Letting go

    Wow, letting go can be hard, don’t you think? The situation in my life on a daily basis right now is seen in this photo of my baby grandson at nap time. We both have a problem letting go. He wants to hang on to me—he actually clutches my shirt in his tiny fingers as he’s falling asleep. And I love hanging on to him, too.  Holding an armful of sleeping baby is a fine, fine feeling.  My maternal instinct and experience tell me, though, that it would be best for him to fall asleep in his crib, independent of me. Our typical routine is that I put him in his crib when it’s time to sleep, and he screams bloody murder until I pick him up. These actions may be repeated twice or thrice in a single naptime until we have a successful transfer from Grammy to mattress.  I remember this being much easier with my babies, for some reason.

      My family is also having to face the ultimate letting go of one of our own, my sister, who passed over to the other side in October, much sooner than we think she should have. Pancreatic cancer. Her obituary accurately stated that she “reluctantly died;” letting go was hard for her, too, which makes her grace and humor through the eight months of her illness all the more amazing and precious. Rest in the peace, love, and joy of God, Precious. That was her nickname among us sisters—Precious.

      One more letting go that I am doing is letting go of this blog—and of hustling for speaking engagements—and of actively marketing my Sunday by Sunday series. Letting go of these tasks, which I genuinely enjoy, is more of a putting them down for a time to pick up something else:  the writing of my next novel. Now, and for 2013, at least, I will be single-minded of purpose, focused in my writing enterprises on this next book.  Jon Hassler, a fine writer of small town church fiction with whom I had a brief correspondence before his death, said that when he was writing a book he watched no TV, read no newspapers, and had little social life. I thought that seemed extreme on first hearing but have come to accept the wisdom and the reality of it, varying in degrees for each author, I suppose. After several months of little progress with my current project, I know that I've been trying to hang on to too much. “What freedom and relief eventually come as we let go, knowing that God will never let go…” (Cathie Powell, The Anchorage, Greenville SC)

      Meanwhile, I plan to post occasional updates on the book in progress at www.sundaybysunday.com Please stop by!

Koinonia Farm and Clarence Jordan celebration

       Koinonia Partners, an intentional Christian community, was established as Koinonia Farm between Americus and Plains GA 70 years ago. Clarence and Florence Jordan (pronounced Jerdan, for some reason) and Martin and Mabel England were the faithful founders. They felt God calling them to live out the love, peace and justice Jesus preached and lived. I was privileged to join the celebration of both the past and ongoing ministry of this remarkable and, as it turned out, dangerous and courageous venture.

        Greg Wittkamper spoke at a breakout session I attended, telling his story of being a Koinonia kid in the 1960s when the high school in Americus was forced to integrate. These many years later, he had to pause to regain his composure recalling the daily persecution which he and others from the community were subjected, from constant taunting of “Greg Wittnigger” from “Koinonigger” and paperclips being shot into his back to physical assault. Our hearts were wrenched but then warmed by the bigger story of classmates who had acted so hatefully asking forgiveness decades later. An intentional reconciliation took place at the 41^st class reunion.

        Habitat for Humanity and The FullerCenter for Housing grew out of the community at Koinonia Farm, and in a session with Don Mosley I was startled and delighted to learn about the North Korea Initiative--The Fuller Center is building houses in North Korea! For six years, Mosley has been traveling there and helping this happen. Love, peace, justice, radically lived out.

        Jimmy Carter was on hand to give tribute to Clarence Jordan. Their relationship went back at least to a 1952 boycott of Koinonia Farm when businesses in the county refused to buy or sell to Koinonia because the community was bi-racial. Characteristically, Carter was supportive of their cause. Today's huge mail order business of pecans and peanuts started up in response to that long ago boycott with the motto, “Let's ship the nuts out of Georgia!” Carter is now 88 years old, and he and Rosalynn are heading to Haiti soon to help build 100 homes. This is the 29^th annual Habitat for Humanity build led by the Carters. (I can't leave out a major disappointment. I had made a very special reservation for a dinner with Rosalynn and Jimmy and missed it because I was mixed up on the time. Big, sad sigh.)

     I find a deep and abiding pleasure in being with people who see faith the way Clarence Jordan described faith: “a life lived in scorn of the consequences.” I yearn to live that way (at least sometimes) and to celebrate Jesus' resurrection that way, and here's what Jordan said about that resurrection: “The proof that God raised Jesus from the dead is not the empty tomb, but the full hearts of his transformed disciples...not a vacant grave, but a spirit-filled fellowship. Not a rolled-away stone, but a carried-away church...” Yes, Lord, please. Amen.

Chicago's teacher strike and going to school with my grandchildren

Thank heaven schools are open again in Chicago after seven missed days. The closure was a bad thing, all sides are agreed on that. Let us hope, though, that the negotiations and communication of those seven days will serve a high purpose for schools everywhere, making the interruption worthwhile.

In the Chicago teacher strike, my sympathy was with the teachers—naturally, I suppose, since I have spent 14 years of my life teaching special education in the public school system. To be clear, I believe strongly in accountability and professional development and that there needs to be a good way to address incompetence. As an education professional, I eagerly anticipated being observed and evaluated as an opportunity to teach my students more effectively. We teachers watched test scores—and all other measures of student learning—closely, as in “evaluate, adjust.” But my succinct statement in response to what I see as an over-emphasis on 1) achievement as measured by test scores and 2) teacher responsibility for student performance is this: There is too much blaming the teacher when, in fact, they serve as a strong bastion against the complicated, ever-evolving, negative socio-economic forces in our society.

I offer no great insights or solutions; the situation is far beyond my ability to diagnose and prescribe. Which is why I have chosen other options than teaching in recent years. I felt like the greatest majority of us were working as hard as we could, doing our best to practice best practices, completing the paperwork efficiently and accurately, and nurturing and encouraging each student to reach her/his potential. And still, results did not always hit the high mark. The whole of it became too much for me, so, at this point, close to retirement, I've left it to the younger set, with admiration and best wishes.

A new perspective on schools is coming to me now, that of a grandparent. Last week, I was an honored guest at school breakfast with one grandson and lunch with another. Two aspects of contemporary school life struck me. The first was the security system, Lobby Guard, an automated machine into which a visitor like me inserts my driver's license for clearance to enter the building. The need for such security sobers and saddens an oldster like me, and yet, the process was orderly, friendly, and reassuring.

The second aspect, most delightful, was the rainbow of children, utterly diverse in racial and ethnic background. 'Tis marvelous how the kids hardly marvel at the melting pot of their classrooms like my generation often does.This is simply life, not even a new normal for them, just normal period. 

The ugliness of not-so-long-ago segregation with its hatred and bigotry by some and suffering for all stand in stark contrast. How could that ever have been? And, yes, there are still grievous inequities in education which must be urgently addressed, and are being addressed, as in this happy story about a school in South Carolina's “corridor of shame.” As we celebrate this proper and life-changing event, however, let it be noted that having a decent school should not depend on a visit from a president.

"Whatever" shoes...

Our preacher got literal and playful with the Ephesians passage we considered in worship Sunday morning, chapter 6, verses 10-20, specifically verse 15: “As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.” What kind of shoes? Whatever kind is needed, the writer of the letter said. 

Pastor Mary Anderson invited us to consider what shoes we need to wear to proclaim the gospel of peace. She suggested work boots, and that was my first thought, too. Workboots for renovating or building houses for lower income folks. (A hilarious image of Helen Mirren in the movie RED—Retired, Extremely Dangerous CIA agents—appeared in my mind. She's wearing an elegant white evening gown with combat boots and firing away with a submachine gun to foil wicked political assasination plots.) And now, I think of hip boots or galoshes worn for flood relief following relentless rains, hurricanes, or tsunamis as church folk and others have rescued people and animals in horrific situations from South Dakota to Indonesia.

“How about flip-flops?” Pastor half-joked. Sure. I have no doubt that flip-flop wearing believers render courageous acts of mercy everyday for the cause of peace in the name of Christ. I also remember a retreat with early morning worship on the beach, most of us wearing flip-flops, and the wondrous divine peace of the ocean waves and the sunrise grounding us in a fresh commitment to serve.

And how about dancing shoes? A motley crew of us are learning German-style polka moves to entertain at our upcoming Oktoberfest. This festival is developing into a major project at Incarnation, gathering significant funds for community ministries and affording great fun as we work shoulder to shoulder to proclaim the gospel of peace through this event. So maybe dancing shoes. I wonder if Jesus danced the Hora, laughing and whirling to the tune of Hava Nagila, celebrating God's love and grace and peace with sisters and brothers in the faith. I wonder if they ever kicked their sandals off so they could go faster and faster.

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace...” ~Isaiah 52:7a

What are we reading?

Here’s what I’ve read lately:

Fiction:  Toni Morrison’s Tar Baby, published in 1981, is set between the U.S. and a Caribbean island. While the book has that timeless quality a writer strives for, it is also a period piece, depicting and plumbing the evolution of race relations between Black and Caucasian in the early 1980s. I found the writing as well as the story provocative and imaginative. Strong, vivid images appearing in the characters’ psyches, called up by what is going on around them, add an intriguing touch. I will venture a criticism by saying that the ending seemed too light for the weight of the rest. The awarding of the Medal of Freedom to Morrison recently prompted me to read; now, I am eager to read her more recent works, A Mercy and Home. What a remarkable and inspiring woman, as you can see at the website of the Toni Morrisson Society.

Biography:  Charles and Emma about Charles Darwin and his intriguing, high-spirited wife. Using minute details from family writings, Deborah Heiligman has intertwined the story of Darwin’s well researched and formulated scientific findings with the strong, enduring love story of husband and wife. She portrays (to the point of over-repetition, perhaps) Emma’s concern that she would not be re-united with Charles in an after-life because of his doubts about the existence of God. Darwin did, in fact, put off the publication of his theories for decades because of his apprehensions of how negatively they would be received by the religious community; this surprised me.

    

I felt close to Darwin when I read this quotation: “[I am] hard at work dissecting a little animal about the size of a pin’s head {a barnacle}…and I could spend another month and daily see more beautiful structure.” Yes, my soul resonates, contemplating the amazing wonder of every atom.

I related to him as a parent, too. He was a doting, adoring father to ten children, three of whom died young, sending both Emma and Charles into deep grief, clinging to each other to cope.

A few more highlight quotations:

·        “By 1856 Charles was breeding his own pigeons…” Somehow this surprised me, too, his hands-on research.

·        “…when strangers wrote to him asking what he believed about God…He said that theologians should answer questions about religion, scientists about science."

·        to one of his daughters about Emma  “…dear old mother, who, as you know well, is as good as twice refined gold.”

·        Emma:  “I sometimes feel it very odd that anyone belonging to me should be making such a noise in the world.”

·        “His theory will continue to evolve. The debate between evolution and religion continues, too. He and Emma would certainly say that people from both worlds should keep talking to each other."

Reading about the origins of Darwin’s Origin of Species makes me think of the Scopes trial in Dayton TN in 1925. Several years ago I saw the annual reenactment of the trial which takes place in the courthouse where it happened. Fascinating. The dramatic presentation will take place next week.

Now, what are y’all reading? Please tell us in Comments--by clicking on No comments or however many comments there are. To join the conversation, you will have to sign in with a password and prove you're not a robot by entering a code and so on, but please do, if you have something to say. Once you do sign in, you won’t have to do so again..

Remarkable reconciliation

A remarkable reconciliation occurred recently that’s got me reflecting on the beauty and importance of coming together and resolving differences and difficulties. On Memorial Day weekend in an historic cemetery in Rincon GA, a racially integrated congregation was formed when worshipers joined together to reconsecrate more than 250 graves of slaves which border the main cemetery of JerusalemLutheran Church. Jerusalem is the oldest, continuously worshiping Lutheran church in the country, founded in 1734 by “the Salzburgers” who were fleeing religious persecution in Europe. The Salzburgers were outspoken opponents of slavery, but it is only recently that the graves were made known in the present day, revealed by ground-penetrating radar.

According to an article by Deborah Fontenau in the Savannah Herald, upon the discovery of the burial grounds, “Lutherans laid down a blueprint for reconciliation theology.” And so, people gathered to pray and sing, lay a wreath to honor those long gone, and worship a God who is always calling us to be reconciled, one with another. Fontenau describes the experience as “centuries of solitude, silence, and shame” being put to rest. Remarkable.

What if we humans valued reconciliation as the right and proper way of relating to each other? In Syria and Iraq and Afghanistan and so on throughout history…  In American politics… In personal relationships…

I treasure a moment of reconciliation between me and another that occurred a long time ago. An unkind remark of mine was met with silence. The silence created a space devoid of retaliation, competition, or judgmentalism, a space in which I could catch my frustrated breath. And then the two of us trudged through the rest of that hard conversation until the issue was resolved and harmony restored.

Sometimes reconciliation comes through gracious silence, sometimes through raucous demands for justice. Sometimes in a fleeting glance or sudden laugh, sometimes in grueling negotiation. Sometimes in a quick minute, sometimes after centuries.

Any thoughts on reconciliation? If you’ve experienced or seen a moment of reconciliation worth sharing, please do! 

I don't have time to blog because...

I’m finishing up a booklet for each of my sons-in-law for Father’s Day, a compilation of funny, kooky things their kids have said. Four boys, two for each dad, and they keep us laughing.

Like Carter, 7, announcing at the dinner table recently, “I’d love Eggplant Parmagiana if it didn’t have eggplant in it.”

And this heard when he and his cousin Sam, 5, were playing baseball the other day:  “That was a great pitch, Sam. You just got it on the wrong side of me.” And when Sam hit the ball, Carter yells at him to run. “Okay, I will,” Sam says, kneeling in the grass to examine a roly-poly.

Ben, Carter’s kid brother who is 3, loves to tag around with the bigger guys. When Sam arrived at his house to play, Ben ran up to him, eyes sparkling, “Hi, Sam. Here I am!”

And then there’s Kevin, 10 weeks old today and baptized tomorrow, Sam’s little brudder. This baby boy is high on life, smiling and cooing and gurgling and flailing arms and legs in excitement at what he sees and hears. His mother heard him utter his first word a couple weeks ago:  “diagonal.” Sam said he was trying to say “Pentecost” on Pentecost Sunday. I’m not so sure about all that, but he distinctly said “elf” and “boo” on my watch this week.

I’m telling you, these guys crack me up. All three of the older ones have asked, precisely at the appropriate developmental stage of learning about human anatomy, “Grammy, do you have a penis?” They’re quite puzzled when the answer is no. “Then what do you have?” one of them wondered.

Every one of you reading this undoubtedly has a favorite saying of a favorite kid. Why not share it here in Comments—which will put you in the running to win a Sunday by Sunday deluxe boxed gift set.

Gotta’ go and finish those booklets… Enjoy tomorrow. Think of your father.   

I started my new book this week

No drum roll, please. On a minimal, modest level, I eased in to working on my next book this week. The target schedule is 6-7 am Mon-Thurs mornings and then four to six hours on Fri and Sat with Sun off. I started with sketches of the three main characters. Just like the ankle bone being connected to the leg bone, all elements of the story affect each other. Even though results so far are less than a typewritten page, focusing on the characters has implications for the setting and has also helped develop the plot. One big development dictates major research; I will be contacting the local VFW to try and connect with a Vietnam vet in that regard.

How pleased and grateful I am to be doing this. I’ve said that about 100 times because of the truth of it.Still profoundly true.

Any comments? Are you, perhaps, involved in a writing project? I know those of you are pastors are:  weekly sermons. I know my sister who works with crisis care and my daughter who works in research development are:  reports. Some of you may journal. Composing an email—or even a handwritten letter or card, if you remember those—is the craft of writing.

If you enter a comment about the writing process as you observe it or do it, love it or hate it—or comment on anything, even, “Good luck on the book, Cristy!”—you are eligible to enter a drawing and possibly win a lovely deluxe gift boxed set of my Sunday by Sunday series.

One person reported that she had complications trying to comment, and her comment didn’t, in fact, come through. Please email me if you’ve had that problem. I’ll be checking this out with my IT guy.

And now, on to my writing enterprises. I've already, on this Friday morning, hung out a load of wash and fixed myself fabulous whole wheat and oatmeal pancakes, and it's only, er-ah, 12:30. Oh, well. Y'all enjoy your Friday and take care.

♥ing the Public Library

       How I ♥ public libraries, especially the big, downtown ones like Columbia’s largely glass structure on Assembly Street. There are trees growing inside it, planted at the lower level where the kids’ stuff is and growing up through the main level. Very cool. The kids’ section is called “The Wild Place for Children;” huge reproductions of the characters from beloved Maurice Sendak’s beloved book adorn the walls.   

And oh, the people you see! Grand diversity of cultures and personalities. Cheerful, competent staff eager to help. Parents conscientiously and gladly guiding their children into literature and the arts.

And, for several decades now, lots of people in transition, living on the street, needing a place to be through heat, hail, and cold. They use resources to search for jobs and houses, etc. Uniformed security guards have become standard along with that socioeconomic development. I wonder at the change in the mission of libraries to include this population, many of whom are living on sharp edges of mental illness, poverty, and who-knows-what. Quite the challenge, but I appreciate what seems to be an effective effort to accommodate those in need and consider my taxes well-spent in that regard.

I stopped by to get materials for summer learning with a student I tutor, and was, once again, pulled forward by techno-progress. Expecting to check out compact disks of educational games and programs, the staff provided instead a list of websites on their website. Of course. So much easier. kahnacademy.com and coolmath.com, here we come!

Once upon a time circa 1983, I had a techno-progress moment in my public library in Lionville PA that nearly sent me under. The card catalog had been replaced with an online catalog. From one week to the next that had happened! I was incredulous, disoriented. That was during my full-time mothering stint, and I’d never done anything with a computer. I stood in line waiting for a terminal, blinking back tears and thinking that if I could just pull out a drawer from the card catalog I’d be checking out my book by now. Wow. That was lots of history ago, wasn’t it?

My library in Albany GA loaned out artwork. There was a gallery of beautifully framed paintings in the basement, over a hundred of them, and my 4-year-old would select one and enjoy it hanging in her room for the three weeks until it was due back. Degas’s ballerinas I particularly remember. I only censored her choice once—a vivid, large, close-up oil of one boxer punching another in the head. Don’t you think I was right? There was blood, for goodness sake.

One of the best aspects of visiting the library now—I just have to say this—is that the three books I have written are on the shelves. All three were checked out this time, and that’s the way I like it. But there’s also great pleasure in seeing them in the collection, waiting for a reader. They’re next to Karin Fossum. She’s a Norwegian mystery writer, pretty good, I think—and it’s very possible that we’re related.

Do you still go to the library in this day of downloading books or buying them online? Do you have any stories or memories about public libraries? (Remember, the names of all who enter comments between now and June 30 will be put in a drawing for a Sunday by Sunday gift set. Your chances of winning are very high as no one has commented yet! C’mon. I know you have a thought or two. Please help me get started here…)

What are we reading?

Since posting The Reading Habit on Feb. 23, I’ve decided to post on a monthly basis about what we’re all reading. Please share, won’t you?

As I mentioned previously, I’m usually reading at least three books at a time, from different genres and for different times of the day. Presently:

Devotional/spiritual – Still working on Hans Schwartz’s Christology, begun for the Lenten season. I’m over halfway through Christology, taking a long time not because the book is heavy or hard, but because I’ve read infrequently due to other early morning priorities. Recently, in this book that, according to Carl E. Braaten, “tells us what Christians have believed about Jesus from the beginning” to the present, I learned about the “Johannine Comma,” extra words in 1 John 5:7-8 in some early printed editions of the Greek New Testament. The import of these words regards the then-developing doctrine of the Trinity. A comma or a few extra words may seem trivial in our present age, but there were times when believers died over these controversies. Here’s what Rose Harris, a believer but not a dogmatist regarding the Trinity, said in Sunday by Sunday I:

How would I have fared as a person of faith in the days when professing what you believed could be a matter of life or death? In light of modern thought and contemporary ecclesiastical/religious culture, the Trinity hardly seems worth dying over. So, if a stern, squinty-eyed inquisitor had asked me, “Do you believe in the Holy Trinity as ultimate Truth?” I would have looked him straight in the eye and said, “Youbetcha.” I can see the headline:  “Hypocrite Heretic Not Burned at Stake.”

Fiction – A self-published novella I plucked off the local author exhibit at the library. Started out pretty good with a compelling story and articulate language but didn’t go the distance. I have to think the author made the common mistake of foregoing an editor.

(Auto)Biography – Population 385: Meeting Your Neighbors One Siren at a Time. Have you discovered Michael Perry yet? Funny, charming writing about his experiences as volunteer in a small town in Wisconsin. I think I love it a lot because it reminds me so much of Ringwood IL, my hometown. “Population 250, counting the dogs,” I always heard.

What are you reading? I eagerly anticipate receiving some responses. Don’t forget:  The name of any of you who comment between now and June 30 will be put in a drawing for a Sunday by Sunday gift set, lovely for your bookshelf or as a special gift. So, tell us what you’re reading today…     

War veterans I have known and loved

       My dad, Gordon Fossum – Dad would cajole us kids into scratching his back and would figuratively divide his back into a tic-tac-toe board of nine squares numbered across and then direct us to his itches. “Right in the middle of 2,” he’d say, or “Right on the line between 7 and 8.” I think his Purple Heart scar was in the lower right corner of square # 6. Many times I scratched it, fingered it, rubbed it, and had questions I couldn’t even find words for. Like so many, he didn’t talk about the war much. During one conversation I found out that it was flying shrapnel that had wounded him during a confrontation with the enemy in the Pacific arena of WW II. I sure wish I’d captured that conversation because I think he went into details, most of which I’ve forgotten. I was older by then, and I do remember us talking about the sheer terror he felt.

Years later, 1968, to be exact, in the middle of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, we had another war-related conversation, this time by phone. I was in the city, and he was ranting against Vietnam War protesters. When I told him I was one of them, he hung up on me. Upset and hungry for reconciliation, I took the next commuter train out to my hometown, to him. We did our best, but it wasn’t pretty.

I’ve always felt like Dad’s war experience killed something in his soul. I wonder how much it fueled his alcoholism. Maybe not that much, considering that his father was alcoholic, too. Of course, Grandpa Fossum fought in WW I...

My maternal grandfather, Kenneth Cristy – Grandpa Cristy and I never talked about his war experiences in France in WW I, but I have copies of letters that he wrote to Clara Nelson, his sweetheart back in Wisconsin.  He wrote something like, “Don’t forget me while I’m gone. If you find someone else, I’ll be in a hard place.” She didn’t. She became my Grandma Cristy.

John – I knew this delightful man in rural Chester County, Pennsylvania in the 1980s. I had moved there, and we went to church together. On a visit to his home on church business, he told me about being among the first troops to enter Nagasaki (or was it Hiroshima?) after the atomic bomb blast. Unimaginable. He shook his head a lot. I remember him talking about sitting safely in his nice home nearly 40 years later telling about such horror, incredulous that it ever could have happened.

A guy in the waiting room – Again in PA, another WW II vet. My toddler and I spent most of a morning with him while our cars were being worked on. He talked his head off about his war experiences. When the manager told him his car was ready, we said goodbye, but after paying, he came back to us and took my hand in his, tearfully thanking me for listening; he said h'ed never told anyone else those stories. He pressed a $10 bill in my hand and told me to go get some lunch for me and my baby.

Bob – Recently returned from combat duty in Vietnam. I can’t remember how we got connected, through a bulletin board notice, I think, but he gave me a ride from Waverly IA where I was in college, to home, Ringwood IL on a cold winter night in 1968. Side by side in his Jeep, we drove through the dark for hours. This was our first meeting, and yet, before long, detailed, sickening horrors of his time in Nam poured forth. I was strongly opposed to the war by this time, radicalized at Wartburg College, but did not fully admit to that. How I felt for him and admired him…and deeply regretted that his courage and service seemed to be spent  for a lost cause.

What veterans are special to you?   

Savoring marketing and promoting

Self-promotion and marketing is the bane of many writers’ existences, but I’ve decided I like that aspect. Being somewhat of an extrovert helps, and I really do feel for those who just want to write and are stretched uncomfortably by tooting their own horns, public speaking, technology, and all the rest. Here are my top 5 thoughts (or “brain droppings,” as George Carlin would say) about marketing and promotion at this point in time:

# 1 – Acceptance. Most of us authors have to market, particularly those of us who are self-published. Happily, I’ve moved beyond lamenting and railing against this situation in the constantly evolving world of books and publishing. “You get what you get, and don’t pitch a fit,” to quote the line my little grandson heard everyday in daycare until he accepted that he might get a blue one when he really wanted red.

# 2 – Humility. Simply declaring myself a writer was a journey, and I well remember feeling that promoting my work was arrogant and involved too much vulnerability. I have grown in that regard by praying for “true humility, the humility of Jesus and Mary.” In this understanding, my purpose is to be God’s child, using the gifts I have been given with neither timidity nor conceit.

# 3 – Challenge. Technology skills—lack thereof—is the single biggest hurdle for me in promoting and marketing. I have been able to pay professionals on occasion but have mostly had to learn, learn, learn. The learning is usually fun and satisfying with “how-to” resources readily available. Hard to believe how far I’ve come technologically—and hard to imagine how far I have to go!

# 4 – Persistence. I love the balance I’ve reached of not giving up on my writing enterprises but not fretting over how they are developing.  I keep plugging joyfully on, in the midst of being overwhelmed by technology, fits of low self esteem, and low-to-no book sales. Generally, I am peaceful even on those days when I just can’t do it, for whatever reason. Probably tomorrow things will happen.

# 5 – Rewards. And things do happen, big things like speaking engagements, little things like selling a book out of my trunk to somebody next to me in line in a store. Every time I venture, something is gained.

And here is a new venture, through which you could gain. Now that I’ve finally learned to process comments (not difficult, just a readiness thing), I want to encourage comments and dialogue on my blog. To that end, I will be giving away a boxed gift set of the Sunday by Sunday series. Each time you enter a comment between now and June 30, your name will be entered into a drawing for the gift set. And on we go…

    

Surrounded by happy people talking in other tongues

My friend, a young man of the Montagnard tribe of Vietnam, graduated yesterday from an ESL program, and I was honored to be among the guests. English was the order of the day, of course, but after receiving their well-earned certificates of achievement, the students narrated PowerPoints showing the flags, foods, weather, cities, natural beauty and resources, and so forth of their native lands, and native words and expressions came forth.

Speaking more than one language strikes me as a wondrous accomplishment. My two years of high school Latin provided a linguistic foundation I continue to enjoy, and I went fairly far with French in h.s. and college, but “if you don’t use it…” Acquiring a second language is on my sure-would-like-to-if-I-had-the-time list, but since there has been no necessity to do so, I never have. And so, I am especially impressed by those who have worked hard and applied their intelligence to master this feat. And I was surrounded by them yesterday.

After the presentations in the auditorium, we celebrated in the cafeteria, with their colorful folk costumes, singing, dancing, and conversation. The room was alive with joy, gratitude and—what’s the other word I’m looking for here? Ambition, I think. I loved talking with a civil engineer from Ecuador who was born in China; with George from Georgia, whose hero is Ronald Reagan because of his part in breaking up the Soviet Union; with a Chinese woman describing stands by the side of the road in her country where people sell “tea eggs,” hard-boiled in tea with anise, a quick breakfast for many on their way to work or school; with my Vietnamese friend, who scored 100% on his naturalization test a couple years ago and whose next goal is earning his GED, then on to college.

Oh, and the food! Don’t forget the food, an important and yummy part of the cultural bridge, served with pride and eaten with delight. Borsch with sour cream, shrimp rolls, chocolate bread and black bread and tortillas and blini, peanut soup and carrot soup, thin and silvery noodles, little zucchini pancake-like treats, tea eggs (described above), guacamole, rice pudding, and many more dishes.

Heavens, I think back to my 1950s elementary education and being entranced by the story and pictures of Pimwe, the jungle boy of the Amazon in our social studies book. We’ve come a long way from those times, when such stories were other worldly and exotic to being able to hear and see people from faraway places on pretty much any street corner. I love it.  

Preparing to write--by reading

Tuesday last was heavenly, truly a day off. I had to report to neither of my day jobs, the weather was a sunny 80˚ with blue sky and no humidity, and I read several hours away. The next book I will write is in the conceptualization stage (in that “mental crockpot,” as I recently heard someone describe), and reading is a fine and fun way to move that process along. The Gendarme by Mark Mustian (2010, Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam. Available everywhere) is serving well to stimulate and inspire—and help me keep in mind what good writing is.

How can I develop a character like Mustian’s Emmett Conn/Ahmet Kahn, who is immediately intriguing, human, entertaining, and sympathy-inducing despite—even because of—his flaws? How can I develop a story that is this electrifying and filled with mystery, even for the main character himself? How can I change scenes and travel back and forth through time crisply and clearly like this? How can I write dialogue that sounds this natural as it crackles with meaning?

At the 2010 Lutheran Festival of Writing, Mustian recounted “the making of” The Gendarme, drawing us into the horrible history of the annihilation of one million Armenians in Turkey at the beginning of World War I. His Armenian ancestry was part of his reason for writing the book, though none of his immediate forebears were directly involved, having immigrated to the United States long before. Again, in response, I entertain the possibility of using other times and places and perhaps my own ancestry in my novel. Right now, I don’t think I will do that; nevertheless, I appreciate being opened to bigger, broader vistas. I also prize this model of compelling composition that is bold to tell the truth, even the hard and ugly truth. And, most importantly, perhaps, I am affirmed in my passion for using humor and surprise and artistry to weave bright threads of redemption throughout. Thank you, Mark--and all other writers. Each of us has something to teach.

Phantasmagorical surprises at volunteer appreciation day

I halfway didn’t want to go to the volunteer appreciation breakfast at the senior retirement center, expecting the event to be dry and perfunctory. My expectations were undeniably shaped by a reading I had given there the week before. I had to fight the giggles at one point when I looked around the circle and seven of eleven of my audience were asleep. I maintained composure and focused on the four lively, interested listeners, but couldn’t help asking myself, “What in the world am I doing here? Surely this is a poor use of my time.” So when the breakfast began with a Bloody Mary and ended with an eye witness story about Janis Joplin, I was surprised, delightfully so.

The main delight was fun with the three other volunteers at my table. Our little group was graced with that rare moment when all present are as interested in each other as they are in themselves. And so, we enjoyed scintillating conversation balanced equally among us. Over scrumptious veggie quiche and homemade biscuits, connections sparked and popped. Hardy is involved through his church in collecting gently-used children’s books and distributing them to schools along South Carolina’s infamous Corridor of Shame. Shelley is employed by the public library system to deliver reading materials to people whose mobility is limited. Marvin helped establish Columbia’s Jewish Community Center and has lived all over the country, working in community organization. They were interested in my writing enterprises. Hardy is going to recommend me to the activities director of his congregation. Shelley accepted a set of Sunday by Sunday in large print with confidence that some of her readers would like them a lot. Very cool.

The program was cool, too. The Life Enrichment staff presented each of us with a certificate and then invited us to describe what we do. The descriptions were straight from the heart and humorously humble, and then staff members added appreciative and often amusing comments and anecdotes. A dear friend I have made there gave a fine endorsement of the Sunday by Sunday series. This amazing woman is herself a volunteer and shared the moving information that she sings, upon request, for people who are dying, 21 people so far. Another resident volunteer serves as librarian for the center, and I happily contributed an LP set--and she wanted to know where people could purchase them, if so desired. Great connections.

And then, there was icing on top of all that cake. As I said, Marvin has been around and told this story that occurred in California in 1967 at a camp for kids he was directing:

He had worked with Peter, leader of Big Brother and the Holding Company which was featuring Janis Joplin at the time. He gave the group a week of room and board at the camp in exchange for them giving a concert. After hours one night, the musicians were swimming in the pool. When Marvin and his wife got there, Janis was the only one still swimming, and his wife asked if she could take her picture. Janis hopped out of the pool in the buff, shook the water off, and said, “No. I don’t think my agent would allow it.”

Wow, what a story—and what a good adventure, this volunteer appreciation occasion. Hard to believe that I actually considered skipping it!

Rose Harris helps to form and nuture future preachers

If Rose Harris, protagonist in my Sunday by Sunday series, were a real person, she would have gloried in being with a classroom full of seminarians yesterday. She would have, I believe, enjoyed the laughter when I read one of her phone conversations with granddaughter Stephanie Rose from book one--the conversation where the pregnant and emotionally fragile Stephanie had fixed herself a vegan delight Dagwood sandwich and set it on the patio for a minute and a raccoon ate it.

She would have also understood the change of mood in the classroom to sober silence upon the recounting of her Sunday afternoon in Sam Benshaw's room in the nursing center from book three. Rose was totally unprepared for Sam's stunning confessions. How could this kind and dignified 100-year-old friend and poet ever have done those things? And then, Rose would have been deeply gratified by the students delving into that story based in the lessons for the third Sunday of Easter and connecting her and Sam's encounter with suffering and joy and resurrection.

As the author, I was surprised and delighted by the students' discoveries. Some of their insights I had never considered, so their obersvations were great examples of the writing coming to the writer from beyond. Yes, 'twas a precious and sparkling time. I fiercely admire the courage of these seminarians, these people of faith willing to pray and do their best to proclaim the Word of God for and with the people of God.

Speaking at LTSS again

Dr. Shauna Hannan, homiletics professor at Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary has invited me to speak to one of her preaching classes as she did last year, and I am, once again, delighted. Dr. Hannan wrote the Foreword for Sunday by Sunday III which I deeply appreciate and consider perfect to the purpose. She also introduced the book at its debut last All Saints Day at Incarnation Lutheran, Columbia. Playing on the main character’s name, Rose, she declared that any pastor would love to have “a dozen Roses” in the congregation. Fun and gratifying!

The class is tomorrow and is made up of people preparing for public proclamation of God’s Word, people diverse in many ways and all committed to that goal, among other tasks of ministry. The topics/themes Dr. Hannan has asked me to address are Preaching and the Christian Year and Scripture and Preaching. ‘Tis a great joy and a deep honor for me to use my works of fiction in this way, a satisfying whole circle kind of experience, as the writing is always meant to glorify God and build up the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. My prayer is that our time together tomorrow will do that.

Very cool surprise about my book

My 5-year-old grandson excitedly reported over the phone last Saturday, “Grammy, when we went into the library we saw your book. It was right there on a table!” Very cool, especially his excitement! My daughter wasn’t sure why Sunday by Sunday III was on an exhibit kiosk. Maybe a display of local authors?

Excited myself, I took a Sunday afternoon stroll to the main Richland County Public Library in downtown Columbia to behold my work. As I entered, however, my mind was centered on a book I was seeking, and I forgot to look for my own. But after finding and checking out Joseph Cardinal Bernadin’s The Gift of Peace, I remembered to check for S by S.

Not there anymore. So I checked the catalog and found that it was checked out with one person waiting. And book I was “In transit,” which means en route to a branch where it had been requested. Book II was also checked out. Yee-haw. What fun to know that they are circulating.

In the challenging and oft frustrating context of marketing and promoting, this development was a nice and needed boost. Other welcome boosts lately include a couple invitations to speak and notes from readers, including this from Sandra Penrod in Melbourne FL:

Cristy,
I just finished reading Sunday by Sunday III. I wish I could have read your books as intended, Sunday by Sunday, but once started I just couldn't wait for Rose's next journal entry. I looked up some verses as I went along but mostly read them as novels. I've marked special sections to use as devotions. Our Adult Sunday School Class is studying Mark and I got a new and enlightening look at some of the scriptures we are studying… Thank you for your delightful and thought provoking insights and for Rose.

Wow. Thanks so much, Sandra! Doubts and anxieties concerning my writing enterprises are common and powerful—and, I think, typical of the writing life. The affirmations are equally powerful, though, and how grateful I am for any and all encouragement!

Reflections upon the command to sacrifice Issac

Advisory: I invite you to read the preceding blog to make the reading of this entry more meaningful.

The command to sacrifice Issac in the 22nd chapter of Genesis can be a huge stumbling block for modern minds. I daresay this ancient story discourages many from exploring the Scriptures. Common responses are to ask what is more abhorrent than killing one’s own child? And what kind of monster God would tell a parent to do that?

Even we Christians who trust the witness of our forebears in faith are challenged by this story. Trusting God’s Word, however, can lead us beyond literal interpretation and application of the testimony to diligent digging for meaning as we pray for the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

After some Spirit-guided digging (main sources: many years of reflection in class discussion, Bible studies, and sermons; and The New Interpreters Bible (1994), commentary by Terence E. Freitheim), I do not offer serious commentary or analysis for which I am neither qualified nor prepared, but rather some thinking points:

· As with all stories of faith, this one is not simply about these specific people and this specific situation. The message is far broader and packed with metaphor and symbolism. Abraham represents Israel as God’s firstborn and his personal story is about Israel’s life with God.

· The cultural context included belief in many gods and a sacrificial system to please them that included the sacrifice of human beings. In this story, God puts an end to human sacrifice. Sarah Dylan Breuer expresses this idea: “When humanity’s vision of the world and the powers that made it is in the narrow place of thinking that the gods are as thirsty for human bloodshed as humankind is at our worst, in a culture in which parents sacrificed their sons and daughters so they could be more successful in agriculture, politics, or war, God’s voice speaks to Abraham as he loomed over his bound son Isaac, and God says, "Stop it! That’s enough!" God goes with Abraham to that dark and narrow place and leads him to a wider place, a wider vision of who God is and what God wants from us. ~from sarahlaughed.net

· Also important is understanding this incident as part of the larger story of Abraham and Issac from Genesis 11 through 35.

· Through relationship and revelation, Abraham had come to trust God automatically. Trust in God is not necessarily blind or unthinking but can become a default position, second nature to the believer. Even as he prepared to obey, Abraham trusted God to provide the lamb. Even as we seek to obey through difficulty, we can trust God to provide what we need in this life and beyond.

· God will never invalidate the divine promises but people may choose not to participate.

· Belief in the resurrection connects this story of the Hebrew Scriptures to the New Testament, foreshadowing Jesus giving his life for us.

These reflections probably raise as many issues as they address. Such is the nature of this vast array of testimony known as the Bible. What joy for people who have faith in its witness to explore its deep riches for our everyday lives.

Before delving into the story of "The Command to kill Issac"...

Before delving into story of “The Command to kill Issac,” I want to describe the hermeneutic (principles of interpreting the Scriptures) to which I adhere. To do this, I have quoted the words from Sunday by Sunday I where Rose, my alter ego and main character, explains:

“And I offered my personal hermeneutic (not exclusively personal, I trust, grounded as it is in many years of listening, exploring, reflecting, and living, all within the community of faith, guided by the Holy Spirit) which I state in a formal way here, for self-clarification, as much as anything:

The Scripture, old and new, is the inspired Word of God, a gift to the people of God, to understand the nature of God, and to live according to that divine nature. The Scriptures were recorded by people of faith traveling through time and space, interpreting the divine will and divine action in their own lives as revealed to them. Human, fallible, limited in their powers of interpretation and subject to their culture and history, these people faithfully did their best to express the truth about God. Because Christ is both human and divine, his actions and words most fully reveal the divine nature, so we look at all the Scripture through the eyes of Christ.”

Also relevant from that same book, Rose writes after a Bible study led by Pam at her congregation, St. Timothy:

“Pam offered principles for interpreting Scripture which fit perfectly with my personal hermeneutic. I find them extremely helpful:
· observe “peaks and valleys”—some parts of the Bible are more important than others
· honor tradition—the interpretations and teachings of the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church should guide us and not be changed lightly
· bring experience to bear on how we understand the Scripture—trust the Holy Spirit to allow experiences to move our hearts
· use our God-given brains—ask what makes sense, both in the original and modern contexts.
· look at everything through the lens of Jesus Christ’s teachings”

There. Now you will know from whence I am coming when you read my next blog reflecting upon the story of “The command to kill Issac.”

Throw the Bible out the window! What?

Not so many years ago, I embarrassed myself during a conversation with a friend and fellow church member, a learned pastor and medical doctor who served many years as a missionary in Africa. “Sometimes I just want to throw the Bible out the window!” I blurted. His startled expression made me realize what a strong statement I had uttered and how open it was to being interpreted as sacrilegious. I hastened to explain. “There’s so much to know about the background and context and original language of any given passage. How can we find meaning without an interpreter’s resource constantly at our side?” He cautioned, “Don’t count out the Holy Spirit.” Oops. Yes, the Holy Spirit, always present to guide us as we read and search. And this humble servant gave witness to believers in Africa who had no other source than the Bible itself whose insights upon reading it were amazing and life-giving.

That conversation humbled me and made me think, reminding me always to invoke the Spirit when I study the Scriptures. Nonetheless, the conversation did not dampen—nor was it meant to—my enthusiasm for spirit-led, faith-fed exegesis. When I first heard the word exegesis I thought it was exe-Jesus. (I think I’m very brave to admit that!) But if you are a mathematician, you know that you exegete the root of an equation. And if you are a student of the Bible—and how can you not be a student of the Bible if you consider yourself a serious Christian?—you know that exegesis is the “exposition, critical analysis, or interpretation of a word, literary passage, etc., especially of the Bible” (Webster’s).

Recently, through exegesis, I learned about the significance in John 19, verse 20, of the King of the Jews inscription posted on the cross being written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. The gospel writer was signaling that Jesus died for the whole (known) world, not just the original chosen people. Also, the trilingual caption expressed Pilate’s contempt.

Since I have engaged in exegeting biblical stories and passages—largely for the purpose of writing the Sunday by Sunday series—the material has come alive with meaning and is far more interesting as well as sensible. In the next blog, I’ll tell how study and reflection and pondering have helped me come to positive terms with one of the most troubling stories of the Old Testament, the command to sacrifice Issac.

The reading habit

Remember that Twilight Zone episode with the extreme book worm, a diminutive fellow who appears to be legally blind without his thick-lensed glasses? He lives to read and hides in the vault every lunch hour at the bank where he works. One day, he comes out to find that nuclear holocaust has wiped out everybody but him. After a brief period of shock, he runs to the library and is running up the steps excited and delighted when he trips and falls and his glasses shatter. Remember that one?

And another avid reader – I have this vivid, dear memory of my 10-year-old daughter marching into the dining area with an armload of books—nine of them, I think—plunking them on the table, and methodically reading a chapter in each until she’d worked through the whole stack.

Probably not ever nine, but I’m often reading three books at a time: something of a devotional/spiritual nature for early morning, a novel for evening, and a biography for fitting in as possible. At the moment: Christology by Hans Schwarz, Hotel at the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford, and Nature’s Storyteller, The Life of Gene Stratton-Porter by Barbara Olenyik Morrow.

Isn’t it a pity that one lifetime can never be long enough to read all the books we would like to read? My list has at least 50 titles on it right now, works that I’ve heard reviewed or discovered on blogs or heard about from others. This passion for reading that so many of us share has me thinking about my reading habits and interests—and just for fun, I’d love to hear about yours, too. Please.

Back on track with early morning walk

Back on track with the first early morning walk through the hood in months, I am filled with gratitude and hope and sense of purpose. Very cool, and not to be taken for granted, this feeling.

A few blocks from my house there is a huge expanse of Rosemary banking a front yard, and in a sidewalk conversation, the woman who lives there had issued a standing invitation to partake. So, I broke off several big branches with bright purple blossoms, now gracing my living room with its fragrance and freshness, arranged in the cut glass vase given several Christmases ago by daughter two. And now, I’m thinking of a lovely woman named Rosemary, who I am so glad I got to know, who died a couple weeks ago.

And when I saw a pink dressing table cast to the curb, I thought of my sis in CA, wondering if she would have carried it back to her house. She has great talent for renovating such stuff. Even with its missing drawer and shadowy mirror, she could transform it into an artistically funky piece of furniture.

‘Twas chilly enough for gloves and headband and winter jacket, yet the ground under tulip trees is littered with their lavender flowers, an atypical sight for February. With the warm weather we’ve been having, daffodils and tulips are in full bloom and all manner of green sprouts are pushing through the dirt at least a month early. What in the world?

A smile exchanged with a commuter at a stop sign and friendly greeting with a dog walker I see at community meetings was pleasant for my soul.

“i thank You God for most this amazing day,” beginning in stark contrast to the one before. Yesterday I awoke with "damnable ennui "(see poem below), claustrophobia of the soul, acedia. The good and Holy Spirit interceded with weapons and the strength to use them. Physical activity, delicious food, communicating with friends, space and time for listening in prayer and meditation turned things around.

I wish for each of you, my friends, a day filled with that which you need.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Unwilling Spirit

Energy abounds.
“Let’s go!” the body says.
“Time’s a-wastin’ and if we hasten,
we can change the world a bit.”
But heartless energy only sputters
like a willing motor with loose connections.
“Rest for awhile,” comes the spirit’s hopeful whisper,
but “No!” says flesh.
“Forget duty and logistics
and indulge in long postponed pleasure,” the spirit weakly exhorts.

Even this temptation dies away
into a blue dream sky whose beauty
seems too distant to behold.
Damnable ennui sets in and, unabated,
holds body and soul alike
in a vice of nervous idleness.

Finally, nightfall gives cover for the fleshly defeat,
and unwilling spirit sleeps, too,
with dreams of no more tortured days.

Copyright © 2010 Cristy C. Fossum. Create in Me Enterprises, 1215 Beaufort St.,
Columbia, South Carolina 29201. May not be reproduced or transmitted in any form
whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Oops. I forgot I had a blog.

Since I finished writing the series on my book tour (last entry on January 11), I’ve not even thought about blogging. After five months at a feverish pace to complete and publish Sunday by Sunday III and then the tour, I have not been in a writing mode, not even much in my personal journals. Lining up income and then working to procure said has been my primary endeavor in this new year, and I am happy to report that income is lining up in ways both interesting and gratifying.

So rat-a-tat-tat, the beat goes on. I’m not sure what I’m even writing about here, just trying to get back in the routine, I think. Modest book sales in January are a pleasant surprise, with several readers catching up by ordering both II and III. Also encouraging are a few invitations to speak and lead retreats that have been extended for later in 2012.

If you are on my email subscriber list, stay tuned for an update focused on the “word of mouth” dynamic and its importance for writers. I’ll be expressing gratitude for the impact many of you have already made on my behalf and making suggestions about more ways to help me in my writing and marketing enterprises if you feel so moved.

Book Tour 2011--Next Steps

ADVISORY: If you’re seeing the blogs about my book tour for the first time, your reading may be enhanced by starting at the beginning. To do so, click on Older Posts at the bottom of the page and go to December 9, 2011, "Book Tour 2011"
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I have now been home 26 days from my 26-day book tour. Re-entry should certainly be over—and pretty much is. Energy level back to normal. House back in order and housekeeping routines resumed. Thank you notes mailed. Finances tabulated. Ms Malibu cleaned, inside and out.

Top priority for next steps is finding a job with a regular paycheck. The process has begun. Ideal would be part-time, flexible hours, few responsibilities, high pay. I’m joking, obviously. But seriously, I do hope to piece things together in such a way that I can have time and creative energy to keep writing. Wish me luck—and be in touch if you have any suggestions, contacts, or relevant information. The areas that interest me are clerical, tutoring, and writing. I have an interview this week and have submitted one other application. I need to get busy; mortgage payments wait for no man!

“What will you write next?” is the most common question I am asked these days. The short answer is a straight novel, not tied to the Revised Common Lectionary. (While grounding the Sunday by Sunday trilogy in the RCL was the right and proper framework and worked well if not easily, I eagerly anticipate being free from that regimen.) The longer answer is that I plan to wait a year before beginning another book, noting ideas and possible characters and plot lines, and allowing all that to simmer and ferment and sort itself out a bit. One tiny little thought needling me is that the story will be set in the mid- to late- 1800s. But don’t hold me to that… Between now and then, I may resurrect some short stories and query/submit them vigorously. Also, I will keep blogging and writing for my congregational newsletter and, if opportunity develops, write some magazine articles.

Sunday by Sunday is most certainly not relegated to the past, though. I will continue to promote and market, seeking invitations to speak and present programs, which is where I sell most of my books. I’ll continue sending complimentary copies, hoping for positive reviews and recommendations. And I’ll try to enlist my fan base—I have one of those now! a couple hundred devoted readers—to make the word-of-mouth impact significant. In fact, my next message to my email subscribers will focus on how they can help, such ways as: #3) get my books placed in local libraries and independent bookstores; #2) invite me and encourage others to invite me to speak—and I need to create a smart and glossy flyer to help in that regard; and, #1 – talk the books up with friends and strangers who might be interested.

Indeed, there are plenty of next steps to take. Get officially available on Amazon. Check out christianbooks.com as a possible outlet. Approach Martin Doblmeier about making his first fiction movie out of Sunday by Sunday. Hey, doesn’t hurt to ask. Anyone have his contact info? I’ll find it. Who do you think should play Rose? Oh, and yes, I will now copyright books II and III through the Library of Congress. Been meaning to do that…

I have other dreams, as well, about future writing endeavors. If you’d like to keep up with them, please email me at cfossum@sundaybysunday.com and tell me to add you to my subscriber email list for periodic updates.

As I finally end this record of Book Tour 2011 (in 2012--it's time to end!), I say once again, from the bottom of my heart and soul, thank you, thank you, thank you all.

Book Tour 2011---Luxury

I am compelled to write briefly about this topic because I enjoyed so much of it while on tour!

There was luxury of time as I drove long distances and in the two weeks I spent in home territory, with more and longer-than-usual visits. There was luxury of food, too, with hosts cooking special for me and family feasts. Even though this was a working vacation, there were times of luxurious idleness, unencumbered by routine tasks.

And I indulged in luxury accommodations one night toward the end of the trip. ‘Twas a gray and rainy Sunday when I left Auburn, Indiana heading for Knoxville, Tennessee. Fatigued after three events the day before and stressed by driving conditions—and having enjoyed several financially successful events—I decided to splurge. Night had fallen when I reached Berea, Kentucky and checked in at the historic Boone Tavern. The hotel was richly adorned with holiday décor. Right outside my window, across the street, a huge evergreen in the town center decorated with lights twinkled at me through the mist. After a tasty supper at a local Italian restaurant, I luxuriated in the high bed with its thick mattress and feather tick, and admired and enjoyed the fine furniture crafted by Berea College students. Students from the college also served me a scrumptious breakfast in the elegant dining room. And on my way I went, pampered and refreshed--and so very grateful.

Book Tour 2011 -- Family and Friends

The trip was half about the books and half about people. Many wonderful moments with family and friends...

• For the first time, my mother took her walker outside of her place, to Thanksgiving dinner at my sister’s house—and took pleasure in her adolescent grandchildren sitting on the seat of the walker and zooming around Taking the walker typifies for me Mother’s proactive stance towards the considerable challenges of aging. Rather than fighting change, she’s been proactive vis a vis, for example, using a cane, getting a hearing aid, and moving into an assisted living facility. Her determination to remain as independent as possible while asking for help as needed is a huge gift to us kids. Her world shrinks as her energy and strength decline, but how I admire her as she meets the daily challenges of institutional living, melancholy, and so forth.
  




• I’m so glad I had a couple of special times with my brother, another person I admire greatly as he battles “incomplete paraplegia,” a shocking outcome of back surgery last March. “The paralysis is nothing,” he states, compared to the agony of bladder dysfunction that’s gone unrelieved for months now, one procedure or medication after another failing to solve the problem. But his determination to persevere and overcome, spiked with humor (sometimes, understandably, of the gallows variety) and counting the blessings, has a beauty of its own.
  




• ‘Twas great staying for a couple nights with my cousin and his wife, and I treasure our reminiscences about our Grandma and Grandpa Cristy. Our childhood memories complimented each other, while apocryphal stories brought both laughter and pondering. I never had heard the one about Grandpa greeting my cousin’s wife, then fiancée, with “Well, hi there, er, uh,—Adam’s Apple!” upon one of their first meetings when he couldn’t remember her name. And Grandma’s mortification over it. Very cool seeing many family photos and pieces around their house, including both the painting (in pastels, I think) of the farmhouse with the dog on the porch and the aerial shot of the whole farm. Oh, my, so long ago.
  




• Other familial high points – Hide-and-go-seek with my nephew’s little ones, the youngest at that stage of screaming out when the seeker gets close. Ongoing conversation with a sister about our wasbands and life after divorce. Mom’s 88th birthday party, her sitting there smilingly, reveling in the generations and looking about 75 or so. Driving through the village of Ringwood, surprised again, at how much smaller our big old house looks to me now than it did then. Never did get by the cemetery to visit Dad, and Polly and Grandma and Grandpa and the rest; too busy with the living...

And some quick notes about friends...

• A fabulous friend from Ringwood IL—growing up in that unusual little village was, indeed, a bonding experience—came to the signing in Woodstock. After a great chat, she went to the coffee shop next door and brought me a steaming cup of pumpkin spicy coffee as she took her leave. Man, that drink was sweet and tasty!
  




• Visit with a high school classmate now in Kenosha. We worshiped at her church, then a rich afternoon of catching up at her house with lunch from Tenuta’s, the best supplied Italian deli “this side of Italy,” and hanging out with one of her daughters, a very impressive young woman home on college break.
  




• More catching up over coffee and the most delicious pumpkin roll I’ve ever tasted with a devoted fan who bought a bunch of books! I’ve known this special person, and her twin sister who lives in Kansas, since middle school days. And then she delighted me again when she turned up at my event at McHenry UMC.
  




• Soup supper in Kendallville IN at the home of a former teaching colleague. Two other buddies from my time there came and the four of us talked non-stop, more about what we’re doing now than what we did then.
  
  And many other special times with friends and family, alluded to in earlier posts. Wow. How grateful I am for the blessing of loving, caring, interesting and interested people in my life!