Announcing the Launch of Julianne- Beautiful Voice

19 Jun

Today is so exciting for those of us at Oldthingsrnew. Rebekah Lyn’s new book, Julianne is launching today. I will post her first five-star review, but first, my thoughts.

Julianne did not start out for me as a favorite character. If you have raised a teenager, you will feel  frustrated and want to tell Julianne to just “get over it.” But bear with her, because God is faithful and Rebekah shows how God  can help even the whiniest girl to grow up.

Now here is the Amazon and Goodreads review:

 Beautiful Voice! June 18, 2012
Format:Kindle Edition
Rebekah Lyn has a beautiful voice in each of her stories. Her latest, Julianne, is an excellent exploration of the conflict that young professionals experience in contemporary society. They fall into many traps when dating and finding careers. Julianne illustrates how we take many wrong turns in life, but can find our way through love, trust, and spirituality. This Christian romance novel by the author of Summer Storms contains characters that are clearly defined and relevant to the storyline and a plot that is romantic without being sappy. The references to Christianity are not preachy, but instead show the effects of sound decision-making and personal choices that young adults create in their lives, making this novel appealing to all readers, from YA up to older generations of adults.
If you would like to read Julianne, visit Rebekah Lyn’s Amazon author page. Julianne will be available in paperback  June 30, 2012.
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The Bridge and I

18 Jun

In my last post, Loving My Small Town, I chatted about small town life. The new “big” thing her in our town is walking the bridge. People do it all day and even into the night-time. Our friend DiVoran’s family did it as a Father’s Day outing and is sharing her experience today

My Take

DiVoran Lites

One of the entertainments for our family Father’s Day celebration was to walk the bridge. Now I just heard about this new small-community attraction last spring and I had not yet experienced it. What’s the big deal about walking across the new bridge, I thought. Bill and I walked across the old one once. We passed the bridge tender who was doing his homework while waiting to open and close the bridge for a good-sized or tall-masted boat. No big deal.

I did not, however, want to be left out of a community phenom and I definitely did not want to miss a family outing, so I got my sun-hat and my walking shoes and we headed for the river in two cars. Bill didn’t get to go because of his barking dogs. (That’s an old saying for sore feet.)

Even though it was June and supposedly hot weather, a steady, cool wind blew puffy white clouds in an otherwise clear blue sky. First, I walked with my daughter-in-law and we had a chance to talk for the first time in quite a while. We were the tail of a seven person two-by two queue with the seventh, our daughter’s husband, in the lead. Now arches rise high enough that any boat allowed on the river can go under, so we tackled the incline then practically danced down the other side.  On the way, back I walked with my son and W. D. was telling me something about the birds when suddenly I imagined a tribe of natives traveling to their next camp.

I saw the heavily laden travois, smelled the pemmican (does pemmican have an aroma?) and thought of papooses being transferred on their mother’s backs. I could hear the rattle and swish of a people on the move. Everyone in the tribe had a special job and unique gifting. There was the strider ahead, there was the philosopher/ negotiator\explainer who had an equal say in tribe politics and then there were the tall, strong brave and his sister the Indian princess. We had two matrons who worked harder than anyone ought to have to work to help keep everybody clean and fed, and then there was the old crone, which was of course a wanna-be– me. There on the bridge, I knew the ancient joy of belonging that comes mostly in families, no matter how large or how small, how functional or how dysfunctional. Often the people in these families aren’t related by blood, but still by right of love, cooperation, and understanding, they belong to each other.

So that’s what the bridge is all about. I thought. It’s about movement, connection, family, and an airy beauty that represents constant crossovers, with people who care, from one part of life to another.

“God places the solitary in families and gives the desolate a home in which to dwell.” Psalm 68:6

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Making Memories Side By Side

17 Jun

I wasn’t planning to post anything about Father’s Day until I came across this story written by Jacob Leitzinger. He is eighteen years old, and attends Stetson University in DeLand. He is a swimmer, a bass singer, has his own motorcycle and loves to ride. He has a girlfriend who lives in South Carolina, and he is interested in all aspects of computer technology. Jacob believes in telling the truth and when he does, people sometimes take it as hilariously funny. Hmm, maybe that’s worth a try.

Oyster Shells 

There was a strange feeling in the air when I awoke. It was something I hadn’t felt in quite a while, and I almost missed it. Luckily, the feeling was brought to my attention the moment I opened my eyes, and stayed there over the course of the next few hours: It was early. It was a couple of weeks into summer vacation, and I had promised my uncle I would help him lay oyster mats in the river. I had done this once before of course, for my Eagle Scout project, so it made sense that he would ask for my assistance. I got out of bed, and got ready for a day with my uncle, my dad, UCF alumni and a whole bunch of oyster shells. My uncle, my father and I arrived early to map out the route to the deployment area and mentally prepare ourselves for the day ahead. People trickled in and small conversations sprung up and thrived until it was time to head out. We hopped on the boats and rode in style to the deployment area. Once there, it was long hours of (fun) repetitive work. In order to attract oysters, you first need oyster shells. I know that seems a little backwards, but bear with me. The shells of oysters release enzymes that attract oyster larvae. The larvae then cement themselves to the other oysters, creating the reef. Our job is to start the process. We begin with gridded mats with oyster shells zip tied on. We take these mats, and zip tie circular weights onto the corners to keep them underwater. Easy! The day passed quickly, with fun conversations and a tasty lunch to keep things interesting. At the end of the day, it was easy to tell the difference we had made. As you looked across the water, you could see the expanse of mats that were just layered. Then, with a snack and a smile, we packed up and headed back to our cars, content in our help to the environment.

The reason I chose to share this story on Father’s Day is because it demonstrates the best of the father-son relationship, making memories side by side.

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Loving the Small Town Life

14 Jun

On the Porch

Onisha Ellis

Is there any place better to live than in a small town? I know the shopping and entertainment leave a lot to be desired but what are they compared to kindness, friendship and a sense of community

Wednesday I started my day in a dental office waiting on Rebekah to have her stitches removed. Also waiting was a gentleman and within ten minutes we had covered growing up in Orlando and Sanford, how we came to live in this town, how Disney ruined Orlando, riding bikes all day as kids and no one worried, how hot Florida can be in July and finally, bonfires on the beach and how sad we are it is no longer allowed. I am sure we could have covered much more, but Rebekah was finished and we moved on.

Next we visited my former work place. I lost track of the conversation streams that were addressed in fifteen minutes but Mac iOS6 was an animated discussion as well as western vs. eastern Caribbean cruise preferences and why, Twinning’s new cold brew peach tea, Blackberry tea and porcelain tile vs. laminate flooring if you have a cat that chooses not to use the litter box.

Our final stop was at Teapots n Treasures, a brand new teahouse in our “downtown”. If you live in a small town, you understand the quotation marks. I was very excited to visit Teapots n Treasures because “taking tea” has become my new obsession and to my knowledge, in recent memory we have never had anything like it. No sooner had we settled into our cozy tea nook than I see my dear friend, Wanda and her friend being seated for lunch. With a smile and a wave, she comes into our nook bringing her friend.  In the course of introductions, it was discovered Wanda’s friend had read Rebekah’s book, Summer Storms. Rebekah was so pleased to meet a new reader face to face. They invited us to join them after our tea was done and we did. We picked up our teapot and cups, told the owner we were socializing, ignored the people giving us strange looks and made our way to their tea nook. What fun we had. Rebekah talked book stuff, I caught up on friend news. Along with the chitchat we also discussed a young family’s loss of their precious newborn girl. We are all praying for them as they grieve.  We were so blessed by our unexpected opportunity to visit with Wanda, Jamie and Joan. Wanda would call it a Divine Appointment.

I have never lived in a truly large city. What is it like?

Galatians 5:22-23

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Fishing on the Pecos River

13 Jun

A Slice of Life

By Bill Lites

I grew up in a Southwest family of hunters and outdoorsmen.  Every winter it was the deer season hunt and every summer it was fishing in New Mexico’s rivers and lakes.  As a teenager, I really enjoyed getting away from town and out into Nature for one of our family hunting/camping trips.

This particular trip was a fishing trip in the mountains along the Pecos River.  My dad and I were working our way upstream, fishing as we went.  We had caught several nice Rainbow Trout and had them on our stringer, moving them in the water as we progressed from one likely fishing spot to another.

 

 

 

 

 

We finally came upon a bend in the river that flowed around a huge group of rocks, causing a nice eddy pool as the water coursed around the rocks.  It was a perfect spot to let my bait drift around the bend with the current into the eddy pool.

  I climbed up on one of the rocks and cast my bait into the upstream current, letting it drift around the bend.  Sure enough, I got a strike about half way around the bend, but didn’t hook the fish.  I repeated the process several times with the same results.  This must be a wise fish, I thought, but I can be patient, and tried again.

Finally, on about the seventh try I hooked that wise old Trout, and boy was he a nice one.  My attention had been so focused on catching that fish and getting him in hand that it wasn’t until I turned and started to jump down, that I saw a snake right where I was going to land.

Our fish stringer was at the edge of the water, and the snake had moved in and was trying to figure how he could get one of the fish in his mouth.  With my last touch of my leap from the rock, I catapulted myself as far over that snake as I could.  On the way down, I must have let go of my rod and the fish I had just caught, because when I hit the ground I instantly picked up a rock and bashed the snake in the head.  I pounded him with several more rocks, until I was sure he was dead, before I was able to breathe.

Now I can handle coming upon a snake if it is a few feet away and not a surprise.  But, because I was traumatized by a snake bite as a six year old,

and now, to be almost in mid-air and realize that you are going to land right on top of “What Kind of Snake?”   That was too much for my mind to deal with in the time available.  It was probably a harmless water snake hoping to enjoy a free meal, but that’s not what my mind saw while I was on my way down.  I learned from this to not be distracted, better to keep your mind on the task at hand.

Psalm 116:6

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The Razzle-Dazzle Snake Mover

11 Jun


My Take

DiVoran Lites

I pull the chenille bedspread up to make the bed and there’s a baby black snake the size of a shoelace lying on the floor. When the light hits him, he wiggles to the baseboard and tries to go under the wall-to-wall carpet. Thank you rug man for making it tight.  What do I do now? There are two things I know I will not do. I will not touch him and I will not kill him. I hear one of our cats meowing for her breakfast from the closed studio. Another thing I will not do is let the cats take care of the problem, as much as they would love to. That would end in death for the small creature that is already running for his life. I send up a quick request for guidance. Oh yes, maybe I can herd him out the back door with my razzle dazzle, the long-handled duster Aunt Judy brought me from Colorado all those years ago. It is made of soft fuzzy fibers.

We’ve zigzagged about two feet when he slips under the door of an adjacent closet where I keep the vacuum cleaner. I stand before the door my heart pounding like a tom-tom. What shall I do now?

I’ll brush him out of the closet and we’ll be on our way to the back door. It’s only a few yards. I move the vacuums out, no snake. I reach down for a tissue box in which I’m storing plant sticks. There he is. I jump back a bit. He makes a break. Fast as a flash, he’s under a paper grocery bag we’ve made into a hide-away for the cats to play in. One cat is still meowing, “Let me in.”

I breathe deeply, and hold for the count of seven. I need Bill, but he’s still asleep. Oh, well, it’s almost time for him to get up. I knock on his door. “Will you help me? There’s a little snake in the house.” I go back to my post. “I’m in here,” I call out. “He’s under there.”

Bill has an extension to pick things up with if you can’t bend over. He goes to the studio to get it. Lily, still meowing dashes in. I wave the razzle-dazzle in her path. She brakes and skids to a halt, her claws scrambling on the kitchen vinyl. The other cat peeks around the corner. Bill picks them up one by one and puts them out as he goes for the extension.

We lift the sack and unveil the pitiful, rumpled shoestring in the corner near the built-in bookcase. Bill reaches out and carefully lifts the snake in the extension. The snake wiggles and drops to the floor. While he is still disoriented Bill secures him again and carries him out the front door in the soft rubber grippers. He sets him down in the flowerbed. Mission accomplished.

Matthew 6:33-34

English: Line art drawing of a black snake.

English: Line art drawing of a black snake. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Speak Up Saturday- The Robin Diaries Part 1

9 Jun

Patricia Franklin has written a lovely series following a Robin family. We are happy to share the series  with you on Speak Up Saturday.

The Robin Diaries Part 1

Patricia Franklin

I had to let you know about the incident with the robins today. I was sitting on the patio and the male and female were both out in the grass. She collected a mouthful of dry grass and flew up to the fence in front of me. She looked at me, but I think she is not afraid… maybe there is some female chemistry between the two of us. She saw me before and continued working without any fear. But the male who was getting a little anxious, flew down and was gently pecking her on the back to get her to move along. (I have never seen this happen before). She flew over towards the lilac bush but passed it by. She was not yet ready to fix up the nest. He pecked at her again and she flew down into the garden, gathered some more grass, then flew into the nest from the back side. I thought it was cute the way he was concerned about her and was trying to persuade her to get out of my way and get her job done. And she was letting him know she had things under control. I never thought the male would be as concerned about the little flock as the female… especially before it is a flock.

Matthew 6:26

 

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The Room

7 Jun

On the Porch

Onisha Ellis

“Have you ever just wanted to scream “LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” to your children and hide in your bedroom for the rest of the day?”

This was part of a young mother’s vent on Facebook today. Oh the memories it brought to mind of days being so tired and out of patience I just wanted to scream, then hide. To find my happy place I would pretend. In my mind there was a lovely home nearby where a very kind and sweet woman lived. Young mothers knew they could knock on her door anytime and she would greet them with an understanding smile, give them a big hug and escort them to “the room”. The room was more like a small suite with a gorgeous bathroom complete with a huge tub. The tub edge was lined with an assortment of scented bath crystals or bubble bath. Fresh towels lay on the vanity. The bedroom was totally feminine in white or other restful colors, a fluffy comforter invited me to snuggle down and on the bedside table was an array of books. It was a pleasant dream and helped me through some frustrating days.

Now I am no longer a young mother. I have learned the identity of the sweet and kind woman. She was the spirit of my heavenly Father. As I grew in my spiritual maturity I realized there is always a happy place. It is when I allow myself to rest in my Father’s arms.

Matthew 11:28

My little frustration all grown up.

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How to Feed a Squirrel

6 Jun

A Slice of Life

Bill Lites

 

After moving to Florida, one of our favorite family pastimes was camping.  We started with a small four-person tent and over the years upgraded several times ending up with a very nice pop-up tent camper.  We especially enjoyed the many Florida natural spring camping areas.  The flora, fauna and wildlife was truly a wonderful learning experience for our whole family.

 

On one occasion, after a morning of swimming and playing, my wife headed off to the bathhouse for a shower.  On the way back to the camper, she noticed that a squirrel was following her.  She thought that was so cute and kept encouraging it to follow her.  Well, it didn’t need much encouraging, and followed her all the way back to our camper where I was shelling and eating some salted peanuts.  As you might know, my activity immediately got the squirrel’s attention and I was instantly it’s friend.  I threw a peanut on the ground out in front of me to see what it would do.  It snapped up the peanut and had it shelled and eaten in no time.  I held another peanut to see how close it would come and then dropped it close to my feet.  It didn’t take it long to come right up to me for the next treat.  So, I decided to see if it would take a peanut from my hand.  I held one between my fingers and held it out.  the squirrel came right up to me, stood up on it’s back legs, put one front paw on each of my fingers, I thought to steady the procedure, and calmly bit one of my fingers.  I couldn’t believe it!  Here that squirrel was biting the hand that was feeding it.  What kind of gratitude was that?  You can be sure that squirrel didn’t get any more of my salted peanuts.

I’ve recently learned that scrub jays like to take peanuts out of your hand. Maybe I’ll try that next time and see what happens.

 

 

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Hair Observations

4 Jun

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Do you ever look at anyone’s hair except your own in the mirror? Maybe more women than men do. I imagine most trained hair dressers do. I was one of those once, a long time ago. I’ve seen a lot of hair since then. A sign on a hole-in-the-wall family beauty shop said, “Old-Fashioned Barbering and New Age Hair-Cuts. Being sort of critical I thought design would go better, but maybe this family shop is not quite there, yet. Because I’m a woman of a certain age, I think that’s fine.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m fascinated with the new styles, fascinated and sometimes repelled, but who cares what I think?

People wear hair a certain way for one of three reasons,

1. They want to be in style,

2. They want to make an identity statement, or

3.They found a classic look that suits them and they stick with it.

An example of the first is the aging rider who roars by on his motorcycle with a skinny braid hanging down from under his helmet. Although I’m sure I’d like him as a person I always have an itch to snip the braid off at the roots. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have a gray braid like that down my back, I just don’t have the patience to let my hair grow long enough for a braid.

One example of a classic style that lasts forever is the page-boy, which has been around at least since the crusades when it was a boy style.

I’m glad finger waves, sausage curls, and blue hair are gone. Would you believe I actually learned how to do all that? Believe me a good finger wave is hard to do. What if hairdressers to the movie stars decide to bring those configurations back again?

I wonder what our hair will look like in Heaven. Maybe we won’t even have hair. Will hair matter? I suppose we’ll have to wait and see. I know one thing, God knows exactly how many hairs are on my head right now, and on yours too.(Luke 12:7)

English: Porcupine photographed by Mary Harrsch.

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