Wordless Wednesday

Everglades In The Rain

In Florida, rain is usually sporadic. It rains for five minutes and then the sun comes out. So when our son who had never seen the Everglades came to visit, we decided to take him there. The forecast was for a chance of rain. Okay, we thought, probably a chance here and there, we can do that.

We set off and as we got closer to the park, dark clouds were visible. As we neared the information center, a heavy misty rain all but drenched us on our way in. We decided to explore the center and watch the introductory movie until the shower passed.

When it was obvious the shower had stopped, we hustled out and drove to the Royal Palms nature center where there is a neat boardwalk that has always provided lots of entertainment from the wildlife. Well, the sun was usually shining on the other visits.

We started down the walk and found very few birds where they usually abounded and put on quite a show as they fished in the water. At one end of the walkway where there's a little shelter and we always find at least a half dozen alligators, one lone alligator was in the tall grass not moving a muscle.

As we started around the loop of the boardwalk trail, the rain started again. There hadn't been quite as much of a dry stretch between rain clouds as we'd hoped. We saw a few birds but no more gators. The rain would ease up but only to a mist and then get heavier again. Not really a downpour but enough that we were pretty wet through and through. On the plus side, it was a warm rain as long as there was no breeze.

On a chance that we might have missed some and as the rain let up a bit, we retraced our steps to the little shelter area again. Nope. Still only one in the grass but as we walked back toward the car, A couple stopped us and pointed to the little channel of water that runs alongside the walkway.

An alligator was swimming slowly along and pushing the lily pads aside as he went. My son got his video of a gator in action and we hustled back to the car as the misty rain got heavier again. I guess the inhabitants of the glades hunker down when it rains.

Asleep In A Giant Guitar

Over the years as we migrate, we pass by the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood, Florida, on our way south to stay in Key Largo for our winter escape. We have stopped on occasion and enjoyed stretching our legs, catching some lunch and enjoying a small mall area that was there.

Just a couple of years ago we began to see places closing and were especially disappointed to find that Johnny Rockets was gone. Then we noticed that construction fences started going up and buildings started coming down. Somewhere along the line we discovered that there was major change coming--a new hotel and entertainment center.

We watched as a giant guitar began to take shape--a guitar that was to become another part of the Hard Rock complex. This year it opened and when we were given the opportunity to be in the area, we had to visit and take a look. It is outstanding.

The guitar hotel can be seen from quite a distance powerfully rising from the flat Florida landscape. It gleams in the sunlight.

Of course we could only get into the lobby and shopping concourse area but it is a beautiful indoor landscape of design. A theater looks to be quite spectacular as well ad the expanded casino area. A dozen or so upscale shops line the retail concourse.

While we still miss Johnny Rockets, the new place is fascinating and has several nice eating places of its own including a fancy food food court. It was fun to check out. Don't know if we'd ever stay but it might be fun to say we slept in a giant guitar.

Irish Scones

This is a recipe that I picked up from our stay in Galway, Ireland, from the Petra House's hostess, Joan. Every morning of the several days we spent there we woke to the smell of these baking. The recipe was easy to make once I converted her measurements to American. They are delicious. In England, you might eat them with clotted cream but in Ireland we were told, "a slab of Irish butter is best." Enjoy!

3 3/4 c. self-rising flour
2 sticks of butter (1/2 lb.)
4 Tbl. sugar
4 oz. golden raisins or other dried fruit (I found raisins that were coated with cinamon that were very good)
1 cup of milk
2 eggs

Cut in (rub in) butter until flour is mealy
Add eggs and milk to form a soft dough
Knead on a floured board. Be careful not to overknead
Roll out 3/4 " thick
Cut with biscuit cutter.
Put on baking tray (parchment paper works well with this) and brush tops with milk. Sprinkle with a little sugar.
Bake at 400 degrees for 15-20 minutes.
Place on wire rack to cool a bit.

Many thanks to Joan for sharing. It's still better to wake up and smell her scones baking though. Fond memories.

A Look Back--Failte Ireland!

[A look back at our Ireland Trip]

There is not an Irish gene in my body but Ireland has always been part of me. You see, I’m a St. Patrick’s Day baby! Yes, every year growing up Mom and I would try to think of some treat to take to school that wasn’t so green the kids wouldn’t eat it. When my co-travel addict, my husband, decided Ireland was the next place on the bucket list to visit, there was no argument from me.

We started in Dublin and traveled clockwise around the whole island ending back in Dublin. Along the way we feasted on Irish delicacies, visited ancient sites, roamed quaint streets, watched the ocean crash into huge stone cliffs, heard tales of giants and leprechauns, drank in the purpled fields of heather, and marveled at the numbers of sheep we met in the middle of the road. A month on the road stopping for a night or two in places like Waterford, Cobh, Kinsale, Killarney, Galway, Dingle, Potrush, Londonderry, and Belfast passed by quickly as we sampled Irish hospitality all along the way. It all sounds so romantic. And looking back now, it was.

We came home with over 1500 digital pictures. But the things that I value most from the trip are the impressions of people and places that will enrich my characters and settings in novels yet to come. For example, we had heard that in order to preserve the original Gaelic language, there were pockets in some communities where only Gaelic was spoken.  In one little town where we stopped for tea and scones, an elderly gentleman started past our outdoor table on his way in to the bakery. The gentleman, weathered and bent from years of perhaps shepherding or farming, tipped his hat to us and rattled off a greeting in Gaelic, none of which we understood. We smiled and nodded and he continued to speak to us never halting to see if we would answer. I have no idea what he said but it appeared to be friendly from the expression on his face. With a wink, he disappeared through the door leaving us to wonder what we had missed with no translation. Somewhere he will fit into a story, I’m sure.

Towns and cities were representative of their struggles of the past. The playfulness in the colors of Kinsale’s homes and businesses reflected the release of restrictions from British laws that required more “proper” decoration and were a stark contrast to the intense murals of Belfast that mark the period called the Troubles. So much history shapes the country and the people of the Emerald Island as it does all countries and peoples. Whether as a writer, one gets to travel the world or only their own community, there is a wealth of material on which to build characters and settings. The key is to observe, tuck the images in your mind, and look for what makes them so unique.

I also learned that the Irish are great storytellers. There is a story behind most everything you see in Ireland. The Giants Causeway in Northern Ireland is a prime example. The natural wonder was said to be made by two fighting giants, one from Scotland and one from Ireland. Through a very clever trick of the Irish giant’s wife, he won the battle without even fighting.

Thinking back to all those great Irish storytellers we heard along the way—well, maybe I do have a bit o’the Irish in me after all. 

For a look at our Ireland trip use the Ireland Posts Page. 

Wordless Wednesday

Lessons From Glassblowing

On our way south, we like to stop in West Virginia at Tamarack. It's a wonderful collection of crafts and crafters from West Virginia. There's also some great foodstuffs as well as a nice little deli syle restaurant where we get a great lunch.

We always take time to walk around the place which is pretty good sized. After four and a half hours on the road at that point it feels good to get some circulation going again in the legs. It's also always an interesting place to watch crafters and artisans at work. We've seen potters and woodworkers, quilters and painters. This trip the glassblowers were at work.

I had to stop and watch. They reminded me of the glassblowers I'd seen on a visit to Bermuda a few years back. They heat up the glob of molten glass in the blazing oven and then roll it in shards of broken colored glass. It goes back in the heat and then into another pile of broken glass several times.

Then the master artist breathes into the pole the soft glass is attached to and begins to build its shape with breaths and a little masterful shaping with some tools. Once in a while it has to go back in the fire in order to shape it some more but in the end, the bubble of glass is opened up to reveal a colorful work of art.

When I originally saw this in Bermuda, it made me think of the way God, our Master Artist, breathes life into us. Sometimes we go through trials (the fire) and often life seems to be in shards, broken and chipped, but God takes all of that and if we allow him to do his work, he creates beauty out of all the brokenness.

A New Adventure

So excited to begin a new adventure with one of my favorite characters, Casey Stengel. After being involved in solving two murders in her first two storied, this accidental sleuth is going to find herself in Ireland--among the Shamrocks.

I am just beginning to work out the story but it will definitely provide Casey another mystery to solve. In the meantime,

I'm researching some of the details. We visited Ireland in 2011 and did a 27 day tour driving all around the country so I have lots of ideas to draw from as far as location goes and then there's the colorful characters we met along the way.

Oh yes, and it will involve a castle with lots of secrets--Secrets Among The Shamrocks. Watch for it this fall.

My Child

I watched you, my child,

As you took that first big step to get on the school bus this morning.

You reached and stretched to get a hold and pull yourself up.

And as I watched,

I thought of how much easier that step will be each year as you grow.

I thought of all the other big steps you will take in your life.

Many of those you will reach and stretch for at first,

But as you grow and mature,

Each step will be a little easier to reach.

Then I thought of you

Standing and watching your children take their first big step.

I prayed that you would feel the same warmth,

And pride,

And love,

That I felt that moment your foot left the ground.

And I realized how God had truly blessed me.

Courage

Courage

One foot found the bottom step,

              Hidden, just under the water.

                           He paused and looked back again.

Each step took him closer to the top.

              He looked down at the water and swallowed hard.

                           His heart beat faster.

It looked a lot higher from here.

              Carefully, he sat down.

                           One last thought about backing out.

No. They were all there. Waiting,

              Watching for him.

                           Daddy had his arms open wide.

He let go.

Wordless Wednesday

Great Price on Two Kindle Books!

This week there is special pricing for two of my favorite books for Kindle readers. If you got a new Kindle for Christmas, here's a great opportunity to add to your library.

Hurry though! Sale ends Thursday.

In A Pickle--99 cents

Pickle Dilly--99 cents

Who Do You Trust?

A few weeks ago I had the privilege of sharing the morning message with my church family. Of course with all our traveling, it took on a travel theme of sorts. I showed a few pictures of our trip to Bryce Canyon National Park where I was introduced to Hoodoos. Hoodoos are the stone structures in the canyon that stand stoically while God works his wonder of creation shaping and forming them into amazing structures through the medium of erosion.

Now Hoodoos don't commit consciously to trusting God to form them into new creatures but we do have that opportunity to commit to trusting God to create a new life in us. What keeps us from trusting Him is the question.

When we travel, we often take a plane. Do we know who is flying it? Not usually. Yet we trust that the person at the controls will get us safely to our destination.

Arriving at our destination, we usually need the services of a taxi. Do we know who is driving the taxi? We can see him/her but we really don't know much about that person and in some of the countries we have visited it has been difficult to even communicate with them. Yet again, we trust them to get us safely to our destination.

In both of those cases a lot of prayer often helps--at least to calm the fears we might have but there is one area of trust most people don't even give a second thought to unless of course you are driving on a different side of the road than you normally do. Every time you drive, you trust that the dividing line down the middle of the road will keep the oncoming traffic on the correct side of it. The line in most cases isn't much wider than 6-8 inches or up to 16" or so if there's a double line. Do you trust the double line more?

All of this is to say, we have little trouble trusting the pilot, the taxi driver, or the dividing line in the roadway but when it comes to trusting the living God who walks with us, who loves us, who wants to help us through life's challenges we. . .

What do we do?

Who do you trust?

How Do You Promote Your Events?

Several years ago I had a speaking engagement out of town. It was a great a time of fellowship with some truly wonderful ladies and I learned a little something about advertising as well.

There were about 160 coming in the doors for a light supper followed by my talk (My Ship's Come In But It's An ARK!). Many came up to me to say hello and I thought it was because I stuck out in my bright peach suit. I chose it to wear so that I would look "springy" and fit in with their theme. But then one lady allowed for a much better explanation.

"Hi!" she said. "You must be our speaker. I recognize you from the ladies room."

"The ladies room?" I hadn't been there yet.

She nodded. "Yes. Your picture has been on the back of the stall doors for weeks."

How do you promote your events?

Wordless Wednesday

Act of Love Remembered

[A story from my days as a florist. Love this memory]

Funny how things sometimes just pop into your mind for no apparent reason at all. It happened to me Sunday morning in church. I don't know what triggered the memory chips but I suddenly remembered a customer I used to have when I owned a flower shop.

The gentleman was in his 70s maybe early 80s and was a retired dentist. At first when he came in for what became his weekly visits, he would only choose a small bouquet of flowers or a small arrangement. I imagined he was courting someone. He would say things like, "She likes yellow flowers," or "She'll like the smell of these."

As time went by, some personal information was exchanged. That's how I learned he had been a dentist. It was in March when we were talking that I learned the truth about his lady. It was his wife. We shared a birthday--St. Patrick's Day.

One day he phoned to say he was not going to be able to make it into the store to pick up his flowers. I don't remember the reason. I believe he might have been ill. He asked if we would deliver them. I was excited to think I would finally meet this lady who was so adored she received a weekly bouquet of flowers. When he gave the address, my heart stood still a moment. It was a home for Alzheimer's patients.

The secret out, he said sadly, "She won't know who they are from even with my name on them, but I know she will enjoy them."

There is probably a wonderful love story there but I think Nicholas Sparks may have written one already--The Notebook. I fondly remember the dentist. May God richly bless those whose love goes beyond what life may cruelly hand to them.

The "Safe On A Plane" Movie

Looking back through some of my older posts I found a a memory that made me smile. In 2009, our Florida family came to visit and our grandson was quite taken with his first plane trip.

He was around three and a half and excited to tell me all about the flight when he arrived. He was particularly excited about the movie he saw on the flight.

"Oh," I said, "was it Mickey Mouse or Over the Hedge?"

"No." He shook his head and then beamed his beautiful smile at me. "It was 'Safe on a Plane' movie."

I looked to his mom for help. She explained that he was quite taken with the safety video that was played before takeoff--the one most of us just brush off if we've ever traveled before.

A few weeks later when we flew to Florida for a cruise, we stopped off to visit with the Florida family for a bit. Our grandson was excited to see us and when he realized that we had flown, his first question was, "Did you watch the movie?"

His mother had found the video on YouTube and he had watched it several times on his own at home. Over the years, he has watched many YouTube videos and retained a lot of facts from them. He could probably be a good Jeopardy contestant if he weren't only thirteen years old.

His sister though knows how to cut him down as only a younger sister can."Grandma, he thinks he's smart but he's only YouTuybe smart."

Ah, the smiles that grandchildren bring.

Typing 101

Back in the day--before smart phones, before computers, there was the typewriter. The arrangement of the keys has stayed fairly close to the original from so many years ago even through the evolution of the electric typewriter and then the electronic of computers and smart phones. Strange though that we would grow up learning our alphabet letters and then be faced with a keyboard with all the letters jumbled. Why?

The credit goes to Christopher Latham Sholes for the seemingly haphazard arrangement of letters that first appeared with the invention of the typewriter sometime in the 1870s. The keyboard arrangement was called QWERTY. Look at your keyboard and you'll see that those are the first letters on the top row.

Sholes was a journalist and newspaper publisher. His original typewriter apparently had the letters alphabetically arranged but as he used his invention, he found the keys colliding and sticking as his speed and skill at typing increased. He reordered the keys to make the process of typing easier and more efficient.

Of course in my mind I kind of see the connection between the keyboard and life. Often our lives are like a confusing keyboard of letters. They seem haphazard, often not making a lot of sense when you look at them. But just as a skilled typist can touch the keys to make words, paragraphs, great works of literature, so God's hands on our haphazard lives can bring order, grace and great works of love.

The Modern Prodigal, A Fictional Short Story

[I've been cleaning out files again and found this story I wrote in 1997.}

              I stand across from the old white Victorian house. The porch wraps the house with arms of love. I remember Mom reading her devotions sitting on the swing and Dad assembling the tricycle that I raced back and forth with the floorboards rumbling beneath me. What took me away from that security and love?

              Independence and freedom to do as I pleased had lured me. My parents couldn’t do anything right and complaining about them got sympathy from my friends making me feel justified in wanting to leave.

              I wasn’t a bad kid but I resented parental authority. I resented my required attendance at youth group functions. I had accepted Christ as my savior and was baptized with all the other twelve year olds before we entered the youth group. I knew I was “saved”, so what?

              I turned eighteen. “Now you’re an adult,” friends told me. “You get to do what you want, when you want.” The principle sounded great but the restrictions remained. Resentment grew through my senior year in high school.

              When I was encouraged to choose a college, I saw an opportunity for escape. I chose a Christian college miles away from home knowing my parents would agree to it. “After all,” I told them, “God is calling me to this campus.”

              College life became a bore. I skipped classes and chapel. Homework cut into my social life too much. I found myself in danger of flunking out. I certainly didn’t want to go home. Then the idea struck.

              It was time to begin registration for classes for the next semester. If my father paid for the next semester soon enough, I could withdraw and get a refund. It would be a nice nest egg for starting a whole new life and getting the total freedom I sought.

              It was too easy. The money was refunded to me and I was packed and on my way to a new apartment in the city in my own car that sputtered and choked each time I turned it off. I figured once I got set up and was rolling, I would let my family know I was all right. There wouldn’t be anything they could do about it then. After all, I was an adult.

              Job hunting was distasteful and offered nothing of interest that wouldn’t drain my energy for the nightlife I found. My first taste of alcohol was a bitter surprise but soon I could hold my own with the others in my new group of friends. I refused the drugs. I liked my brain the way it was. I’d seen what it did to friends.

              Before long one of the guys claimed me for his own. I felt special and loved in a way that never happened with the guys in high school. It didn’t take long before we were intimate. Harley didn’t want to wear protection because it would take the fun out of it. I hadn’t planned for intercourse so I was unprepared with birth control. I snickered as I remembered the “purity pledge” I’d taken along with the rest of the church teens. Well, when love came along it didn’t matter, I told myself.

              Well, love came along again—for Harley. He left me for the newest arrival in our group. The same day, my landlord cleaned out my room, changed the lock and put everything I owned at the curb. I couldn’t understand it. I was only two months behind on rent. Undaunted, I decided to rough it out in the car until I made some pocket money and I could get a new place.

              A few weeks went by with no income. The money ran out. I found myself in convenient stores grabbing whatever food I could inconspicuously shove in my pockets. I remembered the lasagna Mom made monthly to feed the homeless. I thought about trying to find a church with a food program but decided I wouldn’t lower myself. I had my pride.

              It got colder. The gas in my car ran out and I couldn’t move it for a few days. One morning I returned to my parking spot after foraging in some trash cans behind a restaurant. I had just lost my meager breakfast and needed to lie down. An empty space instead of my car greeted me. Sitting down on the curb I curled my arms around my knees and cried. Why can’t anything go right anymore?

              After my pity part I headed for a place I had reserved as a last resort. Harley had a friend who would take me in. He promised a warm room and the friendship of other girls my age who lived in the same building. He even said there was a guard at the door for security. I should have taken him up on his offer sooner, I thought.

              I arrived at the rundown apartment house and walked up to the big burly goon that was blocking half the door. “I’m here to see Freddie,” I said, my teeth chattering from the cold.

              “Oh yeah? And just who would you be?” He sneered and snorted.

              “I’m a friend of Harley’s and Freddie said if I needed a place to stay, I could crash here.”

              “Well let’s just see.” He grabbed me by the arm and ushered me inside to a dimly lit room that smell of pot and booze. Freddie sat at the desk counting loose bills.

              “Hey!” he said looking up at me. “Look who’s here. Decide to take me up on my offer? Harley told me you were one great lady. I only take in the best.” I shivered involuntarily as he leered at me. Panic welled in my throat. “You realize you have to pass the test to become one of my girls.”

              I shook my head and backed away. What was this?

              “Come on. Make it nice with us and you’ll pass. Then you can start earning your keep.”

              Before I could react the two men pushed off my coat and pulled my sweatshirt over my head. The smell turned my stomach as their bodies closed in.

              “No!” I screamed and tried to run. The back of Big Burly’s hand sent me flying across the room. He landed a few more blows before I black out. I remember waking, feeling cold and hearing sirens before I blacked out again. The pastor of the little church a few blocks from Freddie’s had found me lying in a snowbank covered in blood.

              My hospital stay was short. A miscarriage had produced more blood than the beating. I had been pregnant. Upon discharge, they handed me test results and a list of clinics. I was HIV positive. The pastor met me at the hospital door. We talked about my options and he offered to buy me a bus ticket home. I hesitated. An old Bible story came into my head from nowhere. The prodigal son from the fifteenth chapter of Luke. I let him buy the ticket.

              Now I stand here. Looking at the beautiful warm home full of love. During the bus trip I turned to my heavenly Father and asked his forgiveness. Would my parents forgive too? The prodigal was met halfway down the road. I will have to cross the street and ring the bell. But wait. . .Mom and Dad are on the porch smiling. Their arms are open wide.

Merry Christmas!