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Otherwise

8 Apr

My Take

DiVoran Lite

Photo by Melodie Hendrix

Photo by Melodie Hendrix

 

Our son and daughter-in-law are empty nesters, so we all make an effort to get together with the grandchildren several times a year. Since our granddaughter and her young man are theater majors, a show is our favorite place to go. We have supper before or after of course.

Yesterday we parked four cars in the lot at the Bob Carr Auditorium in Orlando because we were heading out in different directions afterwards. We walked the mile to Church Street for supper in a bitterly cold wind. We knew it was going to be cold, but none of us believed it could ever be that cold. That’s the way we are in Florida, cold takes us by surprise. No one was truly dressed for it.

After supper at the restaurant, we decided to take the free bus back to the theater so we walked to a bus stop. We discussed other unsatisfactory options as we waited because it was just so cold. Our grandson and his young lady, our granddaughter and her young man huddled, and our son and his wife huddled with us. We asked the “kids” to come closer and they shuffled en masse without letting go of each other. We then had an eight-person huddle. A woman about my age came up shivering and we invited her in, so now we had four pair and a spare. She said she wasn’t a Snow Bird, she was from Seattle, so she was a Rain Bird. She said it sometimes seems colder in Florida than anywhere else.

The empty bus arrived and we all got on. At the next stop, a man who appeared to be homeless came on and stood up front near the driver. We thought we were supposed to get off there so we rose, but: “Next stop says the driver,” and we all sat down again. The homeless man turned to our son, the leader of the pack, and asked, “Are all of these yours?” Our son nodded. “You’re blessed,” said the man.

We all felt warm and close now, and glad that a stranger had recognized our bond. Say, maybe he wasn’t a homeless guy after all, maybe the lady traveling alone wasn’t a real “Rain Bird,” either. Perhaps they were both angels sent to remind us that our lives, “might have been,” as Jane Kenyon’s poem says, “Otherwise.” They could have been, you know.

Hebrews 13:2

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. (ESV)v

Mother Said

1 Apr

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Photo by Melodie Hendrix

Photo by Melodie Hendrix

This week I wrote the wrong day in my journal. Wait, before you get in a tizzy, think about what Mother would have said. “You’ll never know the difference a hundred years from now.” You’re right, Mother, I thought and went on with what I was doing.

Like most mothers, mine had an abundance of things to say. Sometimes she was joking, or I hoped she was, as when she would say, “Now don’t be afraid of the storm, if lightning strikes you, you’ll never know the difference.” I must say, I have no fear of lightning, so she must have been on the right track. Afraid someone might kidnap you? Here’s what Mother would say: “Don’t worry, the minute they get you under a street light they’ll bring you right back.” Want to run away to Grandmother’s house, but wonder how you’re going to get the fifty miles down the mountain by yourself when you’re only a kid? Mother’s suggestion: “Here’s a nickel, don’t spend it all in one place.”

How about if your dress has a small spot on it and you’re ready to go out the door? “They’ll never know the difference on a galloping horse.”

Mother had some nice saying, too. She learned them from Auntie Elvira her first Sunday school teacher, who was my first Sunday school teacher too. When my brother and I fought the word was, “Be ye kind, one to another, tender, loving, forgiving each other.” Okay, Mom, I’ll try. If I wanted to say something bad about someone who had hurt my feelings she’d caution, “Ask yourself: is it kind, is it true, and do I have to tell it.” At least one of those is going to have a no, so forget it.

Ephesians 6:1 Children obey your parents for this is right.

 

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Enjoy the Differences

25 Mar

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Photo by Melodie Hendrix

Photo by Melodie Hendrix

The other day Bill and I were in the kitchen cooking breakfast, and he told me about a dream he had. He was working with my dad, something he did whenever the folks came from California for a visit or we went there. Dad loved to putter and fix things. Bill wanted to hang out with him, so they did projects that mother and I came up with for them.

Bill is an engineer; Dad was a man of many trades, race jockey, welder, gas company manager, large equipment fixer in a tomato factory, meat cutter, restaurant owner, pilot, and, most important, fisherman. Ah well, you get the picture; he could do many things.

Bill can do anything, too, or so it seems to me. He was mostly a mechanical engineer with the Space program, specializing in ordnance.

So anyhow, the dream was about Bill and Dad working together. In the dream, Bill was frustrated as he always was when he worked alongside Dad. Dad put his tools down just any old where and couldn’t’ find them the next time he needed them. He drilled big holes with gusto when Bill thought smaller, more sedate holes would have given a closer tolerance and worked better. Dad’s been home in heaven a while now, and we laughed at the silly dream until I started to cry. I hardly ever cry so it felt good.

I finally figured out why I was crying. I could see Dad and Bill in the driveway working on something. I could have walked out there, joined them, and got a lot of joy seeing the two of them together and being amused by the differences in work styles. If it were now, I wouldn’t need to try to make one like the other or change them. Now that I’m older, can see how unique each person is. I can accept them and enjoy the differences. It makes life a lot more fun and less stressful, too.

Psalm 139:13

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OUR CRUISE TO MEXICO – Part 3

24 Mar

SUNDAY MEMORIES

 Judy Wills

Judy

                                                     

The next day, our port of call was Cozumel.  We docked at a small island and caught a fast ferry boat to Playa del Carmen.  Very touristy town.

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Brian had pre-arranged a car/van for the six of us to take us to Tulum and the Mayan ruins there.  The car was arranged through Avis, so we thought we were safe.  However, when we tried to find the address where the Avis rental store was – it wasn’t there!  We even checked in with the police station, and they had no clue where it was!  Brian actually called Avis to find out what was going on.  Finally, after walking around the town for about an hour, he was able to find out they had built a lovely new showroom – on the outskirts of town!  Apparently the Avis company didn’t realize this – had no record of it, etc.  In any case, we climbed into two taxi’s, and were on our way.

While the rest of us freshened up, Brian got the car.  Turns out, they had given away the van he had reserved, and the only vehicle they had was a Jeep that only held five bodies, so Katie sprawled in the luggage area of the vehicle.  Not very comfortable.

And especially not comfortable when we were hurtling down the road at 60 mph and came to an unmarked HUGE speed bump!  She was literally bounced to the roof of the car, and banged her head, causing her to cry out!  After this happened the second time, she tearfully announced that Forrest was riding back there on the way back!!  There were three speed bumps on that road, and only the third one was marked!

We finally arrived at Tulum.  We had a light lunch, and Brian arranged with a local to be our guide through the ruins.  Before we headed off, we were treated to a show of pole dancers.  No, it’s not what you think – this was a group of four men, dressed in native costume, at the top of a tall pole, who allowed themselves to be dropped nearly to the bottom of the pole (and the ground!) and swung around.  Very festive, but certainly not something I would want to attempt.

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And then we began our tour of the ruins.  Fred and I have always enjoyed roaming around ruins – whether in New Mexico, Texas, Europe, or now Mexico.  Our girls enjoyed it, as well, so this would be a fun trip.We were quite interested in seeing the “village” and the building there.  We saw the temple and it’s outbuildings.

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One structure that interested us quite a bit was at the top of a hill.  Our guide, Ernie, said that it was an “early warning system” that the Mayan’s had built-in for hurricanes.  When a hurricane was coming, the wind would blow through that building – or the “hole” within it – and make a unique sound.  And it only sounded when a hurricane was approaching – no other storm would make that same sound.  Fred, being a meteorologist, was fascinated by this piece of information and the ingenuity of those ancient peoples.

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When we returned to Playa del Carmen, Brian dropped us off and he went to return the car.  We were concerned that he wouldn’t get back to the ferry in time to make the ship, but did – running at top speed!

More to come……….

 

Abundance

18 Mar

My Take

DiVoran Lites

jungle divoranWhen we go to Lake Eola in Orlando, we always see something wonderful because the lake is home to black swans, white swans, geese, ducks, coots, turtles, and is a landing pad for sea gulls as well. Last week we saw two black swans building a nest on the ground using pine straw (dead pine needles put out by the park managers as mulch.) The female was inside the increasingly rounding nest putting beak fulls of pine straw around herself—that’s how she gets the nest to fit–while the male was gathering the straw in his beak and piling it up. Each time the female depleted her pile he brought another close enough for her to reach.

Last spring we walked past a tiny shallow pond with limited access to the lake. In it were at least two dozen baby ducks and one big duck for a baby sitter. This kept all the babies out of the clutches of anything that might hurt them until they learned to make it on their own in the big lake. I call it the nursery, of course. I can’t tell you how delightful it was seeing them all swimming around, practicing dunking and being free and happy in the sunshine.

I know it sounds kind of sad, but we’ve also seen a lady come collect many bags of eggs and take them to her official vehicle. The park isn’t so big, after all, about a city block in size. They take such good care of the birds there that if they let all the eggs hatch they’d soon be overrun with all the above. If I see that lady again this year, I think I’ll ask what happens to the eggs. Maybe they go to a place where more birds are needed or maybe they’re breakfast at the zoo (horrid thought, but perhaps necessary.)

God’s nature is like that. There is so much abundance we would never go hungry or have any shortages if we took proper care of what he has given us—and by that I don’t mean chemicals!

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”

¶ JAMES 1:17

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Top Grade Literacy

11 Mar

My Take

DiVoran Lites

jungle divoran

I’ve always liked kids, reading, and books. That was the reason I took on a once a week job with reading challenged kids. It was fun. I learned a bit about ADHD, Dyslexia, and people who can read, but don’t comprehend what they read. We had young man stuck in the sixth grade because although he could mentally photograph a page, he could not explain what the words meant.

Several people I know have severe dyslexia. One is on welfare for it; the other is a brilliant doctor who gets books for the blind from the library so he can enjoy adventure books in his spare time like anybody else.

That’s one side of the coin. The other side is a friend who could go through ten romance novels a day and still take good care of her husband, children, and home. She ended up going to adult classes to get her college degree and supporting her children when her husband left them.

I know a couple of people who have turned reading into a fine art. One is Albert, a tall brown fellow about ten years old who is a wonderful natural athlete, especially as a basketball player. The first time I heard Albert read aloud in Sunday school I was thrilled and amazed. He had inflection; depth, tone, rhythm. I asked whether they  recognize his skills at school, and he confirmed that they do. He reads the announcements over the intercom every morning. When asked, his mother said she had read to him with those same embellishments since he was a baby and he had picked it up from there.

The other artistic reader who was an English teacher, taught her children to read before they went to school. Now she is frail and cared for by a daughter and a son who is a policeman. I never have heard one word of complaint from this dear lady. She’s always telling other people how wonderful they are.

She tells me that, frequently, her daughter calls her on the phone and reads to her from Jane Austen. They just finished, “Northanger Abby.” Every night her son reads a chapter from a James Herriot novel. “I get a bedtime story,” she says, happily.

Does that thrill you as much it does me? I’m not going to say reading aloud is a lost art. Obviously, it is not and someday perhaps someone will read to me in just that way, but for now, I’m thoroughly enjoying my IPod, http://www.audible.com, and my all time favorite author whose books are recorded for a new generation: D. E. Stevenson.

The best book to read, aloud or silently is, of course, the Bible, which can change your life for the better forever.

Matthew 4:4

But he answered, “It is written, “‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

*kids.

Down Home Down Town

4 Mar

My Take

DiVoran Lites

jungle divoran

After World War II, when I was seven years old and my brother was almost four our parents bought a restaurant in a small town in Colorado that had only three hundred residents. I don’t know whether that included the ranchers and their families who came to town on Saturday night or not.

In this small town, called, Westcliffe, If I wasn’t at school, or outside playing, I was almost always doing dishes or waiting tables at the restaurant or going around to the neighbors—except our neighbors happened to be the other merchants on our two block stretch of Main Street.

The Luthi family and the Quicks owned restaurants, too. The Luthi’s also owned the one hotel in town. There was no competition that I ever knew of, just pleasant cooperation. I baby sat for the Quicks from when I was about ten years old and played, and went to Sunday school with the Luthi girls.

When I was out and about, I visited Mr. Cope at the drugstore, Miss Lily, at the post office or my friend’s mother Marie Erp at Canda’s grocery. She always played ragtime piano at the community dances. I liked to pop into the tiny library across the street from our restaurant. The librarian agreed that fairy tales were the best reading you could get.

Yesterday I got a taste of that kind of wandering downtown in my present hometown, which has more people in it, but about the same amount of old downtown. Once it was in danger of dying completely, but as Onisha and I walked from shop to shop to ask if we could leave posters about Rebekah Lyn’s and my book signing we realized that the downtown is coming back to life, and you know who’s responsible? Mainly it’s the food emporiums, the artists, the historians, and the boutiques.

I’ve lived here forty-six years and Onisha is native Floridian. The really wonderful and fun thing was that in almost every business someone recognized either her or me. At the historical museum a friend I hadn’t seen for a year met us at the door and in a little while when I looked around for Onisha she was in another room talking with her husband’s aunt. What warmth, what excitement, what love! It was a quiet, middle of the week, day, so no one was too busy to talk, in fact most of them seemed to relish the company.

It was so much fun in fact, it kind of showed me that in my heart I was a down town girl. Too bad it has taken me so long to figure that out, but now I’ve signed up to go down there for book signings and to paint in the garden of the Pritchard house which has been beautifully restored. Maybe Onisha and I will wander the streets together again some day just like my best friend and I did in childhood. Whether we do or not it was a lovely day and we’re very glad to see our town coming back in such a wonderful way.

Psalm 13:6

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Westcliffe, Colorado

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Titusville, Fl

 

 

 

 

Comestibles

1 Mar

  My Take

DiVoran Lites

jungle divoran

 

 

Why do I love coffee?

Why do I love tea?

Why do I eat chocolate?

Anything wrong with me?

It’s not a form of Spirit

It’s not a thing to fear

But I like eggs and oranges

And most awfully don’t like beer.

Psalm 23: 5 He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies

orange

The Way

25 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

jungle divoranThe Way

I know, somehow, there is a way

To follow Jesus every day

It’s not in rules or man-made laws

It’s not in loyalty to cause

It’s not in toil to prove myself

It’s not in sitting on the shelf

The Truth

What is it then, this fruit of love?

How can I touch the one above?

The Life

He’s not up there, far away,

But here inside me every day,

To open inner eyes that see

The Life that lives and reigns in me.

Galatians 5 and 6

 

Pass the Potatoes

18 Feb

.My Take

DiVoran Lites

jungle divoran

When I wrote my first novel, Sacred Spring, I studied every aspect of writing, publishing and marketing. Some of it stuck and some of it didn’t, but still I tried to follow all the rules. These included learning to write so well, that like cream, you would rise to the top. You had to join a writing group, so I started one, you had to write, write, write. I have a closet full of journals to show for that and I’m glad of it. You had to learn copy-editing, and I attended a class for years with the best copy-editor around. You went to writers’ conferences, and after multiple submissions on your own, you folded and got an agent. Been there, done all that.

I received heartfelt encouragement from everyone who read my work. One person compared it with Bach’s, “Two-Part Invention.” If I hadn’t had a favorable reception, would I have stopped writing? No, I was born to write. I know that now, just as I was born to cook. I gave up trying to publish, for a while, though.

Then one day I had the blessing of running into a young woman whom I’d known all her life, Rebekah Lyn. Her, dear mother, Onisha Ellis, had told me that Rebekah, a professional writer, had always wanted to write a novel. I was ready to write a new one too, so we joined forces, meeting for over a year reading and writing and discussing every aspect of publishing and with Onisha, we began to learn how to market what we’d written, as well.

Meantime, I was reading, The Right to Write, by Julia Cameron. She highly recommended self-publishing, hereafter to be called indie (for independent) publishing.

Before, whenever I’d heard about self-publishing I’d heard that you needed to be a speaker and sell your book to your audiences or pay the huge price to for self-publication then end up with a “garage full” of books you couldn’t sell. It was called, vanity publishing. I didn’t want to be vain, I just wanted to write and like a cook preparing a meal, I wanted my efforts consumed by someone who would appreciate them.

Come to find out Julia Cameron isn’t the only person who recommends indie publishing. So does Tama Kieves, a wondrous fireball of a personal coach who has just published her second book, Inspired and Unstoppable. She indied her first one but with this one although she started out doing it herself it was soon picked up by the one right person to publish it the traditional way. Apparently many books, which are now famous and even considered classics, were originally indie published.

Meanwhile Onisha was doing her, and our homework on publication and marketing. She discovered that we could publish free with Amazon and we set out for one of the most exciting adventures of our lives so far.

Rebekah Lyn and Onisha did a lot of the work of publishing Rebekah’s first book themselves. I think it was hard, but they seemed to enjoy most of the learning process. By the time I was ready to go, all I had to do was sit down at the table with them and say, pass the potatoes.

First they suggested I email my manuscript to a professional editor, Beth Lynne of BZ Hercules, who was is an excellent editor and a kind and patient person who charges a reasonable price. Then I sent my hand painted cover to Laura LaRoche  of LLPIX who prepared it for publication. She also helps authors who don’t paint their own covers.

Sacred Spring is now for sale on Amaon for Kindle and in print. Many people like it very much, and I’m so glad. If you read it and like it, please write a nice review for me on Amazon. I’m almost ready to publish the second novel in my Florida Springs trilogy and Rebekah is working on her fourth one. It’s a new and better day for readers and for writers, that’s for sure!

 

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