Archive by Author

Skunk!

28 Sep

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Some time ago, our ten-year-old son had a friend over, and the boys went out into the woods to play. We appreciated having the junglelike woods begin at the end of our sidewalk, where we could take long walks, and the kids could play. Ten-year-old boys all over America roamed the woods and deserts building forts and climbing trees, it was a safe country for children in those days. 

That day the boys came running into the house. My son yelled, “Mom, Mom.” I looked at the other boy. His eyeballs seemed to quiver. The big dog had come in too, somewhat subdued. They didn’t have to tell me what they were carrying on about; my nose told me. SKUNK! They knew to stay clear of that black and white kitty, but there he was stuck in a steel trap. I had to see if there was anything we could do to free poor Pepe Le Pew. We didn’t want to touch the trap, so we found a big heavy stick and pried the trap open with it. The skunk never did rise to his front legs and spray us; he just sauntered away. Nevertheless, when we got home, we had to use a lot of tomato juice to get rid of the smell on clothes and fur. 

To keep any other wildlife from getting caught, we suspended the trap by its chain to a big wooden stick. The boys carried it from each end, looking proud as if they had done something brave. We put the trap in the garage. It stayed there for a few weeks until our boy came home from the neighborhood and told us one of the teens up the street had complained that we had stolen his trap. News gets around in a small subdivision. 

We didn’t know who the trap belonged to and didn’t care until my son came home from playing around the neighborhood and told me the owner had accused us of stealing it. Not being a thief or wanting to be called one, I put the trap back on the stick and our song, and I walked it over to the teen’s house. The garage door was up, and the fellow happened to be standing at a bench, working on something.  He didn’t get a chance to say anything. Remembering the poor little skunk, a wave of fury overtook me, and I let the steel trap clatter onto the cement floor.  We turned and walked the short distance home. Not a word had been spoken.   

The young man grew up to become a personality in the community, and we remained good friends with the rest of the family. I guess it’s about time now for me to forgive the kid he once was. I never thought of that until right now. As far as I know, he never set another trap in those woods. 

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Transplants

21 Sep

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Pixabay

In 1965, when Bill got a job at the Kennedy Space Center, we moved with our two children 2,564.5 miles from the Los Angeles area to Titusville, Florida. Fortunately, our few possessions went in a moving van paid for by Bill’s company. 

Florida was to become a whole new adventure for all of us. One of our first experiences occurred when we had not yet reached our destination. 

Most of the journey from Orlando to Titusville was on an uneven asphalt road through a Tarzan-like jungle.  What we didn’t know was that we’d soon be passing over a cement bridge that covered the expansive St John’s River marsh. Lightning crackled, and thunder shook our world.Our car’s headlights were the only bits of light in sight. We hadn’t seen where the bridge began, and once we were on it, we couldn’t see where it ended. To increase the sense of dread, frogs began to pop up all around our now creeping vehicle. We knew we were squashing them under our tires, but there was nothing we could do. Fortunately, the children didn’t wake up until the next morning at the motel. Bill reported to work at the space center the next day, and the children and I went out to explore.

Pixabay

Three weeks later, we found a fine new house and moved into it. Once again, we were inundated with frogs. This time they splacked themselves on our glass patio doors and got busy gorging on the moths and mosquitos that were attracted to the light inside the house. We had begun to look up things and talk to neighbors about the wild-life and found that these were Green Tree Frogs. We could see that they had gold stripes running along their sides. I fancied that it was real gold because God likes to make our world as beautiful and authentic as possible. 

The frogs didn’t bother us. We got used to their sounds. After a rain, we could hear them out in the woods singing. They had sopranos, tenors, and bass singers. It started like a concert and ended like one, too. 

One evening we had folks over for supper, and the gentleman of the pair wanted to go out the patio doors into the back yard to look around. We let him out, but when he returned and tried to slide the door open again, a good-sized frog plopped down onto his head. I imagine the frog was as startled as the man. But I was embarrassed! Anyway, he brushed the frog off, and it all became a funny memory. 

For a while, people who move to Florida are called transplants. People who have homes here and homes in other states get the name of snow-birds because they come here to stay warm.  If they enjoy Florida, they make friends with the “Crackers,” that are already hereReal crackers, though, are families who have have been here for at least five generations or longer. I love my native friends and feel many bonds with them after all these years. Thank you, Lord, for transplanting us.

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Juveniles

14 Sep

My Take

DiVoran Lites

We live on the brink of a wildlife refuge and have for 54 years. After we were here for a while, we knew we wanted to use our back yard and an attached half-acre for a bird sanctuary. 

We did some reading about it, and the most important thing to remember was not to use a poisonous weed killer in the yard. The popular brand does have some elements of poison in it even though their label says otherwise. We had more to learn, such as keeping the birdbath water fresh and putting out enough food for the small birds. The larger ones must shift for themselves. We see to it that there is plenty of seed in the hanging feeders, and God has provided plenty of hiding and nesting places. 

DiVoran, Our Porch

We love to watch wildlife from the porch or the dining room window. 

A few days ago, a noisy blue jay landed in a tree and gave me a talking-to. His bright, sharp voice pierced the air.  After a few seconds of speaking harshly to me, he swooped onto the bird feeder. His head ducked three times. That meant he got three tiny millet seeds. He flapped up to a high limb and pecked at the seeds to get the hulls off. 

The exact thing happened the next morning, and I wondered what I had done to offend him.  His white feathers looked whiter than older birds,’ and his neck was smaller than an adult bird. I concluded that he had come in the big batch of various baby birds that hatched last spring and was now beginning to sow his oats as teenagers sometimes do.  

Photo by DiVoran

Photo by DiVoran

  I had another glimpse of the beautiful bird early this morning. I think of it as a scrappy male, but maybe it is an insistent female. Either way, it and a squirrel had a confrontation over who would use the bath first. It was like a dance. When the squirrel headed for the bath for a drink of water, the Blue Jay flew a few feet away and landed on the fence. The squirrel raced back to its tree and sped up and down the trunk, and the juvenile came back and finally enjoyed his bath. 

Florida Squirrel Pixabay

We are so grateful to live close to wildlife. When we watch from the porch, small new actions thrill us. Our cat, Thea, is on the job for hours every day. She’s there to protect us from lizards, frogs, squirrels, birds, and our black racer, Blacky, who gets the most prolonged stares and the most cat-chatter. She does her job well.   

Today rain came down in bucketsful accompanied by thunder and lightning. We’ve had a lot of rain this year, blessedly no hurricanes yet. The juvenile Jay Bird came back in the storm for something more to eat. He screeched in his usually brazen way and flew from limb to limb.  He came back to the branch and issued a soft sound I’d never heard from a jay before. It sounded like three scared calls (for mommy.) I no longer think of him as reckless. Maybe he wants attention like anyone else. May he have a long and happy life and come back often.      

           

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Book Worm

7 Sep

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Pixabay

My husband (of 63 years today) and I went to Europe about twenty years ago. I knew I’d need something good to read on the plane, so on the way to the airport, I rushed into a grocery store here in Titusville and bought a fat paperback for $15.00. What an outrageous amount of money for a paperback book! I thought it was a romance, and in a way, it was. The romance, however, seemed to be more about raising and processing opium in plantation days in a far-away country than smooching. I discovered I didn’t want to read it, but I did because it’s a long way across the pond, and I couldn’t sleep. 

It’s too bad I didn’t have a Kindle or any audiobooks on a digital phone as I do now. You can have a gazillion books on your phone or pad or whatever, and you can take them everywhere you go.  Many of my friends major in reading that way, and I think they are smart to do it. But for some reason, I can’t shake the desire to have a book in my hands. I even paint handmade bookmarks as a hobby. I paint them and lose them. The library called me once to tell me I had left one in a book and did I want them to hold it for me. I said yes, but to my embarrassment, I forgot to ask for it when I went there again.  I do have one friend that hasn’t gone digital, and we have a delightful time together exchanging books. 

Now, I don’t keep a whole lot of books, even though I do have a big bookcase and a couple of small ones. But I have a working plan that utilizes the public library where I have been going for 55 years. When we first came to town, it was in a small building, but since then, we have newer ones.  I thank the U. S. Government for free libraries.

I’ve always liked family stories and romances, as well as non-fiction. It bothers me, though, when people say, “Pretty soon, we aren’t going to use paper anymore because everything will be digital.” I don’t think that is panning out the way people thought it would, and there’s probably more use of paper than ever in history because it’s so easy to print things out and spread them around.  

The Bible and I are old friends, and I like to read it every day. Sometimes I go to Bible Gateway on my computer or phone to look something up or read a passage. Gateway has audio bibles, too.  They seem to have all the translations ever produced. I like the variety and understanding that comes from that. 

I’m appalled at the COVID pandemic, but in one way, I have benefitted by having all the time in the world to read. Also, slowing way down has had a a healing effect on me. 

Maybe I’ll talk about this subject some more. I think I like to write about reading as much as I like to read. 

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

The Storms of Life

31 Aug

A Prayer

My Take

DiVoran Lites

The Storms of Life

Dear Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

We are your beloved children from now and through eternity

Your loving care is an umbrella to keep our spirits up.

You empower us to follow your lead.

You are Divine Encourager,

Comforter,

Spirit of God. 

Thank you for the delightful times you give us.

Thank you for always listening and always answering.

You hydrate our souls

While you protect us through the storms of life.

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

My Boxes

24 Aug

My Take

DiVoran Lites

My Boxes by Thea

Scribe DiVoran

When I first came to live with mama ad papa, my kittens and I had been at a foster home. I loved my kittens, but as they grew and played harder and harder, I got more and more tired. One day me and my kittens were put in carriers and took to SPCA. That’s where people go to find beautiful cats and dogs to take home and love. 

I don’t remember how many kittens I have or what colors they are.  Mama likes to tell me stories about them. One day she counted the little pink bumps on my tummy, and because I had six of them under my white fur, she says I had six kittens. It’s just make-believe. She tells me I had six different colors of babies, too. Three were girls, and three were boys. I had two calicos, three tigers, and one tuxedo that looked like me. I wish I could see them again, but I am happy where I am, so it would have to be just a visit. I wouldn’t want to go back to the foster home because the people there are so busy they don’t have time to pay attention to one cat. When the place I lived didn’t want me anymore because I was going to have kittens, the people at the SPCA did so many things for me. They fixed me so I wouldn’t have any more kittens. And they put a chip about the size of a grain of rice under my skin so if I got lost they could find me. Also they gave me shots to keep me healthy. It all hurt for just a minute, but mama said they were good things. For some reason, she only paid five dollars instead of $85 for me, I wonder why.

Now I live in a house with three litter boxes all to myself. One thing about me is that I am a long cat. I don’t look like it curled up in mama’s chair.  When I laid on the floor mama measured me. She said that from the tip of one paw stretched out in front and one stretched out in back, I measured three feet long. She thinks that is the reason my waste falls out of the litterboxes. Scratching on the wall or the door or any other place doesn’t hide it. I am embarrassed and sorry.  

One place that is good and big is mama’s bathtub. It’s easy to clean too, but she decided I couldn’t use it. First, she put orange peels in the bottom. No cat I know likes the smell of orange peels. Later, she put a layer of water at the bottom of the tub. Every day I put my paws on the rim and look in to see if the water is still there. 

The other three boxes are on the porch, and in the studio. But I still liked mama’s pretty bathroom best, so I used the bathroom floor. Mama stepped in my water in her stocking feet. She didn’t like that. 

Once she got that book about Decoding Your Cat and read that cats already had a lot of anxiety and that it didn’t help at all to punish and be mean, and decided not to be harsh with me. Some people are very harsh if their cats go outside the little boxes, sometime they get sent away somewhere because their owner can’t figure out how to make them use the sanitation that is here for them. Mama read that big enough and clean enough boxes can help a lot. Litter boxes must be completely emptied and washed with unscented soap. For one cat once a month is enough, unless it is a very messy cat. The more cats you have the more cleaning you have to do. 

So now, mama is trying harder to keep my boxes as clean as can be, and I am happy. She’s going to get a big enough plastic box, so I don’t have to drop my litter onto the floor.  

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Treats and Feets

17 Aug

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Treats and Feets

By Thea

Scribe: DiVoran

One thing I do for fun is begging for treats. They are better than my regular food. I must start letting Mama know what time it is. I feel in my bones that it’s time for treats. I grab the side of her computer chair with my claws to remind her. She says, “Just a minute,” and gently brushes me away. “No, it’s not time.” She says. I lie down close to the chair, hoping she won’t roll over my tail when she shoves off. Sometimes I start to meow pleadingly, but she doesn’t like too much of that. She says it breaks her thinking, but I never broke anything in my life.

After a very long time, she gets up and walks to the kitchen. I run ahead, then stop and look back with my round, yellow eyes.  Mama sprinkles the treats on a soft, red throw, and I hunt for each one in its soft folds. Mama tells me that when I first came, she started giving me treats at seven P.M., but now I get them at four-thirty, cause I know that’s when I’m supposed to. 

After I eat my treats, we play with a soft fat string on a wand. The mouse came off, but a knot is elegant.  I run after it once and roll down and catch it. I hold it to my pretty white tummy with all sixteen claws. When I want Mama to wave the wand again, I let go. I play lying down Here’s a picture of my feet, aren’t they beautiful?  

Music for cats.

Mama is reading this book from the American College of Veterinary Behaviorists. It’s a good book. She got it at the public library. 

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Doing What Comes Naturally

10 Aug

My Take

DiVoran Lites

The Sangre de Cristos 

From the time they were six years old, my parents, Ivan and Dora Bowers were friends. Both of them attended the only schools in town. Both became nature lovers throughout their childhood.

Dora grew up on the outskirts of Canon City (Canyon City) Colorado on an apple farm with a meadow, a vegetable garden, a few milk cows, and of course, apples. They churned butter and made cabbage slaw, which was the pro-biotic of the era. Dora remembered walking out to the pasture twice a day to herd in their three cows and milk them. She had a mother, a father, a brother, and the sister that she had begged God for when she was eleven years old. During the Great Depression, her family took in their extended family whenever they were out of work.

Pixabay

When they were in high school, Ivan worked at the auto garage next door to his Mother and Dad’s Beauty Shop and learned welding and car repair. He fished and hunted with his dad and younger brother. Fishing became for him a lifelong passion, and after he retired, he bought a shrimp boat in Northern California and caught shrimp to take to market. 

When Ivan got back from being in the infantry in WW 2, he and Dora bought Min’s Café in Westcliffe, Colorado. It took about ten minutes to get out of town, walking in any direction. Old silver mines on the prairie appealed to my brother and his friends, but since we were forbidden to enter them, he didn’t let me tag along. We rode our horses up into the mountains as a game guide. We also rode them on the prairie, but we were forbidden to gallop because there were too many prairie dog holes where the horses could break their legs. At night we lay in our beds listening to the coyotes’ howls.  When Dora and Ivan bought the old train depot and renovated it, they found many rabbit families under the boardwalk. Rabbits were a curse in those days because they were overabundant and ate every kind of vegetation in sight, so the rabbits had to go. 

Mountain Stream

Mother loved wildflowers, and whenever we went into the mountains while Dad and my brother fished, she and I walked around the meadows looking for them. We were thrilled when small animals such as rabbits, Pica, and Whistle Pigs came into sight. We were not thrilled when our dog Brownie got porcupine quills in his nose from sticking it where it didn’t belong. Dad had to remove them with pliers when we got home. And any little animals running around in the rocks, such as the Pica and Marmoset (Whistle Pig), thrilled us. My great grandmother and grandmother taught  Dora the names of wildflowers and herbs, and also how to use home-remedies. I’ve enjoyed checking some out and learning new ones. When we drove up to Hermit Lake, Dad taught us how to fish, and Mother taught us the names of wildflowers. I especially recall the name, fringed gentian

I recall one trip in which we were sitting down to a supper of rainbow trout and hand-picked dandelion greens when light snowflakes began to fall. We grabbed our food and hurried to the four-person tent and finished supper in the light of the lantern.  After we ate, we wiggled into our sleeping bags in our clothes and went fast asleep. We were afraid of nothing. Who would be frightened in such a beautiful place with parents who loved us and would protect us with their lives? And oh, yes, Dad being a mountain kind of man and former infantry sharpshooter went nowhere without a gun. He also taught us to shoot, but although my brother followed up with that, I never did. In the morning, I took the bar of soap and went down to the fast-flowing creek. Wouldn’t you know it, the soap slipped out of my hands and went bobbing down the creek. Who knows where it ended up? Mother’s nature training came in handy then. She taught us how to use sand to wash our hands and the metal pots and pans we cooked with. 

I didn’t care to fish, even though the browns and rainbow trout Dad caught were delicious the way he cooked them. I was intro reading and always had a book with me, so in the morning, I left the pole dad baited for me, hanging over the bank and into the water. I probably took a little snooze along with the reading. Anyhow when I went back to the bank, I was excited because a keeper fish hung from my line.  Later on, I found out Dad had put it on there to surprise me and probably to encourage me to like fishing more. 

When dad got his Piper Cub, he named it Dinty Moore. We flew over the 14,000-foot mountains to see our grandparents in Canon City, and I remember making noises like an airplane to amuse myself. Ivan asked Dora to ask me to stop because he couldn’t hear the state of the engine over the wind in the wings and my humming. I quit immediately.

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Yellow-Eyed Cat

3 Aug

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Scribe DiVoran 

Hello, my friends. 

You’ll recall that I am strictly an inside cat. That is because I am a terrific and skillful hunter, and my parents are afraid that I would catch all the birds, squirrels, and rabbits in the back yard and beyond. But one of the things in my DNA is to hunt, so I have to find ways to cope. 

The other reason I’m not allowed outside is that somebody experimented to see whether indoor cats or outdoor cats live longer. Most of the indoor cats lived longer than the outside ones, so I’m not unhappy about that rule. 

We have a garage studio with gaps under the door. Small bugs come in, and I catch them. I can sit for hours in front of a place where I have once caught something. My family approves of my keeping the house clear of such creatures. A couple of days ago, I was trying to get to something I knew was under a throw rug. Mama distracted me and lifted the rug for a second.  Then she knew what was under there, but I didn’t. Mama picked me up, and though I struggled to get back to the rug, I ended up on the screened porch.

Later, I heard her telling Papa that what she’d seen was a black snake the size of a short shoelace with a red ring around its neck. Mama picked him up with her grabber and set him down outside. When she looked later, the baby snake was gone.” Hopefully,” she said, “it wiggled away on its own.” She looked it up on that big machine where she sits and stares at so much of the time, but I can’t remember what the name was. If I keep a close watch on that rug and ruffle it up a lot, I might get to find another one. 

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Three Abalone Shells

27 Jul

My Take

DiVoran Lites

This morning, I was on the back porch doing a gentle exercise when our handy-man George*came to mulch some flower beds in the back yard. He walked up to the porch screen and stood looking at the shelf that goes around the inside of the porch.

 “While I’m thinking about it, would you consider giving me one of them abalone shells?” he said, “I see you’d have two more left.” 

While it sounded like a reasonable request, my heart sank. Suddenly I knew I couldn’t give up even one of my beautiful abalone shells. Some time ago, I gave George a few unusual rocks my rockhound parents had found. I believe in giving things to most people who ask, but the force of sadness that hit me shocked me. Another factor in my feeling of guilt was that George works under several handicaps to make our yard look trimmed and beautiful.  He can’t read or write, and he has no nose because smoking and cancer took it. He’s getting a new one someday, or so the doctors say. He has an ex-wife, and two grown daughters and he does his best to help look after them

George voiced understanding about my sentimentality; still, I felt selfish. But then, I thought about all the hard work Dad put into climbing down into the cold water of the Pacific Ocean to pry abalone off the rocks with a crowbar. Then I thought about my brother’s son, who one day went out for abalones with some good buddies, got caught in a riptide and drowned. These three shells are beautiful, and they remind me of my father and my nephew in a subtle way, and for some reason, they give me peace. 

  But when I told Bill my dilemma, he informed me that all George told him he wanted to saw up the shell and possibly make jewelry from it.   Well, I’ll tell you that was one time when I was glad about saying no.  It was a blessed time when the enemy had to flee from me. Here’s how you tell the difference between a thought from God or an idea planted by the devil. If it comes from fear and condemnation, it’s the devil. If it’s God talking, we feel convicted, healed, and cleansed. 

We’re helping a bit to pass out free food from ranches and farms. As bad as I had momentarily felt about refusing George the abalone shell, I now knew that we had a big box of mixed fruits and vegetables to give him from the farms that donate them. Food is better than empty shells or jewelry any day. But that’s another story altogether. 

*Name changed

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

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