in the pond instead of swimming into the flow of the water that was receding, they would not have been left on the grass to die. Too often we go with the flow instead of standing with Christ, our rock.

Yes, my friends, there was much to think and write about.

Wicked

What's it like to be green? Is it any more acceptable than a talking animal?

Those were some of the questions posed in the wonderfully produced musical, Wicked, we had the privilege of seeing last night. Light-hearted, adventurous, and filled with great music that enhanced the story, Wicked kept us enchanted by it's telling of the origin of the Wicked Witch of the West from Oz. It's a classic comparison of good vs. evil but perceptions are topsy-turvy. The "wicked" witch is green but the "good" witch is...blonde!

I was fascinated with how the tin man, the scarecrow, and the cowardly lion came to be. I'm not sure how much of this is in the original novel, Wicked, The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, by Gregory Maguire. I started reading the book shortly after it came out in 1996 but lost interest. Perhaps I'll pick it up again if my reading list ever gets shorter.

For now I will just savor the memories of a well-staged, well-produced, and beautifully performed musical that proposed the possibility that green might be good and blondes...well, they have redeeming qualities.

Nemo Lives!

When I last posted, I had no idea what was before us. Thursday afternoon we had two storm fronts move in on us and for almost an hour the rain turned into a torrential downpour leaving much of our area flooded. Our backyard became a raging river, floating our 500# bridge away from what was a dry riverbed in our yard and wedging it between two trees. As I watched the water rise wondering if it would reach our basement windows and begin to flow in, I was unaware of what was happening beneath me.

Storm sewers filled and overflowed apparently into the waste sewers and for whatever reason of engineering, our basement became flooded with about 8" of filthy water. Our basement was finished so the damage is extensive and, needless to say, we are concerned about getting it cleaned up properly for health reasons.

My beautiful pond was full of muddy water from the creek that had swollen to emense proportions. When the water receded, I found my little goldfish speckling the yard. I ran the hose in the pond to flush as much dirty water as possible. It cleared some and I went about working more on the immediate problems in the house once the cleaning company came to extract the carpeting and help clean floors.

Today I headed outside for a breath of fresh air. I stood looking at the pond that was beginning to resemble normalcy. Suddenly a little flash of gold caught in the beam of sun shining down. Nemo lives! Amazing how God can take a little thing and bring hope for a better tomorrow.

Finding Nemo

Yesterday I was surprised to find a little goldfish (comet) in the small upper section of my pond. I didn't put it there. The comets I bought (after the blue heron dined on my old ones) I placed in the larger pond where they could go deep should the shadow of the predator pass over them again.

No, this little guy had to have traveled through the filter, then through the underground tubing (about 25 feet) to the top of the waterfall, pop out into the tub that fills and spills over the rocks, then slide or jump into the upper pond. Reminded me of Nemo. I wonder if he has a father looking for him in the large pond?

Eventually the little fellow will probably find his way into the stream under the bridge that leads again to the large pond--but what an adventure he'll have to tell! Makes me think of the trials in life--sucked into the darkness, not seeing our way, popping out into deep waters, over rocky cliffs, and bumpy streams but finding refuge in the big pond with our Father.

No Sweat!

Today I caught part of an interview with a dermatologist who was extoling the effects of botox on other parts of the body than the furrows in your forehead. They were discussing excessive sweating and how botox could be injected into parts of the underarm to control it. Yuck!

The best part of the interview came when the doc said, "Sweating is a good thing when done properly."

Properly. Hmmm. I didn't know there was such a thing as sweat-iquette.

Coincidence?

There have been many times in life where things have happened or people have come into my life that seemed to be coincidence. I prefer to think of them as part of God's plan for me.

Yesterday at the writers conference, I sat down to lunch with a lady I didn't know who told me she was expecting an editor to lunch with her. I was excited when she told me I should join her. It was an editor who might be interested in one of my proposals.

A few moments later, another writer joined us, a man named Israel. Just as we were beginning to get to know each other, the editor came over to the table and led the lady away to another table where he was conferencing with other writers. I was disappointed. I thought that maybe God had planned for me to sit there and talk to the editor.

I smiled at Israel--he reminded me of one of my kids--and began asking about his writing and his background. He writes Christian sci-fi and fantasy and is a missionary to Jews in Israel. I could not believe my ears. Here was a man who could give me all the information I needed to fill in the gaps in a novel I have been working on for years. It involves a woman who falls in love with a Jew who has found Christ.

Coincidence? I think not.

Imprint-666

Yesterday I missed the mark (pun intended). I should have been posting about the ominous day of 6/6/06. Many are so superstitious about it that they even scheduled births either before or after the date to avoid the stigma to their child.

In the Bible, if the experts are correct, 666 is the mark the Beast, the Anti-Christ, will require people to wear to show their allegience to him. It will be imprinted on their foreheads. In the Left Behind series, the authors come up with another imprint, a cross on the forehead of Christians that can only be seen by other believers. I like that idea; an imprint that shows us as followers of Christ.

But perhaps we are overlooking an imprint that already exists. It is not embossed, engraven, stamped, or tattooed. It is the change in a life when one meets Christ and accepts him as Lord and Savior. It is the change that makes others wonder what's different.

A few Sundays ago, a man who had been married to a Christian woman for 40+ years before coming to the Lord himself told us that he had quietly, one morning while his wife was in church, accepted Christ. He didn't tell his wife for a few months what he had done. When he did, she countered with, "I knew it. I could see the change in you."

Networking

For me, it's that time of year when I have to come out of my shell--the annual writer's conference. Knees knocking I approach editors and publishers and feed them my ideas in the hope that something in my arsenal will pique their interest.

Question is: how do you keep your palms from sweating when it's time to greet them with a handshake? There must be some good advice for that. I just haven't found it yet.

And then there's the networking--getting out there to meet new people and share ideas, accomplishments, and goals. Usually, that's done over lunch or dinner and hopefully, without a piece of spinach between my teeth.

Normally I'm not that shy about meeting new people but here at the conference that new face could just be the open door for a published work.

No pressure.

Canned Oxygen

More than once I've heard my husband say, "I wish I'd have thought of bottled water." Well, now the Japanese have beat him to the punch again with canned oxygen.

Oxygen spas/bars have become popular in many places. You can sit down and inhale flavored oxygen for a few minutes and walk away refreshed and de-stressed if you believe all the hype.

Now, in Japan, at 7-Elevens you can buy a can of "flavored" oxygen--grapefruit or mint. It looks like a fat can of hairspray and has a plastic mask attached so you can fit it to your nose and mouth and not loose any precious air to the...well, air. The cost is about $5 which works out to be about 18 cents everytime you inhale.

Apparently sales are rapidly increasing which means it won't be long before it will be on the shelves of our local convenience stores.

"Two bottles of water and a can of O2 please."

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