Category: everyday musings
Fiction Friday: The Next Chapter Chapter 1
I wasn’t sure about blogging a fiction story again, but, it’s kind of fun so I thought I’d share a little of The Next Chapter, which is the next book in the Spencer Valley Chronicles.
If you haven’t read the other books, you don’t have to to read this, but if you want some background on some of the characters who are mentioned, you can find the first book in the series, The Farmer’s Daughter, and the second book, Harvesting Hope, on Amazon.
If you are new to Fiction Friday, I share stories I am working on and there is always a good chance there will be typos and errors. I edit the story again before I later publish it through Amazon as a book.
Anyhow . . . let us begin The Next Chapter.
Chapter 1
Giving birth to a baby in the front of a pickup truck on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere was not what Liz Cranmer had planned when she told the midwife she wanted a natural birth. Even more mortifying had been whose pickup it had been.
If she hadn’t been in so much pain in the moment when Matt McGee had jumped into position to catch the baby, she would been overwhelmed by mortifying horror.
Even in the midst of humiliation, she couldn’t deny that the calming tone of his voice had helped keep her from completely freaking out. “Don’t worry, Liz,” he said. “I’m trained for this. It’s going to be fine.”
Fine? No.
Nothing was fine about giving birth to a baby in the front seat of the truck of the man she’d gone on three dates with before — well, before this baby had taken up residence inside her womb.
Her heart had hammered inside her ribcage like a trapped bird throughout the entire ordeal, which gratefully had only taken about 15 minutes. All those warnings her birthing instructor had given her, reminding her that a first baby would lead to a long, drawn-out birth process, had turned out to be completely wrong.
Now, alone in a hospital room, starring at a sleeping baby in a portable hospital crib, her heart was at it again, her breathing racing to keep up with it.
A baby.
They are sending me home with a baby? Me?
Had the doctor and nurses lost their minds?
She was barely able to take care of herself most days, let alone a baby.
Still, she was the one who’d decided she wanted to keep this baby. Who else would the hospital send her home with?
Her.
Wow.
Liz let out a long breath.
The baby, who Liz hadn’t even named yet.
Naming the tiny form next to her wasn’t even on her radar at the moment. Trying to slow her breathing was.
Another panic attack. Great.
She’d had three in the last six hours since her parents, best friend, and — good grief — Matt had gone home to get some sleep, or rather, so she could get some sleep.
Sleep. Yeah right. That would be nice. If she could get it.
She’d slept two hours and been awake ever since, her mind racing and screaming for some sort of normalcy.
She supposed she should notify the nurse she was having panic attacks, but maybe it was normal for a woman to have panic attacks after having a baby on her own, without a father, and after lying to her best friend about how she became pregnant in the first place.
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the grounding exercise the therapist she’d gone to a couple of years ago had taught her.
What was it again? Three things you can touch, smell, and see? It probably wasn’t that at all but at this moment it was all she had to go on.
Three things to touch. She looked around frantically then ran the palm of her hand across the surface of the sheets on the bed under her, taking a deep breath. Soft, smooth, cool. Cool except under her leg where it had been touching the bed.
The side table where the nurse had placed the lunch she hadn’t been able to eat. Smooth surface, except for — ew. Something sticky on the corner. Probably maple syrup from the pancakes she hadn’t eaten earlier in the day, but her mom had tried to get her to eat.
Teddy bear. She squeezed it between her hands, felt the softness of it and took another breath.
Getting better. Breathing slower, heartrate down.
Okay. Three things she could smell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The sweet smell of the spilled maple syrup, for one. Two . . . oh no.
She leaned her head toward the crib and sniffed.
The baby obviously needed changing. She hoped the nurse would come in soon and show her how to do that.
Never mind the third thing to smell. Her sense of smell had been destroyed by the dirty diaper.
Her heartrate was practically normal now and her breathing was slowing. Still, three things to see . . . Um.
The bright sunflowers across the room by the window from her best friend Molly. There was one.
She stopped focusing on her racing heart and the tremor in her hands as she searched for something else to identify.
Her gaze drifted across the room toward the doorway, searching for two more things to see. Sunlight sending patterns of light across the wardrobe where her mom had placed her duffle bag, an extra pillow and some “going home” clothes for the baby.
Her eyes moved again, searching.
A police officer in full uniform, leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, smirking.
Oh no.
Her heartrate increased again. So much for calming her racing heart, but at least the panic attack had subsided some.
The police officer’s smirk faded, and he stepped forward into the room, a much more serious expression on his face now.
“I was going to say I caught you not sleeping, but I don’t think you’re in the mood for teasing.” He stopped a foot from her, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You’re very pale.”
Matt McGee and his infuriating perceptive tendencies.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine.”
She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “I’m just a little anxious about everything. I’m sure it’s just a hormone shift.”
When she opened her eyes, she could tell he wasn’t buying it. Luckily, he didn’t have time to tell her he wasn’t buying it.
Nurse Wendy, all 5 feet 1 inches of her, swept into the room with her usual perky demeanor.
“How are we doing in here? Were you able to get any rest? That little precious bundle of joy wasn’t keeping you up, was she?”
Liz shook her head. “She’s been sleeping the whole time. My brain just won’t shut off.”
The nurse sniffed. “Oh. I guess she was doing a little business during her sleeping.”
“Yeah, I hadn’t got over there yet.” Liz’s face flushed warm. She wasn’t about to tell the nurse how terrified she was of changing the baby’s diaper.
The nurse probably knew by how she let out a soft chuckle as she reached for the diaper under the crib.
“It takes a bit to get used to it.” She winked. “I’ll give you a few pointers to help you feel more confident.”
With the baby changed and her hands washed, Wendy turned back to the paperwork she’d carried in with her.
“So have you had time to think of a name for the baby? We’ve got the birth certificate paperwork here.”
Liz had been thinking about a name, had run it by her mom and Molly before they’d left, but she hesitated. Choosing the name for a child was a big responsibility. What if she grew up to hate her own name? Or her nickname? Liz wasn’t necessarily fond of the way her name had been shortened from Elizabeth to Liz, but she also couldn’t imagine herself as an Elizabeth since it sounded so pretentious to her and contrary to her personality.
She took a deep breath. The baby had to have a name. She’d better just go for it.
“Isabella Molly Cranmer.”
The nurse smiled. “That’s a beautiful name.” She filled in the paper then looked up. “Okay, so, now we have the baby and mom’s name. All we need is the father’s name.”
Liz’s hands went numb. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She looked at her hands in her lap and twisted them together for a few moments before looking back up.
The nurse glanced at Matt and smiled. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Liz played with the edge of her blanket, avoiding eye contact, but shifting her gaze to Matt briefly.
Matt stared blankly at the nurse for a few seconds before appearing to register the reason for her pointed expression.
Liz looked between the two, startled realization slamming into her. “Um — oh. No. He’s not —”
“It’s Matt.” He shifted himself between the bed and the nurse, tilting his head to look at the paper in the nurse’s hand. “Or Matthew rather. Matthew McGee. That’s McGee with the G capitalized.”
Liz’s eyes widened and she shook her head ever so slightly. “What are you doing?” she mouthed, only he wasn’t looking at her. His back was to her. He was still looking over the nurses’ shoulder, checking her spelling. “Yep. That’s right.”
“Middle name?” the nurse asked.
Whose middle name? Matt’s? Liz didn’t even know his middle name.
“Matthew Grant McGee.”
Grant. Oh. That was a nice middle name. His grandfather’s last name had been Grant maybe that was —
“After my grandfather,” he told Wendy, as if she had asked. “He and his siblings didn’t have any sons, so I carry on the Grant name as my middle name.”
Wendy glanced up, smiled. “That’s nice.” She finished writing and picked up the paper, then paused, brow furrowing. “Oh wait. We wrote the baby’s last name down as Cramner. Shouldn’t we have —”
Liz imagined her heartrate must be at a thousand beats per minute at this point.
“Oh right.” Matt smiled. Liz scowled at him. He sure was quick on his feet today. She planned to knock him off those feet as soon as this nurse left.
He cleared his throat, focusing his gaze on Liz. “Well, it’s just —”
Wendy held up a hand. “You’re not married. No problem at all. I apologize. That’s really none of my business.”
Matt coughed nervously. “Oh, gosh, no. It’s okay, it’s just —”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, hon’.” Wendy smiled and winked. “Happens all the time these days.” She slid the birth certificate under the clip on her clipboard. “Okay then, mom and dad, I’ll get this paperwork to the records office, they’ll send it on to the state health department and in six weeks or so you will have an official birth certificate for little Isabella here.”
Liz’s chest constricted. An official birth certificate with Matt’s name listed as the father of her child.
As soon as the nurse left the room, Liz looked at Matt, who was clearly refusing to make eye contact. He was bent over the crib smiling at the child he’d just claimed as his own.
“What was that, Matt?” she hissed.
He looped his finger under Isabella’s tiny fingers, glancing at Liz. “What was what?”
Liz tilted her gaze to the ceiling and huffed out a breath. “Are you serious? You can’t just say you’re her father. I mean that nurse is taking it to the official records office. They’re sending it to the state. Isn’t that like fraud or something? We could get arrested.”
Matt laughed softly, his eyes still on the baby. “Arrested for what? For making sure your crazy ex-boyfriend has no say in the life of this gorgeous little girl?” He looked over at Liz. “Or do you want Gabe in both of your lives?”
Her blood ran cold. Of course, she didn’t want Gabe in her life again. She never should have had him in it the first place. She shook her head slowly, tears stinging her eyes.
“Then it’s done. No one else has to know we put me down as her dad anyhow. I just did it so she didn’t have to have Gabe’s name associated with her. It’s better that way.”
Liz swiped the edge of her finger under her eye. Why was Matt protecting her? They’d gone out on three dates and then — Gabe. That night at Gabe’s apartment when she let him talk her into . . .
Her eyes widened. She gasped. “They send those to the newspaper. Go catch that nurse. Ask her to keep our names off that list.”
For the first time, Matt looked alarmed at what he’d done. Did he really want everyone at his job and church knowing, or rather believing, he’d fathered a baby out of wedlock? Liz didn’t think so.
“I’ll talk to the nurse on my way out,” he said with a shrug. “It’ll be fine.”
It will be fine? Was that his favorite word? Fine. Was he serious? Nothing about all of this — from having a baby without a husband to Matt claiming Isabella as his own — was fine.
“She’s fussy,” he said as the baby squirmed in the crib. “You want me to bring her to you?”
Why would she want him to bring the baby to him? What was she supposed to do?
Oh, right. She was her mother and early this morning, in a total state of exhaustion, she’d told the nurse she planned to breastfeed.
Her.
Liz Cramner. Royal screw up, actually thought she could breastfeed a baby. What had she been thinking? She had obviously been reading too many baby books or something.
When the lactation consultant had shown her how to help the baby latch on, she’d been terrified her idea of breastfeeding would be a failure. It hadn’t failed, though. Isabella had latched on immediately, her little fingers lightly touching her own cheek as she suckled. The warmth of the newborn’s body against Liz’s bare chest had stilled her racing heart for the first time since her water had broken while she and Matt were walking along the lake.
She watched Matt slide his hands under Isabella’s tiny head and body, scooping her into his arms like he’d held a baby a thousand times before. Had he held a baby a thousand times before? Liz wasn’t sure. She knew he had a brother and sister, a couple nieces and nephews. How did she not know more about them or about Matt in general? Maybe because for the last year and a half she’d been so focused on herself she hadn’t bothered to even ask or notice.
Matt cradled Isabella as he walked. Liz marveled at the way he held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, the smile curving his mouth upward as he looked down at her. “Hey, there, little one. How are you today? Are you ready for Mama to hold you again?”
Mama.
Liz’s breath caught, taking in the word, the scene before her.
A mom? Her?
It was surreal.
As surreal as Officer Matt McGee, the man she knew was way too good for her, bending toward her, laying a baby in her arms. A baby that wasn’t even his but who he had claimed as his own only moments before.
“She’s got your eyes,” he said softly.
Liz swallowed hard, looking into tiny eyes taking in everything around her, then focusing on the face of the woman who gave birth to her.
But she’s got Gabe’s nose and ears, Liz thought, a hard knot forming in her stomach.
Oh, Matt, she should have your nose and ears. How could I have been so stupid?
The fallacy of the current narrative that the unvaccinated deserve to die
I am trying to keep my blog as free of politics as possible these days, but I don’t think what I am going to talk about today is related to politics – it is related to ethics and morality.
I’ve been seeing a lot of comments online recently from celebrities, politicians, clergy and many others that if people choose not to vaccinate then they should not be allowed to be treated at a hospital if they contract a serious case of COVID-19.
Dolly Parton’s sister Stella Parton was one of these people and she was so pissed off that I questioned her reasoning that she blocked me on Instagram earlier today. More power to her.
The problem is people like Stella Parton paint everything with one broad brush stroke and don’t stop to think that not everyone who doesn’t get vaccinated is doing it to prove a political point. We aren’t all screaming or holding protest signs or declaring our rights are being violated (even though they very well are in many ways). We aren’t all belligerent and telling people who got the vaccine they are stupid and “indoctrinated”. Most of us believe those who got the vaccine did what they felt was right for them. They made their own medical decision for their own personal experience and many of us believe we have the right to do the same. Most of us would like to make this decision quietly but sometimes we also think we should stand up for those being bullied and shamed for their medical conditions.
I have a family member with Epstein Barr who can’t have the vaccine right now because the virus is currently active in their body. Their doctor has warned that any vaccine – including COVID-19 – could trigger an even worse reaction. This person can barely function each day because of the virus already ravaging their system. Should they be sentenced to death if they get COVID because they contracted a virus they didn’t ask for? Epstein isn’t a virus that can be avoided by wearing a mask, by the way.
Pete Prada is the drummer for the band The Offspring. He has Guillain-Barré Syndrome, a rare disorder where his immune system attacks his nerves. He was told by his doctors that getting the vaccine could make his condition even worse. He couldn’t imagine it being even worse, so he didn’t get it. His band decided he was a threat to others, and he decided to step down from his band and their tour, giving up his lifelong dream of being a drummer in an internationally successful band. He’s been very gracious to his band, didn’t whine, didn’t condemn them, simply explained his position. Yet he is being mocked, ridiculed, and called a liar online.
According to the BBC News, “The drummer, who is in his late 40s, said he caught Covid over a year ago and only had mild symptoms, “so I am confident I’d be able to handle it again”, he wrote.
“But I’m not so certain I’d survive another post-vaccination round of Guillain-Barré syndrome.”
There are some cancer patients who can get the vaccine and some, because of how weak their systems are, who can’t. It can be a benefit or a detriment depending on the cancer, the stage, the treatment, etc.
We hear over and over again we have to get the vaccine to protect those types of people, but it seems to be “those types of people” who are being marginalized and told they are crappy people for not getting a vaccine.
I’ve even read comments to the effect of “The CDC says anyone can take the vaccine. You’re a liar” to people with legit medical concerns.
I have been battling auto immune issues for over ten years now. I have been told by doctors, family members, former friends and even the wife of a former pastor that I am a hypochondriac, that my symptoms are in my head, that I am a woman, I am depressed, I am fat, I am … whatever they want to say to get me out the door because they don’t want to listen to me anymore. I have stopped going to doctors and mainly treat myself, other than going to get prescriptions for my thyroid medication. You can only be told so many times that you have a mental illness and are a liar before you finally give up. Why go to people who have no interest in helping you anyhow?
Anything I take upsets my system it seems, and I am often times back to square one: getting sick easily, shaking, trembling, vibrating, aching muscles, dizzy, lightheaded, vertigo, weak, exhausted, brain fog, rashes, stomach issues, irritable bowel syndrome, over active bladder, bladder spasms, excruciating menstrual pain, sleep issues, overwhelming anxiety, ocular migraines, hyperventilating, difficulty breathing, hot flashes, crushing fatigue, etc. And this is when I’m ON my thyroid medication. I have even tried to pretend I don’t have symptoms to try to make all those people who told me I let my anxiety and dillusions rule me. Funny enough, pretending I didn’t feel like crap didn’t work.
In the last two years I have been able to manage my symptoms with lifestyle changes or natural supplements to the point I can at least function some days, and on a few days out of the month I can function amazingly well. Someone like me looks at a vaccine like the one put out for COVID and goes – “okay. I can take the risk that this vaccine is going to flare me up to the point I can’t take care of my children, or I can take the risk that I catch a virus that may or may not kill me.”
There are ways I can protect myself from COVID or be treated for it if I do contract it.
Once the vaccine is in my system?
There is nothing I can do. It will run its course and no antibody treatment, natural supplement, or any other intervention, will stop it. It will invade my cells not just for the course of a virus but for the rest of my life. I will never know if the pain I am suffering from is from my condition or is from the effects of the vaccine. I will never be allowed to question it either. I will never be allowed to say to a doctor, “I think the vaccine caused this” because then I will be labeled an evil, hateful, spiteful, anti-science, Trump-supporting, MAGA, anti-vaxx piece of garbage. These are all terms and words I’ve seen thrown at anyone who has expressed concern or asked questions before getting the vaccine.
There is a huge possibility that I will be in even worse shape than I was before because now I’m not only a “hypochondriac woman prone to self-focused and attention-seeking fits of delusion” but also a conspiracy theorist who wants old people and children to die.
This is where we are in our world right now. You either inject yourself with something that could hurt you, or you are TRASH.
I didn’t ask for the autoimmune issues I have going on. I never ate horribly, smoked, did drugs, drank or did anything knowingly that would bring these conditions on. I don’t drink alcohol, don’t eat fast food (other than a few fries from my kid’s meals), limit my sugar (other than a Hershey bar here and there), don’t have sodas (other than a natural one I finally found that doesn’t cause me issues), don’t smoke (never have, even though my local doctor wrote on my paper I had been a smoker for years and refused to stop. Ummm…what?). I eat vegetables and fruit, meats, limited dairy, no gluten, take elderberry every day, don’t exercise the way I should but am working on it, and I’ve been tested for diabetes and heart issues and told repeatedly I’m fine.
Do I deserve to die if I contract COVID 19 and need to go into the hospital?
Does my family member?
Does Pete Prada?
Does someone with cancer?
Does anyone who medically can’t take the vaccine?
Many would say, no, but Stella Parton and those like her? They don’t differentiate. They have lumped us in with people screaming in the streets (which I still believe is their right as an American, even if I don’t approve of some of their behaviors) and have called for our deaths. If they had it their way, as one commenter said to me, they would make a list of us so we can be attacked, ridiculed and shamed, adding all that to the other issues we have to deal with day in and day out.
They know what they are saying.
They know how they really feel and to them the answer is YES. They believe that I, and many others like me, deserve to die, because we chose to protect our health over their comfort.
Sunday Bookends: Rom-coms and classics, mysteries and homeschool
Welcome to Sunday Bookends where I share what I’m reading, watching, listening to, writing and doing.
What I’m Reading
I finished Husband Auditions by Angela Ruth Strong this week and enjoyed it. The ending was not what I was expecting, which was a bit disappointing, but also refreshing. If you read the book, you’ll know what I mean. It was a well-written, romantic comedy with a Christian message, but not a “beat you over the head” Christian message. The message was more about how God wants us to approach marriage and that didn’t come until toward the end of the book. The rest of the book was full of humorous and witty exchanges among the characters.
I’ll offer more of a review in a couple of weeks during a blog tour I am a part of.
I have a couple more books to read for blog tours in the next few weeks. The next one is a children’s book, so it shouldn’t take me long.
I am determined to finish Anne of Green Gables this week after I set it aside a few weeks ago and never got back to it.
I am also hoping to read more of Another Man’s Moccasins by Craig Johnson.
What I’m Watching
I started watching The House of Elliott, a show on Acorn TV about two sisters who are searching for ways to support themselves after their doctor father dies and they learn he spent his money on a life they didn’t know about.
The show is from the early 90s and I don’t know much else because if I look it up, it will ruin the story for me, I’m sure.
It’s very interesting so far.
My husband and I have also been watching Poirot and To the Manor Born.
We also started watching McDonald and Dodds, a British crime show and so far we really like it. We especially liked Dodds character.
What’s Been Occurring
This past week I started writing down lesson plans for our first week of school next week, which will actually be a half week. We start on Wednesday.
My son’s assignments overwhelmed me a little because there is so much to his Social Studies. The curriculum doubles as English and I already know I’m going to have some arguments about the books he’s being asked to read, but hopefully he will get over it without too much drama.
I also panicked a little because I didn’t have a science curriculum for Little Miss yet but then I discovered I had picked up a science book last year that will work perfect for her until I decide on a set curriculum. She’s in first grade, so I’m not as stressed about her science as I was my son’s.
I think reading will probably be the easiest for my daughter to tackle this year since she’s been reading and typing full sentences this summer while playing online games or games with her brother.
Then again, she also really loves math, so that may go pretty good as well. We shall see.
The big goal this year is for me not to freak out and feel like I’m not doing enough, which is my usual trap throughout the school year.
What Was on the Blog Last Week
Last week I posted Hometown Views: Main Streets with Erin from Still Life, With Cracker Crumbs;
Scranton? Why? What’s in Scranton?
This week I am hoping to work more on The Next Chapter so I can hit a February deadline and maybe release the book in April of next year. I might start to share it on the blog for Fiction Friday, but I haven’t decided yet.
That’s my week in review. How about your week? Reading anything interesting? Watching anything good? Let me know in the comments.
And if you would like to join me in the future for Sunday Bookends, write your post and leave me a link in the comments. I hope to figure out a way to add a sign up link to the posts, but I haven’t figured that out yet. Hopefully in a future week.
If you want to keep up on my fiction writing, you can follow me on Instagram or Facebook or MeWe.
Randomly Thinking: Brutal cats, black and white pets, the neighbors’ water hose and other random thoughts
I had planned to complete this Randomly Thinking post two Fridays ago, but obviously I am behind. Part of the reason is a yard sale we decided to throw together the one week. Before you ask, it was a failure. Tons of work, aching feet, total exhaustion and almost no profit at all. I’ve now sworn off all yard sales. The one good thing about the sale was being able to meet so many interesting people.
First there was Bread Santa, then Chatty Motorcycle Guy, Negotiating Jersey Woman, The Grandpa Car Club, and a few other characters. I’ve decided to break the yard sale out into a separate post for either this weekend or early next week.
***
My son showed me this cool interview with Elijah Wood where he had to eat hot wings while answering questions. There is some language in this one, if you are offended easily. I am sometimes, so that’s okay if you are.
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When I wrote my post about cats last week, I forgot to mention that six of my last seven pets have been all black or black and white. I have no idea why. Just worked out that way. In fact, the dog my family had as a child was also black and white.
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I believe I have mentioned this before on the blog, but I have a corn allergy. That means I can’t eat anything with corn. Corn is in everything, of course, due to high fructose corn syrup being such a cheap and popular sweetener. Our neighbors gave us some fresh New Jersey corn a couple of weeks ago and my kids were ecstatic since they don’t have a corn allergy.
My son pretended to make a sword out of an ear of corn and I joked with him that if he ever wants to keep me out of his room he could just line his door with corn. He took it a step further and said he would make corn syrup tipped arrows. That’s when I told him I am never buying him a bow and arrow.
***
I watered my neighbor’s garden while they were gone. They have a metal water hose, which is very light, if you don’t drag the entire thing off in one pile and twist it up and then try to drag it all up the hill to water the garden, which then results in you having to untangle it all again to wind it up on the hose holder.
I ended up with this thing wrapped all around me, twisted different directions, and had to call my son for help to get untangled. My neighbors have a very lovely house, garden and backyard and I was petrified I would somehow damage it. While trying to untangle the hose, I knocked over their watering can and broke the top off of it. Luckily, I was able to fix it, but then I tripped and knocked a couple of bricks they had for decorations and I really started to panic. What else was I going to break?
My son agreed to help me water the rest of her lovely flowers, even though she hadn’t asked me to, and Little Miss said she wanted to help too. So, after we wound the hose back up, we headed toward the front of the house and when I turned, I noticed every single one of our animals was following along. The dog was off her lead, the all-black cat, Pixel, is allowed outside and the kitten had escaped and climbed up the neighbor’s tree in their front yard.
I felt like the Clampets in Beverly Hillbillies. My daughter was putting flowers that had “fallen off” the neighbors’ flower display in their fountain (“It fell off! It did!”), my dog was trying to get into their house to see if they were there, so she could beg a treat off them, and I was dragging the kitten from the tree all while hissing, “Get out of there! You are going to damage their beautiful tree!”
Next time they go on vacation, I’m going to suggest they ask someone else to help out. Someone who isn’t completely inept.
By the way, when they got home, they let me know the hose was so heavy and hard to untangle because I had left the water on and when water is going through it, it is heavier. Sigh.
***
Our cat Pixel sometimes brings us dead mice, or at least leaves them dead on the back porch. My mom said cats are bringing you gifts when they bring you a dead animal they caught, so I guess that is what she is doing.
The other day my son went to bring the dog in, and the cat decided she would come in too. I heard this from where I was sitting in the living room, “No. Drop the mouse. You are not coming in here with that mouse.”
She dropped the mouse.
Straight in my husband’s work shoes.
Sadly, she retrieved it later. We were hopeful my husband would find the mouse when he went to put his shoes on later in the week.
The week after that, my son and husband were in the yard across the road from our house, cleaning up from the yard sale when my son said they heard high pitched squealing. They turned and Pixel came out of the bushes with a mouse in her jaws.
The Boy said it was awful and her eyes were wild. Worse, she dropped the mouse, smacked it around several times, playing with it, then caught it again and then started to eat it in front of my husband and son.
“I’m traumatized,” my son told me. “I will always hear the squeals of that poor mouse while she tortured it. She’s brutal.”
She came in later and cuddled with him, her brutality behind her.
***
The back of my ankle was cut a few weeks ago when the dog ran around me while on her lead and caught me, causing the lead to dig into my skin. I treated it every day for a couple of weeks and Little Miss enjoyed telling me that white blood cells were coming to help the cut heal. I have no idea how she knew that, but I was quite proud of her.
***
The Boy has become quite sensitive to the cold and when we visited my parents’ pool recently, he decided within three minutes the water was too cold and he wanted to get out.
Little Miss, 6, almost 7, announced to him, “You’ll be fine! You just need to get acclimated!”
***
The other day my husband told my son he was being dramatic to which my son replied, very dramatically, in a flawless British accent: “HOW DAAAARE YOU! I AM NOT DRAMATIC! I AM A PERFECTLY CALM PERSON, FATHER! I AM NOT DRAMATIC IN THE LEAST!”
For the record, our entire family is a bit dramatic at times, but none more so than my husband on some days (and me when it is time for my “time of the month”.).
***
My husband has started making comments about my son’s hair almost every day because it is growing long and curling in the front. My son had two bad haircut experiences and now refuses to go to a barber. My husband and I have agreed to let him be a teenager and express himself, but my husband still can’t resist trying to give him pointers about how to comb his hair.
“You know what I do with my hair?” my husband asked.
“Lost it?” my son asked.
There was a quick apology from The Boy who said he just couldn’t resist the slam because my husband left himself wide open.
***
My son and I were coming back from taking our dog to the groomers last week when a trashy song came on the radio. Within two seconds I knew that station needed to be changed and I did, much to the delight of my son who burst into laughter. He said my expression was pure “Mother Protecting Her Child From Dirty Lyrics.” He was right. That was one of the dirtiest songs I had ever heard, and it only took me two seconds to know it wasn’t going to get any better. And no, I have no idea who was singing.
So that’s my random thoughts for this time around.
How about you? What are some random thoughts or events you have had happen recently? Let me know in the comments.
Hometown Views: Main Street
Today Erin (Still Life, With Cracker Crumbs) and I are writing about main streets for our Hometown Views. Obviously, our main streets are going to be very different, since I live in a very small town and she lives in a city.
In fact, if Erin wants photos of her city’s Main Street, without too much traffic, she must wake up at 4 a.m., or ask a friend to take photos for her at 4 a.m. If I want a photo of my Main Street without traffic I simply walk down on a Sunday evening or any evening and take them because this town is dead most days of the week, but even more so on a Sunday afternoon or after 5 p.m.
Let me tell you something too, when I started writing this blog post, it spun me down into a rabbit hole of information, from online sources, local resources, and from stories from my mom and dad who remembered where this and that store used to be that isn’t there any longer. This journey even had me questioning my own sanity as I couldn’t remember some of the old stores or rows of buildings that used to be here and no longer are and had to wonder why. I apparently have Swiss cheese for a brain and forgot half of my childhood. It might be better that way, of course.
According to the VisitPA tourist site, Dushore was founded in 1859 and name after Aristide Aubert du Petit-Thouars, who was given the area to farm after traveling from France to Philadelphia and to French Azilum, which I believe I mentioned on this blog before was an area about 40 minutes from me where Marie Antoinette was going to be taken to before she was captured and beheaded. I don’t see how they got Dushore from his name, but let’s just go with that.
The first permanent settler was not the French dude, however. It was General Cornwallace Jackson if Wikipedia has it correct. The French dude (I simply don’t want to type his name out again, which I didn’t even type, I copy and pasted it) has his own Wikipedia page so he must be more important than General Jackson. After reading this on the Wikipedia page, “After having lost both legs and an arm, he continued to command from a bucket filled with wheat until he died,” I think I might want to read up more about this man in the future.
Main Street looked a lot different back in those early days of Dushore of course. Two big differences are the fact that an entire row of buildings on Main Street burned down in 1984 — an event I completely do not remember, but maybe because I was only 6 or 7 at the time — and another row across the street was torn down in the early 90s.
Dushore was our main town to shop in when I was growing up (other than Towanda, 15 minutes away), so I’m sure we must have gone in and out of those buildings, but I don’t remember them at all. Like any of them. For me, my memory starts when the Guthrie Clinic was on the corner, built where the old buildings that burned used to be. It probably starts there because I was in that office so much as a child with bladder infections, strep throat, and possible mono at least once, and when I was older, thyroid and blood sugar (low) issues.
While searching for information about the town online, I found a paper by a student of Penn State from several years ago suggesting the former Pealer’s Drug Store building be remodeled and revamped, to make it a centerpiece of Main Street. That remodeling has since been done and now the building is used for various events, including the county library’s trivia night fundraiser. I don’t know if it is the centerpiece of town, but it is a lovely looking building, which I pass to drive to my house.
Back in the day (as the saying goes), drug stores were a central location in town because they provided more than pharmaceuticals to residents. They were also the place people went to converse about life, purchase the local paper, buy candy, etc.
Speaking of the local paper, the current, and literal, the centerpiece of town is our county’s newspaper, The Sullivan Review.
The Sullivan Review is currently owned by my neighbor, John Shoemaker. It was founded in 1878. It merged with several other newspapers over the years, until it was purchased from the Towanda Printing Company in 1966 by Thomas and Stefana Shoemaker, to keep it from folding with the Towanda Daily Review, which was the paper I started my reporting career in. It is actually The Daily Review in Towanda now, but most people call it the “Towanda Daily Review.”
Local residents rarely called Thomas by his first name. I didn’t even know his first name was Thomas, or Tom, up until a few years ago. He was referred to as “Doc” by the locals because he was also the local veterinarian. We took all of our animals to him when I was growing up, and I have a couple of vivid memories of a couple of those visits, including the time we had to take our dog Sheba to him to have porcupine quills removed from her snout.
Another story involves our cat, Zorro, who we took there when he started to develop kidney issues. My dad warned me that Doc might seem rough when he handles the animals, but that he does care for the animals and isn’t trying to hurt them. I didn’t know what he meant until Doc grabbed my cat’s tail, yanked it up toward the sky in one quick jerk, and plopped a thermometer straight up his rear like he was putting birthday candles in a cake. Zorro yowled for a few moments but within a minute it was over and it was worth it because we discovered he had a fever and he ended up on antibiotics.
When Doc wasn’t taking care of area animals, large (he also visited local farms) and small, Doc was covering events for the paper, which comes out every Wednesday, I might add. It’s actually out on many store shelves by Tuesday night. I ran into Doc during quite a few events when I first started working in newspapers. His wife was by his side most of the time, one or both of them holding a camera. Doc is a blog post all on his own and I think I will write one soon. He was a fascinating man.
His son now runs the paper with his wife, Chris. Their daughter Kate also helps out. Their son, John, is a lawyer in town.
Yes, I have digressed, so moving on to the rest of Main Street.
The Jolly Trolley is another highlight of downtown, located directly in the center of Main Street, on the corner by the only stoplight in Sullivan County. Yes, our town is known for having the only stoplight in the entire county. It is the largest town in the county and the only one where drivers could collide with more than simply a bear, deer, or raccoon.
The Jolly Trolley wasn’t always the Jolly Trolley, of course. Today it is a local restaurant and retail store selling unique gifts.
Many years ago, though, it was the local Ben Franklin, owned by a Mr. Sick. Ben Franklin stores were a chain of five and dime stores. There was also one in Towanda, the town I mentioned before that we traveled to for groceries, shoes and clothing shopping, etc.
I don’t remember Mr. Sick much, other than he had blazing white hair and liked to hand me candy when we went in. I think he wore white shirts and a black tie or black suspenders most of the time. I also remember the store with its wooden floors, glass jars full of candy, and aisles full of a variety of crafts and other items.
Mr. Sick is also the main character in one of my dad’s favorite stories about being careful not to gossip or complain about people in a small town. According to Dad, Mr. Sick liked to talk a lot so he was talking to a woman for several moments and when he left the woman turned to the woman next to her and said, (I’m summarizing), “Oh my gosh. I thought he’d never leave. What an annoying man. He never shuts up. I don’t know how people can stand to listen to him all the time.”
The other woman responded, “I have to listen to him. He’s my husband.”
I am not exactly sure when Ben Franklin closed, but probably sometime in the 1990s since Mr. Sick passed away in 1995. The entire storefront has been completely revamped, since then and I think the red building it has become is a nice addition to downtown.
Little Miss, The Boy, and I have visited the restaurant a few times for lunch or breakfast and Little Miss loves to watch the little train along the top of the ceiling go around while we eat. The store also has a large, stuffed black bear standing by the register, which she likes to touch and look at while I pay. She also likes to run down the ramp into the toy section to search for a new toy to add to her collection. This is the same ramp if I remember right, that was there when the old Ben Franklin store was there.
Next to the Jolly Trolley is the NAPA store, which I don’t have any memories of because I am not sure I’ve ever been in it.
The only story I have from that store is one about my sister-in-law going there to purchase something when she was up to visit my brother (I don’t think she was my sister-in-law yet) and someone in the store made a disparaging remark about “flatlanders.” She is from New Jersey originally. Anyone who isn’t “from around here” and is from the southern part of the state or New Jersey is considered “a flatlander.” When you say “flatlander,” you say it much like I described how locals say Scranton when you mention you are going to visit there. Nose wrinkled, faced scrunched and the word dripping with disgust.
My sister-in-law ignored the comments, bought whatever she needed, and went next door to the Jolly Trolley where, after waiting for someone to take her owner, heard someone rudely call from behind the counter, “Did anyone wait on the flatlander yet?”
I haven’t heard of this happening to anyone recently and the person who made the crack in the restaurant could have been joking, or they should have been, considering a lot of the income of the businesses around here, especially the restaurants, relies on “flatlanders” who drive up from Philly and New Jersey to stay in cabins they rent or own in the wooded areas around us.
Beyond the NAPA is the CN Bank, or whatever they are calling it today. The name changed recently and will probably change again. Further down is Dushore Beverage, because every town, no matter how small, needs a liquor store.
Next to the liquor store is a small craft store run by some very nice people, including a woman who has a cat who jumps on her shoulder while she talks to customers. The cat then perches there like it’s a parrot.
Next in line on the street is a private residence and then a local insurance business in a former private residence. Crossing the street, you will find one of the other popular restaurants in town, Mary Beth’s Westside Deli, which is owned and operated by the town mayor. It offers cheesesteaks and other tasty items, as well as an ice cream stand that I have to take Little Miss to every time we visit the tiny playground. I have some humorous stories about visits there but to avoid offending anyone who might misunderstand if they stumble on to this post, I’m going to leave those stories out of this post. wink
Next to Mary Beth’s, going on the other side of Main Street, is one of our local grocery stores (yes, we have two!), Hurley’s Supermarket. I’m not sure what the building was before it was a supermarket, and my mom can’t remember either. I originally thought it was an Acme, but she thinks the Acme was actually in the row of buildings that has since been torn down.
There are two Hurley’s Supermarkets, with the second one being in . . . yes, Towanda.
There is a large municipal parking lot next to Hurley’s, which I believe was filled by the Green Swan Grill and another row of stores many years ago. I have no idea when those buildings were torn down, but one source online said the grill building was torn down in 1990. I do not even remember this building. Seriously, what was I on during my childhood? It’s all a blur to me.
I did find this photo of it on the historical site’s Facebook page.
Across the street and next to the stop light is the M&T bank building which was emptied a couple of weeks ago when the bank moved out. Next to the bank building is the Pealer building, which I mentioned above, then there is a bar, The Iron Horse, which I think used to be the Whistle Stop Café.
Further down is Pam’s Restaurant, a very popular restaurant, not necessarily for the food (although it is good) but for the people who run it and the hometown feel it has for those who visit. It is a local gathering place for locals to eat, chat, gossip, complain, and simply be together. It is also my dad’s go-to place when he comes into town. He meets old friends and makes new ones.
Beyond Pam’s are a couple of old buildings, including an old, abandoned hotel, that somehow have not been torn down or fallen down yet. I would guess that the hotel building has been there since the late 1800s or early 1900s, based on some old photos I found. I will have to research this when I have more time.
Besides this building, there used to be an old train trestle/bridge that ran over the road. I had no idea about that until I looked for old photos of the town online. There is a Facebook page for the county’s historical society, which features historical photos of the area, especially the town I live in.
Our other market in town, the aptly named Dushore Market, completes the businesses on Main Street.
I could have researched a lot more history about downtown, but I wasn’t really sure how much I should add and how boring that might make this post.
I did a search online about Dushore and Wikipedia wants everyone to know that the town is the hometown of NASCAR and ARCA driver L.W. Miller. Honestly, I didn’t know L.W. was an actual driver, (oops, sorry L.W.) but I do know he is married to Dale Earnhardt’s daughter, Kelly, that he is originally from here, and that his family is heavily involved in car/truck racing. His grandparents (maybe his parents too?) ran Miller’s Hardware, another landmark and staple in this town. L.W. worked there as a kid.
His grandmother was a fascinating character and my main memories of her involve a woman who reminded me of Carol Channing, with white, bobbed hair, dark-rimmed glasses, smoking a cigar, and giving me 50 cent pieces when I visited the store with my dad.
If you want to know more about L.W., you can see his own Wikipedia page, or maybe I’ll write a blog post about him one day too wink.
I thought it would be neat to share a few of the old photos I found of Main Street compared with today’s.
I hope you have enjoyed our journey down my little town’s Main Street today. Hop on over to Erin’s blog and learn more about the Main Street in Wyandotte, Michigan.
Scranton? Why? What’s in Scranton?
Here is something that as a lifelong Northeast PA resident, I never thought I’d hear myself say, “Come on everyone! Let’s go to Scranton!”
People watch the American version of The Office and think they should visit Scranton to see what the city is like but I’ve never heard/seen anyone in my area say the name Scranton without wrinkling their nose in confused disgust.
“Scranton,” they say. “What’s in Scranton?”
To prove this point, when I called my mom to tell her we had changed plans for the day and were going to Scranton instead of the Finger Lakes in N.Y., she said, “What’s in Scranton?” the same way you would say, “Why would you do that? Are you insane?”
She said it like she wanted to add, “Why are you going to Scranton? Are you being held at gunpoint? Don’t lie to me!”
After we went to Scranton, my son told his friend we had gone, and his friend, 16, looked at him and said, “Scranton? Why Scranton?” And he said it with disgust like everyone else. He has learned it at a very young age to question the validity of a visit to Scranton.
For anyone from Scranton who is reading this, please know the above paragraphs are written all in good fun because people from Scranton could ask the same of where I live. “Rural Pennsylvania? Why would you go to rural Pennsylvania?” And they would ask it with their noses all wrinkled up too.
While Scranton residents can say they have a beautiful cultural center with amazing events, a gorgeous college campus, and amazing restaurants with delicious food I can say we have beautiful scenery, lovely walking trails, the wildlife outside your door (hopefully not bears), and peaceful nights. So, we both have our good points.
Anyhow, after voluntarily visiting Scranton this weekend it turns out it’s not so bad, but also not a place this small-town girl would love to live in.
There are buildings. Lots of them. Too many of them really. I mean, for all you city-folk out there this is a small city, very small. For me, it was like Clark Kent when he first walked into Metropolis.
Let me back up here a bit and explain why we went to Scranton. You see, we were going to take a day trip to the Finger Lakes, a favorite place for us to visit when we lived 45 minutes north, but then The Boy asked if we could visit Scranton because of the show The Office. I thought he meant he had watched The Office and enjoyed it and wanted to see the city where it was based (even though the show was actually filmed in L.A.). It wasn’t until we had almost finished our visit, after I took him to a mural of Dwight’s head, that my son broke the news to me, “I don’t even really like The Office. I don’t understand most of the jokes or what it’s even about. I just thought it would be cool to see the place where the opening was filmed.”
So, we essentially visited Scranton for no reason.
Still, it was an adventure and got us out of the house and into a different area, so I suppose it was worth it.
We met a couple of interesting people, one a lady who swindled us out of money by lasering in on my 6-year old to try to sell her a bracelet. She knew our Achilles heel — our weakness at buying things for our youngest, even though they are a rip-off.
After we dragged ourselves away from her with a bracelet and a pair of Dollar General sunglasses she claimed would normally cost $29 but she was giving it to us for $10 (sigh) we crossed the street to see what the large stone building was that we’d been looking at during lunch (which took forever but was worth the wait). It turns out the building was the courthouse. A woman in the front yard of the building immediately began telling me her life story. I’ve mentioned before on this blog that this happens to me a lot. I will walk past a person, smile or nod and suddenly, without even saying who they are, they’ll say something like this woman did to me, “Hi, I’m homeless.”
And there I stood while she told me that she’d left a 30-year old marriage, was homeless, came to this space to watch people and because it was peaceful and because a woman at the shelter she was staying at had gone “bat crazy”, and had been feeding the squirrels sugar-coated pecans.
She also told me she believes in Jesus and asked me to pray in agreement with her that she would find an apartment and a job because “wherever two people are gathered in my name God is with them.” She talked about Jesus and faith a lot, without taking much of a breath, and how many will live in torment by not believing in Him.
I never mentioned Christ or my faith before this conversation started so I have no idea what compelled her to talk to me about Him or her faith, but there I stood while she talked about it, wishing I could leave, but feeling guilty that I wanted to leave. She wasn’t like the homeless portrayed in movies. She wasn’t dirty or living under a bridge. She was well dressed, wearing make-up, and spoke fairly clearly, but did ramble quite a bit. Was she really homeless? I don’t know. Why did she choose me to talk to? I don’t know. But I did pray for her, and I hope she ends up with an apartment and in a safe place.
After we left the main part of the city, we drove past The University of Scranton, which is a Catholic and Jesuit university, and took an unintended tour of it while looking for a vintage store that sells vintage records.
The University of Scranton was founded in 1888, according to its website, and is a private university with 3,700 undergraduate students and 1,300 graduate students. The campus was very pretty. The architecture of the buildings, like many in Scranton, reflects a classic style with a bit of Victorian mixed in.
I thought The Boy would enjoy looking at the records at the vintage store, and he did but didn’t end up buying one. The Boy has been very interested in vinyl records and we hope to pick him up some and a record player for his birthday. The store had tons of antiques or vintage items and as I took photographs of them, I felt like Our Little Red House taking photos for one of her antique store trips in Arizona.’
The store was where we found the mural of Dwight, a character from the show, and actually, I made this one of our stops on purpose, thinking The Boy would like it. He did but, again, reminded me he is not a real fan of the show.
On the way back we stopped at a playground about half an hour from us and I enjoyed some quiet time next to the creek.
I also checked out an abandoned house by the playground which reminded me of my old house. The Boy said it was haunted and thought he saw a person looking out one of the windows. Luckily, it was a reflection. We think anyhow. *wink*
We were all glad to head home as the humidity jumped up, making us feel drained and over-heated.
All in all, it was a fun trip. There were a few other sites we wanted to visit but we will save them for our next trip.
Yes, that’s right, we probably will visit Scranton again, even if everyone we know looks at us, wrinkles their nose, and says, “Scranton? What’s in Scranton?”
Small town fun with outhouse races. Yes. Outhouses. Being Raced.
I could have attended the outhouse races for the first 19 years it was held in the small town my family now lives in, but I never did, and I don’t know why. But, last week, in the 20th year of the races, I finally made it to see outhouses being raced down Main Street.
I know, when most of you read that phrase “outhouse races” you thought of people running to the outhouse, which, for those who may not know, is an outside bathroom. No, they do not race to the bathrooms. They race the bathrooms.
I wasn’t sure I would make it (snort make it) after holding a yard sale all day that day, but I pushed myself and made it downtown to watch the homemade outhouses on wheels race down Main Street with what the local, weekly, paper reported was about 2,000 other spectators looking on.
Our small town has a population of approximately 600 people, and I believe all 600 people might have been there on Main Street, with exception of a few, including my neighbor who was wiped out from holding her second yard sale this summer. In addition to those people, there were another 1,500 or so (though I think there were less, really) from outside the area, including people who camp at cabins in the county. Our county is a tourist attraction of sorts in the summer, with many traveling from downstate to rent cabins in the beautiful forests that surround the few little towns.
I could have walked downtown but my feet were absolutely throbbing from standing on them all day (after joining my neighbor and trying to hold a yard sale on my own), so my husband drove me and the kids down and we waited for 40-minutes for the races to start.
The outhouse races started in our small town in 2000. According to an article in our local newspaper this week, the event started at the suggestion of a man named Spencer Davis who read about a small town in Michigan that raced outhouses set on skis across a frozen lake. Spencer and his wife, Barb, brought the idea up at a local Lions Club meeting. After some discussions, it was decided that the races here in Pennsylvania would be added to the other events of Founder’s Day, held the second Saturday in August every year, and that the race wouldn’t be on a frozen lake.
The members of the Lions Club decided the outhouses would be pushed by four people and one person inside it to steer. That setup has remained the same all these years.
The outhouses are often sponsored by local businesses or organizations, hence the logos and paintings on the side.
Before the race started, the teams pushed their outhouses to the top of the course and paraded down Main Street, waving at their fans.
There were six teams this year.
They raced two at a time until they narrowed the final race to the two teams with the best times.
I waited for the local paper to see if they would write about the drama that happened at the finish line of the one heat, but they didn’t, so I’m still not sure what happened. All I know is there were a few shouts of “Oh!” and the announcer said something about one team having seconds deducted from their final time.
The kids and I were at the other end, where the turn around the center circle was, so we missed all the drama. My son’s friend thought the team might have been penalized for their language, which wouldn’t have surprised me since when I tried to record that team, one of the members screamed out an expletive (the big one with the word mother in front of it). Usually, the event is very family-friendly, so that was a bit of a fluke.
Another fluke was the parking meter collection box full of wasps next to us that a person discovered halfway through the races. Thankfully only a couple of wasps came out and then flew back in again. Then there was the poor guy on the one team who pulled a hamstring or something. He limped the rest of the way down the street while we all winced and hoped he didn’t do any major damage.
My legs gave out before the final race, so we actually didn’t see who won, but the town paper reported yesterday that a team called Team Nutz won and also won the 3-on-3 basketball tournament. They participated in all their activities in memory of a former teammate who had won previous races with them, possibly the first-ever outhouse race, if I remember correctly from what a neighbor told me.
They have won nine out of the 20 races held throughout the years, according to the paper, including the last four in a row. Honestly, I had no idea when I saw the team that they were the returning champions. Some of the other teams seemed more polished at first (as far as their designs) but Team Nutz brought it home in the end and donated their monetary earnings to the scholarship in their late teammate’s name.
Overall, everyone seemed to have a lot of fun, no matter who took home the final prize.
I do regret that I missed out on voting for the painted toilet seat covers, but according to the paper the auction of the toilet seats (clean before they are painted, as far as I know!) brought $1,500 for the county library.
(The toilet seat cover images were downloaded from the library’s Facebook page.)
Next year, I won’t be hosting a yard sale so I will be able to go down and see the keg races as well as the outhouse races.
Next up in our rural area? The county fair in two weeks, which is sure to include some other unique, slightly redneck, activities. And, yes, I’ll be sure to grab some photos there as well.
Rahab’s Courage, Review, Book Tour with Celebrate Lit
About the Book
Book: Rahab’s Courage
Author: Naomi Craig
Genre: Biblical Fiction
Release date: August 17, 2021
A scarlet cord tethers one ruined woman to the salvation of mankind.
Harboring two fugitives in a city slated for destruction, Rahab has one small chance of escape. In exchange for their safety, she bargains for her own. Their agreement rewards her courage, and she flees Jericho and a life of prostitution for a new life among the people of Israel. Never again will she have to depend on anyone—especially men.
Except Salmah won’t take the hint.
High ranking soldier and leader of the tribe of Judah, Salmah is determined not to repeat his parents’ mistakes. He will keep the Lord’s commandments. Rahab’s growing faith fits right in with phase one of his plans: find a wife who loves the Lord and settle down in the new land.
Rahab finds shelter and meaning in the Lord’s ways until her past comes back to haunt her. As her new faith is put to test, she finds herself alone. Isn’t that what she’d always wanted?
With her courage waning, only the Lord can turn Rahab’s life around again, but will He do it before she loses everyone and everything that really matters to her—to her heart?
Click here to get your copy!
My Thoughts
On the surface, Rahab’s Courage is a romance, but deep down it is a reminder that beauty comes from ashes, that redemption comes to those we never think it will come to, and that God can use people society considers “unsavory” to further his kingdom.
It is also a book about how God’s love for us is beyond the love any human can have for us, a realization which comes slow, yet right on time, for the characters of this book.
I’ll admit that this book frustrated me at times. The ever-changing mind of Rahab’s love interest Salmah made me want to step inside the book and shake him. I understand why Salmah was written that way, of course. The author was clearly trying to show the difficulty of an Israelite trying to stick to the rules of his people while also falling in love with a woman who was not an Israelite and had a checkered past, so to speak. Salmah still really drove me crazy, though.
Perhaps Craig intended for the reader want to scream at Salmah a few times and if so, she did a good job of portraying him as someone who waffled worse than a go-cart going full force down a hill with a broken wheel.
Rahab’s Courage was clearly well researched and also well written.
The suggestiveness between the characters so early in the book was a bit surprising for Biblical fiction, but I do understand why it was being done. The main character needed to be portrayed as a certain type of woman from the start. I would have preferred that the book built up to that topic, but that doesn’t take anything away from the story.
The story was very well written, with plenty of description and biblical history woven among the prose.
I would have enjoyed some more side stories beyond the romance but only because it was clear there is such rich history surrounding the characters, not because the romance wasn’t good enough on its own.
This is a book ultimately about restoration and redemption found in God but also between each other.
My rating: 4 out of 5
About the Author
Naomi writes Historical Fiction set in Bible times.
She lives in a small town in the south-eastern mountains of Arizona
She is an avid reader, Pastor’s wife, and homeschool mom.
More from Naomi
Matthew 1:4b-6a (NKJV)
Nahshon begot Salmon. Salmon begot Boaz by Rahab, Boaz begot Obed by Ruth, Obed begot Jesse, and Jesse begot David the king.
On the brink of war and conquering the Promised Land, The Israelites stand fierce and determined, ready to see God’s victory. This time they will not waiver. This time, obedience will be their theme. But it wasn’t always that the Israelites stood with resolve as strong as Jericho’s impenetrable walls.
Rewind forty years. The Israelites have just been delivered from slavery in Egypt. 12 spies were sent into the land and brought back a good report. There were bountiful crops peace and giants.
Nahshon, as the leader of Judah (Numbers 2:3), should have been influential in his tribe’s decision to trust the Lord—especially since Caleb one of the two who trusted, was from Judah. Yet nobody believed. They all grumbled. So instead of what should have been a quick journey, it took forty years.
And the entire generation couldn’t enjoy the benefits of trusting God and His promise.
Enter Salmah.
He sees the penalty of his father’s disobedience. It shapes his life he adheres to the ways of the Lord. Plague after disobedience hardens his resolve. He will obey the laws of the Lord so it will go well with him in the new land.
So what is a man with this moral stature doing with a Canaanite? A harlot? Every sordid detail that makes up Rahab goes against his moral fiber.
But faith.
Faith that was spoken about all the way into the New Testament. Rahab steps out in sacrificial faith to a God she doesn’t yet know, for strangers who have no reason to trust her.
As such, the Lord honored her faith. As He does when you and I step out on that limb because we’ve felt that stirring in our soul.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.
Not only did the Lord spread His mantle of protection over Rahab, He also saw fit to include her in the lineage of His Son, Jesus.
Rahab’s Courage is a love story. A story of stepping out in faith. Of changing expectations of yourself and others. Of how the Lord can redeem and use any who are willing to put off the old and become that new creation.
***The scripture is clear that Rahab is a harlot. Due to the nature of this life, this story addresses prostitution, rape, and post traumatic stress. Please use caution with younger readers and if these subjects would act as a trigger for you. If Rahab’s Courage was a movie, it would have a rating of PG-13
Blog Stops
Rebecca Tews, August 13
Debbie’s Dusty Deliberations, August 13
Inside the Wong Mind, August 14
Inklings and notions, August 14
For Him and My Family, August 15
Breny and Books, August 15
lakesidelivingsite, August 16
She Lives to Read, August 17
Boondock Ramblings, August 17
Abba’s Prayer Warrior Princess, August 18
Betti Mace, August 19
Texas Book-aholic, August 19
Locks, Hooks and Books, August 20
deb’s Book Review, August 21
Cats in the Cradle Blog , August 21
Ashley’s Clean Book Reviews, August 22
Through the fire blogs, August 22
Connie’s History Classroom, August 23
A Modern Day Fairy Tale, August 24
Labor Not in Vain, August 24
Musings of a Sassy Bookish Mama, August 25
Back Porch Reads, August 25
Truth and Grace Homeschool Academy, August 26
Giveaway
To celebrate her tour, Naomi is giving away the grand prize package of a $25 Amazon gift card and a copy of the book!!
Be sure to comment on the blog stops for nine extra entries into the giveaway! Click the link below to enter.
https://promosimple.com/ps/11419/rahab-s-courage-celebration-tour-giveaway
