Sometimes situations get out of hand. Simple little oops and comments get blown into gigantic proportions and then they are committed to memories of those who like to remind you of the time…
A simple typo can turn a professional sounding typed minutes into… well…inappropriately amusing. Such as was just pointed out to me – the keeper and typer of the minutes -- after I dispensed the copies to the proper parties.
This underscores the importance of proofreading and editing because spell check doesn’t have issues with those of us who add another “s” to as.
One Christmas during our Christmas celebration at church a young lady read an engaging story. She did a great job until she misread shiny axes. Oh yes. Every Christmas since, some twisted individual has to mention shiny a - - es.
Another such situation arrived on my doorstep last Wednesday.
A couple of years ago I wanted to cheer someone up. So I wrote a little story.
The story required a bronzed and muscled hero to come to the aid of a diminished damsel. What does one call a hero in a humorized version of a white knight tale? Why, Fabio, of course. I suppose this name is copyrighted but at the time this little ha-ha moment wasn’t for mass consumption, just for a friend who needed chocolate and had already gone through all she had in the house. E-mail was her only hope of sanity. I had to work fast.
Since then, said friend asks for a Fabio installment whenever disaster strikes. She’s a writer. Can you imagine how often she faces serious rejection? Yeah. Our story is ten plus chapters and gets pretty complex at times. We’ve covered conferences, jealousy, Raoul the agent, rejection, rejection and rejection.
Said friend came to visit Wednesday. We heard a knock on the door and went to answer it. There, on the porch, a life-size, shirtless, smiled a sweaty cardboard Fabio in all his glory. A chorus of giggles came from the side of the house.
What would you do with a life-size sweaty Fabio?
He’s been on a few field trips this week.
Though not sturdy enough to hold clothes he does come in handy while beading necklaces and bracelets. We’ve christened a new family member Fabio Jr or Mini-Fabio. Twice he has startled a few half-asleep visitors. But now he just stands guard.
We do have a softball game tomorrow night. He’d probably make a great umpire.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Scribbles and Scrambles - Barren-Souled
Our Wednesday night children’s ministry led worship at church on a recent Sunday morning.
A couple of two-year-olds sang with off-key gusto that brought tears to my eyes. And a few four-year-olds treated us to a holy break-dance.
The tweeners, well, depends…the boys moved their mouths robotically and their arms in slow motion replay. The girls perked their way through the songs, belting out the lyrics with Annie enthusiasm.
And then I had an urge.
I’ve done this before and regret it.
I glanced behind me -- at the congregation, during the song “Undignified.”
One man scowled through downcast eyes, his jowls draped over his arms that crossed over his chest.
I’ll admit this song, which shares David’s moment of unbridled passion at the Ark of the Covenant’s entrance into Jerusalem, makes me uncomfortable.
Wild behavior, especially dancing, feels a little too out-of-control for my reformed Baptist heart.
But I’m working on that.
I’ve even been known to raise my hands – until someone conspiratorially whispered, “Great, another hand raiser. Glad I’m not alone.” in my ear. Which kind of took the worship out of it for me now that I knew someone else watched for something meant as an intimate gesture toward God…
I’ve begun to work on my heebie-jeebies with extreme worship. So I understand how this man, who is old school and very uncomfortable with music outside of tradition, might feel.
As I participated with hand motions and childlike worship, a thought tickled my brain. David’s wife, Michal, ended up barren until the day she died because of her attitude toward David. Did it also have to do with an attitude toward his worship style? And even more important...her attitude toward his God?
Is it possible that this man sits there with a frown because of his attitude toward worship and he suffers the barrenness of soul that comes with it?
We can’t expect to like all forms of music – please don’t ever twang at me. But can’t we embrace the truth of that worship? Aren’t most worship and/or Christian songs written as some sort of tribute to God, inspired by Him?
If the birds and their singing praise and glorify God, can’t I, a lousy sparrow, chirp out a few notes that might please Him as much as the songbird? If that’s my desire – to please Him.
After all Jesus said the very rocks would cry out if the worshippers were silenced. I don’t expect this to change anyone’s heart, open anyone’s mind. But I expect this discovery to maybe chip away at the pieces of barrenness in my own life. How about you? Harboring any barrenness?
A couple of two-year-olds sang with off-key gusto that brought tears to my eyes. And a few four-year-olds treated us to a holy break-dance.
The tweeners, well, depends…the boys moved their mouths robotically and their arms in slow motion replay. The girls perked their way through the songs, belting out the lyrics with Annie enthusiasm.
And then I had an urge.
I’ve done this before and regret it.
I glanced behind me -- at the congregation, during the song “Undignified.”
One man scowled through downcast eyes, his jowls draped over his arms that crossed over his chest.
I’ll admit this song, which shares David’s moment of unbridled passion at the Ark of the Covenant’s entrance into Jerusalem, makes me uncomfortable.
Wild behavior, especially dancing, feels a little too out-of-control for my reformed Baptist heart.
But I’m working on that.
I’ve even been known to raise my hands – until someone conspiratorially whispered, “Great, another hand raiser. Glad I’m not alone.” in my ear. Which kind of took the worship out of it for me now that I knew someone else watched for something meant as an intimate gesture toward God…
I’ve begun to work on my heebie-jeebies with extreme worship. So I understand how this man, who is old school and very uncomfortable with music outside of tradition, might feel.
As I participated with hand motions and childlike worship, a thought tickled my brain. David’s wife, Michal, ended up barren until the day she died because of her attitude toward David. Did it also have to do with an attitude toward his worship style? And even more important...her attitude toward his God?
Is it possible that this man sits there with a frown because of his attitude toward worship and he suffers the barrenness of soul that comes with it?
We can’t expect to like all forms of music – please don’t ever twang at me. But can’t we embrace the truth of that worship? Aren’t most worship and/or Christian songs written as some sort of tribute to God, inspired by Him?
If the birds and their singing praise and glorify God, can’t I, a lousy sparrow, chirp out a few notes that might please Him as much as the songbird? If that’s my desire – to please Him.
After all Jesus said the very rocks would cry out if the worshippers were silenced. I don’t expect this to change anyone’s heart, open anyone’s mind. But I expect this discovery to maybe chip away at the pieces of barrenness in my own life. How about you? Harboring any barrenness?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Serials and Scenarios - Jill E. Nelson Runs Off
Jill Elizabeth Nelson takes time away from her life of crime to answer some questions.
Pick one…..Pink iguana, purple cow, periwinkle giraffe. Which one and why? Can be negative or positive.
Pink iguana. They’re cute, and to my surprise, pink is actually a good color for me. Besides, I’ve often wondered what the world would look like being that small and living so close to the ground. They eat leafy greens, fruits, and uncooked veggies, so I’d probably lose weight and be amazingly healthy. Also, I’d get to bask in the sun a lot.
What makes you feel alive?
Laughter. Something that’s genuinely funny without being crude, or gross, or mean. When I get to laughing so hard I can barely breathe, I start to sound like Muttley from those old Dastardly and Muttley cartoons. My family rolls their eyes and goes, “Here comes Muttley!” Then they laugh AT me, not WITH me. That’s fun, too.
Book, music, person, food you would take with you on a very long trip.
Book: The Bible (duh!) and several novels from my To Be Read pile, which currently includes The Novelist by Angela Hunt and Full Tilt by Creston Mapes, among others.
Music: Whisper to the Wild Waters by Maire Brennan, Unveiled by Jean Watson, Odyssey by David Meece, and Overtaken by the Christ for the Nations worship team (You said this is a LONG trip.)
CDs: scripture teaching by Keith Moore
Person: My wonderful husband
Food: Dill pickle chips and sunflower seeds (not chocolate—yeah, I know that makes my femininity suspect, but I’m just a salty gal. Ask my wonderful husband!)
Favorite season and why?
Indian summer. In Minnesota, that means gorgeous colors on the trees and blue skies and balmy temperatures to enjoy them with. Oh, and few bugs because there’s already been a freeze.
Which compliment related to your writing has meant the most and why?
A few months ago someone said they had to re-read my debut novel, Reluctant Burglar, because they couldn’t stand the wait until the release of Reluctant Runaway. She told me my book was destined to become dog-eared. I tell you, I sniffled out loud, because it is a rare compliment of the highest order to have someone RE-READ your book.
CREATIVE CORNER:
Pick a Genre - Describe a kiss….Suspense
From the man’s POV: Tony grasped her shoulders. “First off. Never—” he shook her—“and I mean never—” he shook her once more—“make yourself a target again.” He wrapped her so close he didn’t know if either of them could breathe. But breathing wasn’t important. Not at the moment. He lowered his head and his mouth trapped hers. (This is from Reluctant Burglar.)
From the woman’s POV: She grinned up at him, and he joined their lips. Gentle exploration deepened. She twined one arm around his neck, fingers playing in his springy hair. The other went around his back. His hands caressed her ribs, the side of one leg. A melting sensation flowed through her veins. (This is from Reluctant Runaway. And yes, this is a CBA novel. You’ll just have to read the book to find out where I go with this and why it has the blessing of my editor.)
Pick one of the “story starters” below and give us a sample of your voice.
Swirling leaves, riding the chill wind, danced up Leisel's airline hostess skirt.
The leaves weren’t the only things stirred by the breeze, which now carried the cloying scent of death.
If only she’d gone straight home from the airport instead of stopping at Tyler Park to clear her head. Why had she thought a walk in the fresh air would do her good? As if she didn’t have enough trouble, she’d found a dead body, for crying out loud.
Her throat burned, and she swallowed, hands fisting in the pockets of her cardigan. And why had she gotten carried away with the Christian duty drilled into her from childhood and called the cops and actually waited around for them? But she’d kept thinking about the poor man’s family, so she hadn’t done the smart thing, and now she was going to be in big trouble with—
“Miss?” A plain-clothes officer beckoned from the swarm of police and crime scene personnel buzzing around the shallow gulley where it lay.
He. Leisel forced her feet to move toward the officer. Not long ago, the body down there had been a living, breathing man. From the blond hair untouched by gray and the well-worn jeans, probably a student from the nearby university campus. But now it—he—was . . . Don’t think. Just answer questions and get out of here.
“Yes, Detective.” She stopped in front of the bushy-browed man.
Both brows went up and then snapped down as he studied a note pad where he’d already recorded her brief statement. He lifted his gaze to hers, blue eyes flat and cold. “You said you didn’t touch the body and only approached to within a few feet of it. Is that correct?”
Leisel stifled a sharp laugh. So the police called him it, too. Not inappropriate, after all, for a lump of clay minus the soul. “That’s right. I had no reason to check for a pulse. Not with the smell and the blood and the flies. . .” Stomach rolling, she stared at the toes of her loafers.
A big hand squeezed her shoulder. Leisel looked up. The detective’s blue eyes had softened.
“We’ve got your contact information if we have any more questions,” he said. “Let me round up a uniform to escort you to your car.”
Leisel shook her head. “Not necessary. I came here for a walk, and right now, that’s exactly what I need to do.”
“Suit yourself.” The officer shut his note pad, his gaze moving past her to activity beyond.
Hugging herself, Leisel hurried away up the path and didn’t look back. Bryce would kill her if she drew any more attention from the authorities. There was too much at stake—for both of them. Kill her? Bad turn of phrase, but he’d sure murder her with his eyes, his voice. She’d been a fool ever to let that man back into her life. But she was in too deep now. No way out.
Happy weekend, Dregites... Thanks a bunch, Jill.
Pick one…..Pink iguana, purple cow, periwinkle giraffe. Which one and why? Can be negative or positive.
Pink iguana. They’re cute, and to my surprise, pink is actually a good color for me. Besides, I’ve often wondered what the world would look like being that small and living so close to the ground. They eat leafy greens, fruits, and uncooked veggies, so I’d probably lose weight and be amazingly healthy. Also, I’d get to bask in the sun a lot.
What makes you feel alive?
Laughter. Something that’s genuinely funny without being crude, or gross, or mean. When I get to laughing so hard I can barely breathe, I start to sound like Muttley from those old Dastardly and Muttley cartoons. My family rolls their eyes and goes, “Here comes Muttley!” Then they laugh AT me, not WITH me. That’s fun, too.
Book, music, person, food you would take with you on a very long trip.
Book: The Bible (duh!) and several novels from my To Be Read pile, which currently includes The Novelist by Angela Hunt and Full Tilt by Creston Mapes, among others.
Music: Whisper to the Wild Waters by Maire Brennan, Unveiled by Jean Watson, Odyssey by David Meece, and Overtaken by the Christ for the Nations worship team (You said this is a LONG trip.
CDs: scripture teaching by Keith Moore
Person: My wonderful husband
Food: Dill pickle chips and sunflower seeds (not chocolate—yeah, I know that makes my femininity suspect, but I’m just a salty gal. Ask my wonderful husband!)
Favorite season and why?
Indian summer. In Minnesota, that means gorgeous colors on the trees and blue skies and balmy temperatures to enjoy them with. Oh, and few bugs because there’s already been a freeze.
Which compliment related to your writing has meant the most and why?
A few months ago someone said they had to re-read my debut novel, Reluctant Burglar, because they couldn’t stand the wait until the release of Reluctant Runaway. She told me my book was destined to become dog-eared. I tell you, I sniffled out loud, because it is a rare compliment of the highest order to have someone RE-READ your book.
CREATIVE CORNER:
Pick a Genre - Describe a kiss….Suspense
From the man’s POV: Tony grasped her shoulders. “First off. Never—” he shook her—“and I mean never—” he shook her once more—“make yourself a target again.” He wrapped her so close he didn’t know if either of them could breathe. But breathing wasn’t important. Not at the moment. He lowered his head and his mouth trapped hers. (This is from Reluctant Burglar.)
From the woman’s POV: She grinned up at him, and he joined their lips. Gentle exploration deepened. She twined one arm around his neck, fingers playing in his springy hair. The other went around his back. His hands caressed her ribs, the side of one leg. A melting sensation flowed through her veins. (This is from Reluctant Runaway. And yes, this is a CBA novel. You’ll just have to read the book to find out where I go with this and why it has the blessing of my editor.)
Pick one of the “story starters” below and give us a sample of your voice.
Swirling leaves, riding the chill wind, danced up Leisel's airline hostess skirt.
The leaves weren’t the only things stirred by the breeze, which now carried the cloying scent of death.
If only she’d gone straight home from the airport instead of stopping at Tyler Park to clear her head. Why had she thought a walk in the fresh air would do her good? As if she didn’t have enough trouble, she’d found a dead body, for crying out loud.
Her throat burned, and she swallowed, hands fisting in the pockets of her cardigan. And why had she gotten carried away with the Christian duty drilled into her from childhood and called the cops and actually waited around for them? But she’d kept thinking about the poor man’s family, so she hadn’t done the smart thing, and now she was going to be in big trouble with—
“Miss?” A plain-clothes officer beckoned from the swarm of police and crime scene personnel buzzing around the shallow gulley where it lay.
He. Leisel forced her feet to move toward the officer. Not long ago, the body down there had been a living, breathing man. From the blond hair untouched by gray and the well-worn jeans, probably a student from the nearby university campus. But now it—he—was . . . Don’t think. Just answer questions and get out of here.
“Yes, Detective.” She stopped in front of the bushy-browed man.
Both brows went up and then snapped down as he studied a note pad where he’d already recorded her brief statement. He lifted his gaze to hers, blue eyes flat and cold. “You said you didn’t touch the body and only approached to within a few feet of it. Is that correct?”
Leisel stifled a sharp laugh. So the police called him it, too. Not inappropriate, after all, for a lump of clay minus the soul. “That’s right. I had no reason to check for a pulse. Not with the smell and the blood and the flies. . .” Stomach rolling, she stared at the toes of her loafers.
A big hand squeezed her shoulder. Leisel looked up. The detective’s blue eyes had softened.
“We’ve got your contact information if we have any more questions,” he said. “Let me round up a uniform to escort you to your car.”
Leisel shook her head. “Not necessary. I came here for a walk, and right now, that’s exactly what I need to do.”
“Suit yourself.” The officer shut his note pad, his gaze moving past her to activity beyond.
Hugging herself, Leisel hurried away up the path and didn’t look back. Bryce would kill her if she drew any more attention from the authorities. There was too much at stake—for both of them. Kill her? Bad turn of phrase, but he’d sure murder her with his eyes, his voice. She’d been a fool ever to let that man back into her life. But she was in too deep now. No way out.
Happy weekend, Dregites... Thanks a bunch, Jill.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Scribbles and Scrambles - Wanna Go On a Picnic?
Michelle, my little crazy Minnesota buddy, is driving to Iowa to see me.
I’ve promised her chocolate and French Press.
And the zoo (our infamous world renowned Omaha Henry Doorly Zoo), an art show, a few laughs and a little culture.
Since you all can’t be with us, here’s a recipe for what we’re eating at our zoo picnic.
Chicken Salad Sandwiches (I know mayo and picnics – they’ll be on ice!)
Diced Cooked Chicken Meat
Chopped pecans
Diced onions
Orzo or couscous pasta cooked to directions (sold in a small box in the pasta.)
Chopped red seedless grapes
Mix together according to taste and then add mayonnaise or Miracle Whip
Serve on whole grain bread with lettuce or not.
And if you want some serious killer brownies…use a mix, fix according to package, pop the batter into the pan as directed. Sprinkle broken heath bars (they sell bags of crushed by the chocolate chips) over the top along with mini-semi-sweet choc chips. (about a ½ 12 ounce bag of each for a 9 x 13 pan) Bake at the lower end of instructed time so they are gooey – do not overbake.
Dang good.
I’ve promised her chocolate and French Press.
And the zoo (our infamous world renowned Omaha Henry Doorly Zoo), an art show, a few laughs and a little culture.
Since you all can’t be with us, here’s a recipe for what we’re eating at our zoo picnic.
Chicken Salad Sandwiches (I know mayo and picnics – they’ll be on ice!)
Diced Cooked Chicken Meat
Chopped pecans
Diced onions
Orzo or couscous pasta cooked to directions (sold in a small box in the pasta.)
Chopped red seedless grapes
Mix together according to taste and then add mayonnaise or Miracle Whip
Serve on whole grain bread with lettuce or not.
And if you want some serious killer brownies…use a mix, fix according to package, pop the batter into the pan as directed. Sprinkle broken heath bars (they sell bags of crushed by the chocolate chips) over the top along with mini-semi-sweet choc chips. (about a ½ 12 ounce bag of each for a 9 x 13 pan) Bake at the lower end of instructed time so they are gooey – do not overbake.
Dang good.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Serials and Scenarios - Reluctant Runaway
Click on the picture to go visit the Reluctant Runaway Amazon page.
Visit Jill's website...
Come back Friday for Jill's Q & A....
My Review:
Part action packed who-done-what and part romantic suspense, I found myself sucked into Reluctant Runaway. I didn't meet the crime fighting duo of Desi and Tony in the Reluctant Burglar but Nelson did a great job at sharing enough details of the first book without oversharing and intruding on the story at hand.
Several amusing scenes interspersed with cliffhangers made the read roller coasty. Forgiveness is a huge spiritual theme as is discernment and the danger of tiny shifts in the Gospel message.
If you enjoyed book one in the series, you're going to want to get your hands on Reluctant Runaway as soon as possible. If you like romantic suspense, strong female leads and sassy talk -- you'll likely enjoy this novel.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Scribbles and Scrambles - Not the Cutest Parent Anymore
I’ve been usurped. I’ve had to hand over my wand and crown.
I’m not the cutest parent in our house anymore. Rob is.
Because of technology.
Oh, I’m sure I’ll get it back because they love to laugh at me when I’m disciplining them. But for now, I’m feeling the sting of lost position.
For Father’s Day Rob received an I-Pod Shuffle. Now that little buggar is cute. (the I-Pod, well…Rob’s pretty cute, too) It’s the size of a book of matches. Do people still carry those? And it holds 248 songs. Our song diva (who boasts 3,000+ songs on her own I-Pod – the queen mother-sized one) loaded Rob’s tiny little music source, taught him how to use it and sent him on his way. But because he’s not up on the whole techie lingo, he’s cute.
So just because in our day we hefted music around on our shoulders, he gets to be cute. Just because we couldn’t afford a bomb box in the day and had to rely on really loud car stereos…he’s cute.
But I have to admit those dangly white cords and the head bobbing thing is pretty attractive. And I suppose he’ll let me borrow it every once in awhile. After all, I do know how to recharge it.
Hopefully they won’t ever get him a blue tooth phone.
I’m not the cutest parent in our house anymore. Rob is.
Because of technology.
Oh, I’m sure I’ll get it back because they love to laugh at me when I’m disciplining them. But for now, I’m feeling the sting of lost position.
For Father’s Day Rob received an I-Pod Shuffle. Now that little buggar is cute. (the I-Pod, well…Rob’s pretty cute, too) It’s the size of a book of matches. Do people still carry those? And it holds 248 songs. Our song diva (who boasts 3,000+ songs on her own I-Pod – the queen mother-sized one) loaded Rob’s tiny little music source, taught him how to use it and sent him on his way. But because he’s not up on the whole techie lingo, he’s cute.
So just because in our day we hefted music around on our shoulders, he gets to be cute. Just because we couldn’t afford a bomb box in the day and had to rely on really loud car stereos…he’s cute.
But I have to admit those dangly white cords and the head bobbing thing is pretty attractive. And I suppose he’ll let me borrow it every once in awhile. After all, I do know how to recharge it.
Hopefully they won’t ever get him a blue tooth phone.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Serials and Scenarios - Sharon Hinck'sThe Restorer
Happy Monday. Hope all the fathers out there had a happy Father's Day. I'm posting a book review today, with an mini-terview with the author. Fantasy and Sci-Fi readers (or those of you who like good and entertaining stories) click on the book cover for more info.
My Review
A peculiar and refreshing blend of the feel of Dekker’s Black, Red and White, Stephen Lawhead’s The Song of Albion series and chick-lit – the Restorer is a fantasy read that twists and turns, convicts and concerns, delights and despairs.
I’m not a sci-fi or fantasy fan because I struggle with the bizarre details of alternate realities. I have enough trouble with my own reality, thank you very much. But Hinck has woven a fascinating story.
As Susan’s life in an alternate universe progressed, the story grew stronger and more poignant. I was transfixed by the writing and the drama of the moments as Susan, beset by a series of crises, rose to her calling. The Restorer, the story, grew into its own just like Susan the pouty housewife grew into her role. The ending, a bit rushed, especially after the rich story telling that preceded it, was the major struggle I had with the novel and the main reason I’m giving The Restorer a 4 instead of a 4 ½.
I asked Sharon Hinck to share some dregs and this is what she gave me.
Fiction character you would most like to be or most identify with and why?
Father Tim in the Jan Karon “Mitford” books, because he is gently sharing God’s grace to everyone around him and doesn’t even know it. He is always available for God’s interruptions, and loves and appreciates even the quirkiest of folks around him.
Aragorn from Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” because people think he’s just a Ranger, but he’s so much more.
Anne (of Green Gables) by L.M. Montgomery – especially in “Anne’s House of Dreams” and other later stories when Anne is a wife and mom. Because she saw beauty, wrote, and loved well.
What crayon in the box describes you on a good day? Bad day? Which one do you aspire to be?
Sky blue on a good day – looking into things eternal, translucent, imbued with sunlight.
Deep gray on the bad days – matte, heavy, lifeless, and heading toward midnight.
I aspire to be the copper crayon – shiny, with earthy tone, impurities burned away, and able to reflect and sparkle
Deep gray on the bad days – matte, heavy, lifeless, and heading toward midnight.
I aspire to be the copper crayon – shiny, with earthy tone, impurities burned away, and able to reflect and sparkle
Pick one…..Pink iguana, purple cow, periwinkle giraffe. Which one and why? Can be negative or positive.
Purple Cow. Because it reminds me of how my mom always recited poems and ditties to me while pushing me on the swings when I was three or four. “I never met a purple cow. I never hope to see one. But I can tell you anyhow, I’d rather see than be one.”
Favorite chore
Weeding the garden. Something to spiritual and visceral about tugging away the thistles and quackgrass so the vegetables aren’t choked. (Although I hate bugs and creepy-crawlies, so I’m always getting startled by beetles infesting the strawberries, or dive-bombed by wasps, or turning over a leaf and finding a green worm that needs to be squished, or even having a toad jump out of bush beans and scare me – that part I don’t like).
Thanks, Sharon. Nice of you to drop by.
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