Rog had to work today and the kiddos were at Gramma's - I could have slept in, but No! I was wide awake at 7am!! I spent some time working on the always needs to be cleaned off desk and my girl scout website, along with a couple other GS things.
Gramma brought the kiddos home for the afternoon - she had some other plans. Chelle came over and we played on the Wii Fit for a while, then headed to her house to scrapbook. I got a few things that I was in the middle of complete and some other things organized and am almost able to see where I am and what I need to do.
Gramma came by there and got the kiddos again. It is late, and I am finally home, I am headed to bed so I can go to church in the morning!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Friday, Field Trip
We had to get up and going early this morning. We had a field trip to visit the planetarium at UCA in Conway. There was a full trip and it was really neat! The kiddos asked tons of questions on the way home!
When we got home, Rog and Waldo were here playing baseball (Wii) and I left the boys with Rog while Samantha and I went to visit grandpa in the hospital. He wasn't feeling very well, and he didn't look all that great. And, he didn't act like he felt well either. We didn't stay long, he had said he was resting, so we didn't want to bother him.
Riley went home with Gramma, then Samantha went over a little later. Rog and I played poker on the computer for a while, then spent the rest of the evening playing on the Wii Fit that we had borrowed from his parents.
When we got home, Rog and Waldo were here playing baseball (Wii) and I left the boys with Rog while Samantha and I went to visit grandpa in the hospital. He wasn't feeling very well, and he didn't look all that great. And, he didn't act like he felt well either. We didn't stay long, he had said he was resting, so we didn't want to bother him.
Riley went home with Gramma, then Samantha went over a little later. Rog and I played poker on the computer for a while, then spent the rest of the evening playing on the Wii Fit that we had borrowed from his parents.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Destination Disney: Epcot ~ Innovations East and West
As a homeschool mom,. EPCOT ranks as a favorite place. It is just overflowing with education!!! Between all the science up front and the geography around the lake! What a better place to learn!!
One of our favorites things about Innoventions - Club Cool! We loved trying the cola from other parts of the world!! And of course, you know us - we HAD to check out Where's The Fire!! That was pretty cool to do.
*Sorry I do not have pictures to share - they are on the other computer.
A long, sad day...
Got the kiddos up and ready to take to mom's this morning, because dad was going with me to Mr. Gwatney's funeral. Before we ever got out the door headed that way, dad called - he was at the hospital with my grandpa. I have asked for prayer on here for him before. He is 85 years old and has Congestive Heart Failure, along with a couple other major health issues. Dad is not sure if he will be home in time for the funeral.
He was home in time to go with me. Very moving service, very emotional. Mr. Gwatney touched many lives and it was evident by the standing room only crowd at the service.
After the service, the kiddos came home and took care of school work. While they were doing that, I made up my first round of Amish Friendship Bread from my homemade starter~ IT WORKED!! And it tasted yummy!
Dinner was simple tacos and Samantha and I headed out to Girl Scout meeting. We are working on learning about Fiji for an event we have coming up, so we made our final plans for that. We are all looking forward to that.
He was home in time to go with me. Very moving service, very emotional. Mr. Gwatney touched many lives and it was evident by the standing room only crowd at the service.
After the service, the kiddos came home and took care of school work. While they were doing that, I made up my first round of Amish Friendship Bread from my homemade starter~ IT WORKED!! And it tasted yummy!
Dinner was simple tacos and Samantha and I headed out to Girl Scout meeting. We are working on learning about Fiji for an event we have coming up, so we made our final plans for that. We are all looking forward to that.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Waayyyy toooo ccoooolllldddd
to be out running errands!!
But we did anyways! It was 29* a good part of the day! We waited as long as possible to get out. We had to run a few errands, grab some groceries and music lessons! A friend from church passed away over the weekend, so I ran some things to their house. Church was canceled tonight due to visitation time. I spent the evening entering Girl Scout cookie orders. The kiddos are with Grannie. She is keeping them so I can go to the funeral tomorrow.
We got news today that Papa Vern, Rog's Grandpa, has Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Please keep him in your prayers, as he started chemo today.
I need to run clean up the kitchen and change out the laundry - and then get in my warm bed and read!
But we did anyways! It was 29* a good part of the day! We waited as long as possible to get out. We had to run a few errands, grab some groceries and music lessons! A friend from church passed away over the weekend, so I ran some things to their house. Church was canceled tonight due to visitation time. I spent the evening entering Girl Scout cookie orders. The kiddos are with Grannie. She is keeping them so I can go to the funeral tomorrow.
We got news today that Papa Vern, Rog's Grandpa, has Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Please keep him in your prayers, as he started chemo today.
I need to run clean up the kitchen and change out the laundry - and then get in my warm bed and read!
FWC: The Someday List by Stacey Hawkins
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book! You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Revell (January 1, 2009)
The Someday List Blog Tour Giveaway Tell Us One Item on Your Someday List. Leave your answer in the comment section. Participants will be entered into a drawing for The Someday List Blog Giveaway. View the prize package below:
* $50 American Express Gift Card
*Autographed Copies of all of Stacy’s books: Speak to My Heart, Nothing But the Right Thing, and Watercolored Pearls, and the anthologies The Midnight Clear and This Far By Faith.
*20% Discount Coupon from Tywebbin Creations. (May apply to one service)
Join Us for an Hour Long Chat with Stacy on January 30, 2009. We will announce the GRAND PRIZE WINNER of the THE SOMEDAY LIST BLOG TOUR GIVEAWAY during the call.
Phone #: 1-518-825-1400 / Access Code: 15642 / Time: 8:00 pm EST
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Stacy Hawkins Adams is a nationally-published, award-winning author and speaker. Her contemporary women’s fiction novels are filled with social themes and spiritual quests that take readers on journeys into their own souls. She holds a degree in journalism and served as a newspaper reporter for more than a decade before turning her full attention to penning books, speaking professionally and writing freelance articles.
She is currently writing her sixth novel and her first nonfiction book, an inspirational title that will encourage women in their faith.
Stacy lives in a suburb of Richmond, Virginia with her husband and two young children.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Revell (January 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0800732669
ISBN-13: 978-0800732660
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Prologue
Rachelle fumbled with the bouquet of yellow roses and locked eyes with him. Her flowers sagged from thirst.
The simple gold band she clutched stuck to her sweaty palm.
Instead of a flowing white gown, she wore the black pencil skirt and short-sleeved white silk blouse that, until today, had served as her choral ensemble uniform.
Her groom was dressed in his standard singing attire too—white collared shirt, black tie, and black slacks. He had removed the diamond earring from his left earlobe, his goatee was freshly cut, and as far as she was concerned, he had never looked finer.
Between the two of them, the worldly goods they possessed amounted to less than what Rev. Prescott likely paid to have his preaching robe cleaned.
And yet, she knew this was right. The right time, the right place, and the right man, even if she had to marry him in secret.
One day they would look back on this elopement with tenderness and pride, telling their children about their union in an empty church sanctuary, not far from the university they would graduate from in six months.
He smiled at her and arched an eyebrow, questioning the delay in her response.
The minister repeated himself.
“Rachelle Marie Mitchell, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She smiled. Her beloved didn’t have to worry about her having second thoughts—not when she felt this way.
“I do, Reverend Prescott,” she said. “I do.”
1
Rachelle Mitchell Covington felt both giddy and guilty.
In twenty-four hours she would be completely alone and she couldn’t wait.
No worries about temporary empty-nest syndrome—she was happy to let her parents deal with two preadolescent know-it-alls for half of the summer. And no need to feign an interest in her husband’s wants, work, or even his world.
For the first time in their eleven-year marriage, she and Gabe would be away from each other for more than a week.
When he informed her that he had agreed to speak at a medical conference the week before he left for a medical mission trip, she knew he expected her to complain. Rachelle had frowned for his benefit, but also bit her lip to keep from cheering.
Though it was already steamy outside this morning, the temperature inside Houston’s Intercontinental Airport left her longing for her cashmere coat. Rachelle shivered and smiled when Tate and Taryn, looking like they had stepped off the pages of a Children’s Wear Digest catalog, turned to wave one last time before passing through the security gate and approaching a waiting airline employee.
The young woman in the crisp navy and white uniform would escort them to their direct flight to Philadelphia.
The fifth and third graders had been trying to whine their way out of their annual summer visit with Rachelle’s parents for two days, because they would miss their friends, feared boredom, and believed Gram would have way too many rules. Rachelle had reminded them again this morning that, despite those perceived hardships, they had no problem enjoying the regular outings, video games, and other treats they enjoyed during their stay.
When Tate and Taryn disappeared around a bend that led to Terminal A, Gabe turned toward Rachelle and motioned with his head that he was ready to go. He and Rachelle walked briskly toward the parking deck without touching or talking.
Gabe walked a stride or two ahead of her, as if he were on a mission. He tempered his gait as they neared his SUV, and he unlocked the doors with his key chain device.
“I’m not going into the office this morning since I’ll be flying out early tomorrow,” he said without looking toward Rachelle.
“Let’s grab breakfast at Olivette.”
Rachelle scrambled for an excuse, but none presented itself.
She hadn’t mentioned that she soon would be leaving too, for a weekend trip to the West Coast. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know. He wasn’t going to be home anyway.
“That’s fine,” she finally said about breakfast, although he had already steered his Mercedes in the direction of the hotel restaurant.
They rode in silence during the half-hour drive and didn’t speak until the waitress asked for their order.
Rachelle sighed and responded by rote. “He’ll have smoked salmon and a bagel with a side of fresh fruit.”
Gabe nodded and looked up at the waitress. “She got it right.”
“Salmon and bagel with a side of fruit,” the waitress repeated, lodging the order in her memory.
Rachelle leveled her eyes at Gabe. “Order for me.”
He peered at her over the rim of his glasses. “How would I know what to order for you?”
Rachelle didn’t feel like playing along with his public politeness today. She sat back and folded her arms.
“Try.”
The waitress shifted from one foot to the other and turned her gaze to a nearby bank of potted plants.
Gabe’s nostrils flared and he clenched his teeth. “Just order something already.”
“If you can’t do it, I guess I’m not hungry,” Rachelle said.
Gabe opened the leather-encased menu and glared at the offerings.
Seconds later, he pushed it into the waitress’s face. Startled, she grabbed it before it landed on the Oriental rug beneath the table.
“Bring her an omelet with ham, mushrooms, and cheddar cheese.”
The waitress nodded and left quickly, her reddish-brown ponytail swaying with each step. Rachelle knew the young lady had to be wondering how a couple could fight over a breakfast order.
If she had asked, Rachelle would have assured her this skirmish was overdue.
Since she had received Jillian’s unsettling invitation three weeks ago, Rachelle’s tolerance for just about everything had plummeted.
With the kids away for the next month, she didn’t have to contain herself. Gabe should be thankful he was leaving for a business trip tomorrow.
He laid his linen napkin across his lap and stared at her.
Rachelle challenged him with her eyes. She wanted him to care enough to question her, to probe why she was being defiant.
But just as she knew what to order for his meal, she knew he wouldn’t take the bait. He was his usual, detached self—enveloped in skin that was a smooth, savory brown and as self-absorbed as a two-year-old whose favorite words were “no” and “mine.”
In that moment, something welled up inside of her. She looked past Gabe’s glasses, past the perfect white teeth, past the pool of nothingness in his eyes. She wanted to see into his soul. She wanted to know that he had an “I would die for you” kind of love inside of him. For her.
Even if they had been together for what seemed like forever. Even if she didn’t know how she really felt about him. If one of them could summon the emotion, maybe that would make all the difference.
He was leaving tomorrow for New York and would return home for one day before traveling to Uganda. In twenty-four hours, she’d have the entire house to herself. But right now, she realized, she needed to leave to save herself.
Right now, what mattered more than being a good wife was being good to herself. Hearing from Jillian for the first time in a long time was nudging her to stop procrastinating.
Rachelle took a sip of her coffee and rose from her seat. “Stay and enjoy your breakfast. Call a taxi when you’re done. I may or may not be at home by then.”
“What—”
Before he could protest, Rachelle raised her hand to stop him.
Her voice trembled when she addressed him in a whisper.
“Gabe, I’m tired of playing like the happy couple. Our life is strangling me. I want a real marriage and this isn’t it . . . And by the way, I’ve always hated cheddar cheese.”
She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair and strode toward the door, heart pounding as if it would burst through her sleeveless tangerine top.
Had she really done that? Did she just walk away from her well-to-do, handsome husband and leave him stranded in a restaurant?
What would her parents say? Their friends? For the first time that she could recall, those questions wouldn’t determine her actions.
Rachelle slowed her pace when she reached the restaurant’s entrance and nodded farewell to the hostess. She strode through the lobby of the Houstonian Hotel and thanked the bellhop who held open the door for her. While the valet retrieved Gabe’s Mercedes truck, she stood at his booth, tapping her foot and looking over her shoulder.
In the minutes since she had left the table, Gabe hadn’t pursued her. Despite the fact that she had fueled this drama, she was hurt.
She breathed in the humid summer air and exhaled slowly, trying to keep her composure.
For once, she wished she were sweaty enough to mask the moisture on her face. The last thing she wanted to admit was that once again, she had allowed him to make her cry.
©Stacy Hawkins Adams, The Someday List: A Novel, Revell Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2009. Used by permission
Rachelle fumbled with the bouquet of yellow roses and locked eyes with him. Her flowers sagged from thirst.
The simple gold band she clutched stuck to her sweaty palm.
Instead of a flowing white gown, she wore the black pencil skirt and short-sleeved white silk blouse that, until today, had served as her choral ensemble uniform.
Her groom was dressed in his standard singing attire too—white collared shirt, black tie, and black slacks. He had removed the diamond earring from his left earlobe, his goatee was freshly cut, and as far as she was concerned, he had never looked finer.
Between the two of them, the worldly goods they possessed amounted to less than what Rev. Prescott likely paid to have his preaching robe cleaned.
And yet, she knew this was right. The right time, the right place, and the right man, even if she had to marry him in secret.
One day they would look back on this elopement with tenderness and pride, telling their children about their union in an empty church sanctuary, not far from the university they would graduate from in six months.
He smiled at her and arched an eyebrow, questioning the delay in her response.
The minister repeated himself.
“Rachelle Marie Mitchell, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She smiled. Her beloved didn’t have to worry about her having second thoughts—not when she felt this way.
“I do, Reverend Prescott,” she said. “I do.”
1
Rachelle Mitchell Covington felt both giddy and guilty.
In twenty-four hours she would be completely alone and she couldn’t wait.
No worries about temporary empty-nest syndrome—she was happy to let her parents deal with two preadolescent know-it-alls for half of the summer. And no need to feign an interest in her husband’s wants, work, or even his world.
For the first time in their eleven-year marriage, she and Gabe would be away from each other for more than a week.
When he informed her that he had agreed to speak at a medical conference the week before he left for a medical mission trip, she knew he expected her to complain. Rachelle had frowned for his benefit, but also bit her lip to keep from cheering.
Though it was already steamy outside this morning, the temperature inside Houston’s Intercontinental Airport left her longing for her cashmere coat. Rachelle shivered and smiled when Tate and Taryn, looking like they had stepped off the pages of a Children’s Wear Digest catalog, turned to wave one last time before passing through the security gate and approaching a waiting airline employee.
The young woman in the crisp navy and white uniform would escort them to their direct flight to Philadelphia.
The fifth and third graders had been trying to whine their way out of their annual summer visit with Rachelle’s parents for two days, because they would miss their friends, feared boredom, and believed Gram would have way too many rules. Rachelle had reminded them again this morning that, despite those perceived hardships, they had no problem enjoying the regular outings, video games, and other treats they enjoyed during their stay.
When Tate and Taryn disappeared around a bend that led to Terminal A, Gabe turned toward Rachelle and motioned with his head that he was ready to go. He and Rachelle walked briskly toward the parking deck without touching or talking.
Gabe walked a stride or two ahead of her, as if he were on a mission. He tempered his gait as they neared his SUV, and he unlocked the doors with his key chain device.
“I’m not going into the office this morning since I’ll be flying out early tomorrow,” he said without looking toward Rachelle.
“Let’s grab breakfast at Olivette.”
Rachelle scrambled for an excuse, but none presented itself.
She hadn’t mentioned that she soon would be leaving too, for a weekend trip to the West Coast. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know. He wasn’t going to be home anyway.
“That’s fine,” she finally said about breakfast, although he had already steered his Mercedes in the direction of the hotel restaurant.
They rode in silence during the half-hour drive and didn’t speak until the waitress asked for their order.
Rachelle sighed and responded by rote. “He’ll have smoked salmon and a bagel with a side of fresh fruit.”
Gabe nodded and looked up at the waitress. “She got it right.”
“Salmon and bagel with a side of fruit,” the waitress repeated, lodging the order in her memory.
Rachelle leveled her eyes at Gabe. “Order for me.”
He peered at her over the rim of his glasses. “How would I know what to order for you?”
Rachelle didn’t feel like playing along with his public politeness today. She sat back and folded her arms.
“Try.”
The waitress shifted from one foot to the other and turned her gaze to a nearby bank of potted plants.
Gabe’s nostrils flared and he clenched his teeth. “Just order something already.”
“If you can’t do it, I guess I’m not hungry,” Rachelle said.
Gabe opened the leather-encased menu and glared at the offerings.
Seconds later, he pushed it into the waitress’s face. Startled, she grabbed it before it landed on the Oriental rug beneath the table.
“Bring her an omelet with ham, mushrooms, and cheddar cheese.”
The waitress nodded and left quickly, her reddish-brown ponytail swaying with each step. Rachelle knew the young lady had to be wondering how a couple could fight over a breakfast order.
If she had asked, Rachelle would have assured her this skirmish was overdue.
Since she had received Jillian’s unsettling invitation three weeks ago, Rachelle’s tolerance for just about everything had plummeted.
With the kids away for the next month, she didn’t have to contain herself. Gabe should be thankful he was leaving for a business trip tomorrow.
He laid his linen napkin across his lap and stared at her.
Rachelle challenged him with her eyes. She wanted him to care enough to question her, to probe why she was being defiant.
But just as she knew what to order for his meal, she knew he wouldn’t take the bait. He was his usual, detached self—enveloped in skin that was a smooth, savory brown and as self-absorbed as a two-year-old whose favorite words were “no” and “mine.”
In that moment, something welled up inside of her. She looked past Gabe’s glasses, past the perfect white teeth, past the pool of nothingness in his eyes. She wanted to see into his soul. She wanted to know that he had an “I would die for you” kind of love inside of him. For her.
Even if they had been together for what seemed like forever. Even if she didn’t know how she really felt about him. If one of them could summon the emotion, maybe that would make all the difference.
He was leaving tomorrow for New York and would return home for one day before traveling to Uganda. In twenty-four hours, she’d have the entire house to herself. But right now, she realized, she needed to leave to save herself.
Right now, what mattered more than being a good wife was being good to herself. Hearing from Jillian for the first time in a long time was nudging her to stop procrastinating.
Rachelle took a sip of her coffee and rose from her seat. “Stay and enjoy your breakfast. Call a taxi when you’re done. I may or may not be at home by then.”
“What—”
Before he could protest, Rachelle raised her hand to stop him.
Her voice trembled when she addressed him in a whisper.
“Gabe, I’m tired of playing like the happy couple. Our life is strangling me. I want a real marriage and this isn’t it . . . And by the way, I’ve always hated cheddar cheese.”
She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair and strode toward the door, heart pounding as if it would burst through her sleeveless tangerine top.
Had she really done that? Did she just walk away from her well-to-do, handsome husband and leave him stranded in a restaurant?
What would her parents say? Their friends? For the first time that she could recall, those questions wouldn’t determine her actions.
Rachelle slowed her pace when she reached the restaurant’s entrance and nodded farewell to the hostess. She strode through the lobby of the Houstonian Hotel and thanked the bellhop who held open the door for her. While the valet retrieved Gabe’s Mercedes truck, she stood at his booth, tapping her foot and looking over her shoulder.
In the minutes since she had left the table, Gabe hadn’t pursued her. Despite the fact that she had fueled this drama, she was hurt.
She breathed in the humid summer air and exhaled slowly, trying to keep her composure.
For once, she wished she were sweaty enough to mask the moisture on her face. The last thing she wanted to admit was that once again, she had allowed him to make her cry.
©Stacy Hawkins Adams, The Someday List: A Novel, Revell Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2009. Used by permission
WHAT I HAVE TO SAY: This was an eye-opener for me. It was a really good book, and it made me think. At first, I was thining that this may be a version of the Bucket List, but it was so much more! I shedd a few tears while reading this and highly recommend it!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Ice? No Ice? Do they really know?
We spent most of yesterday watching the 'pink' on the weather screen get closer and closer to us. But when we woke this morning, nothing...funny, the schools were all closed though! I guess they went ahead and closed since the weatherfolks were expecting it to get worse.
Rog was home today, and started to help with school, then he went on a fire call. The kiddos and I got breakfast started (caramel rolls and monkey bread) and then got started on school work. Once again, we were piled in front of the fire!
When Rog came home, Waldo was not far behind him. They hung out and played Wii. The kiddos had legos all over my kitchen...
I tried a new pizza crust dough - it was ok - needs some work. I made homemade pizza's for dinner, Gramma and Chunky joined us and she brought her Wii Fit over and we played on that - until Idol came on, then we lost Rog!
They are still calling for ice to come tonight- I hope it doesn't, since Rog has to go in tomorrow.
Rog was home today, and started to help with school, then he went on a fire call. The kiddos and I got breakfast started (caramel rolls and monkey bread) and then got started on school work. Once again, we were piled in front of the fire!
When Rog came home, Waldo was not far behind him. They hung out and played Wii. The kiddos had legos all over my kitchen...
I tried a new pizza crust dough - it was ok - needs some work. I made homemade pizza's for dinner, Gramma and Chunky joined us and she brought her Wii Fit over and we played on that - until Idol came on, then we lost Rog!
They are still calling for ice to come tonight- I hope it doesn't, since Rog has to go in tomorrow.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Freezy Cold Monday
I guess they had a LONG weekend - they both slept until almost 10 am. Once they got up and had breakfast, they were good to go. We piled on the couch by the fire and did our school work. They were very cooperative with their work and got finished in a decent amount of time.
The weather folks were calling for major ice, so we loaded up some more firewood and brought it in. I spent some time prepping for Tuesday meals. Roger worked sorta late, I made Sloppy Joes - Girl Scout style- for dinner and decided to skip the fire meeting- it was too cold!! The kiddos are playing Wii and once again, I am headed to my warm bed to read!
The weather folks were calling for major ice, so we loaded up some more firewood and brought it in. I spent some time prepping for Tuesday meals. Roger worked sorta late, I made Sloppy Joes - Girl Scout style- for dinner and decided to skip the fire meeting- it was too cold!! The kiddos are playing Wii and once again, I am headed to my warm bed to read!
We're in This Boat Together by Camille Bishop, PhD.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book! You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Authentic (August 14, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
In her thirty-year teaching career, Dr. Camille Bishop’s love for students and her penchant for adventure have taken her to classrooms all over the world. After graduating from the University of North Carolina at Wilmington with a degree in math, Dr. Bishop began her career in the trenches as a secondary mathematics instructor in the North Carolina public school system. This first taste of teaching convinced her that she had found her calling, so she enrolled in graduate school, earning a master’s degree in education at North Carolina State University. Since 1988, she has been on the faculty of the University of the Nations, a non-profit educational institution with a global network of locations. Through her work with the University of the Nations, Dr. Bishop has visited sixty nations of the world, interacting with educators, government officials, and other non-profit agencies. While leading an educational development project in Albania, Dr. Bishop sensed the need for more training. She returned to the U.S. and received her Ph.D. in education from Trinity International University, where she wrote her doctoral dissertation on leadership transition between the generations. This research became the focus of her unique new book, We’re in This Boat Together.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 176 pages
Publisher: Authentic (August 14, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1934068373
ISBN-13: 978-1934068373
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Preface
Raging, white-foamed water surrounded our black rubber craft. The raft seemed like a bathtub toy compared to the expanse of the river. The noise was deafening. My stomach lurched as we sank into another unexpected drop. Menacing boulders poked up through the water. Why had I selected Class IV and Class V rapids for my first white-water experience?
My first white-water rafting expedition was with a group on the New River in West Virginia, with rapids that have special names attached to them. Paddling the tranquil water before the first rapid, I found it hard to believe that we would hit rough waters. But the rafting guide’s instructions kept pounding in my head: “Don’t lose your cookies.” She had informed us that we should navigate that rapid before lunch! I was nervous. Suddenly the raft several hundred feet ahead of me disappeared. It simply dropped out of sight. All my senses came to attention.
Fear seized me. My stomach churned. I clutched the oar tightly, preparing myself for the precipitous drop just ahead of me. There was no turning back. We had miles to go and numerous rapids to ford before the adventure would end. I wondered if I would survive. Hours later, exhausted from all the adrenalin that had pumped through my body, we arrived at the end of our journey. I had lived to tell the tale. And I even had a photo to prove it!
Similar thoughts, feelings, and reactions emerge when people are faced with transition in an organization, especially when the change involves leadership. And let’s face it—in the life of an organization the time to transfer leadership will come if the group hopes to continue. The first question becomes What will the transition look like? Is it possible to prepare for transition in ways that allow for tranquil waters or at least smaller rapids? Does transition have to be tumultuous, wrenching, and as terrifying as Class IV and Class V rapids? How can we pull together to make leadership succession work between generations?
In today’s workforce no one is exempt from the fact that four generations are currently represented. From the worlds of business and education to nonprofit organizations and churches, a similar scenario exists. One might find in the same company a seventy-year-old working alongside a twenty-two year- old. Down the hall, a Gen Xer might be consulting with a Baby Boomer. What are the defining qualities of each of these generations? Many questions come to the surface:
• Are there generational differences in work ethic—and if so, what are they?
• How does each generation relate and respond to authority figures?
• How does each generation perceive women in leadership?
• What are their expectations in the workplace?
• How do they balance the demands of work and home?
• What are their views about money and fiscal responsibility?
• How does each generation view the role of leadership in an organization?
These questions reflect the need to better understand the values and behaviors of each of these four generations. Research indicates that our perception of leadership is linked to the particular generation in which we grew up. Without that knowledge, transitions in leadership can be very messy. Insight and appreciation of generational differences can prepare a workplace for a much smoother changeover.
The Silent Generation consists of those born between 1925 and 1942. They are the children born during the Great Depression and the generation sandwiched between the first and second world wars. Boomers followed the Silent Generation (1943–1960) and were raised in an era of opportunity, progress, and optimism. They also experienced a radically changing society marked by rebellion, shifting social norms, and outward challenges of authority. Growing up in the shadow of the Boomers, Gen Xers were born between 1961 and 1981. They are technologically savvy and were raised in the age of dual-career families. Finally, Millennials, some of the newest members of the workforce, were born between 1982 and twenty years thereafter. A “plugged-in” generation, they have been around technology since birth. The Internet world of blogs, wikis, podcasts, and ever-present e-mail is as natural to them as breathing.
Each of these distinct groups of people see life differently because of the times in which they grew up. Just consider the differences that might exist in financial matters between those who grew up during the Great Depression and those who were raised in the “instant credit, no-payment-until-next year” society.
Might there be a clash between Henry, a member of the Silent Generation who sees leadership as the general who goes to the helm, and Jason, an Xer who is distrustful of leaders and prefers collaboration? You can almost feel the white water forming.
How can we navigate the rapids of transition? The answer to that question is the reason for this book. So grab your oar, don’t forget your life jacket, and push off into the white water. It is going to be quite a ride!
Prologue
Meet the Rafting Team
Rumbling down the dirt path to the launch site, the aging yellow bus that once served public schools came to a creaking halt. Daniella, the guide, stood stoically on the riverbank to meet the latest group, their company having paid good money for a white-water adventure. Medium height, bronzed from the sun, and rippling muscles, she has encountered all types. Nothing would surprise her.
The bus door opened. Only four brave souls stepped off—a small band of rafters today. They are a departmental task force from Handover Corp., (* Handover Corp. and all of its “employees” are fictitious.) a medium-sized company that was founded in the 1950s in the local area. The company rep told her this was a team-building exercise. Daniella, a Swiss-German, sized them up.
Nate, a tall and lean young man in his early twenties, appears to be in his own world. His black special-edition iPod matches his long dark shorts and is blaring tunes into his ears. A plain white tank shirt exposes a solid tan and well-etched muscles. A simple, black, lattice-looking tattoo circles his right bicep. His head is shaved. Nate hung out at Starbucks last night, researching this rafting expedition. The GPS software on his laptop allowed him a virtual tour of the river, with close-ups of each rapid. He Skyped a buddy of his in the Ukraine who had gone white-water rafting a few months ago, and then he eased into a chatroom to get some more input. He can hardly wait to blog the experience. Hired fresh out of college with a degree in computer security, Nate has been with Handover only a year. He blocks the hackers.
Nate has no idea how long he will be with Handover. Maybe he will start his own business in a few years.
Brianna, a blond who just turned thirty-two, looks distracted. She barely made it to the bus on time after dropping off her only child, Abby, at preschool. Her husband, Kyle, owns his own business, and they both work hard, juggling the demands of home and work. At least they share the load equally and have some flextime in their schedules. Handover even allows her to work from home one day a week. She designs webpages and has been with the company for five years. Brianna is short and a little thick in the hips. Too much fast food. But her turquoise-blue tank suit with matching sarong covers most of the overindulgence.
She IM’ed a bunch of friends the day before to talk about this trip and was feeling better about it. A team-building experience would look good on her resume. Who knows how long she will be at Handover? Opportunities abound, and experienced webpage designers are in demand.
Brad is in his late forties and wonders if he can actually do this. Although stocky and athletic, he has suffered from carpal tunnel syndrome and a frozen shoulder in the past year. Besides that, his desk is piled with a backlog of work. He really doesn’t have time for this. He sincerely hopes that extra compensation is coming his way for his participation and that he will survive it unscathed. Brad designs software and works extra hours, trying hard to please. Handover is going through some transitions, and he wants to avoid any downsizing. He has twenty years with the firm; but software design could be outsourced. He would like to retire early, at age fifty-five, with a solid pension and then explore other options—like the local golf course. He is expecting a sizeable inheritance. At least he looks good in his Eddie Bauer rafting outfit and Ray-Ban sunglasses. A Nike baseball cap covers his head.
George, though the oldest member, is spunky. At sixtyeight his wrinkled face reflects his years, but he stands tall and confident. He could stand to lose a few pounds, but they are mostly concentrated in his paunch. A pork-pie hat sits squarely on his balding head. A navy blue T-shirt hangs loosely over his torso, with the white Handover Corp. logo squarely over his chest. He has worked at Handover his entire career and is proud to be part of the organization. He maintains the computer hardware. George wants to keep working as long as he can. Handover hadn’t focused much on team building in the past. But times—they are a-changin’. He can adapt. He is a survivor.
“Good morning,” Daniella said rather flatly to the foursome. How many times have I given this spiel? “Welcome to the Black River Rafting Expedition. Everyone needs a life jacket, oar, and helmet. Please suit up.”
As she observed the foursome rummaging through the bin of life jackets and helmets, a question jogged through her mind: How do these four folks work together in the same department?
A totally different question ran through the minds of the Handover group: Can this tough lady get us safely down the river?
“Where do you want us to sit in the raft?” asked George, his comment dragging her back to the present. “I’d like to sit in the front, if you don’t mind,” he said.
Brad rolled his eyes and shot a quick glance at Brianna, who mouthed, “What’s new?” Nate was just unplugging his iPod.
Daniella rasped, “Just get in. We’ll sort it out in a few minutes. I’ve got the rudder position.”
As the raft slid into the river, George was perched in the front, Brad was on the right side, Brianna was on the left side, and Nate was in the back with Daniella. The inky water was like glass, smooth and tranquil.
“Okay, let’s review a few things,” said Daniella. “First, I’m guiding this raft. If you don’t listen to me, you could put all of us at risk. Until it gets rough, you are free to sit on the sides of the raft. But when I say to get down and sit low, do it. At some places in the rapids we’ll have to pull strongly to one side or the other. And sometimes the roar of the water will be deafening. You’ll have to strain to hear me. Everyone needs to repeat my instructions out loud so we are all on the same page. Questions, anyone?”
“Got it,” replied George. Just follow the directions.
“Sounds logical to me,” said Brad. Let’s get this show on the road; I’ve got work to do. Sure hope my shoulder doesn’t flare up again.
“I’m with the team,” responded Brianna, her voice a little shaky. This could be riskier than I thought. I have Abby to think about.
“Yo, I’m in,” chimed Nate. This looked awesome on the GPS.
“All right, let’s practice a few maneuvers,” commanded Daniella. “Nate, take a position behind Brianna. And George, move back in front of Brad.”
“Okay, we’ve got two on the right and two on the left. When I say ‘Paddle left,’ George and Brad stop paddling; and Brianna and Nate, you guys paddle like your lives depended on it. Reverse it for ‘Paddle right.’”
“Paddle right,” shouted Daniella. “And remember to repeat the command.”
“Paddle right,” Nate, Brad, Brianna, and George said in unison. It was a little anemic.
“Shout it loud!” yelled Daniella from the back of the raft.
“PADDLE RIGHT!” screamed the foursome. George and Brad paddled furiously, moving the rubber raft significantly to the right.
“Low in the boat,” commanded Daniella.
“Low in the boat!” came the reply, and all four of them slid off the sides and sat down.
“Okay, one last maneuver,” said Daniella. “All of you need to be able to get back in the boat if you go overboard. Brianna, let’s start with you. Slide out, and I’ll show you how to get back in.”
Before she could protest, Daniella gave Brianna a little nudge, and over she went with a splash.
“Dang, it’s cold!” Brianna exclaimed, trying to catch her breath from the shock of the chill. Grabbing the side of the raft, she tried to pull herself up; but her legs slid under the boat, and she looked helpless.
Daniella chuckled. “Okay, good try. Grab onto the raft, and put one leg over. The rest of us will help you roll back inside.”
Brianna placed her short, hefty leg on the side of the raft; and, sure enough, it worked—Brad and Nate pulled her in.
George, Brad, and Nate all took turns getting into the water and maneuvering back into the boat. Nate was the only one with enough upper body strength to pull himself in without assistance.
“One final thing,” said Daniella. She reached beneath her life jacket, unsnapped a sheath, and pulled out a menacing six inch hunting knife. “If someone goes overboard and gets trapped under the raft, I have to act quickly. I’ll slash the raft and try to pull the person up. I hope that doesn’t happen, but I’ve had to do it before. Questions, anyone?”
Brianna’s face was ashen. All of this for a team-building exercise?
“All right, let’s go!”
Daniella dug her oar strongly in the water and pushed out to the center of the river. What a motley crew. Oh well, we’re in this boat together. Time to experience the real thing.
Not too far ahead lay the first rapid, “Big Mama,” a steep drop and blazing ride through white water, shifting currents, and a challenging obstacle. The team would soon be tested.
Raging, white-foamed water surrounded our black rubber craft. The raft seemed like a bathtub toy compared to the expanse of the river. The noise was deafening. My stomach lurched as we sank into another unexpected drop. Menacing boulders poked up through the water. Why had I selected Class IV and Class V rapids for my first white-water experience?
My first white-water rafting expedition was with a group on the New River in West Virginia, with rapids that have special names attached to them. Paddling the tranquil water before the first rapid, I found it hard to believe that we would hit rough waters. But the rafting guide’s instructions kept pounding in my head: “Don’t lose your cookies.” She had informed us that we should navigate that rapid before lunch! I was nervous. Suddenly the raft several hundred feet ahead of me disappeared. It simply dropped out of sight. All my senses came to attention.
Fear seized me. My stomach churned. I clutched the oar tightly, preparing myself for the precipitous drop just ahead of me. There was no turning back. We had miles to go and numerous rapids to ford before the adventure would end. I wondered if I would survive. Hours later, exhausted from all the adrenalin that had pumped through my body, we arrived at the end of our journey. I had lived to tell the tale. And I even had a photo to prove it!
Similar thoughts, feelings, and reactions emerge when people are faced with transition in an organization, especially when the change involves leadership. And let’s face it—in the life of an organization the time to transfer leadership will come if the group hopes to continue. The first question becomes What will the transition look like? Is it possible to prepare for transition in ways that allow for tranquil waters or at least smaller rapids? Does transition have to be tumultuous, wrenching, and as terrifying as Class IV and Class V rapids? How can we pull together to make leadership succession work between generations?
In today’s workforce no one is exempt from the fact that four generations are currently represented. From the worlds of business and education to nonprofit organizations and churches, a similar scenario exists. One might find in the same company a seventy-year-old working alongside a twenty-two year- old. Down the hall, a Gen Xer might be consulting with a Baby Boomer. What are the defining qualities of each of these generations? Many questions come to the surface:
• Are there generational differences in work ethic—and if so, what are they?
• How does each generation relate and respond to authority figures?
• How does each generation perceive women in leadership?
• What are their expectations in the workplace?
• How do they balance the demands of work and home?
• What are their views about money and fiscal responsibility?
• How does each generation view the role of leadership in an organization?
These questions reflect the need to better understand the values and behaviors of each of these four generations. Research indicates that our perception of leadership is linked to the particular generation in which we grew up. Without that knowledge, transitions in leadership can be very messy. Insight and appreciation of generational differences can prepare a workplace for a much smoother changeover.
The Silent Generation consists of those born between 1925 and 1942. They are the children born during the Great Depression and the generation sandwiched between the first and second world wars. Boomers followed the Silent Generation (1943–1960) and were raised in an era of opportunity, progress, and optimism. They also experienced a radically changing society marked by rebellion, shifting social norms, and outward challenges of authority. Growing up in the shadow of the Boomers, Gen Xers were born between 1961 and 1981. They are technologically savvy and were raised in the age of dual-career families. Finally, Millennials, some of the newest members of the workforce, were born between 1982 and twenty years thereafter. A “plugged-in” generation, they have been around technology since birth. The Internet world of blogs, wikis, podcasts, and ever-present e-mail is as natural to them as breathing.
Each of these distinct groups of people see life differently because of the times in which they grew up. Just consider the differences that might exist in financial matters between those who grew up during the Great Depression and those who were raised in the “instant credit, no-payment-until-next year” society.
Might there be a clash between Henry, a member of the Silent Generation who sees leadership as the general who goes to the helm, and Jason, an Xer who is distrustful of leaders and prefers collaboration? You can almost feel the white water forming.
How can we navigate the rapids of transition? The answer to that question is the reason for this book. So grab your oar, don’t forget your life jacket, and push off into the white water. It is going to be quite a ride!
Prologue
Meet the Rafting Team
Rumbling down the dirt path to the launch site, the aging yellow bus that once served public schools came to a creaking halt. Daniella, the guide, stood stoically on the riverbank to meet the latest group, their company having paid good money for a white-water adventure. Medium height, bronzed from the sun, and rippling muscles, she has encountered all types. Nothing would surprise her.
The bus door opened. Only four brave souls stepped off—a small band of rafters today. They are a departmental task force from Handover Corp., (* Handover Corp. and all of its “employees” are fictitious.) a medium-sized company that was founded in the 1950s in the local area. The company rep told her this was a team-building exercise. Daniella, a Swiss-German, sized them up.
Nate, a tall and lean young man in his early twenties, appears to be in his own world. His black special-edition iPod matches his long dark shorts and is blaring tunes into his ears. A plain white tank shirt exposes a solid tan and well-etched muscles. A simple, black, lattice-looking tattoo circles his right bicep. His head is shaved. Nate hung out at Starbucks last night, researching this rafting expedition. The GPS software on his laptop allowed him a virtual tour of the river, with close-ups of each rapid. He Skyped a buddy of his in the Ukraine who had gone white-water rafting a few months ago, and then he eased into a chatroom to get some more input. He can hardly wait to blog the experience. Hired fresh out of college with a degree in computer security, Nate has been with Handover only a year. He blocks the hackers.
Nate has no idea how long he will be with Handover. Maybe he will start his own business in a few years.
Brianna, a blond who just turned thirty-two, looks distracted. She barely made it to the bus on time after dropping off her only child, Abby, at preschool. Her husband, Kyle, owns his own business, and they both work hard, juggling the demands of home and work. At least they share the load equally and have some flextime in their schedules. Handover even allows her to work from home one day a week. She designs webpages and has been with the company for five years. Brianna is short and a little thick in the hips. Too much fast food. But her turquoise-blue tank suit with matching sarong covers most of the overindulgence.
She IM’ed a bunch of friends the day before to talk about this trip and was feeling better about it. A team-building experience would look good on her resume. Who knows how long she will be at Handover? Opportunities abound, and experienced webpage designers are in demand.
Brad is in his late forties and wonders if he can actually do this. Although stocky and athletic, he has suffered from carpal tunnel syndrome and a frozen shoulder in the past year. Besides that, his desk is piled with a backlog of work. He really doesn’t have time for this. He sincerely hopes that extra compensation is coming his way for his participation and that he will survive it unscathed. Brad designs software and works extra hours, trying hard to please. Handover is going through some transitions, and he wants to avoid any downsizing. He has twenty years with the firm; but software design could be outsourced. He would like to retire early, at age fifty-five, with a solid pension and then explore other options—like the local golf course. He is expecting a sizeable inheritance. At least he looks good in his Eddie Bauer rafting outfit and Ray-Ban sunglasses. A Nike baseball cap covers his head.
George, though the oldest member, is spunky. At sixtyeight his wrinkled face reflects his years, but he stands tall and confident. He could stand to lose a few pounds, but they are mostly concentrated in his paunch. A pork-pie hat sits squarely on his balding head. A navy blue T-shirt hangs loosely over his torso, with the white Handover Corp. logo squarely over his chest. He has worked at Handover his entire career and is proud to be part of the organization. He maintains the computer hardware. George wants to keep working as long as he can. Handover hadn’t focused much on team building in the past. But times—they are a-changin’. He can adapt. He is a survivor.
“Good morning,” Daniella said rather flatly to the foursome. How many times have I given this spiel? “Welcome to the Black River Rafting Expedition. Everyone needs a life jacket, oar, and helmet. Please suit up.”
As she observed the foursome rummaging through the bin of life jackets and helmets, a question jogged through her mind: How do these four folks work together in the same department?
A totally different question ran through the minds of the Handover group: Can this tough lady get us safely down the river?
“Where do you want us to sit in the raft?” asked George, his comment dragging her back to the present. “I’d like to sit in the front, if you don’t mind,” he said.
Brad rolled his eyes and shot a quick glance at Brianna, who mouthed, “What’s new?” Nate was just unplugging his iPod.
Daniella rasped, “Just get in. We’ll sort it out in a few minutes. I’ve got the rudder position.”
As the raft slid into the river, George was perched in the front, Brad was on the right side, Brianna was on the left side, and Nate was in the back with Daniella. The inky water was like glass, smooth and tranquil.
“Okay, let’s review a few things,” said Daniella. “First, I’m guiding this raft. If you don’t listen to me, you could put all of us at risk. Until it gets rough, you are free to sit on the sides of the raft. But when I say to get down and sit low, do it. At some places in the rapids we’ll have to pull strongly to one side or the other. And sometimes the roar of the water will be deafening. You’ll have to strain to hear me. Everyone needs to repeat my instructions out loud so we are all on the same page. Questions, anyone?”
“Got it,” replied George. Just follow the directions.
“Sounds logical to me,” said Brad. Let’s get this show on the road; I’ve got work to do. Sure hope my shoulder doesn’t flare up again.
“I’m with the team,” responded Brianna, her voice a little shaky. This could be riskier than I thought. I have Abby to think about.
“Yo, I’m in,” chimed Nate. This looked awesome on the GPS.
“All right, let’s practice a few maneuvers,” commanded Daniella. “Nate, take a position behind Brianna. And George, move back in front of Brad.”
“Okay, we’ve got two on the right and two on the left. When I say ‘Paddle left,’ George and Brad stop paddling; and Brianna and Nate, you guys paddle like your lives depended on it. Reverse it for ‘Paddle right.’”
“Paddle right,” shouted Daniella. “And remember to repeat the command.”
“Paddle right,” Nate, Brad, Brianna, and George said in unison. It was a little anemic.
“Shout it loud!” yelled Daniella from the back of the raft.
“PADDLE RIGHT!” screamed the foursome. George and Brad paddled furiously, moving the rubber raft significantly to the right.
“Low in the boat,” commanded Daniella.
“Low in the boat!” came the reply, and all four of them slid off the sides and sat down.
“Okay, one last maneuver,” said Daniella. “All of you need to be able to get back in the boat if you go overboard. Brianna, let’s start with you. Slide out, and I’ll show you how to get back in.”
Before she could protest, Daniella gave Brianna a little nudge, and over she went with a splash.
“Dang, it’s cold!” Brianna exclaimed, trying to catch her breath from the shock of the chill. Grabbing the side of the raft, she tried to pull herself up; but her legs slid under the boat, and she looked helpless.
Daniella chuckled. “Okay, good try. Grab onto the raft, and put one leg over. The rest of us will help you roll back inside.”
Brianna placed her short, hefty leg on the side of the raft; and, sure enough, it worked—Brad and Nate pulled her in.
George, Brad, and Nate all took turns getting into the water and maneuvering back into the boat. Nate was the only one with enough upper body strength to pull himself in without assistance.
“One final thing,” said Daniella. She reached beneath her life jacket, unsnapped a sheath, and pulled out a menacing six inch hunting knife. “If someone goes overboard and gets trapped under the raft, I have to act quickly. I’ll slash the raft and try to pull the person up. I hope that doesn’t happen, but I’ve had to do it before. Questions, anyone?”
Brianna’s face was ashen. All of this for a team-building exercise?
“All right, let’s go!”
Daniella dug her oar strongly in the water and pushed out to the center of the river. What a motley crew. Oh well, we’re in this boat together. Time to experience the real thing.
Not too far ahead lay the first rapid, “Big Mama,” a steep drop and blazing ride through white water, shifting currents, and a challenging obstacle. The team would soon be tested.
WHAT I HAD TO SAY: Ok ~ I did like this book, however, as a stay home mom that is not only not in the workforce, but certianly not involved in a leadership position - it was not one for me. I did read it and I did enjoy the story line, and the points of interest of each generation were very interesting. I just didn't feel it applied to me. I did let my sister borrow it -since she is an office manager - and have asked her to chime in on her thoughts of it. I will let you know when she answers!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Sunday ~
Well, we all stayed out to late and none of us felt like getting up for church this morning. Once we got up and going, the kiddos played on the Wii, while I hung out in the chair by the fireplace and read. Chelle and Em came over early and we took over the WIi while the kiddos played Mario Cart on the DS.
Dinner was enchiladas and corn and chips and dip. Mom, Dad, Chelle and Em ate with us - my Sunday. After dinner, Waldo came over and played games.
It is really cold in my house, so I am headed to my warm bed to read!
Dinner was enchiladas and corn and chips and dip. Mom, Dad, Chelle and Em ate with us - my Sunday. After dinner, Waldo came over and played games.
It is really cold in my house, so I am headed to my warm bed to read!
Sourdough bread...not meant to be?
Ok - so I think I mentioned before that I am in the process of trying to make my own sourdough starter. One would think that it is not hard to do, but I am steadily failing at it. Here is how my shot at this has worked.
First time - forgot to feed it after the first day.
Second time - looks like it may be working - smells decent and looks ok - almost time to move it to the fridge - yay - it may work - unless you set it too close to the STOVE TOP when you are COOKING. Heat kills it. That is the only thing that kills it. I kilt it. Know how I know - IT STUNK!!!
Third time - made it all the way to the the fridge -wasn't 100% about the smell of it - I mean it is sourdough - but I felt this was pushing it - tried for bread anyways. I am going to go for broke here and say it wasn't 100% where it should have been - in didn't rise. Doorstop for sale - nice, heavy, cute in the shape of a loaf of bread!
Fourth time - I am going to start a starter again on Monday - will keep you updated as it progresses....
Now~ I also started Amish Friendship Bread starter - from scratch - and it seems to be doing what it is supposed to. I have to feed it the first time on Sunday, will let you know on Thursday how it turned out.
First time - forgot to feed it after the first day.
Second time - looks like it may be working - smells decent and looks ok - almost time to move it to the fridge - yay - it may work - unless you set it too close to the STOVE TOP when you are COOKING. Heat kills it. That is the only thing that kills it. I kilt it. Know how I know - IT STUNK!!!
Third time - made it all the way to the the fridge -wasn't 100% about the smell of it - I mean it is sourdough - but I felt this was pushing it - tried for bread anyways. I am going to go for broke here and say it wasn't 100% where it should have been - in didn't rise. Doorstop for sale - nice, heavy, cute in the shape of a loaf of bread!
Fourth time - I am going to start a starter again on Monday - will keep you updated as it progresses....
Now~ I also started Amish Friendship Bread starter - from scratch - and it seems to be doing what it is supposed to. I have to feed it the first time on Sunday, will let you know on Thursday how it turned out.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
My kitchen
My kitchen has white cabinets (yes, that makes me have more cleaning to do!) but my counter tops are black/speckeld with very little grey. I have one light in the kitchen - it is a big 'kitchen light' - you know the kind that has the long bulbs (florescent - I think). I like the light in there, unless I am working on the counter...then it is really dark.
I have asked before if we could get some under cabinet lighting that fit . Rog says sure - find what you want and we will figure out how to install it...see- that's my problem...one plug on that wall where I would need the lighting - I can't afford to give up my plug space!
Off to search and see what my options are...any ideas? Do you have any under cabinet lighting? How is it hooked up?
I have asked before if we could get some under cabinet lighting that fit . Rog says sure - find what you want and we will figure out how to install it...see- that's my problem...one plug on that wall where I would need the lighting - I can't afford to give up my plug space!
Off to search and see what my options are...any ideas? Do you have any under cabinet lighting? How is it hooked up?
Starting the weekend
Today was simple around here...
Kiddos finished their school work and the we went to grab some groceries. Rog and I were supposed to go out with some friends tonight, but they decided to go to the 10:30 show, and not the 8pm show - so we bailed on them - we're to old for that!
SInce we had already made arrangements for the kiddos - we still went out for dinner. Chelle had gotten us an Outback (our very fave) gift certificate for Christmas, so we went out for dinner and then to Blockbusters for Wii games. We rented MXvsATV and Deal or No Deal. Deal or No Deal is funny -it is amazing how realistic the video games are!! The MX/ATV game was ok - the guys all loved it, as did the kiddos - I didn't care for it though....
My eye has been bothering me ALL DAY...I have shed my contacts and am wearing glasses - it has been itching and red. Pray that it goes away soon - it hurts something awful. I am headed to bed to put a warm compress on it.
Kiddos finished their school work and the we went to grab some groceries. Rog and I were supposed to go out with some friends tonight, but they decided to go to the 10:30 show, and not the 8pm show - so we bailed on them - we're to old for that!
SInce we had already made arrangements for the kiddos - we still went out for dinner. Chelle had gotten us an Outback (our very fave) gift certificate for Christmas, so we went out for dinner and then to Blockbusters for Wii games. We rented MXvsATV and Deal or No Deal. Deal or No Deal is funny -it is amazing how realistic the video games are!! The MX/ATV game was ok - the guys all loved it, as did the kiddos - I didn't care for it though....
My eye has been bothering me ALL DAY...I have shed my contacts and am wearing glasses - it has been itching and red. Pray that it goes away soon - it hurts something awful. I am headed to bed to put a warm compress on it.
Monster Trucks ~ here they come!!
Saturday was fairly slow for us. Chelle had the kiddos this morning, so we slept in. Rog got up and started Sausage Biscuit Bread. When it was finished, he called Waldo (a friend of his) and he came over and had breakfast with us and they started in on the Wii.
I started in on the kitchen. I cleaned up breakfast mess. Started on my sourdough bread - got it rising (never rose). Then I started on enchiladas!! For dinner tomorrow night - I am trying something different with them, I hope they turn out ok! I also made a pan of brownies for tonight.
My sourdough was a flop - see other blog post - so I will start another starter on Monday.
The kiddos came home and Chelle and Em stayed - we all alternated playing Wii. The kiddos got showered and ready to go - Poppi was taking Rog and all 3 kiddos to see the Monster Trucks!!
Chelle and I went to mom's where she had another few friends over and we hung out, had dinner and played games until the rest of the crew got home. They had so much fun! I will post pics soon!
I started in on the kitchen. I cleaned up breakfast mess. Started on my sourdough bread - got it rising (never rose). Then I started on enchiladas!! For dinner tomorrow night - I am trying something different with them, I hope they turn out ok! I also made a pan of brownies for tonight.
My sourdough was a flop - see other blog post - so I will start another starter on Monday.
The kiddos came home and Chelle and Em stayed - we all alternated playing Wii. The kiddos got showered and ready to go - Poppi was taking Rog and all 3 kiddos to see the Monster Trucks!!
Chelle and I went to mom's where she had another few friends over and we hung out, had dinner and played games until the rest of the crew got home. They had so much fun! I will post pics soon!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Destination Disney: Magic Kingdom ~ Main Street USA
What do I think of when I hear Main Street USA - honestly - The Song! I love it! I sing it everytime I hear someone say Main Street!
My favorite part of Main Street - I know you will all be so surprised - It has a FIRE DEPARTMENT!!!!! YAY!! It is a small store that has FD related items. However, we go in there everytime we go to Magic Kingdom - even if it is twice in the same day...sad huh? The one cool thing in there - patches from all over the place. Next time you are in there - check it out -the one from Little Rock - we took that!!
Hear over to Heidi's blog and take part in this weeks Destination Disney!!
Almost the weekend
Thursday was quite a productive day. I got up before the kiddos - first time for everything..lol - and got started on stuff for the Ladies Auxiliary - we had a meeting tonight. Once they were up, we ate breakfast and got started on school work. They were very s-l-o-w today...but we got thru it all - except science. We are at a stand still with science because we need a dark room and we don't think about it at night. We will get it done soon...I hope!
They both got started cleaning their room - they were told no Wii until rooms passed inspection....they were not quite there last I looked! I started on the bathroom - the main bath is shiny on the outside! I need to do some cleaning out and re-organizing in the cabinets - I will get there - but for now I am working on the outside of things!
Dinner was simple -chicken patties and oven fries- then off to LA meeting. We canceled GS due to a few not being able to make it. We didn't have much planned - we are working on a display for Fiji for World Thinking Day - which coinsides with World Missions Day - anyone know if they are related to each other or is that a total fluke?
There was only about half of us at the LA meeting, but we got lots of things accomplished! We are in the process of our Annual Open House - happens on first Sunday in May - to go along with International Fallen Firefighter Day. We got started divying up the sections that we need to tackle - I got kids again - I will be back to ask for some ideas - share with you all what I did last year - how it worked and see if any of you can help with some ideas!
Well, Jeff Dunham is on, so I am headed to bed to read - and listen to him - too funny!!! Jef-f-fah Dun-HAM!
They both got started cleaning their room - they were told no Wii until rooms passed inspection....they were not quite there last I looked! I started on the bathroom - the main bath is shiny on the outside! I need to do some cleaning out and re-organizing in the cabinets - I will get there - but for now I am working on the outside of things!
Dinner was simple -chicken patties and oven fries- then off to LA meeting. We canceled GS due to a few not being able to make it. We didn't have much planned - we are working on a display for Fiji for World Thinking Day - which coinsides with World Missions Day - anyone know if they are related to each other or is that a total fluke?
There was only about half of us at the LA meeting, but we got lots of things accomplished! We are in the process of our Annual Open House - happens on first Sunday in May - to go along with International Fallen Firefighter Day. We got started divying up the sections that we need to tackle - I got kids again - I will be back to ask for some ideas - share with you all what I did last year - how it worked and see if any of you can help with some ideas!
Well, Jeff Dunham is on, so I am headed to bed to read - and listen to him - too funny!!! Jef-f-fah Dun-HAM!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Wild Wednesday
Today was sure busy! We got up, got our school work finished and rounded up things to head out for the day. We had so many errands to do - along with guitar and piano lessons - we didn't even have time for groceries!!
Home long enough to take a breathe and get my dinner started (more meatballs!) then I ran the kiddos to church - they had dinner there and I ran back home for my dinner - meatballs, rice and brown gravy -yum! Back at church for bible study, there was a young child upstairs- which is unusual - kiddos are downstairs. He came to the front of the church when Bro. P started and told us his mom sent him over to the prayer house to ask for prayer for his family. He couldn't tell us anything specific - mom said it was a secret. He chose to stay and go downstairs with the rest of the kiddos and youth - a few of the elders agreed on taking him home to make sure all was safe. Please keep him in your prayers.
Home long enough to take a breathe and get my dinner started (more meatballs!) then I ran the kiddos to church - they had dinner there and I ran back home for my dinner - meatballs, rice and brown gravy -yum! Back at church for bible study, there was a young child upstairs- which is unusual - kiddos are downstairs. He came to the front of the church when Bro. P started and told us his mom sent him over to the prayer house to ask for prayer for his family. He couldn't tell us anything specific - mom said it was a secret. He chose to stay and go downstairs with the rest of the kiddos and youth - a few of the elders agreed on taking him home to make sure all was safe. Please keep him in your prayers.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
What a Historical Day for America!
and an educational day for homeschool families!!
We have it on, we are watching! I know this election was a tense one and there was alot of disagreement, but there is nothing that anyone can do to change what is done. I was very undecided during election time, but now, having no choice, I can pray for President Obama. We are directed to do so in God's Word:
I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men; For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.
For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour; Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.
1 Timothy 2:1-4 KJV
Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God.
Romans 13:1 NIV
Off to finish listening to the speech!
We have it on, we are watching! I know this election was a tense one and there was alot of disagreement, but there is nothing that anyone can do to change what is done. I was very undecided during election time, but now, having no choice, I can pray for President Obama. We are directed to do so in God's Word:
I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men; For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.
For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour; Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.
1 Timothy 2:1-4 KJV
Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God.
Romans 13:1 NIV
Off to finish listening to the speech!
The rest of our Tuesday
We spent a good part of the day watching history in the making! The kiddos asked some good questions! We all learned a lot!
From there, we finished up the rest of our work and all of our chores then had a Wii Sports training session!! The kiddos and I started off with our Wii age - mine went from 64 up to 73!! All three of my items were boxing (and I STINK at boxing!) and I went from bad to worse!! We started on the training sessions - while I started meatballs. When Rog got home, he joined us in training. We made thru all the series - except boxing...heheh!!
Meatball subs for dinner - they were pretty yummy!! Then we were off to scouts. Our pack got new TShirts, and they arrived tonight. I helped the Denmaster sort thru them and get them to where they belonged.
After something that happened at scouts had me thinking. Then mom called - she was the perfect person to ask. From there, we started talking about collections and all. SHe said she has always wanted to start her own collection agency - I asked why she hadn't. Says she has never had the time to get it up and going. We talked for a while and before we got off the phone (at almost midnight) we had most of the paperwork printed off and filled out, we had started brainstorming for names, and we had searched all the laws and such. How exciting - we may be in the process of starting a new business. Pray that things fall into place!
From there, we finished up the rest of our work and all of our chores then had a Wii Sports training session!! The kiddos and I started off with our Wii age - mine went from 64 up to 73!! All three of my items were boxing (and I STINK at boxing!) and I went from bad to worse!! We started on the training sessions - while I started meatballs. When Rog got home, he joined us in training. We made thru all the series - except boxing...heheh!!
Meatball subs for dinner - they were pretty yummy!! Then we were off to scouts. Our pack got new TShirts, and they arrived tonight. I helped the Denmaster sort thru them and get them to where they belonged.
After something that happened at scouts had me thinking. Then mom called - she was the perfect person to ask. From there, we started talking about collections and all. SHe said she has always wanted to start her own collection agency - I asked why she hadn't. Says she has never had the time to get it up and going. We talked for a while and before we got off the phone (at almost midnight) we had most of the paperwork printed off and filled out, we had started brainstorming for names, and we had searched all the laws and such. How exciting - we may be in the process of starting a new business. Pray that things fall into place!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Our Monday ~
I guess the kiddos had a LONG weekend! They slept in until after 10 am. Once up and going, they had breakfast and started on their school work. We did our 'together' work first - Grammar, History and Science - then as they started on thier seatwork - Spelling, Handwriting (still trying to get that cursive down) and Math - I turned our small TV on to the History channel and we watched a couple of programs about MLK. I learned at 12:30 that CNN was doing his speech at Noon (drats - we missed it) but when I turned it to CNN and they were back and forth about MLK and Obama, they wanted me to leave it there. Even after they finished their work, they kept coming back to watch the news channel. I guess it will be on this channel tomorrow - what an educational oppurtunity!!
There are several places that have shared lesson plans on the Inauguration, and had I been feeling better, I would have shared them earlier - none the less, here they are:
http://www.doverpublications.com/samplerkids/0115/
http://thinkingdifferentlyabouteducation.blogspot.com/
http://theinnovativeeducator.blogspot.com/2008/12/help-students-pay-attention-to-2009.html
http://treasureseekers.wordpress.com/2009/01/11/inauguration-resources/
http://carfamily.wordpress.com/2009/01/06/inauguration-day-lesson-plans-and-resources/
http://www.educationworld.com/a_lesson/lesson/lesson219.shtml
http://inaugural.senate.gov/history/
These are just sites that I have come across on other boards, or blogs that I have come upon. I do not know anything about some of these (some are fellow FIAR moms) so I am not responsible for what you may find on these sites. I plan on spending some time once the kiddos have gone to bed checking out these sites and seeing what we can use/do tomorrow!
After lunch, the kiddos got back on the Wii - yes, Indiana Jones again, but they got into one too many fusses about it, so it got turned off.
I started a sourdough starter over the weekend, and I am doing really good keeping it fed. I just hope it is not too cold. The site I linked says as long as it doesn't get to hot it should be ok - well, that is not a worry here!! I guess we will see in a few days. If I can get this to take off and I can start using it with sucess, then I am going to give the Amish Friendship Bread starter a try. We love that stuff and it has been a while since we have had any.
Dinner for tonight was easy - pasta and a veggie! While the kiddos were eating, I worked on a menu and grocery list for our next errand day. Here is what I have come up with:
Tuesday: Meatball subs/chips and cheese dip
Wednesday: kiddos eat a church- Rog and I will have leftovers
Thursday: Cheeseburger Casserole (new recipe)
Friday: Rog and I have a date! Not sure what we will do about dinner.
Saturday: Rog and kiddos have a date - I am going to girls night game night at mom's
Sunday: Enchiladas, rice, corn, chips/salsa/cheese dip
Monday: Homemade Pizza
Tuesday: Sloppy Joes (Girl Scout style)
That all sounds so simple. Guess my mind is thinking go easy next week! Now that I got the menu/grocery list taken care of, I need to figure out the rest of my errands and get them together and in order!
I am taking part in a study on the book The Excellent Wife. It is in a group on the Homeschool Lounge and Ineed to read my chapter for the week here in a few, but for now, I am off to check out those sites to see what tomorrow holds for our school day!
There are several places that have shared lesson plans on the Inauguration, and had I been feeling better, I would have shared them earlier - none the less, here they are:
http://www.doverpublications.com/samplerkids/0115/
http://thinkingdifferentlyabouteducation.blogspot.com/
http://theinnovativeeducator.blogspot.com/2008/12/help-students-pay-attention-to-2009.html
http://treasureseekers.wordpress.com/2009/01/11/inauguration-resources/
http://carfamily.wordpress.com/2009/01/06/inauguration-day-lesson-plans-and-resources/
http://www.educationworld.com/a_lesson/lesson/lesson219.shtml
http://inaugural.senate.gov/history/
These are just sites that I have come across on other boards, or blogs that I have come upon. I do not know anything about some of these (some are fellow FIAR moms) so I am not responsible for what you may find on these sites. I plan on spending some time once the kiddos have gone to bed checking out these sites and seeing what we can use/do tomorrow!
After lunch, the kiddos got back on the Wii - yes, Indiana Jones again, but they got into one too many fusses about it, so it got turned off.
I started a sourdough starter over the weekend, and I am doing really good keeping it fed. I just hope it is not too cold. The site I linked says as long as it doesn't get to hot it should be ok - well, that is not a worry here!! I guess we will see in a few days. If I can get this to take off and I can start using it with sucess, then I am going to give the Amish Friendship Bread starter a try. We love that stuff and it has been a while since we have had any.
Dinner for tonight was easy - pasta and a veggie! While the kiddos were eating, I worked on a menu and grocery list for our next errand day. Here is what I have come up with:
Tuesday: Meatball subs/chips and cheese dip
Wednesday: kiddos eat a church- Rog and I will have leftovers
Thursday: Cheeseburger Casserole (new recipe)
Friday: Rog and I have a date! Not sure what we will do about dinner.
Saturday: Rog and kiddos have a date - I am going to girls night game night at mom's
Sunday: Enchiladas, rice, corn, chips/salsa/cheese dip
Monday: Homemade Pizza
Tuesday: Sloppy Joes (Girl Scout style)
That all sounds so simple. Guess my mind is thinking go easy next week! Now that I got the menu/grocery list taken care of, I need to figure out the rest of my errands and get them together and in order!
I am taking part in a study on the book The Excellent Wife. It is in a group on the Homeschool Lounge and Ineed to read my chapter for the week here in a few, but for now, I am off to check out those sites to see what tomorrow holds for our school day!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
What a weekend...
Friday ~ The kiddos were playing Wii when Gramma got here to pick up Chunky, so they stayed on playing. We had dinner and they wanted to play again - they are trying to get thru Indiana Jones game. I told them they could do that once they finished dinner, cleaned their mess and both had a bath/shower. While Sis was in the shower, Gramma stopped by. Riley was so funny - he went and grabbed his jacket - like she was there to get them. They ended up going with her, even though that wasn't her purpose for coming by! LOL.... Once they left, I grabbed my lastest book and headed to my warm bed to read.
Saturday ~ Rog came home from the station and started breakfast. He made egg tacos - yummy!! He and I ate breakfast, then started playing with the Wii. We started with the MLB 2K8 game that he rented last week. It is pretty funny, but not really my cup of tea. We both did our Wii fit age - he was 29 (down from 33) and I was 64 - the first time I did this.Yikes - I can do better than that!! Too bad you can only do that once a day. We played thru the training items, then pulled out Dance Dance Revolution. Roger got it for me for Christmas, and we tried it once, but couldn't figure it out. We figured it out today - and we had so much fun with it. Gramma called - they were at WalMart - Rog talked her into getting us another mat for the game. We called a few friends and invited them over for after dinner to play Wii. Gramma was calling to ask Rog to come over and make Mexican Chicken for dinner at her house, so we told her what to get for dinner and for a dessert and went over there. Had yummy dinner and a really yummy dessert - Chocolate Chip Cheesecake Brownies! After dinner, everybody - even Gramma - met back over here to play Wii. Our original plans were a bowling tourney - but we started off with DDR. We played several games - ending at 1am with a round or three of tennis - with 4 of us playing! We had so much fun. Gonna have to do that more often!
Sunday ~ Everyone was tired this morning. I got up and headed to church - left everyone else sleeping. When I got home, Rog met me at the door - they had a fire call. He had breakfast/lunch on the table - sausgae biscuits and gravy. Told the kiddos and I to go ahead and eat. The kiddos finished breakfast and started Indiana Jones again. Rog got home and I sat with him while he ate. After I cleaned up the kitchen, we settled in the den to watch the kiddos. We played DDR, and tennis, then Rog and Ry started MLB2K8. THey played most of the game, then Roger got another fire call, so Samantha took over. She got bored with it easily, so Ry played a round alone. They were in the middle of IJ when Rog got home - I was dozing on and off in my chair. At one point I woke up and Waldo ( a friend of ours) was here and he and Rog were playing MLB again. They playyed a couple rounds of that while I napped - with both dogs piled in my chair with me. Dinner was at mom's this weekend. Dad made a roast (Yummy!), then we played a game called Name Dropper. It was one that mom and dad have had for a while, we played a long time ago - we weren't sure at first, but played many rounds and ended up having a lot of fun!!
Saturday ~ Rog came home from the station and started breakfast. He made egg tacos - yummy!! He and I ate breakfast, then started playing with the Wii. We started with the MLB 2K8 game that he rented last week. It is pretty funny, but not really my cup of tea. We both did our Wii fit age - he was 29 (down from 33) and I was 64 - the first time I did this.Yikes - I can do better than that!! Too bad you can only do that once a day. We played thru the training items, then pulled out Dance Dance Revolution. Roger got it for me for Christmas, and we tried it once, but couldn't figure it out. We figured it out today - and we had so much fun with it. Gramma called - they were at WalMart - Rog talked her into getting us another mat for the game. We called a few friends and invited them over for after dinner to play Wii. Gramma was calling to ask Rog to come over and make Mexican Chicken for dinner at her house, so we told her what to get for dinner and for a dessert and went over there. Had yummy dinner and a really yummy dessert - Chocolate Chip Cheesecake Brownies! After dinner, everybody - even Gramma - met back over here to play Wii. Our original plans were a bowling tourney - but we started off with DDR. We played several games - ending at 1am with a round or three of tennis - with 4 of us playing! We had so much fun. Gonna have to do that more often!
Sunday ~ Everyone was tired this morning. I got up and headed to church - left everyone else sleeping. When I got home, Rog met me at the door - they had a fire call. He had breakfast/lunch on the table - sausgae biscuits and gravy. Told the kiddos and I to go ahead and eat. The kiddos finished breakfast and started Indiana Jones again. Rog got home and I sat with him while he ate. After I cleaned up the kitchen, we settled in the den to watch the kiddos. We played DDR, and tennis, then Rog and Ry started MLB2K8. THey played most of the game, then Roger got another fire call, so Samantha took over. She got bored with it easily, so Ry played a round alone. They were in the middle of IJ when Rog got home - I was dozing on and off in my chair. At one point I woke up and Waldo ( a friend of ours) was here and he and Rog were playing MLB again. They playyed a couple rounds of that while I napped - with both dogs piled in my chair with me. Dinner was at mom's this weekend. Dad made a roast (Yummy!), then we played a game called Name Dropper. It was one that mom and dad have had for a while, we played a long time ago - we weren't sure at first, but played many rounds and ended up having a lot of fun!!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wrapping up the week
Sorry I have been off on my daily up dates - I will get back on that next week! I promise! I am feeling better, so I should be able to get back on my game. Here is a quick overview of our unusually boring week.
Well, it was all the same (MTTF) with the exception of Wednesday. Rog was home early, he went to do some errands with us, then Samantha had her first piano lesson. Rog dropped Samantha and I off and ran a few of my errands, then I dropped him and Ry off at Ry's guitar lessons while I finished up the errands.
We got home in time to get ready for church that evening.
The rest of the week was extremely cold, so we stayed home, inside and in front of the fireplace!
Well, it was all the same (MTTF) with the exception of Wednesday. Rog was home early, he went to do some errands with us, then Samantha had her first piano lesson. Rog dropped Samantha and I off and ran a few of my errands, then I dropped him and Ry off at Ry's guitar lessons while I finished up the errands.
We got home in time to get ready for church that evening.
The rest of the week was extremely cold, so we stayed home, inside and in front of the fireplace!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Destination Disney: Favorite Disney Souviners
Our favorite souvenir's are our Ears. We were there around Halloween time - and they do a trick or treat thing - we didn't take costumes - and we sure weren't buying any there - so we all bought ears.
I got a pink pair that says Princess on it - with a small crown on top
Roger got a pair that was blue and lit up.
Samantha got a pink pirate ears and Riley got a maroon pirate ears.
We all got our names on the back of them....those are our special things from this past time.
The trip in June -the kiddos all came home with lanyards and pins that they enjoyed.
BEST of all - SCRAPBOOKS!!!!!!!!!!!(yes - that is plural - and I haven't even started scrapping our October trip!).
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
FWC: The Bishop's Daughter by Tiffany L. Warren
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book! You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Grand Central Publishing (January 9, 2009)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Tiffany L. Warren is a technology manager who lives in suburban Cleveland, Ohio with her husband and four children. She is also the author of the critically acclaimed novel, Farther Than I Meant to Go, Longer Than I Meant to Stay. Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing (January 9, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446195146
ISBN-13: 978-0446195140
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Darrin
I'm snatched from my sleep by voices.
They're coming from the living room. The first voice is Shayna, my lover, although she likes to be called my girlfriend. She is not my girlfriend. Haven't had one of those since high school.
The other voice is coming from the television. It's way too loud, but not unfamiliar. I concentrate for a moment until familiarity becomes recognition. The voice belongs to that preacher Shayna likes to watch every Sunday morning.
Is it Sunday already?
I start a mental rewind in an attempt to recapture my weekend. Friday was standard. Edited a short story for a girl in my writer's group. She's entering a romance writer's contest, and wanted my opinion.
I didn't give it to her, because I'm possibly interested in sleeping with her. I told her that the uninspired farce was poetic prose. She won't win the contest, but she won't blame it on me. She'll accuse the judges of being amateurs and then come cry on my shoulder. I'll have tissues on hand – right along with the strawberries and champagne.
Also had lunch with Priscilla. My mother. The obligatory "good son" lunch that keeps me on the family payroll. I call her Priscilla behind her back, but never to her face. She's petite, cultured and polished but not above going upside a brotha's head.
We had the same conversation we have every week.
"Darrin, when are you coming to work for your father?"
"The day after never."
"You always say that."
"And I always mean it."
I love my mother, but I hate this conversation.
My father, Mathis Bainbridge, wants me to work in an office at Bainbridge Transports, shuffling papers, giving orders, and hiring overqualified people at ridiculously insulting rates of pay. He calls his company the 'family business' but only one person in our three person familia is interested in shuttling elderly people to doctor's appointments and on shopping trips.
It's not Priscilla and it's not me.
"You coming to church with me on Sunday?" Mother had also asked.
I'd let out a frustrated sigh. "I'll see."
My sporadic church attendance is Priscilla's other favorite topic.
"Don't you love Jesus?"
"Yes, Mother. I love Jesus."
That wasn't a lie. I do love Jesus. I just cannot say no to a woman who wants me to take her to bed and I have yet to hear a preacher tell me how.
Priscilla was extra irritated at our lunch date. She got borderline vulgar. "But you're willing to go to hell over some girl's dirty panties?"
I'd laughed then, and I'm still laughing. In Priscilla speak 'dirty panties' was tantamount to cursing me out.
I'd replied, "Mother, please watch your language."
Saturday was worse. I'd spent the entire muggy and rainy afternoon at a 10K marathon to benefit cancer research. Put on a fake smile and interviewed the sweaty first-place winner, asking him questions that no one wanted answers to, all the while thinking to myself, 'Why am I doing this?'
There was a time when I was excited to have comma writer after my name. You know, Darrin Bainbridge, writer. But the glamour that I'd envisioned has not yet materialized, and the less money I make with freelance journalism, the more my father threatens to chain me to a desk.
Then, when I should have been winding down for the weekend I blogged. Blogging is what narcissistic writers do when they don't have a book deal. Yeah, I'm just a bit narcissistic. Besides, people like to read what I think about social injustice, celebrities and whatever else. Ten thousand hits a day on my blogsite can't be wrong.
The thing I love about blogging is that I'm anonymous. Like, last week I wrote a piece on Jesse Jackson and how he's more of a threat to African American progress than the KKK. Then, I chilled with him at a networking function the same night. No harm, no foul.
Since I can no longer drown out the television or Shayna's 'Hallelujahs', I open my eyes and concede to starting the day. I stretch, take a deep breath, and grin at the memory of last night. Shayna's perfume lingers in the air. A fruity Victoria's Secret fragrance purchased by me for my benefit, but disguised as a spur-of-the-moment romantic and thoughtful gift. Yeah…I don't do those. But Shayna was pleased. So pleased that she stayed the night in my den of iniquity and is now watching church on television instead of getting her shout on in a pew.
I jump out of the bed in one motion, landing on the ice cold ceramic tiles. My pedicured toes curl from the drastic temperature change. Yes, a brotha likes his feet smooth. Hands too. What?
My apartment is slamming, and the furniture baller style – especially for someone with such a low income. If it wasn't for the deep pockets of my parents, blogging and freelance writing would pretty much have me living in semi-poverty. But my mother makes sure that I have the best of the best, and a monthly allowance. I keep thinking that at twenty-eight, I might be too old for a $6000 a month allowance. I'd be satisfied with less, but I'm not turning anything down. Priscilla's generosity (behind my father's back, of course) allows me to pursue my dreams, whatever they might be.
I pull on a pair of silk boxer shorts and walk up the hallway to the living room. Silently, I observe Shayna. She is rocking back and forth on the couch, her hands wrapped around her own torso. Embracing herself.
"You better preach, preacher!" she shouts at the face on the screen.
I mimic her movements and hug myself too, but not because I feel the love. It's freezing in here. Shayna likes to turn the thermostat on sixty no matter what the temperature is outside. Freon laced air rushes out of every vent.
"If you got breath in your lungs and strength in your body, you need to shout Hallelujah!" shouts the preacher.
"Hallelujah!Hallelujah!Hallelujah!Hallelujah!" Shayna's four-alarm Hallelujah sounds like one word.
I am amazed. How can Shayna feel so worshipful this morning when she just rolled out of my bed a few hours ago?
I'm curious. "Do you send this guy money? He's in Atlanta, right?"
Shayna looks up from the program and smiles seductively. Can she be any more blasphemous?
"Yes, Freedom of Life is in Atlanta and yes I do send in my tithe and offering on the regular. I'm a partner." She motions for me to come join her on the couch. I don't.
"About how many members do you think he has?" I ask as the television camera pans to what looks like the crowd at a Destiny's Child concert.
"The sanctuary holds ten thousand," she declares proudly as if it was her own accomplishment, "but there are about twenty thousand members and partners worldwide."
I'm in writer mode now. I can feel the wheels in my mind spinning. Probably something scandalous going on in a church that size. Pastor either skimming money off the top or sleeping with half the choir. Maybe blogging about a dirty Pastor will attract some sponsors. Exposing rich Black men pays well, and if he's truly grimy I won't have a problem spending the money.
Shayna asks suspiciously, "Since when did you get interested in church?"
"Since just now. I could feel the spirit oozing into the bedroom and I had to come investigate."
"I know you better than that. What's the real?"
Shayna doesn't know me at all, but she thinks she does. She assumes that we have a deep bond just because we've shared bodily fluids. There is more to me than my sex drive, but she'll never know that. She's not the wife type.
I humor her and reply, "Well, I just think that there has got to be a story here."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this guy can't be more than forty five," I'm half-explaining, half-forming the story in my mind. "And he's got twenty thousand offering paying members? I bet he's living large."
Shayna frowns. "What's your point?"
"You don't think there's anything wrong with that?"
"Uh, no. Your daddy lives large."
I chuckle with disbelief. Didn't know she was one of those people. The ones who try to compare pastoring a church to running a business.
Just for the fun of it, I quip, "Jesus preached for free."
"He didn't have a car note," she shoots right back.
"Okay, I see this might be hitting a little close to home, but I bet if I go down there to Atlanta I can dig up a juicy story."
The thought became even more appealing as I put words to it. Atlanta is uncharted territory for me. Fresh stories, different scenery and untapped women. The more I wrap my arms around the notion, the more it turns into a need.
I need to get my butt down to Atlanta and break this story wide open. Blogging on location. Most definitely liking the sound of that.
Shayna leans over the back of the couch pointing her polished fingernail at me for emphasis. "Whatever. Bishop Kumal Prentiss is a man of God and he preaches the Word."
"Kumal Prentiss? That sounds like a hustler's name. And what do you know about the Word?"
"I grew up in church sweetie. I'm not a heathen like you."
"You're not the only one who was raised in church."
I'd had so much church growing up, that if church was food I could feed every one of those starving Ethiopian children who convince me every week to be their sponsor. If church was talent, I'd be singing like R. Kelly and dancing like Usher. If church was candy…let's just say I went to a lot of church.
Every Sunday Priscilla dragged me, unwillingly, into the huge stone building. Me always screaming, "But Daddy doesn't have to go!" Her always replying, "Daddy's going to hell." She'd give me money for my Sunday school offering and send me on my way.
I went through a phase where I enjoyed the services. I was thirteen and my first crush, Alexandra, was fifteen and fully developed. I joined the junior ushers, youth choir and youth department trying to get at that girl.
Then one Sunday morning, old Pastor Davis preached on lust and hell fire. He'd said that if we didn't repent of our lusts and get baptized, then we'd spend an eternity fighting fire. Since I had been drooling over Alexandra and her tight sweater for the entire service, I was terrified. Walked down that center aisle out of fear while Priscilla shouted, stomped and danced. Went down a dry devil, came up a wet devil.
At age sixteen, I just got tired of pretending that I could walk the narrow road. I prayed about it. Told God that I would come to church when I knew I could live right.
Priscilla wasn't having it. I think she literally had a nervous breakdown when I told her I wasn't going back to church. She cried for days; walked around praying out loud, lifting God up and putting the devil under her feet.
I didn't budge. And for the first time ever, my father defended me. He'd stopped Priscilla dead in her tracks.
He'd said, "Priscilla, you will not make my son go to church if he doesn't want to. Church is for women anyway, it's about time he found a more productive way of spending his time."
The memory brings a smile to my face, makes me want to taunt Shayna about her hypocrisy. "And since you know so much about the Word, what does it say about fornication?"
She must be done talking to me, because she turns back to Bishop Prentiss who has worked his congregation into a frenzy. Had to give it to him. The man had skills.
"You want something to eat?" I ask Shayna, ignoring her attitude.
Her face softens. "You know I do."
In minutes I've prepared a small breakfast feast. French toast on fresh French bread and garnished with powdered sugar, strawberries and carmelized bananas and a three cheese omelet, browned to perfection.
I can cook my butt off.
I arrange everything on the china my mother bought me for a housewarming gift. For me, it's not just the taste of the food, it's the look of it. Presentation is everything. I can make a grill cheesed sandwich look like a gourmet entrée.
Shayna's smile returns as she approaches the table. She tosses her red curls out of her honey colored face as she sashays barefoot over to the table. She looks as delicious as the breakfast wearing her baby t-shirt and boy shorts. I feel a hunger starting inside me that has nothing to do with breakfast food.
Shayna's a cute girl, not stunning, but standing there at my kitchen table, with her disheveled sexiness, she's irresistible. But then again, I have the same motto about women that I have about food. Presentation is everything.
"Why can't you be like the average guy and put everything on paper plates? This looks better than at the restaurant."
"For one, I'm not the average guy and two you wouldn't be so sprung if I was."
Shayna sits down and takes a bite before responding. Closes her eyes and chews slowly. I love the way she savors my culinary creations. She sounds just like a baby relishing the first sips of a warm bottle.
"Is that good?" It's real hard to hide the cockiness in my tone.
"You already know it is!" she exclaims, smacking her lips thoughtfully. "What is it that I taste? There's a different flavor in this."
Her observation fills me with pleasure. "Oh, you've been around me much too long if you are noticing flavor nuances. I'm proud."
She licks her fingers, one at a time. "Mmm-hmm. Maybe I have been around you too long, but baby I am not sprung."
This woman is hilarious. Shayna is not only sprung; she's 'in love'. I'm flattered, even if I don't feel the same way. She's been hinting that she wants to move in with me, but that is not going to happen. Rule number one of my cardinal rules is: never turn a bed mate into a roommate.
"Okay, you're not sprung. I believe you. That's actually a good thing, because then you won't miss me when I go to Atlanta."
"So you're serious about this?"
I fold my arms across my chest and nod my head emphatically. "It is my duty as a journalist to expose the charlatans and inform the people."
"You better be careful. The bible says 'touch not my anointed and do my prophets no harm'."
"Look at you quoting scriptures. I'm impressed. And don't worry about me. If your precious pastor is everything that he says he is then he has nothing to worry about."
I'm snatched from my sleep by voices.
They're coming from the living room. The first voice is Shayna, my lover, although she likes to be called my girlfriend. She is not my girlfriend. Haven't had one of those since high school.
The other voice is coming from the television. It's way too loud, but not unfamiliar. I concentrate for a moment until familiarity becomes recognition. The voice belongs to that preacher Shayna likes to watch every Sunday morning.
Is it Sunday already?
I start a mental rewind in an attempt to recapture my weekend. Friday was standard. Edited a short story for a girl in my writer's group. She's entering a romance writer's contest, and wanted my opinion.
I didn't give it to her, because I'm possibly interested in sleeping with her. I told her that the uninspired farce was poetic prose. She won't win the contest, but she won't blame it on me. She'll accuse the judges of being amateurs and then come cry on my shoulder. I'll have tissues on hand – right along with the strawberries and champagne.
Also had lunch with Priscilla. My mother. The obligatory "good son" lunch that keeps me on the family payroll. I call her Priscilla behind her back, but never to her face. She's petite, cultured and polished but not above going upside a brotha's head.
We had the same conversation we have every week.
"Darrin, when are you coming to work for your father?"
"The day after never."
"You always say that."
"And I always mean it."
I love my mother, but I hate this conversation.
My father, Mathis Bainbridge, wants me to work in an office at Bainbridge Transports, shuffling papers, giving orders, and hiring overqualified people at ridiculously insulting rates of pay. He calls his company the 'family business' but only one person in our three person familia is interested in shuttling elderly people to doctor's appointments and on shopping trips.
It's not Priscilla and it's not me.
"You coming to church with me on Sunday?" Mother had also asked.
I'd let out a frustrated sigh. "I'll see."
My sporadic church attendance is Priscilla's other favorite topic.
"Don't you love Jesus?"
"Yes, Mother. I love Jesus."
That wasn't a lie. I do love Jesus. I just cannot say no to a woman who wants me to take her to bed and I have yet to hear a preacher tell me how.
Priscilla was extra irritated at our lunch date. She got borderline vulgar. "But you're willing to go to hell over some girl's dirty panties?"
I'd laughed then, and I'm still laughing. In Priscilla speak 'dirty panties' was tantamount to cursing me out.
I'd replied, "Mother, please watch your language."
Saturday was worse. I'd spent the entire muggy and rainy afternoon at a 10K marathon to benefit cancer research. Put on a fake smile and interviewed the sweaty first-place winner, asking him questions that no one wanted answers to, all the while thinking to myself, 'Why am I doing this?'
There was a time when I was excited to have comma writer after my name. You know, Darrin Bainbridge, writer. But the glamour that I'd envisioned has not yet materialized, and the less money I make with freelance journalism, the more my father threatens to chain me to a desk.
Then, when I should have been winding down for the weekend I blogged. Blogging is what narcissistic writers do when they don't have a book deal. Yeah, I'm just a bit narcissistic. Besides, people like to read what I think about social injustice, celebrities and whatever else. Ten thousand hits a day on my blogsite can't be wrong.
The thing I love about blogging is that I'm anonymous. Like, last week I wrote a piece on Jesse Jackson and how he's more of a threat to African American progress than the KKK. Then, I chilled with him at a networking function the same night. No harm, no foul.
Since I can no longer drown out the television or Shayna's 'Hallelujahs', I open my eyes and concede to starting the day. I stretch, take a deep breath, and grin at the memory of last night. Shayna's perfume lingers in the air. A fruity Victoria's Secret fragrance purchased by me for my benefit, but disguised as a spur-of-the-moment romantic and thoughtful gift. Yeah…I don't do those. But Shayna was pleased. So pleased that she stayed the night in my den of iniquity and is now watching church on television instead of getting her shout on in a pew.
I jump out of the bed in one motion, landing on the ice cold ceramic tiles. My pedicured toes curl from the drastic temperature change. Yes, a brotha likes his feet smooth. Hands too. What?
My apartment is slamming, and the furniture baller style – especially for someone with such a low income. If it wasn't for the deep pockets of my parents, blogging and freelance writing would pretty much have me living in semi-poverty. But my mother makes sure that I have the best of the best, and a monthly allowance. I keep thinking that at twenty-eight, I might be too old for a $6000 a month allowance. I'd be satisfied with less, but I'm not turning anything down. Priscilla's generosity (behind my father's back, of course) allows me to pursue my dreams, whatever they might be.
I pull on a pair of silk boxer shorts and walk up the hallway to the living room. Silently, I observe Shayna. She is rocking back and forth on the couch, her hands wrapped around her own torso. Embracing herself.
"You better preach, preacher!" she shouts at the face on the screen.
I mimic her movements and hug myself too, but not because I feel the love. It's freezing in here. Shayna likes to turn the thermostat on sixty no matter what the temperature is outside. Freon laced air rushes out of every vent.
"If you got breath in your lungs and strength in your body, you need to shout Hallelujah!" shouts the preacher.
"Hallelujah!Hallelujah!Hallelujah!Hallelujah!" Shayna's four-alarm Hallelujah sounds like one word.
I am amazed. How can Shayna feel so worshipful this morning when she just rolled out of my bed a few hours ago?
I'm curious. "Do you send this guy money? He's in Atlanta, right?"
Shayna looks up from the program and smiles seductively. Can she be any more blasphemous?
"Yes, Freedom of Life is in Atlanta and yes I do send in my tithe and offering on the regular. I'm a partner." She motions for me to come join her on the couch. I don't.
"About how many members do you think he has?" I ask as the television camera pans to what looks like the crowd at a Destiny's Child concert.
"The sanctuary holds ten thousand," she declares proudly as if it was her own accomplishment, "but there are about twenty thousand members and partners worldwide."
I'm in writer mode now. I can feel the wheels in my mind spinning. Probably something scandalous going on in a church that size. Pastor either skimming money off the top or sleeping with half the choir. Maybe blogging about a dirty Pastor will attract some sponsors. Exposing rich Black men pays well, and if he's truly grimy I won't have a problem spending the money.
Shayna asks suspiciously, "Since when did you get interested in church?"
"Since just now. I could feel the spirit oozing into the bedroom and I had to come investigate."
"I know you better than that. What's the real?"
Shayna doesn't know me at all, but she thinks she does. She assumes that we have a deep bond just because we've shared bodily fluids. There is more to me than my sex drive, but she'll never know that. She's not the wife type.
I humor her and reply, "Well, I just think that there has got to be a story here."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this guy can't be more than forty five," I'm half-explaining, half-forming the story in my mind. "And he's got twenty thousand offering paying members? I bet he's living large."
Shayna frowns. "What's your point?"
"You don't think there's anything wrong with that?"
"Uh, no. Your daddy lives large."
I chuckle with disbelief. Didn't know she was one of those people. The ones who try to compare pastoring a church to running a business.
Just for the fun of it, I quip, "Jesus preached for free."
"He didn't have a car note," she shoots right back.
"Okay, I see this might be hitting a little close to home, but I bet if I go down there to Atlanta I can dig up a juicy story."
The thought became even more appealing as I put words to it. Atlanta is uncharted territory for me. Fresh stories, different scenery and untapped women. The more I wrap my arms around the notion, the more it turns into a need.
I need to get my butt down to Atlanta and break this story wide open. Blogging on location. Most definitely liking the sound of that.
Shayna leans over the back of the couch pointing her polished fingernail at me for emphasis. "Whatever. Bishop Kumal Prentiss is a man of God and he preaches the Word."
"Kumal Prentiss? That sounds like a hustler's name. And what do you know about the Word?"
"I grew up in church sweetie. I'm not a heathen like you."
"You're not the only one who was raised in church."
I'd had so much church growing up, that if church was food I could feed every one of those starving Ethiopian children who convince me every week to be their sponsor. If church was talent, I'd be singing like R. Kelly and dancing like Usher. If church was candy…let's just say I went to a lot of church.
Every Sunday Priscilla dragged me, unwillingly, into the huge stone building. Me always screaming, "But Daddy doesn't have to go!" Her always replying, "Daddy's going to hell." She'd give me money for my Sunday school offering and send me on my way.
I went through a phase where I enjoyed the services. I was thirteen and my first crush, Alexandra, was fifteen and fully developed. I joined the junior ushers, youth choir and youth department trying to get at that girl.
Then one Sunday morning, old Pastor Davis preached on lust and hell fire. He'd said that if we didn't repent of our lusts and get baptized, then we'd spend an eternity fighting fire. Since I had been drooling over Alexandra and her tight sweater for the entire service, I was terrified. Walked down that center aisle out of fear while Priscilla shouted, stomped and danced. Went down a dry devil, came up a wet devil.
At age sixteen, I just got tired of pretending that I could walk the narrow road. I prayed about it. Told God that I would come to church when I knew I could live right.
Priscilla wasn't having it. I think she literally had a nervous breakdown when I told her I wasn't going back to church. She cried for days; walked around praying out loud, lifting God up and putting the devil under her feet.
I didn't budge. And for the first time ever, my father defended me. He'd stopped Priscilla dead in her tracks.
He'd said, "Priscilla, you will not make my son go to church if he doesn't want to. Church is for women anyway, it's about time he found a more productive way of spending his time."
The memory brings a smile to my face, makes me want to taunt Shayna about her hypocrisy. "And since you know so much about the Word, what does it say about fornication?"
She must be done talking to me, because she turns back to Bishop Prentiss who has worked his congregation into a frenzy. Had to give it to him. The man had skills.
"You want something to eat?" I ask Shayna, ignoring her attitude.
Her face softens. "You know I do."
In minutes I've prepared a small breakfast feast. French toast on fresh French bread and garnished with powdered sugar, strawberries and carmelized bananas and a three cheese omelet, browned to perfection.
I can cook my butt off.
I arrange everything on the china my mother bought me for a housewarming gift. For me, it's not just the taste of the food, it's the look of it. Presentation is everything. I can make a grill cheesed sandwich look like a gourmet entrée.
Shayna's smile returns as she approaches the table. She tosses her red curls out of her honey colored face as she sashays barefoot over to the table. She looks as delicious as the breakfast wearing her baby t-shirt and boy shorts. I feel a hunger starting inside me that has nothing to do with breakfast food.
Shayna's a cute girl, not stunning, but standing there at my kitchen table, with her disheveled sexiness, she's irresistible. But then again, I have the same motto about women that I have about food. Presentation is everything.
"Why can't you be like the average guy and put everything on paper plates? This looks better than at the restaurant."
"For one, I'm not the average guy and two you wouldn't be so sprung if I was."
Shayna sits down and takes a bite before responding. Closes her eyes and chews slowly. I love the way she savors my culinary creations. She sounds just like a baby relishing the first sips of a warm bottle.
"Is that good?" It's real hard to hide the cockiness in my tone.
"You already know it is!" she exclaims, smacking her lips thoughtfully. "What is it that I taste? There's a different flavor in this."
Her observation fills me with pleasure. "Oh, you've been around me much too long if you are noticing flavor nuances. I'm proud."
She licks her fingers, one at a time. "Mmm-hmm. Maybe I have been around you too long, but baby I am not sprung."
This woman is hilarious. Shayna is not only sprung; she's 'in love'. I'm flattered, even if I don't feel the same way. She's been hinting that she wants to move in with me, but that is not going to happen. Rule number one of my cardinal rules is: never turn a bed mate into a roommate.
"Okay, you're not sprung. I believe you. That's actually a good thing, because then you won't miss me when I go to Atlanta."
"So you're serious about this?"
I fold my arms across my chest and nod my head emphatically. "It is my duty as a journalist to expose the charlatans and inform the people."
"You better be careful. The bible says 'touch not my anointed and do my prophets no harm'."
"Look at you quoting scriptures. I'm impressed. And don't worry about me. If your precious pastor is everything that he says he is then he has nothing to worry about."
WHAT I HAD TO SAY: This was a great Sunday afternoon read. I picked it up to start and when I finished, I put it down! Very easy read and very cute story. I was never sure about what Emoni was going to do. Turned out she did the best thing!
CFBA: Sweetwater Gap by Denise Hunter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Denise lives in Indiana with her husband Kevin and their three sons. In 1996, Denise began her first book, a Christian romance novel, writing while her children napped. Two years later it was published, and she's been writing ever since. Her books often contain a strong romantic element, and her husband Kevin says he provides all her romantic material, but Denise insists a good imagination helps too!ABOUT THE BOOK
A story of new beginnings from best-selling Romance for Good™ author Denise Hunter. When Josephine's family insists she come home to help with the harvest, the timing works. But her return isn't simple benevolence-she plans to persuade the family to sell the failing orchard.
The new manager's presence is making it difficult. Grady MacKenzie takes an immediate disliking to Josephine and becomes outright cantankerous when she tries talking her family into selling. As she and Grady work side by side in the orchard, she begins to appreciate his devotion and quiet faith. She senses a vulnerability in him that makes her want to delve deeper, but there's no point letting her heart have its way-he's tied to the orchard, and she could never stay there.
A brush with death tears down Josephine's defenses and for the first time in her life, she feels freedom-freedom from the heavy burden of guilt, freedom to live her life the way it was intended, with a heart full of love.
If you would like to read the first chapter of Sweetwater Gap, go HERE
WHAT I HAVE TO SAY: I guess I have been pretty good at picking books for me to review lately! This was another one that I was able to pick up and read thru quickly and LOVE! Josephine was a chararcter I could relate to because of her illness. I love the way Grady tried to 'make friends' with her and the final result was great!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Destination Disney: Favorite Photo Opp...
This weeks DD post is favorite place to snap a great shot!! Of course, like Heidi says, there are the expected icon pictures, and we got all of those of course, but I wanted to share a couple others that are not normal, but ended up being great and fun pics!
One that I have in mind, but couldn't find - is one in front of the castle. But not from Main Street. If you are walking from Main Street into Tomorrowland, there is a little nook of sorts that makes the castle a perfect backdrop for a great shot. It is before you go thru the Tomorrowland arch.
Ok - here is another great photo op:
This is Chelle and I at the top of one of the drops on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad at Magic Kingdom! We rode it once, and LOVED it, so we rode it again - Roger sat behind us and took pictures the entire time - most of them were blurry, but this one turned out great!
And here was another one of my faves - and it was only because we rode the coaster and felt like we had conquered it:
This is four of us from our crew that did ride the Mt. Everest roller coaster.
Catching up in one post...
Well, I left you last Saturday with the ~ maybe I will feel better tomorrow ~
Didn't happen!
SUNDAY: I woke up at 10:15 and while I was upset that I missed church time, I didn't feel like getting up. I stayed in bed for a while, then managed to get a couple things done around here and go to mom's for dinner. After we ate, I fell asleep on the couch and dozed on and off until about 10pm. I woke up freezing/shivering and managed to get the kiddos and I home. I piled in bed under high electric blankets and extra quilts and went right to sleep.
MONDAY: PTL Roger was home today ~ I could not move! The kiddos grabbed their notebooks (glad that was updated while we were off) and came to my bed and did their work with me. I helped the best I could and we got thru all of what they needed to do in right at 2 hours. Roger ran and grabbed a pizza and talked me into coming to the table. I ate about a half a piece of pizza, then carried all of my blankets to my comfy chair and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening there. Roger had some friends over and they all played Wii - I was in and out and watched it for the most part, but don't remember some things. Roger went to the fire meeting, but I was not up to it. Later that night, we got a phone call that shook us up - and caused some things in the week to be changed.
TUESDAY: Rog was home again, and after the kiddos finished school, his friends came over again and played Wii. I still hung out in the chair - not feeling 100% yet. Rog took Ry to scouts. He came home VERY upset b/c of something there. We spent alot of time talking.
WEDNESDAY: I got up very early (still not feeling great) to go be somewhere for a friend. You know how sometimes you just need to see that your friends are there and they love you no matter what? Well, he needed us there, so we went. Mom stayed with the kiddos until I got home - about 10. We did what little school work I had planned, then headed out for the library, lunch and GUITAR LESSONS!!!!!! Riley started Guitar lessons this afternoon. Samantha was supposed to start piano lessons - but the girl who was supposed to teach her flaked out on me at the last minute. She decided to tell me on Tuesday that she had changed her mind - not very professional, and I am upset that I even gave her a shot at it instead of going with someone else that was recommended. I dropped the kiddos off at church then headed to a GS meeting - what a long day!
THURSDAY: Another early morning-had to take Chunky to his mom, then Ry had an ortho appointment. Ran a couple of errands - including getting a flat fixed! Took longer than we thought, by the time we got home, we had just enough time to eat some lunch before we headed to 4H. While we were at the 4H Rog got dinner started. We were home long enough to grab a bite to eat and head out to Girl Scouts. We had our meeting about cookies! They go on sale Saturday!
FRIDAY: Rog went to run some errands with a friend, just to get out of the house and give us time to catch up with our school work. We did manage to do that! Samantha and I had Girl Scout Cookie Rally to kick off cookie sales that start Saturday! We were there until midnight - we had so much fun!!
SATURDAY: Samantha and I slept until almost noon - then she called Gramma and went with her. The kiddos stayed over there hanging out with their cousins...Chelle came over and helped me sort thru the piles/stacks of pictures and scrapbook stuff I need to get under control so I can get in a book. Then I spent the rest of the evening updating my blog and chatting with a friend! Once again, I am siging out on a Saturday night saying I am off to bed, and maybe I will feel better tomorrow!
Didn't happen!
SUNDAY: I woke up at 10:15 and while I was upset that I missed church time, I didn't feel like getting up. I stayed in bed for a while, then managed to get a couple things done around here and go to mom's for dinner. After we ate, I fell asleep on the couch and dozed on and off until about 10pm. I woke up freezing/shivering and managed to get the kiddos and I home. I piled in bed under high electric blankets and extra quilts and went right to sleep.
MONDAY: PTL Roger was home today ~ I could not move! The kiddos grabbed their notebooks (glad that was updated while we were off) and came to my bed and did their work with me. I helped the best I could and we got thru all of what they needed to do in right at 2 hours. Roger ran and grabbed a pizza and talked me into coming to the table. I ate about a half a piece of pizza, then carried all of my blankets to my comfy chair and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening there. Roger had some friends over and they all played Wii - I was in and out and watched it for the most part, but don't remember some things. Roger went to the fire meeting, but I was not up to it. Later that night, we got a phone call that shook us up - and caused some things in the week to be changed.
TUESDAY: Rog was home again, and after the kiddos finished school, his friends came over again and played Wii. I still hung out in the chair - not feeling 100% yet. Rog took Ry to scouts. He came home VERY upset b/c of something there. We spent alot of time talking.
WEDNESDAY: I got up very early (still not feeling great) to go be somewhere for a friend. You know how sometimes you just need to see that your friends are there and they love you no matter what? Well, he needed us there, so we went. Mom stayed with the kiddos until I got home - about 10. We did what little school work I had planned, then headed out for the library, lunch and GUITAR LESSONS!!!!!! Riley started Guitar lessons this afternoon. Samantha was supposed to start piano lessons - but the girl who was supposed to teach her flaked out on me at the last minute. She decided to tell me on Tuesday that she had changed her mind - not very professional, and I am upset that I even gave her a shot at it instead of going with someone else that was recommended. I dropped the kiddos off at church then headed to a GS meeting - what a long day!
THURSDAY: Another early morning-had to take Chunky to his mom, then Ry had an ortho appointment. Ran a couple of errands - including getting a flat fixed! Took longer than we thought, by the time we got home, we had just enough time to eat some lunch before we headed to 4H. While we were at the 4H Rog got dinner started. We were home long enough to grab a bite to eat and head out to Girl Scouts. We had our meeting about cookies! They go on sale Saturday!
FRIDAY: Rog went to run some errands with a friend, just to get out of the house and give us time to catch up with our school work. We did manage to do that! Samantha and I had Girl Scout Cookie Rally to kick off cookie sales that start Saturday! We were there until midnight - we had so much fun!!
SATURDAY: Samantha and I slept until almost noon - then she called Gramma and went with her. The kiddos stayed over there hanging out with their cousins...Chelle came over and helped me sort thru the piles/stacks of pictures and scrapbook stuff I need to get under control so I can get in a book. Then I spent the rest of the evening updating my blog and chatting with a friend! Once again, I am siging out on a Saturday night saying I am off to bed, and maybe I will feel better tomorrow!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
FWC: Fireflies in December by Jennifer Erin
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Tyndale House Publishers (December 8, 2008)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Jennifer Erin Valent is the winner of the Christian Writers Guild’s 2007 Operation First Novel contest for Fireflies in December, her first published novel. When she’s not penning novels, Jennifer works as a nanny and freelance writer in Richmond, VA. Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (December 8, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414324324
ISBN-13: 978-1414324326
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The summer I turned thirteen, I thought I’d killed a man.
That’s a heavy burden for a girl to hang on to, but it didn’t surprise me so much to have that trouble come in the summertime. Every bad thing that ever happened to me seemed to happen in those long months.
The summer I turned five, Granny Rose died of a heart attack during the Independence Day fireworks. The summer I turned seven, my dog Skippy ran away with a tramp who jumped the train to Baltimore. And the summer I turned eleven, a drought took the corn crop and we couldn’t have any corn for my birthday, which is what I’d always done because my favorite food was corn from Daddy’s field, boiled in a big pot.
To top it off, here in the South, summers are long and hot and sticky. They drag on and on, making slow things seem slower and bad things seem worse.
The fear and guilt of the summer of 1932 still clings to my memory like the wet heat of southern Virginia. That year we had unbearable temperatures, and we had trouble, just that it was trouble of a different kind. It was the beginning of a time that taught me bad things can turn into good things, even though sometimes it takes a while for the good to come out.
The day I turned thirteen was one of those summer days when the air is so thick, you can see wavy lines above the tar on the rooftops. The kind of day when the sound of cicadas vibrates in your ears and everything smells like grass.
On that day, as Momma got ready for my birthday party, I told her that I wanted nothing to do with watermelon this year.
“We have some fine ones,” she told me. “Just don’t eat any.”
“But the boys will spit the seeds at us like they do all the time,” I said. “And they’ll hit me extra hard today since it’s my birthday.”
“I’ll tell them not to,” she said absentmindedly as she checked her recipe again with that squinched-up look she always got when trying to concentrate.
I knew I was only another argument or two from being scolded, but I tried again. “Those boys won’t listen to you.”
“Those boys will listen to me if they want to eat,” she replied before muttering something about needing a cup of oleo.
“They don’t even listen to Teacher at school, Momma.”
That last reply had done it, and I stepped back a ways as Momma picked up her wooden spoon and peered at me angrily, her free hand on her apron-covered hip. “Jessilyn Lassiter, I won’t have you arguin’ with me. Now get on out of this house before your jabberin’ makes me mess up my biscuits.”
I knew better than to take another chance with her, and I went outside to sit on my tree swing. If God wasn’t going to send us any breeze for my birthday, I was bound and determined to make my own, so I started pumping my legs to work up some speed. The breeze was slight but enough to give me a little relief.
I saw Gemma come out of the house carrying a big watermelon and a long knife, and I knew she had been sent out by her momma to cut it up. Gemma’s momma helped mine with chores, and her daddy worked in the fields. Sometimes Gemma would help her momma with things, and it always made me feel guilty to see her doing chores that I should have been doing. So I dug my feet into the dry dirt below me to slow down and hopped off the swing with a long leap, puffing dust up all around me.
I wandered to the picnic table where Gemma was rolling the green melon around to find just the right spot to cut into. “I guess this is for my party.”
“That’s what your momma says.”
“Are you comin’?”
“My momma never lets me come to your parties.”
“So? Ain’t never a time you can’t start somethin’ new. It’s my party, anyways.”
“It ain’t proper for the help to socialize with the family’s friends, Momma says.”
“Your momma and daddy have been workin’ here for as long as I can remember. You’re as close to family as we got around here, as I see it. I ain’t got no grandparents or nothin’.”
Gemma scoffed at me with a sarcastic laugh. “When was the last time you saw one brown girl and one white girl in the same family?”
I shrugged and watched her slice through the watermelon, both of us backing away to avoid the squirting juices.
“Looks like a good one,” Gemma said as the fragrant smell floated by on the first bit of a breeze we’d seen all day.
“All I see are seeds for the boys to hit me with.”
“Why do you let them boys pick on you?”
“I don’t let ’em. I always push ’em or somethin’. But they’re all bigger than me. What do you want me to do? Pick a fight?”
“Guess not.” A piece of the melon’s flesh flopped onto the table as Gemma cut it, and she popped it into her mouth thoughtfully. “I’ll never know why boys got to be so mean.”
“It’s part of their recipe, I guess.” I helped by piling the slices on a big platter, and I strategically picked as many seeds as I could find off the pieces before I stacked them. Never mind my dirty hands. “You come by around two o’clock,” I told her adamantly. “I’ll get you some cake and lemonade. You’re my best friend. You should be at my party.”
Gemma shushed me and shoved an elbow into my ribs as her momma went walking by us.
“Gemma Teague,” her momma said, “you girls gettin’ your chores done?”
“Ain’t got no chores of my own, Miss Opal,” I told her. “I figured on helpin’ Gemma instead.”
“Then you two make certain you keep your minds on your work, ya hear?”
“Yes’m,” we both mumbled.
Gemma’s momma walked past, but she looked back at us a couple times with a funny look on her face like she figured we were planning something.
In a way we were, but I didn’t see it as being a big caper or anything, so I continued by saying, “You know, I ain’t seein’ any sense in you not at least askin’ your momma if you can come by for cake. She’s usually understandin’ about things.”
“Every year it’s the same thing from you, Jessie. She won’t let me come, and besides, I’ll bet your momma don’t want me here no more than my momma does. It just ain’t done.”
“‘It just ain’t done’!” I huffed. “Who makes up these rules, anyhow?”
Gemma kept her eyes on her work and said nothing, but I knew her well enough to see that she didn’t understand her words anymore than I did.
Momma called me from the open kitchen window, but I ignored it and kept after Gemma. “Now listen. You just come on by after we’ve cut the cake and pretend to clean up somethin’, and I’ll be sure you get some.”
“Ain’t no way I’m gettin’ in trouble for some cake and lemonade that I’ll get after the party anyhow,” she argued. “You’re just bein’ stubborn.”
I sighed when Momma called me again. “She’s gonna tell me to take a bath, I bet. You’d think at thirteen I’d be old enough to stop havin’ my momma order me to take baths.”
“You’d never take one otherwise,” Gemma said. “Ain’t nobody wants to smell you then.”
“I hate takin’ baths on days this sticky. My hair never dries.”
“Takin’ a bath on a hot day ain’t never bad.”
“It is when the water’s hot as the air is.”
Gemma shook her head at me like she always did when I was being hardheaded. “Water’s water. Cools you off any which way.”
I didn’t believe her, but I headed off to the kitchen, where Momma had filled the big metal tub we’d had to take baths in ever since the bathroom faucets broke. The sheet she’d hung across the doorway into the next room flapped as the breeze I’d prayed for began to pick up.
I hopped out of my dungarees in one quick leap and crawled into the tub. “It’s hot as boiled water,” I complained.
“Well then, we’ll have you for supper,” Momma replied as she measured out flour, obviously undisturbed by my discomfort. “Your guests will start gettin’ here in a half hour, so don’t dawdle unless you want everyone findin’ you in the tub.”
“Yes’m.”
“And don’t forget to clean behind your ears.”
“Yes’m.”
Water splashed as I washed with my usual lack of grace, landing droplets about the kitchen floor. It didn’t really matter since Momma always made a mess when she cooked and the floor would need cleaning after she was done. No doubt the flour and water would mix into a fine paste, though, and she’d have a few words to mutter as she tried to scrub it up. As she measured sugar, I could hear her praying, “Oh, dear Jesus, let me have enough.” Momma prayed about anything anytime, anywhere.
By the time I’d scrubbed and dried, the smell of biscuits was drifting through the house and Momma was putting the oil on for the chicken. She was a good cook, no matter the mess, and she always put on quite a show for these birthday parties.
As I walked up to my room, wrapped in a ragged blue towel, I heard Momma call after me not to forget to put on my dress. Then she added, “Please, Lord, let the girl look presentable.” I think Momma often wondered why, if she was to be blessed with a girl, she had to get one that mostly acted like a boy.
“No dungarees!” she added. “And put on your church shoes.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing she was nowhere near me. I would never have dared to do it in front of her. I hated dressing up, but for every birthday, holiday, church day, and trip into town, I had to wear one of the three dresses that Momma had made me. She was as fine with a needle as she was with a frying pan, but I hated dresses nonetheless. Mostly because when I wore them, I had to sit all proper in my chair, and I couldn’t do cartwheels, at least not without getting yelled at. But I put on the dress because I had to and buckled up my church shoes.
I could hear Daddy’s footsteps coming down the hall, and I turned to smile at him as he stopped at my doorway.
“Lookin’ pretty, dumplin’,” Daddy said.
“That’s too bad.”
“Now, now. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a girl lookin’ like a girl.”
“Who says wearin’ dresses is the only way to look like a girl?”
Coming into the room, his dirty boots leaving marks that Momma would complain about later, Daddy tossed his hat onto a chair and helped me finish tying the bow on the back of the dress. “We don’t make the rules; we just follow ’em.”
“Well, someone had to make the rules in the first place. We should just make new ones.”
“No doubt you will one day, Jessilyn,” he said with a sigh. “But for now, you’d best follow your momma’s instructions. She ain’t one to be disobeyed.”
“Are you gonna be at the party?” I asked hopefully, knowing full well that he’d been in the fields all morning and looked in need of a nap.
“Wouldn’t miss it, you know that. I got the corn on already.” Daddy rubbed his tired eyes, picked up his hat, and walked out, whacking the hat against his leg to loosen the dust.
He worked hard, especially this time of year, and no matter how many men were willing to work the fields, he would always put in his fair share alongside them. I had suspected of late, however, that he was working harder more out of necessity than a sense of duty. We’d had fewer men to help than in years past, and it wasn’t due to lack of interest, I was sure. I’d seen my daddy turn three men away just the day before.
Things were poor, especially in our parts, and for having a working farm and a good truck, we were fortunate. We even had some conveniences that other people envied, like a fancy icebox and a telephone, and Momma was pretty proud of that. We weren’t rich like Mayor Tuttle and his wife, with their big columned house and fancy motor car, but we were thought to be well-off just the same. Momma and Daddy never talked money in front of me, and I decided not to fuss with it. It caused too many problems for adults from what I could see. What did I want to do with it?
I made my way downstairs and stepped out onto the porch, disappointed to see Buddy Pernell was the first to arrive. I didn’t like Buddy very much. But then, I didn’t like many kids very much. I thanked him for coming—mainly because Momma’s glare told me to—and received the plate of cookies his momma handed me. In those days, we didn’t give gifts at parties; it was too extravagant. But every momma felt it only proper to bring some sort of favor along.
By the time we had a full crowd, one side of the food table was filled with jars of jelly, bowls of sugared strawberries, a couple pies, and even one tub of pickled pigs’ feet. I promptly removed those, but Momma stopped me cold.
“We accept all gifts with thanks, Jessilyn,” she hissed in my ear as she replaced the tub on the table.
“Even pigs’ feet?” I argued.
“Yes ma’am! Even pigs’ feet.”
It took only ten minutes before the first watermelon seed landed in my hair. All the other girls started screaming and ran for cover, but I fought back at the boys out of sheer pride. I did a little shoving, Momma did some yelling, but I got pummeled anyhow.
After we finished eating lunch, I spotted Gemma hanging laundry on the line and ran over to get her help brushing all those sticky seeds out of my hair.
“You ought to not let ’em do this to you,” she said.
“I told you before,” I said with my eyes shut tight to stand the pain of Gemma’s brushing, “they’re all bigger than me.”
“I think they’re too big for their britches. That’s the problem.”
“Maybe so, but that don’t change nothin’. I still can’t whip ’em.”
“Well, I did the best I could.” Gemma peered closely at my sun-streaked hair. “I can’t see no more.”
“Just wait till we go swimmin’,” I told her. “I’ll find some critter to stick down Buddy Pernell’s knickers. He’s the one leadin’ the boys in the spittin’.”
“You best be careful. Them boys might do somethin’ to hurt you back.”
“I ain’t scared of them,” I lied. “Besides, they got it comin’.”
Gemma shook her head and grabbed a pair of Daddy’s socks to hang on the line. “You’re stubborn as a mule, Jessie.”
I figured she was right, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of hearing me say it. Instead, I rejoined the party, grabbed a piece of cake, and stood by watching the boys scuff about with each other, playing some kind of roughhouse tag. The other girls stood around watching the boys, giggling over how cute this one was and how strong that one was. I couldn’t figure them out.
“All that fussin’ over boys,” I said through a mouthful of frosting. “If you girls had any smarts, you’d be playin’ tag right along with ’em.”
“Why don’t you?” Ginny Lee Kidrey asked.
“I’m eatin’. Ain’t no reason to stuff down cake when I can play tag anytime I want.”
“You’re just a tomboy, Jessie Lassiter,” said Dolly Watson, who always wore dresses and perfume that smelled like dead roses. “What do you know about boys?”
“Enough to know that they ain’t worth wastin’ time on.”
The girls turned their noses up at me—all but Ginny Lee, who was the only real friend I had outside of Gemma, and even she had started to become more like the other girls of late.
The only reason I even had those other children at the party was because Momma insisted on it. She liked entertaining guests, but in our parts we didn’t have much chance to entertain, and she took every chance she got. So every year I had to invite the kids from school to interrupt my summer vacation and celebrate my June birthday with a party. The only thing I ever liked about those parties was the food. I would have been satisfied to spend my birthday having boiled corn with Gemma.
Buddy Pernell stopped in front of me and tugged at my braid. “Still stuffin’ your face?” he asked with a smirk. “Don’t you like to do nothin’ but eat?”
Knowing my short temper, all the boys loved to tease me just to see how much they could rile me. I responded to Buddy in my usual way. “I just like standin’ here watchin’ you boys beat each other up. And besides, ain’t nothin’ wrong with eatin’.”
“There is if it makes you fat.”
“I ain’t fat!”
“You keep eatin’ like that and you’ll be fat as your momma.”
Now, my momma wasn’t fat. I knew that as well as I knew that Buddy Pernell’s momma was. But it didn’t matter. True or not, he’d insulted my momma, and it took me no time at all to react by shoving what was left of my cake right into Buddy’s face, making extra sure to push upward so the frosting would fill his freckled nose.
Buddy wasn’t so brave then. He began clawing at his face like I’d thrown acid on it, crying something fierce about not being able to breathe.
Momma ran over, hysterical, simultaneously scolding me and coddling Buddy. I responded to her by saying I’d never heard of anyone suffocating on cake before, but she didn’t appreciate my rationalizing. I got a whack from her left hand and Buddy got a wipe across his face from her right.
The other boys were laughing, throwing insults at Buddy about how he’d gotten shown up by a girl, but he was too worried about not being able to breathe through his nose to hear them.
I watched with a smile as Buddy’s momma grabbed a cloth and ordered him to blow his nose into it. Buddy blew like his brains needed to come out, and eventually he found that he was able to breathe right again, although his momma insisted on getting a good look up his nose to be certain that it was clear of frosting.
The boys loved the picture of Buddy having his nose inspected by his momma, and they couldn’t get enough of the jokes about it.
I got hauled into the house for a scolding and a whipping. I tried telling Momma that thirteen was too old for whippings, but she said if I was acting like a child, I should be punished like one. Every time I got another whack with that wooden spoon, I thought of a new way to make Buddy pay for the walloping. After all, if he hadn’t made fun of my momma, I wouldn’t have made him snort up that cake.
I took my punishment without explaining because I didn’t want to hurt Momma’s feelings by telling her what Buddy had said, and I made my way slowly and sorely back out to the party with revenge in my mind.
Gemma saw the silent tears that I’d been biting my lip to keep from letting out, and she came over to wipe them with her apron.
I smiled at her halfway. “I’m okay. At least I will be once I get back at Buddy.”
“Get back at him? He’s the one who’ll be wantin’ to get back at you.”
“Just let him try. I wouldn’t have gotten that whippin’ if he hadn’t made fun of my momma in the first place.”
“Don’t you go talkin’ like that. He’s already got it in for you, and if you do anythin’ else, he’ll go and do somethin’ awful.”
“I ain’t afraid of him!”
Gemma shook her braided head at me. “You talk tough, but you won’t be so tough if Buddy Pernell hurts you bad.”
I sniffed at her like she was worrying over nothing, but I knew deep down that I could have been asking for trouble by playing with Buddy. Boys with no sense can be dangerous, my momma had told me a few times, but my stubbornness didn’t leave any room for being cautious. I was determined to hold a grudge against Buddy, and that was that. But I could see that Buddy was keeping his eye out for his first chance to get back at me, and I watched him with a little worry in my heart as he and the other boys stood together in whispers.
I tried to pretend I wasn’t nervous, and when Gemma got called into the house, I joined the other girls, who’d gone back to twirling their hair and talking about the boys.
With the boys standing around making plans and the girls standing around watching them, my mother got irritated and told us to find something active to do. “Go on down to the swimmin’ hole. Get some exercise, for land’s sake.”
All of us girls went to my bedroom to put on our swimming suits, but with a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat, I changed slower than them all. Gemma had been right, I figured. I’d be paying, and good, and the perfect place for Buddy to get me would be at the secluded swimming hole.
After I’d changed, I went downstairs to find my momma. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to the swimmin’ hole,” I told her while she was making up another batch of sweet tea.
“It’s hot as hades out there. It’ll do you all good.”
“It’s not that hot.”
Momma stopped scrubbing and looked at me strangely. “Were you in the same air I’ve been in today? It’s thick as molasses.”
“But swimmin’ ain’t no fun.”
“You love swimmin’.”
“Not today, I don’t.”
By now, Momma was curious, and she wiped her hands on her apron before placing them on her hips. “Why don’t you just up and tell me what’s got you so ornery?”
“I ain’t ornery!”
“Don’t argue with me, girl. If I say you’re ornery, then you’re ornery.”
I looked down at my toes and sighed. I couldn’t tell Momma that Buddy had called her fat, and I didn’t want to show her I was afraid, anyway.
“Tell me one reason why you shouldn’t go to the swimmin’ hole.”
I continued staring at my dusty feet and shrugged.
“You don’t know, I guess you’re sayin’. Well, if you ain’t got a reason, you best be headin’ out to that swimmin’ hole. I’m too busy to wonder what’s goin’ on in that silly head of yours.”
I could feel Momma watching me as I scuffed out of the kitchen without another word, letting the screen door slam behind me. I took several steps before glancing back at Momma through the window, where she stood humming some hymn I remembered hearing in church. I took a deep breath. In my dramatic mind, it was as if I were saying a final good-bye. Who knew if I’d come back from that swimming hole alive? Momma would feel pretty bad if I ended up dying, and she’d have to live the rest of her life knowing she’d sent me to my death.
Poor Momma.
That’s a heavy burden for a girl to hang on to, but it didn’t surprise me so much to have that trouble come in the summertime. Every bad thing that ever happened to me seemed to happen in those long months.
The summer I turned five, Granny Rose died of a heart attack during the Independence Day fireworks. The summer I turned seven, my dog Skippy ran away with a tramp who jumped the train to Baltimore. And the summer I turned eleven, a drought took the corn crop and we couldn’t have any corn for my birthday, which is what I’d always done because my favorite food was corn from Daddy’s field, boiled in a big pot.
To top it off, here in the South, summers are long and hot and sticky. They drag on and on, making slow things seem slower and bad things seem worse.
The fear and guilt of the summer of 1932 still clings to my memory like the wet heat of southern Virginia. That year we had unbearable temperatures, and we had trouble, just that it was trouble of a different kind. It was the beginning of a time that taught me bad things can turn into good things, even though sometimes it takes a while for the good to come out.
The day I turned thirteen was one of those summer days when the air is so thick, you can see wavy lines above the tar on the rooftops. The kind of day when the sound of cicadas vibrates in your ears and everything smells like grass.
On that day, as Momma got ready for my birthday party, I told her that I wanted nothing to do with watermelon this year.
“We have some fine ones,” she told me. “Just don’t eat any.”
“But the boys will spit the seeds at us like they do all the time,” I said. “And they’ll hit me extra hard today since it’s my birthday.”
“I’ll tell them not to,” she said absentmindedly as she checked her recipe again with that squinched-up look she always got when trying to concentrate.
I knew I was only another argument or two from being scolded, but I tried again. “Those boys won’t listen to you.”
“Those boys will listen to me if they want to eat,” she replied before muttering something about needing a cup of oleo.
“They don’t even listen to Teacher at school, Momma.”
That last reply had done it, and I stepped back a ways as Momma picked up her wooden spoon and peered at me angrily, her free hand on her apron-covered hip. “Jessilyn Lassiter, I won’t have you arguin’ with me. Now get on out of this house before your jabberin’ makes me mess up my biscuits.”
I knew better than to take another chance with her, and I went outside to sit on my tree swing. If God wasn’t going to send us any breeze for my birthday, I was bound and determined to make my own, so I started pumping my legs to work up some speed. The breeze was slight but enough to give me a little relief.
I saw Gemma come out of the house carrying a big watermelon and a long knife, and I knew she had been sent out by her momma to cut it up. Gemma’s momma helped mine with chores, and her daddy worked in the fields. Sometimes Gemma would help her momma with things, and it always made me feel guilty to see her doing chores that I should have been doing. So I dug my feet into the dry dirt below me to slow down and hopped off the swing with a long leap, puffing dust up all around me.
I wandered to the picnic table where Gemma was rolling the green melon around to find just the right spot to cut into. “I guess this is for my party.”
“That’s what your momma says.”
“Are you comin’?”
“My momma never lets me come to your parties.”
“So? Ain’t never a time you can’t start somethin’ new. It’s my party, anyways.”
“It ain’t proper for the help to socialize with the family’s friends, Momma says.”
“Your momma and daddy have been workin’ here for as long as I can remember. You’re as close to family as we got around here, as I see it. I ain’t got no grandparents or nothin’.”
Gemma scoffed at me with a sarcastic laugh. “When was the last time you saw one brown girl and one white girl in the same family?”
I shrugged and watched her slice through the watermelon, both of us backing away to avoid the squirting juices.
“Looks like a good one,” Gemma said as the fragrant smell floated by on the first bit of a breeze we’d seen all day.
“All I see are seeds for the boys to hit me with.”
“Why do you let them boys pick on you?”
“I don’t let ’em. I always push ’em or somethin’. But they’re all bigger than me. What do you want me to do? Pick a fight?”
“Guess not.” A piece of the melon’s flesh flopped onto the table as Gemma cut it, and she popped it into her mouth thoughtfully. “I’ll never know why boys got to be so mean.”
“It’s part of their recipe, I guess.” I helped by piling the slices on a big platter, and I strategically picked as many seeds as I could find off the pieces before I stacked them. Never mind my dirty hands. “You come by around two o’clock,” I told her adamantly. “I’ll get you some cake and lemonade. You’re my best friend. You should be at my party.”
Gemma shushed me and shoved an elbow into my ribs as her momma went walking by us.
“Gemma Teague,” her momma said, “you girls gettin’ your chores done?”
“Ain’t got no chores of my own, Miss Opal,” I told her. “I figured on helpin’ Gemma instead.”
“Then you two make certain you keep your minds on your work, ya hear?”
“Yes’m,” we both mumbled.
Gemma’s momma walked past, but she looked back at us a couple times with a funny look on her face like she figured we were planning something.
In a way we were, but I didn’t see it as being a big caper or anything, so I continued by saying, “You know, I ain’t seein’ any sense in you not at least askin’ your momma if you can come by for cake. She’s usually understandin’ about things.”
“Every year it’s the same thing from you, Jessie. She won’t let me come, and besides, I’ll bet your momma don’t want me here no more than my momma does. It just ain’t done.”
“‘It just ain’t done’!” I huffed. “Who makes up these rules, anyhow?”
Gemma kept her eyes on her work and said nothing, but I knew her well enough to see that she didn’t understand her words anymore than I did.
Momma called me from the open kitchen window, but I ignored it and kept after Gemma. “Now listen. You just come on by after we’ve cut the cake and pretend to clean up somethin’, and I’ll be sure you get some.”
“Ain’t no way I’m gettin’ in trouble for some cake and lemonade that I’ll get after the party anyhow,” she argued. “You’re just bein’ stubborn.”
I sighed when Momma called me again. “She’s gonna tell me to take a bath, I bet. You’d think at thirteen I’d be old enough to stop havin’ my momma order me to take baths.”
“You’d never take one otherwise,” Gemma said. “Ain’t nobody wants to smell you then.”
“I hate takin’ baths on days this sticky. My hair never dries.”
“Takin’ a bath on a hot day ain’t never bad.”
“It is when the water’s hot as the air is.”
Gemma shook her head at me like she always did when I was being hardheaded. “Water’s water. Cools you off any which way.”
I didn’t believe her, but I headed off to the kitchen, where Momma had filled the big metal tub we’d had to take baths in ever since the bathroom faucets broke. The sheet she’d hung across the doorway into the next room flapped as the breeze I’d prayed for began to pick up.
I hopped out of my dungarees in one quick leap and crawled into the tub. “It’s hot as boiled water,” I complained.
“Well then, we’ll have you for supper,” Momma replied as she measured out flour, obviously undisturbed by my discomfort. “Your guests will start gettin’ here in a half hour, so don’t dawdle unless you want everyone findin’ you in the tub.”
“Yes’m.”
“And don’t forget to clean behind your ears.”
“Yes’m.”
Water splashed as I washed with my usual lack of grace, landing droplets about the kitchen floor. It didn’t really matter since Momma always made a mess when she cooked and the floor would need cleaning after she was done. No doubt the flour and water would mix into a fine paste, though, and she’d have a few words to mutter as she tried to scrub it up. As she measured sugar, I could hear her praying, “Oh, dear Jesus, let me have enough.” Momma prayed about anything anytime, anywhere.
By the time I’d scrubbed and dried, the smell of biscuits was drifting through the house and Momma was putting the oil on for the chicken. She was a good cook, no matter the mess, and she always put on quite a show for these birthday parties.
As I walked up to my room, wrapped in a ragged blue towel, I heard Momma call after me not to forget to put on my dress. Then she added, “Please, Lord, let the girl look presentable.” I think Momma often wondered why, if she was to be blessed with a girl, she had to get one that mostly acted like a boy.
“No dungarees!” she added. “And put on your church shoes.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing she was nowhere near me. I would never have dared to do it in front of her. I hated dressing up, but for every birthday, holiday, church day, and trip into town, I had to wear one of the three dresses that Momma had made me. She was as fine with a needle as she was with a frying pan, but I hated dresses nonetheless. Mostly because when I wore them, I had to sit all proper in my chair, and I couldn’t do cartwheels, at least not without getting yelled at. But I put on the dress because I had to and buckled up my church shoes.
I could hear Daddy’s footsteps coming down the hall, and I turned to smile at him as he stopped at my doorway.
“Lookin’ pretty, dumplin’,” Daddy said.
“That’s too bad.”
“Now, now. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a girl lookin’ like a girl.”
“Who says wearin’ dresses is the only way to look like a girl?”
Coming into the room, his dirty boots leaving marks that Momma would complain about later, Daddy tossed his hat onto a chair and helped me finish tying the bow on the back of the dress. “We don’t make the rules; we just follow ’em.”
“Well, someone had to make the rules in the first place. We should just make new ones.”
“No doubt you will one day, Jessilyn,” he said with a sigh. “But for now, you’d best follow your momma’s instructions. She ain’t one to be disobeyed.”
“Are you gonna be at the party?” I asked hopefully, knowing full well that he’d been in the fields all morning and looked in need of a nap.
“Wouldn’t miss it, you know that. I got the corn on already.” Daddy rubbed his tired eyes, picked up his hat, and walked out, whacking the hat against his leg to loosen the dust.
He worked hard, especially this time of year, and no matter how many men were willing to work the fields, he would always put in his fair share alongside them. I had suspected of late, however, that he was working harder more out of necessity than a sense of duty. We’d had fewer men to help than in years past, and it wasn’t due to lack of interest, I was sure. I’d seen my daddy turn three men away just the day before.
Things were poor, especially in our parts, and for having a working farm and a good truck, we were fortunate. We even had some conveniences that other people envied, like a fancy icebox and a telephone, and Momma was pretty proud of that. We weren’t rich like Mayor Tuttle and his wife, with their big columned house and fancy motor car, but we were thought to be well-off just the same. Momma and Daddy never talked money in front of me, and I decided not to fuss with it. It caused too many problems for adults from what I could see. What did I want to do with it?
I made my way downstairs and stepped out onto the porch, disappointed to see Buddy Pernell was the first to arrive. I didn’t like Buddy very much. But then, I didn’t like many kids very much. I thanked him for coming—mainly because Momma’s glare told me to—and received the plate of cookies his momma handed me. In those days, we didn’t give gifts at parties; it was too extravagant. But every momma felt it only proper to bring some sort of favor along.
By the time we had a full crowd, one side of the food table was filled with jars of jelly, bowls of sugared strawberries, a couple pies, and even one tub of pickled pigs’ feet. I promptly removed those, but Momma stopped me cold.
“We accept all gifts with thanks, Jessilyn,” she hissed in my ear as she replaced the tub on the table.
“Even pigs’ feet?” I argued.
“Yes ma’am! Even pigs’ feet.”
It took only ten minutes before the first watermelon seed landed in my hair. All the other girls started screaming and ran for cover, but I fought back at the boys out of sheer pride. I did a little shoving, Momma did some yelling, but I got pummeled anyhow.
After we finished eating lunch, I spotted Gemma hanging laundry on the line and ran over to get her help brushing all those sticky seeds out of my hair.
“You ought to not let ’em do this to you,” she said.
“I told you before,” I said with my eyes shut tight to stand the pain of Gemma’s brushing, “they’re all bigger than me.”
“I think they’re too big for their britches. That’s the problem.”
“Maybe so, but that don’t change nothin’. I still can’t whip ’em.”
“Well, I did the best I could.” Gemma peered closely at my sun-streaked hair. “I can’t see no more.”
“Just wait till we go swimmin’,” I told her. “I’ll find some critter to stick down Buddy Pernell’s knickers. He’s the one leadin’ the boys in the spittin’.”
“You best be careful. Them boys might do somethin’ to hurt you back.”
“I ain’t scared of them,” I lied. “Besides, they got it comin’.”
Gemma shook her head and grabbed a pair of Daddy’s socks to hang on the line. “You’re stubborn as a mule, Jessie.”
I figured she was right, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of hearing me say it. Instead, I rejoined the party, grabbed a piece of cake, and stood by watching the boys scuff about with each other, playing some kind of roughhouse tag. The other girls stood around watching the boys, giggling over how cute this one was and how strong that one was. I couldn’t figure them out.
“All that fussin’ over boys,” I said through a mouthful of frosting. “If you girls had any smarts, you’d be playin’ tag right along with ’em.”
“Why don’t you?” Ginny Lee Kidrey asked.
“I’m eatin’. Ain’t no reason to stuff down cake when I can play tag anytime I want.”
“You’re just a tomboy, Jessie Lassiter,” said Dolly Watson, who always wore dresses and perfume that smelled like dead roses. “What do you know about boys?”
“Enough to know that they ain’t worth wastin’ time on.”
The girls turned their noses up at me—all but Ginny Lee, who was the only real friend I had outside of Gemma, and even she had started to become more like the other girls of late.
The only reason I even had those other children at the party was because Momma insisted on it. She liked entertaining guests, but in our parts we didn’t have much chance to entertain, and she took every chance she got. So every year I had to invite the kids from school to interrupt my summer vacation and celebrate my June birthday with a party. The only thing I ever liked about those parties was the food. I would have been satisfied to spend my birthday having boiled corn with Gemma.
Buddy Pernell stopped in front of me and tugged at my braid. “Still stuffin’ your face?” he asked with a smirk. “Don’t you like to do nothin’ but eat?”
Knowing my short temper, all the boys loved to tease me just to see how much they could rile me. I responded to Buddy in my usual way. “I just like standin’ here watchin’ you boys beat each other up. And besides, ain’t nothin’ wrong with eatin’.”
“There is if it makes you fat.”
“I ain’t fat!”
“You keep eatin’ like that and you’ll be fat as your momma.”
Now, my momma wasn’t fat. I knew that as well as I knew that Buddy Pernell’s momma was. But it didn’t matter. True or not, he’d insulted my momma, and it took me no time at all to react by shoving what was left of my cake right into Buddy’s face, making extra sure to push upward so the frosting would fill his freckled nose.
Buddy wasn’t so brave then. He began clawing at his face like I’d thrown acid on it, crying something fierce about not being able to breathe.
Momma ran over, hysterical, simultaneously scolding me and coddling Buddy. I responded to her by saying I’d never heard of anyone suffocating on cake before, but she didn’t appreciate my rationalizing. I got a whack from her left hand and Buddy got a wipe across his face from her right.
The other boys were laughing, throwing insults at Buddy about how he’d gotten shown up by a girl, but he was too worried about not being able to breathe through his nose to hear them.
I watched with a smile as Buddy’s momma grabbed a cloth and ordered him to blow his nose into it. Buddy blew like his brains needed to come out, and eventually he found that he was able to breathe right again, although his momma insisted on getting a good look up his nose to be certain that it was clear of frosting.
The boys loved the picture of Buddy having his nose inspected by his momma, and they couldn’t get enough of the jokes about it.
I got hauled into the house for a scolding and a whipping. I tried telling Momma that thirteen was too old for whippings, but she said if I was acting like a child, I should be punished like one. Every time I got another whack with that wooden spoon, I thought of a new way to make Buddy pay for the walloping. After all, if he hadn’t made fun of my momma, I wouldn’t have made him snort up that cake.
I took my punishment without explaining because I didn’t want to hurt Momma’s feelings by telling her what Buddy had said, and I made my way slowly and sorely back out to the party with revenge in my mind.
Gemma saw the silent tears that I’d been biting my lip to keep from letting out, and she came over to wipe them with her apron.
I smiled at her halfway. “I’m okay. At least I will be once I get back at Buddy.”
“Get back at him? He’s the one who’ll be wantin’ to get back at you.”
“Just let him try. I wouldn’t have gotten that whippin’ if he hadn’t made fun of my momma in the first place.”
“Don’t you go talkin’ like that. He’s already got it in for you, and if you do anythin’ else, he’ll go and do somethin’ awful.”
“I ain’t afraid of him!”
Gemma shook her braided head at me. “You talk tough, but you won’t be so tough if Buddy Pernell hurts you bad.”
I sniffed at her like she was worrying over nothing, but I knew deep down that I could have been asking for trouble by playing with Buddy. Boys with no sense can be dangerous, my momma had told me a few times, but my stubbornness didn’t leave any room for being cautious. I was determined to hold a grudge against Buddy, and that was that. But I could see that Buddy was keeping his eye out for his first chance to get back at me, and I watched him with a little worry in my heart as he and the other boys stood together in whispers.
I tried to pretend I wasn’t nervous, and when Gemma got called into the house, I joined the other girls, who’d gone back to twirling their hair and talking about the boys.
With the boys standing around making plans and the girls standing around watching them, my mother got irritated and told us to find something active to do. “Go on down to the swimmin’ hole. Get some exercise, for land’s sake.”
All of us girls went to my bedroom to put on our swimming suits, but with a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat, I changed slower than them all. Gemma had been right, I figured. I’d be paying, and good, and the perfect place for Buddy to get me would be at the secluded swimming hole.
After I’d changed, I went downstairs to find my momma. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to the swimmin’ hole,” I told her while she was making up another batch of sweet tea.
“It’s hot as hades out there. It’ll do you all good.”
“It’s not that hot.”
Momma stopped scrubbing and looked at me strangely. “Were you in the same air I’ve been in today? It’s thick as molasses.”
“But swimmin’ ain’t no fun.”
“You love swimmin’.”
“Not today, I don’t.”
By now, Momma was curious, and she wiped her hands on her apron before placing them on her hips. “Why don’t you just up and tell me what’s got you so ornery?”
“I ain’t ornery!”
“Don’t argue with me, girl. If I say you’re ornery, then you’re ornery.”
I looked down at my toes and sighed. I couldn’t tell Momma that Buddy had called her fat, and I didn’t want to show her I was afraid, anyway.
“Tell me one reason why you shouldn’t go to the swimmin’ hole.”
I continued staring at my dusty feet and shrugged.
“You don’t know, I guess you’re sayin’. Well, if you ain’t got a reason, you best be headin’ out to that swimmin’ hole. I’m too busy to wonder what’s goin’ on in that silly head of yours.”
I could feel Momma watching me as I scuffed out of the kitchen without another word, letting the screen door slam behind me. I took several steps before glancing back at Momma through the window, where she stood humming some hymn I remembered hearing in church. I took a deep breath. In my dramatic mind, it was as if I were saying a final good-bye. Who knew if I’d come back from that swimming hole alive? Momma would feel pretty bad if I ended up dying, and she’d have to live the rest of her life knowing she’d sent me to my death.
Poor Momma.
WHAT I HAVE TO SAY: Oh my goodness....I cried more thru this book than I have any book in a long time. What a friendship those girls have. What a big man dad is to step up and take care of Gemma! This was an excellent book and it was an easy read. It was one of those that you can't/don't want to put down!
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