Category: everyday musings

Fiction Thursday: ‘A New Beginning’ Chapter 16

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction, Fiction Friday1 Comment

I don’t know about you, but the news has been depressing lately me (what? You couldn’t tell by my post yesterday? Ha!). I’m doing my best to avoid it, but sometimes it can’t be helped and it filters in. To try to offset the depressing news, I thought I’d offer a distraction by sharing an extra chapter this week, although this chapter may start a little depressing, it will end on a happy note. Chapter 17 will be on the blog tomorrow for Fiction Friday.

You will find a link to the previous chapters I have posted HERE or at the link at the top of the page.

You can find the first part of Blanche’s story on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited. 

Chapter 16

Sam’s left eye was swollen shut and bruises spread out from under the bandages around his middle. An IV stretched from a bag of fluid to his arm and an oxygen cannula was pressed under his nose, the hose hooked over his ears.

Sitting on a chair across from his bed I watched him sleep and thought about the first time Emmy had told me about meeting him. She’d called me when I was still with Hank, gushing about the boy with the brown hair and dark eyes, the strong jawline and determination to become a police officer. She’d met him at the small community college an hour from home and at first, he’d only asked if she’d like to study history with him. From that point on I heard stories about his hand accidentally touching hers and how it had made her feel, long looks into each other’s eyes and, finally, Sam asking her if she’d have coffee with him.

The afternoon of their wedding the rain fell hard and heavy on the roof of the church, almost drowning out their voices as they said their vows, but unable to mask the smiles on their faces or the look of adoration in Emmy’s eyes at each word Sam uttered. Emmy had always been worried about Sam’s job and the danger it put him in and now here she was with those fears being realized.

Dark circles streaked the skin under his eyes, his face almost as pale as the sheets on the hospital bed. I ached to hear his laughter and see his eyes light up when he shared one of his latest work-related escapades.

“Oh, Sam . . .”

Emmy’s voice was soft behind me and I stood to take the wheelchair from the nurse. The nurse nodded sympathetically and patted my arm as she turned to leave.

“I think he looks worse today than yesterday,” Emmy said, tears rimming her eyes.

“You know bruises always look worse the second day,” I told her, helping her into the chair next to the bed.

Emmy slid her hand into Sam’s, watching him closely as he slept. His fingers were limp against her palm as she lifted his hand and kissed the back of it.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” she asked. “Having a baby and watching your husband recover from being shot all the span of a few days? It seems like a wonderful dream and a horrible nightmare rolled into one.”

I touched the top of Emmy’s head, leaned over and kissed it, then hugged her close. We’d been friends since seventh grade when she had moved here from North Carolina; as close as sisters, spending nights together giggling about our favorite actors, sometimes our favorite book characters. Looking at her now it was hard to imagine her as the innocent preteen, laying on her back on her bed, her dark hair spread out over the pink bedspread, wondering if she’d ever get married or have children.

She was more like Edith and most other girls. I was always the odd one out, rarely considering a future of marriage or children. None of that interested me. A domesticated life with a good man seemed so foreign and unattainable to me. Not to mention I wasn’t really fond of young children as a preteen or teen. The only future I pondered was full of exploring, learning and reading, maybe even travel. I daydreamed about big adventures far from home while Emmy and Edith filled scrapbooks with wedding ideas and window shopped for wedding dresses.

“It’s going to be okay, Emmy,” I told her as she cried against me.

She nodded, unable to speak between the sobs. I wasn’t sure why I had told her it was going to be okay when I really wasn’t sure it was going to be okay.

“What has the doctor said?”

Emmy leaned back in the wheelchair and reached for a tissue next to the bed. She wiped her eyes and face with it.

“He said there’s still a chance there has been spinal cord damage. The bullet was so close to that area. It could be weeks before we know for sure if he will be able to walk again.” Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. “Or we could know within days. Whenever he wakes up.”

I helped Emmy back to her room before I left the hospital, passing her mother and Sam’s parents on my way out. After quick hugs and updates, I sat in Daddy’s car with my hands on the steering wheel, feeling selfish as I pondered if I would ever have a connection with someone the way Emmy did with Sam. I’d never really had that connection with Hank. Our connection was more physical than emotional and though I longed for the physical connection with a man again, I ached almost more for an emotional one.

I pushed the thoughts aside, closing my eyes and saying a prayer for Sam before I pulled back onto the road to head toward home.

***

“The mother was a junkie,” Edith said slowly as she picked at the edge of the tablecloth in our parent’s dining room. “The agency said she has been in rehab and picked us to adopt her baby. They want us to go down to meet her.”

Mama took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, okay… how do you two feel about this?”

Jimmy reached over and gently held Edith’s hand. They smiled at each other, tears rimming Edith’s eyes.

“We’ve been praying and we think it’s what we should do,” Edith said softly.

“But we’re still nervous,” Jimmy admitted. “The birth mother could change her mind at any point before the adoption is finalized. And with this being an open adoption — well, we aren’t sure what involvement the mother will have, but at this point, the agent we are working with said she isn’t interested in any involvement. She’s simply too young to be a mother.”

I knew Mama well enough to know her furrowed eyebrows and downcast eyes were caused by worry that Edith and Jimmy might have to face the unimaginable pain of having the child taken from them if the mother changed her mind.

Still, I also knew our parents would support my sister and Jimmy in whatever decision they made.

“We will be praying,” Daddy said, reaching across the table to take Edith’s hands in his. “We all know you two are going to be amazing parents.”

Edith let out a shaky breath. “I hope so, Daddy.”

“We know so,” Mama said brightly. “Now, no more of that worrying and wondering. I’m excited to be a grandma again so let’s just cast down all imaginations and bring all thoughts captive to Christ like our favorite verse says.”

Mama smiled and pushed a piece of pie across the table at Edith. “Now, eat some more pie and let’s make this a celebration!”

Laughter broke out around the table as I stood to answer a knock at the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Marion said standing in the doorway.

Her smile was broad, her skin appearing younger than I’d ever seen it. She walked inside and I helped her take her coat off. “Stanley and I went for some coffee after church and I lost track of time.”

“Stanley, huh?” Mama called from the dining room. “Come on in here, Marion and fill us in on how things are going!”

Marion’s cheeks were flushed and she sheepishly smiled as we walked into the dining room.

“Grandma!” Jackson rushed toward her and tossed his arms around her waist.

Marion kissed the top of his head. “Hey, sweet boy. What are you up to today?”

Jackson looked up at her with bright green eyes and grinned. “Grandma, Aunt Edith says you have a new boyfriend. Am I going to have another grandpa soon?”

While my face burned with embarrassment, Marion tipped her head back and laughed heartily, hugging Jackson to her.

“Oh, my boy,” she giggled like a young woman. “You are so funny and smart. But let’s not rush anything. Stanley is a good friend and that’s all for now, okay?”

Jackson sighed. “Okay, Grandma, but I don’t like you over at that house being all lonely. I think you need a man to keep you company.”

My family snickered at my son’s words while I stood in bewilderment wondering who had indoctrinated my child to believe a woman needed a man to survive, but also finding it sweet he was concerned about his grandmother’s potential loneliness.

“Jackson, I think it’s time to go sit have some of Grandma’s pie and let the adults talk now,” I told him, kissing his cheek.

He sighed again. “Okay, Mama, but I swear, you just never let me have any fun.”

Mama’s face was red with laughter when we sat back at the table. “Oh, Blanche, this child’s sass is total payback for the attitude you gave your daddy and me when you were growing up.”

Daddy grinned. “And it’s so sweet to watch.”

“Why don’t you two just eat your pie and interrogate Marion about Stanley and leave me out of it?” I laughed.

After dessert, I walked Marion to her car, sliding leftovers Mama had packed for her onto the passenger side seat.

“So, you’re enjoying your time with Stanley?” I asked.

Marion leaned back against the closed driver side door of the car and looked out at the sun setting, the orange glow pouring across her face almost like a spotlight. Her smile was peaceful, wistful even.

“He’s much different than I ever expected, Blanche. Much different that you probably expected too. He’s gentle and thoughtful, calls during the day to check on me. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges about some things, after all these years in newspapers but it hasn’t jaded him the way I thought it would have. He lost his wife you know.”

“Yes, Thomas told me.”

“He really loved her and at first he was afraid to talk about her, but I let him know it was okay. I wish I could have met her.” Marion laughed and shook her head. “Although I guess that would be awkward now that I’m dating her husband. I hope she would have liked me – if she had met me.”

“You just used the word dating,” I teased.

Even in the fading glow of the sunset, I could see the red flushed across her cheeks. She pressed her hand to her mouth and giggled like a young girl.

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

I felt awkward asking my ex-mother-in-law about her dating life but, at the same time, I couldn’t seem to stop my curiosity.

“So… has he kissed you?”

Marion laughed and looked away for a moment then back at me with a broad smile.

“Yes, and it was wonderful.”

I hugged her and we laughed together, the warmth of the sun still on us.

“Oh, Blanche,” she leaned back to look at me. “There can be love again after heartache and hurt. I want you to know that. I want you to know there will be love again one day. Pure, gentle love. Not every man is hard and hurtful. There are good men out there. Don’t be afraid to love again someday, okay?”

I laid my hand against the face of the woman Hank’s father had bruised with his fists many times and saw in her eyes genuine joy, joy I hoped I could have within myself someday. I nodded to let her know I understood her message to me, hugged her again and opened the car door for her.

Standing in the driveway long after she left, I watched the sun slip behind the hill, an orange and pink glow spreading along the horizon’s edge. I basked in the happiness I had felt radiating off her when I finally walked back to the house, letting it carry me through the rest of the evening.

Someone is lying to you and you know it.

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings9 Comments

I want to be clear this post is not about politics but about those who deliver our political news to us. And don’t worry — I am not going to suggest you read one paper or watch one channel over another. Exactly the opposite. I’m going to tell you what I have before: Don’t watch any of them. 

If you are American, I think you’ve figured out by now that someone is lying to you and based on whichever political party you align yourself with you know which news agency is lying (the one you don’t watch, of course!). If you think about it, though, it’s extremely sad you have to pick a news agency to follow that “aligns with your political beliefs”. No news agency should align with any one political party but today in this country, and even in others, they do. They’ve picked sides and you the viewer are the ones suffering because they each have an agenda to sell you.

Not only have news organizations picked sides but they are now sliding news stories aimed at slamming each other into their 24/7 news cycles. It’s like when family members air their family’s dirty laundry on social media. In other words, it’s shameful and embarrassing. Seeing headlines that this or that news organization is ruining our country from the competing news organization is so bizarre and childish I can’t even believe it’s really happening. It is not doing anyone any favors, but most especially the public.

Remove yourself from your bubble one day and look at the news site you refuse to look at normally because you are sure they are liars. Yes, you’re going to get angry because you’re going to say: “Look at those liars! They aren’t even covering …” whatever it is they aren’t covering that you think they should be covering. Not only that but the news organization you are not watching or reading is going to say the opposite of what the news organization you are watching/reading is saying. The one you watch is telling the truth, right? Or are they?

I have a feeling the truth is somewhere in the middle of the news organization you follow and “the other one.”

Take for example the pro-life march in Washington, D.C. last week. I watched it live. There were over 100,000 people there, if not more but a few news agencies acted like it never happened. They never even mentioned it because they knew if they didn’t it would be like – wave your hands – it never happened. So you don’t feel I’m only picking out a so-called conservative issue, I have a feeling the opposite news agency did the same with the women’s march.

Turn to one channel and Trump is evil, Joe Biden and Hilary Clinton are gods. Turn to the other and Trump is God and Clinton and Biden were spawned from Satan. It’s hard to keep up too because they all want to yell “got you!” and declare themselves winners in . . . In what?

In some war but I’m not sure what kind. A ratings war? Maybe. Or maybe more accurately it is the war for us. I would say the truth, again, is somewhere in the middle. They each want to own us because they don’t really want to inform us/you. They want you to view to watch, to scroll and click because if you do they get money from advertisers. It doesn’t matter if what they share is “true” or “objective” as long as it convinces you to click on it.

The bottom line for me is that the national media is made up of liars. We can’t accept any of them at face value anymore, even the ones we “agree with.” It’s unfortunate that we have to be the ones to figure out where the middle is to find the truth but we do.

We have to seek out the truth ourselves because the national media has fallen down on their jobs and certainly isn’t going to do it for us.

Socially thinking: Phubbing. You may not know what it is, but I bet you’ve done it.

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, Socially Thinking27 Comments

Phubbing.

Maybe you’ve never heard the term, but I bet you’ve done it.

And if you haven’t done it, then it’s been done to you.

According to Psychology Today, phubbing is “the practice of snubbing others in favor of our mobile phones.”

We can all do it, without meaning to, but then there are those who do it because they are simply so addicted to their phones they don’t know how not to do it.

I knew someone with an addiction like this at one time. Honestly, I got tired of being shown I was not important by how often the person surfed on their phone while I was sitting in front of them. They could not stop touching it. It became very clear to me I was a complete bore to them and nothing I said mattered when they even started answering phone calls from people in mid-conversation with me and proceeded to start a conversation with that person.

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I remember them saying when they picked up the phone, “No. No problem. I’m just at a friend’s house.” And then continued to have a conversation like I wasn’t there for the next five to ten minutes.  They hung up and went back to scrolling Facebook while I sat across from them, bewildered why they had stopped by. The same person couldn’t even handle walking from the soccer field to our cars without scrolling and showing me cat memes as we walked while I tried to ask about their day.

When I brought this up to the person, finally, after a year of being treated this way, their answer was “I’m not going to apologize for trying to escape the stresses of my life.” I said, “Was I the stress? I was sitting across from you when you were doing it” I didn’t get an answer to my question, but this person wasn’t going to apologize and saw nothing wrong with their behavior so we haven’t spoken in about nine months, not that we were “talking” before then either.

So what are we saying when we do this to people? We’re telling them whatever is on our phone is more important. Cat memes, the news, the latest fashions, celebrity gossip, politics, and trite comments on social sites are all more important than the person across from us. In that case, why is the person across from us even there? Why are we even there?

I think there are those of us who would crawl inside our phones and live thereto escape life if we could. I get it. Sometimes life really is stressful and we feel like we have to medicate to handle it. Sometimes we medicate with drugs, sometimes with alcohol, sometimes with food and in this day and age, we medicate with escapism. No matter what we use, we are filling our lives with things that really won’t actually fill the voids in our lives or the holes within us. And while we are medicating ourselves we are pushing away people who really care about us and what to actually communicate with us and we are pushing away God.

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All photos by Lisa R. Howeler

I’ve fallen into the trap of burying myself in social media to avoid the stress of life. That may be why I accepted the phubbing that was done to me for so long, but when it hit me how much I was missing by being completely absorbed in my phone – in things that will not matter in the long run — I put the phone down. I looked around me and realized how pervasive technology addiction had become in our society. Sitting at soccer practice one time, I looked down an entire row of parents, all sitting, their necks bent over their phones, their fingers simply scrolling, while their children practiced soccer in front of them.

None of them talked to each other or looked at their children. They were like robots working for the tech companies, lining their pockets with their views and their purchases and their “hits.” It made me sick to my stomach and it made me sick to my stomach that that had been me at one point, though for a more brief time than some.

The sad thing is that eventually the person who you chose your phone over stops trying to interact with you and also stops caring if you interact with them.

That’s what happened with the person in my life. I realized they could care less that I cared about them. They were more interested in their phone, in what they could pin on Pinterest, and what photo of their latest diet they could post on Instagram. I stopped wondering how they were, what they thought, or what was going on in their life.

Honestly, I do still wonder about the person from time to time, even pray for them, but the idea of trying to engage them in friendship again gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. The human part of me doesn’t want to be rejected again but  I also realize now that if that person had cared about me, they would have listened when I told them I felt their phone was more important than our friendship, instead of saying “I’m not going to apologize.”

Hopefully, the person has since resolved this issue and now shows family and other friends they do care about them, by putting the phone down when talking to them.  I know where my place was in their life, thought, and wouldn’t step back into that place again for anything.

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photo by Lisa R. Howeler available on Lightstock.com

The one good thing that came from that situation is it showed me how addicted I had also become to social media and how it was causing me to ignore people and activities in my life that were not only more important but more edifying to my overall life.  After the repeated phubbing done to me, I worked harder not to do it others and I also cut back on social media, even deleting my Facebook account for four months. I realized that social media-based relationships were completely unfulfilling to me.

Since then I’ve decided to try to implement some changes to my life to help reduce technology addiction, as well as phubbing. Some of them I had already implemented two years ago.

Changes I plan to implement or have already started to (some of these were suggested from an article about phubbing on Healthline, others simply from various sites, and others simply from my own ideas):

  • Making meals a place where no phones are allowed (we already do this at my parents when we have Sunday dinners, only allowing my dad to take a photo of dinner before we start, if it is a particularly lovely looking dinner that is);
  • Leave my phone behind for some trips, though this always makes me nervous because I worry someone will need to reach me in an emergency;
  • Institute a no-technology hour which has become even more important for me to do now that my son has his own phone and is showing signs of addiction. We’ve done this before and have really enjoyed the quiet, the increase opportunity for creativity and the way we can connect on a deeper level as a family;
  • Make people charge their phones or devices in a central area of the house, which will encourage them to engage with others when they come to hook up their devices. I have not tried this yet, but since reading about it earlier today I absolutely want to try it.

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Changes I made two years ago (maybe more), include:

  • No Facebook app on my cellphone, so the temptation to look at it while talking to someone in person is gone. I’ve also stepped this up and removed Instagram and YouTube as well. Sometimes I even shut the sounds off to keep the dinging notification sound of texting from triggering dopamine and causing me to want to see who has sent me a message. There are actually only two people who message me regularly: my brother or my husband. Any other messages I receive are people who want something from me and then ignore me all other times of the year.
  • No looking at social media at least two hours before bed (somedays I do better at this than others, especially if there is a breaking news story unfolding.)
  • No devices or computer at all, other than my Kindle, up to an hour before trying to sleep (this works only when I’m not working on a book because I tend to write a little before bed since it is one of the only times during the day I have to write.) I really like this one when I stick to it because it helps me slow down my thoughts and relax more.

We can implement all the changes to our technology habits we want, but until we look at how our choosing our devices over people we love affects the psyche of those people, we probably won’t implement any changes.

We have to ask ourselves, in the long run, will what we read on Facebook matter when we are looking back on our life at the end of it? Will the latest cat meme, the latest celebrity gossip, or the latest political rant by your dad matter at the end of your life if it caused you to lose your connection with someone in your life who wanted to connect with you in person?

I think for most of us, the answer to those questions will be ‘no.’

 

 

Where is the decorum when someone famous dies? Apparently, out the window.

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings12 Comments

On Sunday, as many of you already know, retired NBA basketball player Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash, along with his 13-year old daughter and seven other people. You would have thought a god had died the way people fell on their faces in the street at the news of Kobe’s passing. He was a great basketball player, sure, but he was a human being like everyone else. I suppose some would say he was a “basketball god.”

I sometimes wish others who died tragically, like soldiers or police officers, were mourned the same way. I won’t say the news didn’t hit me in any way. It did. I was immediately heartbroken for his family and even more so when I leaned his daughter was on board. I never really watched Kobe play because I am not a huge basketball fan but I had definitely heard of him. He graduated school the same year as I did and I followed his career some because my brother predicted during some famous high school game that he would be drafted out of high school and be super famous. And he was, of course.

Showing that we as a society have a complete lack of decorum when faced with the death of a celebrity, not even 24 hours after the accident people were putting things online between the pilot and air control, questioning if the pilot made the right decision. Others were sharing private stories about the victims before the coroner even confirmed they died. One newspaper didn’t even let the adoration last a day. By the next morning, they were already dragging skeletons out of Kobe’s closet, reminding the world Bryant had once been accused of rape. The keyword being “accused” because the case never went to trial but was instead settled out of court (although I’d say if there was settling going on then someone, ahem, was pretty sure he was guilty.).

Oddly, unlike what happens with others, this 2003 incident was widely overlooked and ignored by the general public at the news of Kobe’s death. Had the alleged incident happened in the age of “me too” Kobe, rightly so, would have been blacklisted and no one would have ever accepted his insistence the incident was consensual. They also might not have worshiped him outside the Staple Center yesterday. The charges were settled out of court after the 19-year old accuser’s story started to crumble and Kobe confessed to a consensual one night stand and adultery.

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Credit Getty Images

Now that Kobe has died tragically, after being at the height of his career for so long, should we ignore his past mistake and pretend it never happened? I don’t think so but I also think that maybe his remains could be recovered and put in the ground with his daughter’s before we start salivating over the less “pretty” details of his past. I love how one columnist took him to task about how he handled the past incident without knowing the man or even the details of what really transpired between him and the girl, or even the character of the girl.

I know everyone (including me) generally balk at the idea of questioning an alleged victim, but there were those who thought the young lady saw dollar signs once she realized who she slept with. I hope that isn’t true and I hope she has found healing all these years later, regardless of what truly happened. And I truly, truly do not advocate victim-blaming/shaming and am only playing Devil’s advocate here. I have a horrible feeling, after reading past reports about the case, she was not seeking fame at all and was telling the truth. I can not imagine the conflicting feelings she is dealing with now, if she is even still alive after all the victim shaming she received from the media and Kobe fans back in 2003.

Here we are, though, taking him to task while his body is lifeless on a hill in California, waiting to be ID’d by the coroner’s office. He should be taken to task, yes, absolutely, and he has been over the years (and will continue to be), but I don’t see how doing it now, seconds to hours after it was revealed he died, helps his wife and daughters heal. I hope to God they are staying away from media reports. Members of the media just love to praise and trash someone in the same breath (much like my mother-in-law.)

There really is no decorum when a celebrity dies and though I am not among the many celebrity worshippers of this country, I think it’s awful. I don’t actually hold celebrities (not even the Christian ones) on a pedestal. I find it aggravating that so many news sites feature so-called “news” about celebrities at the top of the page, as if I care that they cried during their Grammy performance, are making out with this or that person, or their dress was so see-through they might as well not have been wearing it.

I might enjoy a movie they are in or like a song they sing but I don’t bow to their shrines of popularity and narcissism. Face it, to be a celebrity is to possess at least a tinge of narcissism, if not a whole helping. Wallflowers don’t generally go running into the spotlight. People who are self-focused and what everyone else to be focused on them, do. Actors and singers are somewhat mentally ill, in that they crave and are validated by the attention of others to the point they almost whither away without it.

However, that mental illness is something all of us possess if it is tapped into. Think about how our hearts skip a beat if someone “likes” one of our social media posts (or even our blog posts). And if we log into a site and there is a whole row of notifications telling us we are important. Oh my. We are in endorphins and dopamine heaven. We get a shot of dopamine each time we are complimented, praised, or paid attention to, and that’s addictive to any human being. If it wasn’t, Zuckerberg and his cronies wouldn’t be so rich.

But then there is the flip side of all that attention celebrities crave and then receive. Eventually, the attention can become unwanted by the celebrity as it spills over into the personal life, into the past, into every nitty-gritty detail that really isn’t anyone’s business. Did that celebrity wear “blackface” one time when they were a kid because they wanted to look like a famous black person on Halloween? Completely unaware that trying to make their costume more realistic would later be harkened as racist in the future, they carried on, only to be labeled “ignorant, racist scum” once an adult. Does the public really have to know about a celebrity’s sexual dysfunction or their brother who died in a tragic way or their every painful moment in their life, simply because they opened up one side of themselves — the talented side?

The public always wants more and claims the celebrity “asked for it” because they put themselves in the limelight. First, wow. Isn’t that what rapists say about their victims? And isn’t the public, in a way, violating a celebrity’s rights by continually demanding to know every detail of their life? Second, they only put their talent in the limelight, which doesn’t give the public the right to have access to every dark corner of their soul. Only God has that right.

The thing is, the same adoring fans who once lifted you up and praise you, will rip you down and eat you alive not even 24 hours later. Kobe is being mourned now, but as we see with the article reminding us of his past sins, it won’t be long before some will begin to spit on his grave, and it will come before the week is out. (Right after I wrote this several articles came up about his past sins, so… it didn’t even make 48 hours.)

Or, will the celebrity worshippers win and will Kobe join the ranks of Michael Jackson, Elvis, Freddie Mercury and so many others who battled demons that no one considers or mentions while in mid-bow. Maybe the big difference with Kobe is that his life reflected change and he worked hard to leave his demons behind.

In the case of the others, they lived risky lives or hurt others and never had the chance to make amends (if they had ever wanted to) yet celebrity worshippers still bow at their memories. And yet another maybe: Maybe it’s okay to remember the talent these celebrities had and to honor that talent, while also remembering we shouldn’t live like them by taking drugs, abusing children or sleeping around and contracting diseases. We can also remember that these celebrities and we have something in common – we are humans created in the image of God and because he gave us free will, we will fail, we will fall, and are imperfect. Some of us will learn from our failings in time to save us and some of us will succumb to those failings, like some of the celebrities I mentioned above.

I only hope that no matter what leads to our end, a self-made tragedy or an accidental one, that our society one day develops more decorum when discussing our passing. I hate to leave it on a negative note but looking at the state of our world today, I don’t have much faith that will ever happen.

Sunday Bookends: finding new authors (to me), my Marc Martel obsession, and The Mandalorian

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, Sunday Bookends20 Comments

I read Christian fiction, and write it (in a way), and I like a lot of it, but I will be the first to admit that some of it is cheesy, predictable and cringe-worthy. Maybe mine is too, but I digress. Sometimes I don’t mind the cheesy stuff but sometimes all the sweet, drippy tales grate on my nerves because they lack realism. Lately, though, I’m finding authors in the Christian fiction genre who don’t sugar coat. They write nitty-gritty, raw stuff but still get a Christian message across.

Chris Fabry, who my mom introduced me to, is one of those writers. I couldn’t get into the one book my mom suggested by him but when I opened Borders of the Heart I was hooked. The writing is fantastic and the action fastpaced, as if Fabry slammed his foot on the narrative accelerator and never let up. I like books that open up in the action or hook you in the first line and this one did that and then it did it again throughout. I have not finished the book yet, but I have a feeling I will by the end of this week. The plot of the book revolves around a man escaping heartache and finding a woman on the Mexican, Arizona border who is fleeing the Mexican drug cartel. This book is not for the faint of the heart as there are many difficult topics and scenes, including some more violent than I would have liked, though none were extremely graphic. The violence was necessary for the topic, unfortunately. (Although, by the fourth death I was like – I get the point. The bad guy is bad.

I love Fabry’s writing style. He creates poetry in his prose.

Some of my favorite lines include:

  • J.D. looked at Maria, her hair swirling in the hot wind. Like a vision of something that fell from heaven or crawled up from hell — he couldn’t tell which.
  • Thoughts and memories flowed together in a stream through his sleep-deprived mind, trickling over rocks and cutting some new channel. Water flows where it will and thoughts will do the same. He knew the trick was to simply surrender to the torrent. That’s when he could figure things out. If he followed his instincts, the words would come out in a song — not some paint-by-number approach to life, but something real and true and resonant.
  • And then she was gone. He reached for her but empty footprints filled the places where she should have walked. It was that moment he dreaded most, though he knew if she did not leave, he could not be surprised by her coming.
  •  If God had created a world without the possibility of choosing evil, there would have been no possibility of choosing love. 

I am about halfway through the book, so if you have read it, shhh…don’t tell me how it ends. I’ll let you know next week if the ending is living up to the beginning and middle.

My family now realizes I am obsessed with Marc Martel and I think they want to stage an intervention, but I’m on to them and won’t allow it. I’ve downloaded his independent EPs on Apple Music and can’t figure out why he doesn’t have a recording deal. I also may, or may not, have played his version of Unchained Melody several times, making my poor children listen as well.

Of course, I’m going to share it here (again) for you all to enjoy as well.

I didn’t watch any movies this week, instead watching old comedies like The Dick VanDyke Show to try to distract myself from the drama that is American Politics.  I needed something pure and light instead of something full of nastiness and vindictiveness.  We did finish up The Mandolorian’s first season, which we have enjoyed. I’m not the Star Wars fan that the rest of my family is, but I did enjoy this series, especially the addition of Baby Yoda, who I’m sure you’ve heard about, even if you don’t watch the show.

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My husband says the show is better than The Last Jedi.

In another attempt to distance myself from politics this week I had to unfollow several new blogs I had started following because they ranted in some very nasty ways about situations unfolding in our country. I escape to the blog world to get away from politics and I left social media to shut that garbage out. I’m not about to deal with it here as well.

This meme my son made and sent to me pretty much says it all about opinions and the internet these days:

I also didn’t write as much on the blog this past week, for some reason, but did manage a few posts, including:

Flash Fiction: Protest

Creatively Thinking: The Struggle of Claiming the Title Writer

The Day I Thought My Neighbor was Dead in his Backyard 

Fiction Friday: A New Beginning, Chapter 15

Apparently, my family did not enjoy the cold we all had two weeks ago and left us with lingering coughs.  This week they have been lining up and opening their mouths like little birds, waiting for their doses of elderberry syrup. My husband, who has never been sold on the natural remedies before this winter, has been the first in line. He discovered working 40 minutes from home and being sick is definitely not fun.

The weird weather we’ve been having has not really helped with people in our area getting sick. One week it was warm and muddy, this past week it was super cold and somewhat muddy. On Friday it was back to warm again and I’m hoping all this up and down doesn’t leave my oldest with sinus issues like it normally does.

When the weather warmed up slightly, I forced the kids outside to get some fresh air and stave off cabin fever. We currently have two small snowmen in our freezers that my daughter carried in and begged me to save.

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So, how was your week? Read any good books? Watch anything good? Let me know in the comments!

 

The day I thought my neighbor was dead in his backyard

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings18 Comments

The day I thought my elderly neighbor died in his backyard it was excruciatingly hot. We had been receiving excessive heat warnings throughout the week. I can see my neighbor’s backyard from our enclosed back porch and that day I had let our dog outside a few times.

Each time I opened the door I saw Mr. Maroni trimming his bushes, mowing his lawn, and then pruning a tree on the far side of the yard.  I worried about him. After all, he was in his 80s and out in the heat, working hard. He had taken his shirt off at one point, which wasn’t necessarily fun to look at, considering his age, but at least he was staying cool.’

We had a small dog back then who thought he needed to go into the yard repeatedly to bark at Mr. Maroni or a passing dog or birds, or, well, anything at all. Late in the afternoon I opened the door to let the dog out and looked up to see Mr. Maroni sitting on the bench under his tree with his arms stretched across the back of the bench, his head tipped forward and his eyes closed.

The bench and tree was across the yard so I couldn’t see if his eyes were open or closed but I knew his head was tipped back and he wasn’t moving. I decided he must have been simply resting and went back into the relief of the air conditioning. When I went back to let the dog in, Mr. Maroni was still there.

No big deal. It had only been a few moments.

But when Mr. Maroni was still there, unmoved, a half an hour later, I began to think the worst.

“Oh my gosh. He’s died. He sat down and had a heart attack from all the heat,” I thought. Yes, I thought the man had had a heart attack and looked that peaceful.

I called my husband at work.

“I think Mr. Maroni died.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s in the backyard and he isn’t moving.”

“He’s laying in the backyard and isn’t moving?”

“Well, no, he’s sitting on the bench, but he isn’t moving.”

“Call 911,” my husband said.

“I’m not calling 911. What if he really isn’t dead?”

My husband sighed one of his long heavy sighs he sighs when I’m being crazy (which is often).

“Well, go see if he’s dead.”

“How do I check?”

“Yell over to him and see if he responds.”

Oh. Right. Why hadn’t I thought of this?

I kept my husband on the phone, walked to our back fence and yelled over to Mr. Maroni.

“Jack? Jack? Are you okay?”

No response. No movement.

Oh my gosh. He’s dead.

“Go into his yard and poke him,” my husband said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Go over and poke him.”

“Poke him with what?!”

“I don’t know! With a stick. Go poke him with a stick.”

This is ridiculous, I thought.

“I’ve got to go back to work. Call me back if he doesn’t move.”

My husband hung up and I walked around the outside of our fence toward the neighbor’s gate.

Poke him? Seriously? What if I poke him and he isn’t dead but he has a heart attack from me poking him and waking him up? Then I will have killed our neighbor! What if I poke him and he is dead and he falls off the bench. Oh my gosh.

By the time I had walked all the way around our house and along our fence, Mr. Maroni was standing at the end of his yard close to our fence gathering his yard tools. I almost screamed in shock.

I also almost yelled, “You’re alive!”

But instead, I said, “Oh, hi! I was just checking on you. I saw you sitting on your bench and just wanted to be sure you didn’t have heatstroke.”

In my head, I thought, “I wanted to be sure you hadn’t died.”

Mr. Maroni just laughed, then sheepishly admitted, “Well, I did fall asleep over there, but no heat stroke, thankfully.”

Back in the house, I called my husband.

“He’s alive.”

“Yeah, I thought he was.”

Jack and his wife no longer live in the house behind us but that memory is one of many I have of them; a memory that makes me laugh every time I think of it.

 

 

 

 

Creatively Thinking: The struggle of claiming the title “writer”

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings16 Comments

Writing a book is weird and hard. I know..not hard like farming or construction or being a doctor or a police officer. I don’t mean that, of course. I mean, it’s mentally draining and it’s full of a lot of self-doubts, even if you’re just doing it mainly for fun like I am.

I am at the tail end of the first draft of ‘A New Beginning‘ and it is kicking my brain to the curb. I stare into space, trying to work out an issue I’m having with it or writing a scene in my head while I’m cooking dinner or a kid wants to show me something. It’s a bit like being stuck in a self-made prison and even when you try to escape it, your muse or whatever it is comes back and whispers “Hey! I have another idea! Let’s go write!” That is all fun and aggravating at the same time. Why won’t my creative muse pick a different time to try to inspire me.

I could completely relate to the author in Stranger Than Fiction, which we watched this week because I saw me in her tortured behavior as she tried to finish her book, without the extra alcohol and cigarettes. Writers don’t just write because they like it or they want others to read it.

Stranger Than Fiction

They write because they have to, because if they don’t it will gnaw at their insides until they are raw and aching for release or numb and depressed, begging to be put out of their misery. It’s like a painter or a photographer or anyone who creates in some way.

They have to create or their spirit wilts from the lack of artistic, creative stimulation. When you are a creative person, you can only wash so many dishes, cook so many meals, sweep so many floors, milk so many cows, assemble so many parts for cars or machines, before your spirit screams at you to breathe life into it again.

You have to do all those mundane things of life, of course, and sometimes you don’t mind doing them, but sometimes you need to do something creative as well.

I made my living as a writer for 14 years or so, but never really called myself a writer. That’s weird, I know. I still don’t call myself a writer. I’m not really that good, I tell myself. Slapping a label on myself like “I’m a photographer” or “I’m a writer” feels weird. I can easily say “I’m a mom,” because I have the kids to prove it. I can say, “I’m a wife,” because I have the husband to prove it.

Art, though, is subjective. I can feel like a writer or a photographer or an artist but until someone says I am, I’m not, or at least that’s what I think some days.

Last week, sitting by the tub, waiting for my daughter to finish one of her epic-long baths, I rambled out loud my debate about enrolling my one and only book in Kindle Unlimited or not, as if a 5-year old cares.

“I like your job, Mama,” my daughter said.

“What job?” I asked, since I, and the state of Pennsylvania, think of myself as “unemployed.” It says so, right on our taxes: unemployed, which in the United States also seems to mean “uninteresting, unimportant and unworthy.”

“You’re writing job,” she said with a grin, spinning in the water. “You’re a writer.”

Oh.

My 5-year old thinks I’m a writer and, in the end, what my family thinks is all that matters anyhow.

Flash Fiction: Protest

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, flash fiction3 Comments

Fern watched her father gathering his winter clothes together.

“Dad, you’re not going to that protest are you?”

“It’s not a protest, it’s a rally,” he said with a sigh, pulling his woolen har down on his head over his ears.

“But it’s 21 degrees out and you’re — ”

“I know, I’m 78 but age shouldn’t stop me from standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves.”

Fern sighed, shaking her head. “Okay, Dad, but I better not get a call from the police that you and Nancy have chained yourselves to the courthouse steps again.”

This is part of the Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Prompt

January 16, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a protest story. It can be about a protest, or you can investigate the word and expand the idea. Who is protesting, where, and why? Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by January 21, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

Remembering Truett

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn authentic, everyday musings4 Comments

I have been listening to TobyMac in one form or another since the early 1990s.

His son Truett was on a couple of his albums and when I heard Truett had died recently, I was completely shocked, as many TobyMac fans were. I still don’t know the details around Truett’s death, but I can’t imagine the pain Toby is in. He released a song about his struggles dealing with his oldest son’s death this week. I thought I’d share it here and follow it with a couple of happier songs from TobyMac, in case you aren’t familiar with him.

Toby is part of the Christian rock group DC Talk, which was huge in the 2000s and then when the band parted ways, he started his own solo career.

And some old school for ya’…