Fiction Thursday: ‘A New Beginning’ Chapter 18

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn fiction, Fiction Friday6 Comments

We all need distractions these days so I’m doing Fiction Thursday again this week. It may seem like there has been a lull in Blanche’s story, but things will be picking up again, don’t worry. Most of my rough draft for A New Beginning is finished, so I’ll probably be offering two chapters a week for the next few weeks.

As always, feel free to comment on the story’s direction or details in the comments. The chapters I share here are initial drafts (for the most part) and are revised, rewritten and edited later.

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 18

“Well, Sam, two more weeks and you’ll be back on duty,” I said, handing Sam a cup of coffee.

He shook his head as he sipped from the coffee. “I can’t even believe it’s been seven months since I was shot and Faith was born.”

“None of us can,” I said, sitting in a chair across from him. “It’s a total miracle you’re still here with us.”

I thought back to the weeks and months that had followed Sam being shot. The damage to his spinal cord had taken months to heal, but eventually, it did enough to allow him to return to his job. Being unable to work or even participate in activities he had before the shooting left Sam depressed and angry most days. Using two canes with cuffs that pressed into his forearms helped him maneuver around the house, but thoughts of walking freely outside the house to hunt like he’d used to, or even to go to church, were far from his mind. The idea he’d ever return to work as a sheriff’s deputy was even further from his mind.

After months of physical therapy at our local hospital, he was able to walk better and the scars inside his back were almost healed. I know I wasn’t alone at my shock and relief that the doctor had signed off on his return to work a week earlier.

Looking across the room, Sam smiled and I followed his gaze to Faith sleeping in a blanket on the floor.

“There were two miracles that day,” I said.

“That’s true,” Sam said, still smiling and watching Faith.

Emmy walked in holding a cup of tea and sat next to Sam on the couch.

“I think I’m going to invite J.T. over for dinner tomorrow night. We haven’t seen him in weeks, not since he’s been working on that big job in Binghamton.” She turned toward me. “Have you seen him lately?”

I shrugged. “Only at church, but I haven’t really had a chance to speak to him. He’s usually gone by the time I’m done chatting.”

Emmy’s eyebrows furrowed and she frowned. “I’m worried about him. We haven’t seen him as much since Faith was born. I hope he’s okay.”

I headed toward the kitchen, knowing I’d been thinking about Judson, but determined not to let Emmy know I had. Truthfully, I had noticed his changed demeanor in the last few months, feeling a distance between us when he greeted me at church.

Was he angry I’d never agreed to go to a movie with him? He hadn’t actually asked me again after that day he’d driven me home from the hospital. Our interactions had been brief and fairly cold. He would smile at me if he saw me on the street or in the diner, but he rarely stopped to talk. I knew I should have reached out, but I was hesitant, afraid of my feelings. Now I was afraid his feelings toward me had developed into anger or ambivalence.

So, what if his feelings have changed toward me? I asked myself as I my teacup out in the sink.

I needed to keep myself detached from anyone who could threaten my secure life with Jackson. Still, I had found myself missing how he used to ask me how my day was if we saw each other at the diner, or how our handshakes lingered during the greeting time at church.

I also missed him tipping his hat as he drove by in his truck on the way to work.

He was still wearing the beard he’d had when I’d seen him that day at the theater and I had to admit it was growing on me and did little to distract me from his already attractive appearance.

“Maybe you should come over when I invite him,” Emmy said from the living room, pulling me from my thoughts.

When I didn’t answer, she didn’t seem to notice, continuing to craft her plans in an out-loud brainstorming session.

“Oh wait! We should all go fishing instead! That would be fun! Jackson would love it too! Let’s do that! What do you think, Blanche?”

“Sure,” I said, distracted, as I finished washed the cup. “That would be nice.”

Emmy sighed from the couch. “I think J.T. just needs some cheering up. We got some bad news about Uncle Ray last week. I know their relationship has been strained since J.T. left college.”

“Bad news?” I asked.

“Doctors say his heart is weaker than they thought. He might need surgery but even then, they aren’t sure if the surgery will help.”

“Oh.”

I sat on the chair in the kitchen and thought about Judson and how his worry for his father might be one reason he’d seemed so distant recently. Maybe it wasn’t because I had never accepted his invitation to the movies.

“Did he tell you he’s thinking of going down to visit his family in a couple of weeks?” Emmy asked, breaking through my thoughts.

“No. Like I said, I haven’t really spoken to him in a while.”

Sam winced as he shifted on the couch and I knew his ribs were still sore. “So, what’s the deal with you two anyhow?” he blurted, looking up at me over his coffee cup.

I looked at him in confusion. “Deal with us? What does that mean?”

“Do you like him or what?” Sam asked.

Emmy slapped him gently in the arm. “Sam!”

“What? I’ve seen the way he looks at her and the way she flushes all red when he’s around.”

I was sure I was flushing red now, but I didn’t know I’d done it around Judson. I cleared my throat. What did Sam mean the way he looked at me? I’d never noticed Judson looking at me.

“Well, it’s getting late. I need to head home and get Jackson ready for bed.”

Sam shifted forward and looked at me with a more serious expression “I’m sorry, Blanche. I didn’t mean to pick on you. I really thought maybe. . .”

“I barely know him, Sam. He’s nice, but I’m not interested in a relationship with anyone.”

I stood and reached for my coat. “I know you mean well, and I do appreciate you being concerned for my romantic well-being, but truly, I’m happy single right now.”

Emmy stood and hugged me. “It’s okay not to be ready for a relationship. Sam is just – well, a dork,” she looked over her shoulder and scowled at her chuckling husband. “But we do want you to be happy and if you are happy outside of a relationship then we’re happy for you.”

Sam grinned as he stood. “That was a whole lot of happys but yes, we are happy if you are.” He pulled my coat closed around me. “And if you are happy alone, with no one to love you the way I love Emmy, then…”

I playful pushed at him and laughed. “Sam Lambert! Knock it off!”

I left, smiling at my friends’ gentle teasing, but still worried about Judson and wondering how he was taking the news about his father. As I drove home, passing by the Worley’s old tenant house where he was living, I considered stopping but hesitated at the thought of being alone with him.

Good grief, Blanche. What do you think is going to happen? You’re not some crazed, desperate woman. I sighed. Yet anyhow.

I pulled the car in front of the Worley tenant house and noticed a light in the front room. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to Daddy’s Oldsmobile but didn’t get out.

You’re just being a friend, Blanche. There’s nothing wrong with that.

My hand hovered over the door, ready to knock but pausing to listen to the music filtering from inside the house instead. Frank Sinatra singing one of my favorite songs. I listened for a few more moments and then knocked. The music continued. Maybe he couldn’t hear me. I knocked again, louder and the music turned off. When the door opened, Judson stood in the open doorway, his clothes, face, and beard covered in sawdust.

“Blanche! Hey!” He was holding a chisel and piece of wood. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just driving by and — thought I should che – see how . . . I mean, Emmy was worried about you, so I thought I would stop and check in on you.”

I mentally chided myself for being so flustered. Why was I so flustered? Maybe it was how the sun caught his blue eyes, or the small scar on his chin I’d just noticed, or the way his shirt fit across his shoulders.

“Oh. Well, thanks. I’m good. Just working on some woodworking projects. I’m building a table for Mr. Worley. Want to come in and see it?”

He stepped back, revealing a well-furnished room with paintings of oceans and scenery on the wall and cozy, yet modern furniture. In the middle of the living room a partially built table was laying on it’s top with the legs already installed. Even from where I stood, I could see that the legs were carved with intricate patterns and detail.

I stepped past him, my eyes on the table.

“This is beautiful,” I said, tracing the patterns with my fingertips. “I had no idea you did this kind of work.”

He set the chisel down and dusted his pants and shirt off. “It’s relaxing for me and, of course, it comes in handy for construction jobs.” He snatched a rag off the top of a table and wiped his hands. “So, what brings you by?”

I hesitated asking him about his dad, but didn’t know how else to explain my visit.

“Emmy told me about your dad. Are you okay?”

He leaned back against a small bookcase and folded his arms across his chest. I wondered if he had made the bookcase as well.

“Yeah. I’m okay. I mean – I’m worried for him, but,” he shrugged. “I’m sure it will all turn out fine.”

His answer was short and sweet and that was fine. I don’t know what I’d expected him to say or do. Pour his heart out to me?

“Oh,” I said. “That’s good.”

“I mean –” he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, looking at the floor. “I guess I don’t know how to feel actually. I’m worried for him but . . . I’m angry at him too.” He folded his arms again and shook his head. “I love him, but he was hard on me and we butted heads so often. I feel guilty I dropped out of college, but yet I’m glad that I didn’t let him determine my future.”

He looked at me and laughed softly, rubbing his beard. “My emotions are pretty mixed up in other words.”

“I can tell,” I said.

“That’s about as introspective as I’m going to get for now,” he said, grinning. “Hey, can I make you some tea or get a glass of water or something?”

“No, but thank you,” I said. “Really. I have to head home and get Jackson ready for bed. He likes me to read a book to him before he falls asleep.”

I looked at the floor, feeling suddenly awkward and anxious. I moved toward the door, smiling up at him then looked at the floor again. I felt like I was in high school again, standing in a social hall where I didn’t feel social at all.

“I understand. Jackson is a great kid. You’re very lucky.”

“I really I am.”

I glanced at the coffee table as I walked toward the door and noticed a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

“Are you reading that?” I asked, pointing toward it.

“Just started it a couple of days ago. I’d heard a lot of good things about it and thought I should try it.”

“I really loved it,” I said. I hadn’t realized he was a reader as well. “What do you think so far?”

“I love it too,” he said. “I love Scout. Can you imagine having a kid like her? I think that would be awesome. I have a hard time putting books down at night and end up bleary-eyed on the site some mornings.” He laughed. “Most of the guys just assume it’s because I was out drinking the night before. They’d never imagine it’s because I’m a nerd.”

“It gets even better the further you get in,” I told him. “And being a nerd isn’t the worst thing in the world, you know. Take my word for it.”

“Yeah,” he laughed again, smiling as he reached for the doorknob and opened the door. “I know.”

I looked up at him, studying his blue eyes, my eyes drifting down his square jawline and across the light-brown beard with tinges of red.

“So… what’s with the beard?” I asked abruptly.

What’s with the beard? Why did I ask that?

He tilted his head back and laughed. “Well, that question came out of left field. What? Don’t you like it?”

“No. I mean, yes, I mean, it’s fine. I was just curious. It really doesn’t matter if I like it or not. It’s your face.”

His smile did something to my insides I couldn’t describe. “I grew it to combat the winter cold, to be honest,” he said. “Winters up here are cold for this Southern boy. But, now that the weather is warmer, it’s starting to itch and annoy me and trimming it isn’t much fun either.”

He leaned against the door frame, standing close to me, and folded his arms across his chest. “Think I should shave it off?”

I shrugged. “Like I said. It’s your face.”

“Yeah, but would you like my face better if it was gone?” He watched me intently, grinning.

“I think that’s a trick question and I’m not taking the bait,” I told him as I stepped out onto the porch.

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

I flinched when he laid his hand against my arm.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said as I turned toward him. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to thank you for stopping by.”

Why had I reacted that way? Flinching at his touch as if he was Hank? Would I ever not think of Hank when I was near another man?

“Of course,” I said, silencing my mental chatter. “I hadn’t talked to you in a while and I just thought I – well, Emmy was concerned so I thought I’d check on you for her.”

“Was Emmy the only one concerned for me?”

I smiled and shook my head. He seemed incapable of talking to me without saying something that sounded like flirting, but maybe I was reading too much into it. I looked at the floor of the porch and stepped down the stairs.

“Have a good night, Judson,” I called over my shoulder. “I enjoyed our visit.”

As I slid behind the steering wheel, I looked up to see him leaning against the doorway. The way his masculine frame was backlit against the light in the front room leading me to pause in admiration before I turned the key in the ignition.

I let out a long breath as I drove away, wondering why I’d thought I could visit him and not feel the rush of attraction I had been fighting so hard to keep at bay. I’d have to stop any impromptu visits like that in the future if I intended to keep my emotional walls intact.

The real Blanche behind ‘A Story to Tell’

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings12 Comments

When a friend of mine read part of my novel, A Story to Tell she asked me “What happened to the real Blanche? Please tell me her life got better.”

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My grandfather and great-grandmother.

The real Blanche is my great-grandmother  (as I wrote about before I even considered writing the novel) and the truth is, for the most part, I don’t know if the real Blanche had a happier life after she left my great-grandfather (whose real name was Howard, not Hank) and returned home with my grandfather, who was a year old at the time. On the surface, looking at cursory information on Ancestry.com, I would think so, but I didn’t know her. She died in 1954, long before I was born. I wrote the book based on my own idea of what someone who lived through what she did (or might have lived through) might think, act like and do.

My father says he doesn’t remember as much about his paternal grandmother (Blanche) as he does his maternal one and that in some ways she was a tough lady, but she was also kind. Her mother was also a tough lady and the rumor is that she’s the one who refused to let my grandfather have his biological father’s last name. I think Blanche’s dad is actually the one who chased Howard off with a shotgun, but who knows if that family folklore is true.

If you have read A Story to Tell, you know my story takes place in the mid-1950s, while the real story happened in the early 1900s. I wrote the novel as a piece of fiction, changing the dates because I really did not want to write about the early 1900s, to be honest. This week, I realized I probably should have changed the names of the characters too, but I didn’t write the novel expecting a lot of people to read it (and not a lot have) and I definitely wasn’t worried that the people involved would read it because they all passed away long ago. 

I also didn’t use the real names completely, but they are close enough that if anyone knew the history they would know who they are “supposed to be”, even though I made up almost all of the details, adding characters and circumstances I am sure never happened. I didn’t have the characters move where the real-life couple did after they were married either. And I did not give my grandfather’s name to Blanche’s little boy in the book.

The sequel to A Story to Tell. A New Beginning has nothing to do with the true story of Blanche and is completely made up from my own imagination. The only similarity is that one of the characters in A New Beginning has the same name as the real Blanche’s second husband. The character is nothing like the real person, though. I just stole his name.

None of the other characters are real. In real life, Blanche had three sisters and two brothers. In my book, Blanche only has one sister. In real life, Howard, had four sisters and four brothers, though two of the brothers died in infancy. In my book, Hank only has one brother.

In my book, Hank is abusive and joins the KKK. In real life, I have no idea what Howard was like, but he did join the local KKK at some point, according to family members. I have no idea if he held on to these beliefs as he became older and I have no idea if he ever redeemed himself from his past mistakes. It remains to be seen if the fictional character based on him will find some sort of redemption and learn from his mistakes. 

I actually know very little about the real “Hank” other than the fact he had a wallpapering and painting business, played the fiddle, and once had his ribs broken when a horse kicked him. I have never even seen a photograph of him, that I know of. Someone shared a photograph from a reunion of Howard’s family on Facebook recently, but my dad says he doubts Howard was in the photo since he wasn’t exactly well liked back then. I, however, zoomed right in on a man in the back because he looked almost exactly as I had pictured Hank in my mind when I created his character.

In real life, Blanche was pregnant within a month of being married at the age of 17 and gave birth to my grandfather at the age of 18. In my book, she got married at 17 and then pregnant about six months later.

The real Blanche did get remarried at about the age of 28.  She had another son from that second marriage and he passed away in his mid-20s from Lymphoma. She also had two daughters from the second marriage, who lived well into their 80s. This past week a search on Ancestry.com and a comment from another member, when I asked her what she knew about my great-grandfather’s second wife, led me to dig deeper and discover that while the family knows Blanche left Howard within a year after my grandfather was born, records show that the divorce actually didn’t go through until 1919.

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Blanche with her second husband, Judston. (this is not necessarily a spoiler for A New Beginning.)

Blanche remarried in January of 1920 and Howard remarried in September of that year, but here is what is interesting about Howard’s second marriage. He ran off with and married his nephew’s wife. Apparently, his nephew and he were the same age since his older brother was a lot older. Howard appears to have been the “oops” baby in the family.

The second wife’s niece told me that not only did her aunt run off with Howard, she also abandoned her 2-year old daughter and husband to do it. Her name was not allowed to be spoken in her ex-husband’s household after that. To make it all even more awkward, Howard and his second wife moved to the same small town as the jilted husband and daughter. It is the same town where I live now. Howard’s second wife didn’t have contact with her daughter until her ex-husband died sixty-some years later.

Needless to say, Blanche looks a lot better in it all than Howard. However, it is interesting to note that Howard remained with his second wife until his death in 1974 and Blanche also remained with her second husband until her death in 1954.

I wish my grandfather had been alive when I was older and that I could have asked him more questions about how hard it was growing up under all of that, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t have talked about it anyhow. Why would he want to? Stuff like that happens a lot these days, but it was much more scandalous and embarrassing back then. I wish I had asked his wife, my grandmother, more questions about her life too, but when you’re young, you don’t think about such things — the past of the older people around you; their stories.

You also don’t think about how those older people most likely don’t want to talk about those parts of either their lives or the lives of their family members. To us the memories are history, but to them, they are dark parts of their past. We all have dark areas in our past we don’t care to remember.

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Blanche with her second husband later in life. See that little smile? I think she must have been nice. 

Family members of mine who are alive now may not have even been alive when whatever happened between Howard and Blanche happened, but maybe it is a little uncomfortable to think about the pain their ancestors faced, whether self-inflicted or not. I never met any of these ancestors, but I have to admit that even I feel bad for them and am a bit over finding out more sad aspects of their lives (which is why I’m taking a little break from Ancestry.com this week).

The fun thing about being a fiction writer is that I have the power to write a different ending for any ancestors, or family members, who I feel were hurt in life and deserved a better ending. I can’t change the real-life endings their stories had, but in my stories, I can create characters based on them and those characters can have the happy endings the real people should have had.

 

 

 

 

As long as they think it’s a good day that’s what matters

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings11 Comments

I love it when the day ends and my children say, “It’s been a good day.”

They said that Sunday night after we drove home an hour from our  visit to my 87-year old aunt. I was glad to hear they had thought it was a good day because there is no WiFi or much of any technology at my aunt’s home. Cell service is barely available and the only toys she has are for her great-grandchildren, who are all under the age of five.

The day was essentially a device-free day, leading my children to find ways to entertain themselves without a phone, iPad or TV. My youngest drew some pictures and then my oldest found a pack of cards and we played a type of “high card-low card game,” allowing the person with the highest card to win. My aunt even joined in at one point, asking us to read the cards off to her since she suffers from macular degeneration the same way my grandmother did.

The rest of the time we spent looking at old photographs of my aunt and the rest of the family in a couple of her photos albums and a box in her back room. I’ve been on this ancestry kick for about a year or two and I think my family is sick of me asking what this person or that person was like. I’m sure it is hard for the older members of my family to keep talking about all those loved ones they knew who are now gone.

My aunt lost her husband 20 some years ago. My dad’s dad has been gone since I was about 2. My dad’s grandparents have been gone since the 60s. I suppose it is more interesting for me to hear about their lives than for my dad and his sister to recall it all. Remembering their family members might be a bit heartbreaking now that they are gone. I guess I look at discussing them as a way to keep them alive.

While visiting I also had to fend off the usual questions from my aunt about my weight gain and this time around my dad had to do the same, only about his weight loss.

“I just have to ask, have you gained even more weight?” she asked me.

I lied and told her I hadn’t. I said I was just as fat as the last time she’d seen me because even if I had gained weight she would have been as cutting about it as usual. And if I had lost weight she probably would have asked why I hadn’t lost more. There is no winning with her on that front.

This time she even asked if I was pregnant again. Wonderful.

She then turned attention to her baby brother, my dad. “You look too thin, Ronnie. Are you losing weight?”

He was walking out of one room and into another so I couldn’t see his expression but I could almost hear his eye roll as he said, “I’ve always been skinny.”

“Not this skinny,” my aunt mumbled.

I had to wonder where the balance would be for her when it comes to weight. What is too skinny, what is too fat? And what weight would make her happy anyhow?

A hundred pounds seems to be the magic number for her since that’s what she always weighed when she was younger. I can’t imagine the internal prison a person must put themselves in when they base their worth solely on their weight, but then again I’ve been there before and I guess If a person wants to judge their own worth on their weight they should be allowed to. The hard part is when they place the worth of others on that same judgment they have placed on themselves.

But what matters is that for the most part, the day was a good one. And if my children thought it was a good day, then that’s all that matters. Let them be sheltered for a while longer from the hurt inflicted on us by people who should love us unconditionally, but don’t.

 

Sunday Bookends: Books finished and started; the never-ending house showings; and Ancestry.com’s rabbit holes

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, recap of the week, Sunday Bookends, week in focus8 Comments

This past week was fairly tame, for the most part, with things speeding up toward the end of it while we prepared for yet another house showing. I think we are on number 14, if you count the one buyer who came to look at the house three times but still didn’t buy it. We are all suffering from a bit of battle fatigue with this house selling thing, as I’ve mentioned several times before (have I whined about this enough yet? Yes, I think so too.). However, we recognize many houses are on the market for months of years before they sell so it could be much worse.

What’s difficult about house showings, as anyone who has sold a house while still living in it knows, is trying to keep the house clean and then leaving it for an hour or so to allow perfect strangers to walk through it and judge you. I’m sure most people truly aren’t judging, but as the homeowner, it can feel that way and that’s the man stress-inducing part of it all.

I actually welcome the requests for the showings, even if we have had a lot in only a couple months, hoping someone makes an offer and buys it, allowing us to move closer to my husband’s job and my parents. I do like our neighbors but we don’t have friends or family up here, making it a rather lonely existence.

I distracted myself from all the weird news this week by going down several rabbit holes on Ancestry.com. I seem to discover something new about my family every time I go on and this past week I found out even more about the people I loosely (very loosely) based ‘A Story to Tell’ and ‘A New Beginning‘ on.

I’ll ramble about that in a blog post later this week when I tell a little bit more about the real story of Blanche and “Hank” (whose actual name was Howard.). What I will say is that Howard, my biological great-grandfather, isn’t looking too good at the moment, but, hey, it was all almost a century ago and I wasn’t there so who knows what really happened. He did seem to be a bit of a cad, however.

The problem with me and Ancestry.com is once I get on there, I can’t stop looking up information, I guess because I’m a storyteller and I want to know the stories of my ancestors. I get way too wrapped up in the digging and I’m sure at some point I’ll get myself in trouble with asking questions like “What was this person or that person really like?” from anyone who might still be alive and knew one of my relatives.  It might be better to simply read about them on Ancestry instead.

On the book front: I finally finished a book this week! Okay, so I’ve finished books before but lately, I’ve been reading very slow. This past week I finished the book I talked about last week,  Borders of the Heart by Chris Fabry and started a new one by him, Under a Cloudless Sky.

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For anyone interested in Borders of the Heart, here is the description on Goodreads:

Desperate to escape haunting memories, J. D. Jessup travels from Nashville to Tucson and volunteers on an organic farm. The hardened landowner has one prevailing rule: If J. D. sees an “illegal,” call the border patrol. But when an early morning ride along the fence line leads him to a beautiful young woman named Maria, near death in the desert, his heart pulls him in another direction. Longing to atone for the choices that drove him to Tucson, J. D. hides her and unleashes a chain of deadly events he could never have imagined. Soon they are running from a killer and fighting for their lives. As secrets of their pasts emerge, J. D. realizes that saving Maria may be the only way to save himself.

The book was definitely fast-paced. I thought a couple of the last chapters were unnecessary in some ways, but it still added to the suspense and I was on the edge of my seat for most of the book.

The description for Under a Cloudless Sky:

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A charming and engrossing novel for fans of Southern fiction and the recent hit memoir Hillbilly Elegy about a lush and storied coal-mining town–and the good people who live there–in danger of being destroyed for the sake of profit. Will the truth about the town’s past be its final undoing or its saving grace?

1933. In the mining town of Beulah Mountain, West Virginia, two young girls form an unbreakable bond against the lush Appalachian landscape, coal dust and old hymns filling their lungs and hearts. Despite the polarizing forces of their fathers–one a mine owner, one a disgruntled miner –Ruby and Bean thrive under the tender care of Bean’s mama, blissfully unaware of the rising conflict in town and the coming tragedy that will tear them apart forever.

2004. Hollis Beasley is taking his last stand. Neighbors up and down the hollow have sold their land to Coleman Coal and Energy, but Hollis is determined to hold on to his family legacy on Beulah Mountain. Standing in his way is Buddy Coleman, an upstart mining executive who hopes to revitalize the dying town by increasing coal production and opening the Company Store Museum. He’ll pay homage to the past–even the massacre of 1933–while positioning the company for growth at all costs.

What surprises them all is how their stories will intersect with a feisty octogenarian living hundreds of miles away. When Ruby Handley Freeman’s grown children threaten her independence, she takes a stand of her own and disappears, propelling her on a journey to face a decades-old secret that will change everything for her and those she meets.

I’m not sure if some of my blog readers are familiar with the movie War Room, or not, but if you are, Fabry also wrote the book version of that movie. The screenplay was originally written by the Kendrick Brothers, of course. If you haven’t seen the movie, and you’re a Bible-believing Christian, I highly recommend the movie and the book and I also recommend Fervent: A Woman’s Battle Plan to Serious, Specific, and Strategic Prayer, by Priscilla Shirer, who is also in the movie.

I’m also reading (and hoping to finish this week) The Misadventured Summer of Tumbleweed Thompson by Glenn McCarty, a middle school level book my son read for English, and starting In the Field of Grace by Tessa Afshar.

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My son finished Tumbleweed this week and said: “My life feels so empty now that it’s done.” I love to hear that because it means it was a good book and he was completely engrossed in it. I plan to write a separate post about the book later in the week.

My daughter and I are switching between the first Paddington Bear book (rereading it) and

The Cat Who Went Up the Creek because she found out The Cat Who books are about . . . cats. I think she quickly realized most of the books are about the newspaper reporter Jim Qwellerin after the first night because the next night she asked for Paddington again. She’s five and there are more accents I have to do in Paddington, plus Paddington is about a cute bear and his crazy adventures. If I was five, I’d choose Paddington too.

So how about all of you? What have you been doing this past week and what is on your reading list? Let me know in the comments.

 

 

Fiction Friday: ‘A New Beginning’ Chapter 17

On By Lisa R. HowelerIn everyday musings, fiction, Fiction Friday5 Comments

I posted Chapter 16 yesterday on the blog, so if you missed that, head over and read that post first.

As always, this is a first (or so) draft so there will be typos and left out words. Feel free to let me know they are there when you see them. Also, feel free to let me know in the comments what you think about this section and where you’d like to see the story as it continues. Am I shoving too much in one story? Let me know that too so I can adjust it in the final draft.

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 17

Daddy sat in his chair, reading a book with a cup of tea next to him as I lounged on the couch with my own book. Jackson played on the floor between us, creating truck sounds with his mouth. It was our first quiet night in a month.

Sam, recovering at home, was still very sore but healing, enjoying his daughter and happy to have a new story to tell people about his job. He was moving slowly, his ability to walk not yet fully restored. Two canes helped him walk small distances in or around his home. The surgeon said he felt, in time, Sam would be able to walk easily again and return back to work. The hope was he could return in six months and it had been five already.

“What better story is there?” Sam had asked weakly the night he came home. “Getting shot, almost being paralyzed, surviving two surgeries and waking up to find out my baby girl had been born in a snowstorm along the side of the road, delivered by my wife’s best friend? It sounds like something you’d read in a book or see in a movie.”

Sam was right. It did all seem like a fictionalized story and there were still days I could barely believe it had actually happened. The morning he woke up and saw Emmy next to his bed with a sleeping baby in her arms his eyes had lit up more than I thought they could with all the pain he must have been in. He’d smiled as Emmy leaned down to show him Faith’s face and then asked in a raspy voice what had happened. For once it was Emmy’s chance to tell her own story of adventure.

My time since then had been full of work at the shop, writing my column for the paper, visits to see Emmy and Sam to help with Faith and then coming home to tuck Jackson in for bed, sometimes falling asleep next to him. Now that Sam was getting better and Emmy was more accustomed to her role as a first-time mom, and in helping Sam, I was glad to have a night to relax and delve into a new book from the library.

In the last couple of years Daddy and I had slipped back into our routine of reading together, sometimes reading a passage out loud from our respective books.

“And what’s on the reading list for tonight?” Daddy asked as I flipped the page.

“The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,” I said.

“C.S. Lewis,” Daddy said. “Good choice. Even if it is fiction and not one from his collection of theology rich discussion starters.”

I sighed. “I needed something lighter tonight, Daddy. No deep thoughts for me.”

I had been thinking too deeply lately so when it came to reading, I needed something full of adventure, romance or humor. Daddy, on the other hand, seemed bent on delving into anything that left him pondering what he’d read hours after he’d closed the book.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable,” Daddy said, looking up from his book, starring out the window. “Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal.”

He looked at me, cradling his chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking scholarly. “Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

He smiled. “C.S. Lewis wrote that, did you know that?”

“I did not,” I said, peering around my book.

“He’s reminding us,” Daddy said. “that to love is to lay ourselves bare, to open our souls and leave it open to be hurt.”

“Yes, Daddy. I get it. Very poetic.”

I moved my book back in front of my face.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Daddy said thoughtfully. “I think being a parent shows that the best of all.” He paused and I didn’t have to lower the book to know he was rubbing his chin and starring over my head out the front window, deep in thought.

“We bring a child into the world,” he continued. “And there, right there, is our heart laid open and walking around outside of our body where it can be hurt and we have no control over it.”

Daddy looked back at his book and I looked back at mine, hoping he was done philosophizing.

I read in my book: “It isn’t Narnia, you know,” sobbed Lucy. “It’s you. We shan’t meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?”
“But you shall meet me, dear one,” said Aslan.
“Are -are you there too, Sir?” said Edmund.
“I am,” said Aslan. “But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name.”

“You know,” Daddy said suddenly. I rolled my eyes behind my book. “It’s hard,” he continued. “To allow ourselves to be open to love, especially if we’ve been hurt before.”

“Mmhmmm…” I hummed and then kept reading my book.

“But if we don’t take that risk we could lose out on some very real, life giving moments…”

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m having my first quiet night in at least a month.”

“Yes?”

“And . . . that’s all.”

Daddy smiled. “Oh. I see. No deep thinking tonight?”

“No, thank you,” I said, smiling as I peered over the edge of my book.

Daddy looked back at his book, still smiling.

I looked back at my book and started reading, but not comprehending. My mind was elsewhere, on what Daddy had said. “Wonderful,” I thought to myself. “He did it again.”

My thoughts were spiraling off into deep places I didn’t want them to go and I had a feeling Daddy knew exactly what he had done.

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.