WINTER

I don’t like winter.  I don’t like cold, I don’t like snow, other than to look at it from the inside, and I despise long nights, which I fear will be even longer if I don’t try to appreciate something about the enduring dark season.

There’s Christmas with jingle bells, silent night, and a good excuse to eat.  Saturday morning is free to do something other than mow the lawn, and weeding is only a memory.   Long sleeved tops hide old-lady arms and a serves a convenient place to tuck a tissue at the wrist. Crystals, hanging in the south-facing window, scatter a myriad of rainbows that grace the walls and flounce on the floor. There’s the moment before the sun slips behind the mountain when a long finger of sunshine reaches through the window diagonally across my room, through the door, down the hall, and shines directly into a dark room lighting it up as if by magic.  Best of all, each winter day is one day closer to summer.

Winter feels shorter already.

Reaching Across The Isle

Reaching across the isle goes both ways.  Some how it is expected that only our more conservative congresspeople compromise and do the reaching.  When the Democrats dig in and hold their ground it's heralded by the media as political sagacity.  Let the Republican side of the isle take the same action, and it's called stonewalling, divisive, do nothing.

MATTIE

Can it be? My first book, MATTIE, is going to print January 9, release date, March 12, 2013  I'm afraid I'll wake from this wonderful dream.  It's well worth the humiliation of asking authors for endorsements, scheduling book signings, attending book signings. Ugh!  I do enjoy working with the wonderful  folks at Cedar Fort who are making it all possible. Taking one small bite at a time of the elephant makes the overwhelming project achievable.  The cover is a first draft.  The little girl holding a solitary flower encapsulates all that is Mattie, just a bit lost, just a bit lonely.

 MATTIE 

Born in Colonia  Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico, nine-year-old Mattie’s faith in God is shattered when her father dies.  At age eighteen, moving to Bisbee, Arizona to live with her sister and husband, Mattie falls in love with a handsome banker from Texas.  Tragedy strikes plunging her into an abyss of dark despair.  At her lowest ebb, Mattie discovers that though she may have left God, He never left her.

Alonzo Skousen, Mattie’s childhood sweetheart, a tall, good-natured red head, wants to collect on her old promise to marry him.  Enos Wood, the handsome, dark eyed, gun-packing nemesis of her youth, leaves no doubt that he too has designs on her heart.  Mattie learns that trusting God is not without its trials and can lead to grief, especially when the Mexico Revolution threatens her fragile faith and wedded bliss.

GET REAL

Have you noticed that the heroine in any romance is the most beautiful woman he has every seen ?  Furthermore, she bounds out of bed requiring only thirty minutes to make ready before going to work or meet a date.

What? 

She doesn't eat?  

Bathe?  

Apply makeup?

Okay, maybe she needs just a swipe of mascara on her long curly lashes that touch her flawless, porcelain skin when she blinks and only a splash of lip gloss on her full, pouty lips. Maybe she has a wash and wear hairdo (a myth, by the way).  And what female doesn't try on three different outfits agonizing over the five C's of fashion; circumstance, current, color, chassis,( c-word for butt), and complain. Oh, yes, and accessories. Not to mention that ten minutes into her routine, even a beautiful woman requires more than a momentary tinkle on the commode.

Thirty minutes, you say? Unless she’s headed for the gym, garden, or she just doesn’t care,

I DON'T THINK SO.

BLESSED CHAOS

Six Children, spouses, and thirteen grandchildren; each room beyond capacity, the overflow sleeping in a truck camper; menus , daily runs to the grocery store, irregular mealtimes, and constant snacks; disposable cups assigned and labeled; ice water served from a thermos on the deck to offer relief for the overworked refrigerator that can’t keep up; constant hum of washer and drier; late nights, early mornings; swimming, volley ball, a day on the river; perpetual towels and swim suits draping the deck; smudged gliding doors, muddy handprints on the white banister, daily vacuuming.  

As my friend, Neva Scott says, “Blessed Chaos.” 

And I miss it.

Looking forward to next year.

Midnight Taco Truck Run

River Day

Baseball Night

 Family Dance

One of many swim days

HOW DID I GET HERE?

In my acne prone stage of self-conscious insecurity, I had no hope of a social life much less marriage and children.  Sometimes I have a surreal moment where I find myself hovering in the past looking at the present wondering how I got here.  It seems only yesterday I was a newlywed, yet evidence proves otherwise.  Five boys and one girl spanning twelve years, whining, helpless, and insubordinate, are now gracious, competent, thoughtful adults.  Beautiful little children call me grams reminding me that my offspring have offspring.  And of course, the mirror…! When did that happen?

Firmly in the present, life goes on as if it has always been today--the gray, the wrinkles, married with children—who are good parents in their own right, adding twelve to our number with a promise of more.  The past fades into obscurity. 

Until the next surreal moment when I hover in yesteryear and wonder how I got here.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

        Early in our marriage, I told my husband I was not his mother, he was off the hook for Mother’s Day.

        Stupid me.   

        Children don’t do Mother’s Day without parental support, not even simple things much less breakfast in bed.  No big loss.  I don’t even like eating in bed.  It’s messy, and uncomfortable, and doesn’t allow for seconds.  Thanks to school and cub scouts, I received my first macaroni necklace and a Mother’s Day card decorated with stick figures, one of which represented me. 

         IN MY DREAMS! 

        My six children got older and remembrances got more sophisticated—meal prep and clean up, impressive art, flowers, grain mill, landscaping, interior decorating, and letters of adoration obviously written about someone else’s mom.  Or maybe it was a wish list.

        I asked my sister if she had a happy Mother’s Day.  “Yes” she said. “I had no expectations, so there were no disappointments.”  A mantra for contentment.  While laud, pomp, and circumstance is always welcome, expecting it is selfish and presumptuous and robs me of finding joy in the simple things—a phone call, an e-mail, even a macaroni necklace. This year, one of the most unexpected pleasures was a card from the grandchildren.  And an invitation from my number three child, —“Hey, Mom, I have to speak in Church today. You want to come?  I’m going to talk about our family problems."