tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71723032905589074062024-02-07T20:10:34.670-08:00Writing Eddie's WakeWhat's the story? What's next?C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-66711126895511629212012-12-04T08:51:00.000-08:002012-12-04T08:56:55.534-08:00Good-bye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexspyKQ1BbAWXW3AJWc-5rlu0C9MpmO8GpRVcLpEMAw1fk1kOIT5Plt00JILQQMsRJmnpu0Lk2TxUIwGk03awWkxTTZld1ZLnqGVQpuipm-xLq0ljaZ1X1FJQlMQaG6FYpBIK4u31My6R/s1600/The+latest+Dec+2012+100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexspyKQ1BbAWXW3AJWc-5rlu0C9MpmO8GpRVcLpEMAw1fk1kOIT5Plt00JILQQMsRJmnpu0Lk2TxUIwGk03awWkxTTZld1ZLnqGVQpuipm-xLq0ljaZ1X1FJQlMQaG6FYpBIK4u31My6R/s320/The+latest+Dec+2012+100.JPG" /></a></div>
I knew this day would come, I just didn't think it would come so soon. My friend, Steve died early yesterday. My last "newsy-chatty" email from him came a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. Once more, the purpose of the email was to encourage/goad/push me to get back to writing this blog. I replied with an email filled with all sorts of excuses; some of which are valid, some of which have to do with legitimate circumstances. I never wrote, "But hey, Steve, how do I get back into the blog when I've been away from it for so long?" but I sure was thinking it.
In case someone other than Steve has been checking up on this blog, here's the status of my writing life. I have eight chapters of the next novel about Karl and Maggie and Jacob started, but something keeps tellng me that I need to know where the plot is going and since I can't seem to get at that, I'm stuck. (Never mind that I didn't know where "Eddie's Wake" was going when I started it.)
In honor of National Novel Writing Month (which is November every year) I started something new, about Eddie and Will and how they met and what brought them together. I'm liking it, so far, but other than the most likely parameters, I don't know where it's going, either. But I am committed to working on it as often as possible, if not daily. Challenges: it's hard to NOT write an Eddie Stern who is really Karl Stern in disguise. How do I make them different? Even though Eddie is younger than Will by a couple of years, at the start of "Best Friends" he is much more serious and adult than Will is. Will, reveling in his escape from his father, Henry J. Denver, and his snotty older brother, Jacob, is more like a kid. I need a better working title than "Best Friends," but for the moment, it will have to do.
I have thought about blogging a novel - whether "Best Friends" or the sequel to "Eddie's Wake." I'll ask readers to give their input, understanding that what shows up on the blog may not be what shows up in the novel. I'll ask questions about what might happen next, or what you think this or that character should be like. I know, this sounds like I would be giving away the novel for nothing, but in this day of electronic publishing, is that so bad? If and when I do this, I will blast out the news on facebook and will email everyone I can think of.
This blog may turn into a static website about "Eddie's Wake," which is still near and dear to my heart.
So, Steve, I'm doing what you've been on my case to do. Somehow, I know you already know this, if you're not too busy gawking at the glories of heaven. But I will surely miss your comments and jokes.
Rest in peace, old friend.
See you on the other side.
C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-88230555347857123512011-02-22T08:22:00.000-08:002011-02-22T10:56:32.278-08:00Cherry Blossoms and Snow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyzfUhWy9fZXcvnyVpuMIA_C3S6j7X38XJ1O65ZkL3CkCExU6mk_Yh7sJHx7umMEbW2FbnqDVEr35FM49ans7GU8mW0McZ6rCsnZVA17Z_91s9x5CbVK7ifb57LVykXUznpsc2AVE-eVh/s1600/Cherry+Blossoms+005.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyzfUhWy9fZXcvnyVpuMIA_C3S6j7X38XJ1O65ZkL3CkCExU6mk_Yh7sJHx7umMEbW2FbnqDVEr35FM49ans7GU8mW0McZ6rCsnZVA17Z_91s9x5CbVK7ifb57LVykXUznpsc2AVE-eVh/s320/Cherry+Blossoms+005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576561769360673618" /></a><br />I'm grateful that we didn't get the fifteen inches of snow that was sort of predicted, although out where we live it's pretty hard to determine just how much actually accumulated in this last storm. The wind has blown some areas almost bare, while there are two to three foot drifts in other places. The "plow man" came to dig us out yesterday afternoon while the wind was still howling, so the gravel driveway is drifted over already. But I'm thankful that the main driveway is still open enough to use.<br /><br />I'm thankful for my husband, Tom, who allows me to laugh at him without getting mad at me. Like those times when he wears his hat in a funny way, or when, like yesterday, he had his turtleneck on inside out and backwards, so that just under his chin it said <em>Land's End</em>. "Did you get dressed in the dark?" I asked him, laughing. "Well, it was dark inside the turtleneck when I put it on." I'm grateful that he realizes (I <em>hope</em> he realizes) that I laugh with joy and delight because I love him so much.<br /><br />I'm grateful for my kids, grateful that soon I will have a daughter (in-law). I'm thankful that Andy doesn't think I'm a lazy sloth when he sees me napping in the middle of the day.<br /><br />I'm thankful that my Mom seems to be content with her living arrangement and that my brother maintains his sense of humor even while he deals with all too many medical issues. I'm grateful that he has been sober for a whole year now. I'm thankful for Tom's family, even though some of them post photos of themselves in warmer, tropical climes on facebook while I'm looking for my boots and gloves. Yes, I'm thankful for them, and glad they could get away. <br /><br />I'm grateful that Tom has had a job for the past year even while we pray that it will continue for another year.<br /><br />I'm thankful for my new-ish friends, people I didn't really know five years ago, but who were so kind and supportive of us after Andy's crash in '06. I'm thankful for old friends and the times we can get together and catch up. I'm thankful for colleagues who care about me and how I am doing.<br /><br />I'm thankful for Valentine's Day flowers that cheer up the house. I'm thankful for battery operated LED candles made of real wax and that have timers so I can set them up high in the living room and dining room to help chase away the winter darkness without worrying about burning down the house. <br /><br />A few weeks ago, I found a bucket filled with sticks in the floral department of the grocery store. I thought they were pussy-willows, but discovered that, no, they were branches from cherry trees, with blossoms just about to pop. There was no way I could walk away from something like that, so I bought a bunch, rationalizing that I could give some to my Mom. <br /><br />The blossoming cherry branches in the big vase reached their peak on Sunday, while snow blew and the wind raged outside. It took awhile, but I was able to get a good picture of them <em>and</em> the snow. But now, the petals are falling and soon the mess will be enough to warrant tossing the sticks into the woods. That's ok, though. The sun is high enough that the snow on our black-top is melting. Spring is only a month away.<br /><br />Thanks, Steve, for telling me I'd feel better if I sat down and wrote something. You were right. The cherry blossom picture up there is for you. <br /><br /><br /><br /> <em></em><em></em><em></em>C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-76348384716597973792011-01-07T07:21:00.000-08:002011-01-07T07:46:34.316-08:00Happy Birthday, Grandma!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2JPxZToHWzU_hwOg9BgOpl38VIkkVaqzPSBCZC-Jk6FSiKCSWbKOf8oJdXHHbi7bXPJ3Dj4_EEoZblWaQ4SQcBbconRl_5WrmLN3z5U29Egex2pfaFToJOkT_YiPbAISzoSQXNdh4kLa/s1600/Mousie+0003.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2JPxZToHWzU_hwOg9BgOpl38VIkkVaqzPSBCZC-Jk6FSiKCSWbKOf8oJdXHHbi7bXPJ3Dj4_EEoZblWaQ4SQcBbconRl_5WrmLN3z5U29Egex2pfaFToJOkT_YiPbAISzoSQXNdh4kLa/s320/Mousie+0003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559469117455464514" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Today - January 7, 2011 - is my grandmother's birthday. She was born in 1897, which would make her... let's see... 114 years old! I had Grandma in mind, at least part of the time, when I wrote about Maggie Stern. Maggie was born in 1897 as well.<br />Grandma (Clara) always wanted to fill us up when we came to visit. Each dish on the table was passed around under her eagle eye again and again. "Go on, have some more," she would say in her crackly "cherman" (German) old lady voice. "What's wrong, aren't you hungry?" she would ask if you said "no thanks" to anything. I am amazed that anyone got home without falling asleep at the wheel because we were soooo full of food!<br /><br />I wonder if my Mom, now very forgetful, will notice what day it is today? I think we should celebrate in some small way.<br /><br /><br />I am finally getting back to writing. The journey through my family trauma-drama has taken a toll on me, even though those more directly involved than I are doing much better. The clouds seem to be parting, however. The maddening thing about this writer's block has been that I've been out of work, and I've been feeling like I need to take advantage of the time off by writing. It feels like the clock has been ticking. <br /><br />No calls or churches on the horizon, but I am doing a little supply preaching. I am going to be the mother of the groom this summer. My kids are doing well. Tom is working and we hope it will continue through April and beyond. (He's a contract employee.) I've been able to enjoy the unique personality of each one of our cats. They give us a lot to laugh about. So life is pretty good. <br /><br />New Year peace and blessings to all!C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-7960015664525929142010-09-28T09:53:00.000-07:002010-09-28T10:24:08.361-07:00So long ago...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHUSs5VNBq5vcZwYYWwxSOWQ3T29m96lY6R-689JvtBJ_93BAqYaKpsaQF1RCBuG2Zswb-cdJ4uy2AqICuSRnQze3vFOT6fxBwBg4RCEUj3wEHAUnOGB6tbpmbgrtrwnOOfq2bT_08Mcs5/s1600/Blooms+after+hail+0.2+.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHUSs5VNBq5vcZwYYWwxSOWQ3T29m96lY6R-689JvtBJ_93BAqYaKpsaQF1RCBuG2Zswb-cdJ4uy2AqICuSRnQze3vFOT6fxBwBg4RCEUj3wEHAUnOGB6tbpmbgrtrwnOOfq2bT_08Mcs5/s320/Blooms+after+hail+0.2+.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522016237207128482" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSzCcm8Ui6BAcBhvtGLUAoyr0-sz2W9ZH49Q3q9ZLR_KXpcILpQMOz4qb2tNMYbh-TDGnJZmt2u_mQLWqAa-dtuJtwe2LTXWAllMfH7LdOSCqN19DaLwDnS6TdSyPHl7BLm_lp8ecJ53bC/s1600/storm+aftermath+6+26+2010+019.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSzCcm8Ui6BAcBhvtGLUAoyr0-sz2W9ZH49Q3q9ZLR_KXpcILpQMOz4qb2tNMYbh-TDGnJZmt2u_mQLWqAa-dtuJtwe2LTXWAllMfH7LdOSCqN19DaLwDnS6TdSyPHl7BLm_lp8ecJ53bC/s320/storm+aftermath+6+26+2010+019.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522014400100573330" /></a><br />Well, yes, I do realize that it has been almost three months since my last post. I could give you all sorts of excuses, but the truth is, the well has been dry and I have been trying to pull myself together.<br /><br />Since my last post was about the hailstorm that shredded the beautiful corn plants in the fields and the flowers in my garden, tore down about a third of the leaves on the trees on our property, and ruined our roof, I thought I ought to tell you about the recovery of one sedum plant. As you can see from the photo above, it was completely stripped of its leaves.<br /><br />I can't remember if I cut it back, although I believe I did. And over the summer, it did begin to grow again. The other photo is what it looks like today. Life over death; life wins!<br /><br />In my zeal for making the garden look nice again, I overplanted all those 75% off annuals, and added a new tomato plant as well. Now I have a jungle outside of my front window, including a tomato plant that is trying to escape. It hasn't given us any sweet, red, ripe fruit for our table, but is bearing plenty of green ones. Soon I will pick them to see if I can ripen them in the kitchen, then tear up the plant. Maybe I'll tear up some of the other annuals as well to clean things up a bit, then buy a few garden mums we can enjoy until we get a killing frost.<br /><br />I want to start writing about Karl and Jacob and Maggie again, but I am a bit afraid that I won't produce anything worth reading. A part of me feels empty without them always in the back of my mind. So maybe with a little TLC and time at the keyboard, I will "recover" just like my sedum.<br /><br />I hope to stay more current with this blog, or start a new one. Stay tuned!C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-19729735913859121662010-07-01T12:01:00.000-07:002010-07-01T13:38:04.932-07:00Hail Damage<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRj1EO5GhOSJNP-pXt4njebCx0R6mJc9Y0lOqKfTS79uqbiPDcwNLC8Jet-RoQZJeIJSZ2neeGV0i9VITb_TVATLQUaFg9IMUKHnXguLax5P5V8P3YOlP1Y4_WPaTelaED5IQ8RhDzbIkh/s1600/before+the+6+25+10+storm01.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRj1EO5GhOSJNP-pXt4njebCx0R6mJc9Y0lOqKfTS79uqbiPDcwNLC8Jet-RoQZJeIJSZ2neeGV0i9VITb_TVATLQUaFg9IMUKHnXguLax5P5V8P3YOlP1Y4_WPaTelaED5IQ8RhDzbIkh/s320/before+the+6+25+10+storm01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489034520830506594" /></a><br />Heavy with water, the sky was terrible and beautiful at the same time. Blues and greens swirled into updrafts and downpours, with spears of lightning criss crossing the changing shapes and colors... The meteorologist on the radio kept saying this was "a dangerous situation, with hail and possible tornadic activity" and that we should "take cover immediately." <br /><br />Since we had foolishly gone for sandwiches in a town set right between our house and the storm, my husband drove as fast as he dared, hoping to get home in time to get the car into the garage and shut the big doors of the pole shed. I twisted in my seat to watch the sky, finally insisting that we stop for just a moment so I could try to shoot some photos with my cell phone camera. (That's one of them above.)<br /><br />We made it just in time. The skies opened, the sirens sounded, and we headed to the basement with our laptops in tow so we could watch the radar, since the rain had obliterated the TV satellite signal. Soon we had the hail the forcaster told us about and soon it covered the garden with white. <br /><br />Back upstairs (who could hide away when there was such a mighty storm to watch?) the hail pelted the roof, the trees, the flower garden that was just coming along, the corn and soybeans in the field. Leaves from the trees fell as fast as the hail did. None of our windows were broken, but the growing things outside were utterly shredded. According to the local newspaper, the areas on either side of our road were the hardest hit in the county. Crops ruined, lowlands flooded, muck and mud everywhere!<br /><br />Now, several days later, the air smells like autumn. The corn is drying out the way it's supposed to dry out in September and October. There are dry leaves on the lawn, but it's too hot to do much raking. I cut back many perennials with broken stems and torn leaves. It kind of looks like fall, too. I find it terribly sad.<br /><br /><br />Last week I learned that two great saints from my first parish recently died within days of each other. Both were 96 years old, each had been a member of her congregation since she was young. I could tell fond and funny stories about each one of them.<br /><br />When I first became their pastor fifteen years ago, I remember looking from one face to another in their women's Bible Study groups and wondering how many of them I would bury. As it turned out, many of them did die while I served as their pastor, and others have died since. It was a sad moment to realize that I wasn't there only to befriend them, but that I would be called on walk their last days with them. I preached resurrection hope at all their funerals; some with joy because they had been released from their suffering, all with sadness at losing them.<br /><br />Yes, the leaves on the trees around here are pretty thin. Yes, my garden looks nothing like it should. Sadly, the beautiful corn is done for this year, since it's too late to replant. <br /><br />BUT, the garden store down the road is changing from nursery to local produce outlet - all annuals are about to be composted, most of them leggy and spent. For 75% off, they sold me two boxes of plants that are in good enough shape that they might just bring some beauty and life back into the garden. Death doesn't have to win this one! (Does it ever?)<br /><br />I'll keep you posted and maybe even share a photo or two of the garden once it starts coming along again. <br /><br />Peace, health and good weather to you.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-74253701283698045562010-04-24T06:09:00.000-07:002010-04-24T07:07:47.362-07:00A Lesson from Pansies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvkvnSGCI3rjn6tvvb3kuqqrpTzvwHUoOhTrZToalXI57GoMAhEZAs2p_KWf9NGSYQOOmG0g0EqFSrRvIbxEeCwCs26OnRZeXe3PzVOaOlqfT-XB2DepcNyrNBnxFvKgubWcc_ySPct1c/s1600/Kitchen+pansies+in+the+sun!.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvkvnSGCI3rjn6tvvb3kuqqrpTzvwHUoOhTrZToalXI57GoMAhEZAs2p_KWf9NGSYQOOmG0g0EqFSrRvIbxEeCwCs26OnRZeXe3PzVOaOlqfT-XB2DepcNyrNBnxFvKgubWcc_ySPct1c/s200/Kitchen+pansies+in+the+sun!.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463703819744839874" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1CslVAfQgPs6WYJ3zlfQnCAsiGLlwlkJ51ZouisCSYww8_nskdiG7FW5ZkbmSUIOeV4eEh8C-1nRLaK7V1raCKSPJAmKJELY7tMxhrt5PprCLNPeARLPXg67KH85I68G1wwvLsTq9H4A/s1600/pansies+001.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1CslVAfQgPs6WYJ3zlfQnCAsiGLlwlkJ51ZouisCSYww8_nskdiG7FW5ZkbmSUIOeV4eEh8C-1nRLaK7V1raCKSPJAmKJELY7tMxhrt5PprCLNPeARLPXg67KH85I68G1wwvLsTq9H4A/s200/pansies+001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463702826674240994" /></a><br />In <em></em>Eddie's Wake<em></em>, Karl receives valentines from the girls in his class who befriended him after his pals, Jimmy and Elmer had deserted him. But he also receives a really nice storebought card that had pansies on the cover, with the words, <em></em>Pansies for Thoughts<em></em>. It was from Jimmy and Elmer, who wrote on the back, <em></em>We still think you're a pansey, Stern...<em></em> Karl laughed at the card from his stupid former friends; he'd given up on them and could see how childish they were. But deep down, I think he was hurt, too.<br /><br />This is the season for pansies in my garden. It's cool enough that they grow nicely and stay compact; not like the way they will bolt and grow crazy once it gets hot. Then I will sadly pull them out and wonder if there is a greenhouse around where I can buy pansies to plant in the fall. (Maybe I should start my own from seed...)<br /><br />The fun thing about these flowers, though, is that they reseed themselves and sometimes come back the following spring. So when I cut off the spent blooms during the growing season, I don't throw the flowers in with the compost. I either leave them in the garden or scatter them at the edge of the lawn.<br /><br />My grandmother loved pansies, and I think I inherited that from her. I try to plant some every year. Once, when I had a patch by the back door of our house, I noticed the deep, deep purple that colored the inside of one of these sweeties... and I thought, "Ok, God, just how do you do that? Where do you get that color?"<br /><br />That was a long time ago, in a diffferent place and time and life. But I just noticed the same thing the other day. The rich, deep purples and blues just blow me away; it's like you could fall into the color of eternity if you stared at it long enough. How can anyone walk by without noticing?<br /><br />Despite whatever junk is going on in my life - and often there's plenty - God can still bring forth something amazing like a pansey, with all it's regal, velvety color. It puts things in perspective, somehow. God hasn't given up on us, on me. The Creator is still creating. I think the adjective is <em>steadfast. </em><br />Until next time...C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-12744495718070060742010-04-03T20:17:00.000-07:002010-04-04T18:22:14.094-07:00"Now the Green Blade Rises..."<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6aTdK-g0pJYcrDDPNLfTXrLtf-kaSrJlbX40gQeV2JcB6Vw4KtB5P9CqIQvPsEwIDJHKmBjDEURec8thfFr3stuLZ3nM8NAdjx8ltUMJA9mtYiQTUcyt9o7xogztDuCSOaGgTs2Mt1E_/s1600/Burned+Triangle+006.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6aTdK-g0pJYcrDDPNLfTXrLtf-kaSrJlbX40gQeV2JcB6Vw4KtB5P9CqIQvPsEwIDJHKmBjDEURec8thfFr3stuLZ3nM8NAdjx8ltUMJA9mtYiQTUcyt9o7xogztDuCSOaGgTs2Mt1E_/s200/Burned+Triangle+006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456133998905284962" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfpLABfS5F-ACNJDaBDT-OzA9XaNAPmClYJHQsjjDJ1FzqZ7c_K9VouVmH9epFxAp8AYMg5ic6VONEGmMJDSLCrfNsbLpM9FtVTDBW8dWvD7UFFDhW7k70otDwhBuWaTgI62NfPPkviWE/s1600/Burned+Triangle+001.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfpLABfS5F-ACNJDaBDT-OzA9XaNAPmClYJHQsjjDJ1FzqZ7c_K9VouVmH9epFxAp8AYMg5ic6VONEGmMJDSLCrfNsbLpM9FtVTDBW8dWvD7UFFDhW7k70otDwhBuWaTgI62NfPPkviWE/s200/Burned+Triangle+001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456132462952892514" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Two weeks ago, we burned "the Triangle," a patch of field bordered on two sides by driveways (both of them ours) and one side by the town road we live on. We intended to do a burn, as we do every couple of years to give our expanding collection of prairie wild flowers a head start in the race against the weeds and grasses. But this year things got exciting when the fire went faster than anyone expected.<br /><br />But nothing that wasn't supposed to burn burned, and we had a big black patch between our driveway and the yet-to-be-planted corn field. Over the last few days, however, green has returned little by little. Yesterday it rained, and now the whole patch is kelly green; the charred grasses from last year are nearly swallowed up by new life. (The photos above are sort of "before" and "after.") This just about always happens when there is a grass fire, but it still seems like a miracle to me. Green returns, in spite of what we do.<br /><br /><br />The windows in our church santuary were covered with black sheer-ish curtains for Holy Thursday and Good Friday. All decoration had been removed from the church, and last night the environment was spare and grim, as you might expect. Some of the windows face west, and on a good evening you can watch spectacular sunsets from your seat in the church. Too beautiful, too distracting for Good Friday, indeed, so the windows had to be covered.<br /><br />But last night, as the service went on, the sunset was so bright that you could still see it through the curtains. Dark a day as yesterday was, though, the darkness of failure, despair and death could not hide the beauty and brightness of the setting sun. Darkness is swallowed up by light in spite of what we try to do!<br /><br />It's too late for me to be up writing this; the sun rises tomorrow at 6:49am and I will be with other believers at our outdoor sunrise service, celebrating the truth that the Light of the Risen Christ always trumps the darkness.<br /><br />And not just the darkness of night, the darkness of failure, of confusion or despair... but the darkness of death. Death now becomes the portal to life eternal, where there is always light... where there is nothing but peace and joy.<br /><br />So, even with the hard things in our lives, the sad things, the irritating things, we are bold to proclaim: "Christ is risen! He is risen indeed, alleluia."C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-83559372093430516922010-03-17T06:58:00.000-07:002010-03-17T09:59:39.987-07:00Words from a Cave<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis4GQSiCWSvvj8FYaicBbxUya2llzGZOUqZOdEl-vjfIue_o-QxRwLt77K7rEL-abx_mVXdViwx72XB2EX4sMuTbvwh7UyvkNUDyIFFalrBwgbsu_cr5ENSRInQ-4ft69jXb5Ia-0wpMGq/s1600-h/May+2007+001.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis4GQSiCWSvvj8FYaicBbxUya2llzGZOUqZOdEl-vjfIue_o-QxRwLt77K7rEL-abx_mVXdViwx72XB2EX4sMuTbvwh7UyvkNUDyIFFalrBwgbsu_cr5ENSRInQ-4ft69jXb5Ia-0wpMGq/s320/May+2007+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449647343454280434" /></a><br /><br />Today I am going to try to sit still for long enough to write. Since the last <br />time I wrote, there have been more family crises that I've needed to tend, but I will spare you all the details. It has been stressful enough that I forgot the address for my own blog! I sadly admit that other than emails, this is the first thing I've written since my last post. <br /><br />Today, I hope to get back on track...<br /><br />Last week, we were fortunate to attend the opening of the Dead Sea Scroll exhibition at the Saint Paul Science Museum. The Scrolls were discovered in 1947 by a shepherd who was looking for a lost goat in a cave near the Dead Sea. The scrolls had been hidden maybe 2000 years ago in pottery jars... The find was extraordinary because the scrolls contain ancient Jewish manuscripts, mostly biblical.<br /><br />We snaked - more like crawled - our way through the exhibits, then came to the darkened room that held the fragments of scrolls. I could recognize the Hebrew lettering, but as I learned in seminary, there were no spaces between words and no vowels. The letters were tiny and barely visible due to the low light necessary to protect these ancient treasures. <br /><br />My feet ached by the time we got to this room, and seeing the fragments themselves was almost anticlimactic. But when we exited the dark room, we saw a display of orginal pages from the much more recent St. John's Illuminated Bible. Color and words we could read and understand! (If you're not familiar with the St. John's Illuminated Bible, you can learn more at http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/stjohnsbible/stjohns-exhibit.html)<br /><br />Seeing the St. John's pages inspired and invigorated me! Both the words on the Dead Sea Scrolls and those in the St. John's Bible convey an important message. Both will undoubtedly stand the test of time. But they are both writings. Words set down on paper or parchment.<br /><br />It all humbled me, a twenty-first century writer, who composes not on paper, but at a keyboard, who wrote a story about a boy who shoved all his bad feelings into an imaginary cave, then found love and redemption in a glorious dream-cave. A nice enough story, but one that will probably not stand the test of time. But while I am humbled, I am also feeling ready to being writing again. We all have stories to tell. <br /><br />The violets above are from another year... but with any luck, they'll grace our brown garden again soon.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-21618346761620438782010-02-10T21:05:00.000-08:002010-02-10T21:46:09.261-08:00Points of Light in a Dark Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xbYtpS53OzWPvj5PkBI0wqkKdlyp2lw51tl_OIaEJqC1EHRv2DScBSgGxbR9oPojyMqJzsTIBzX5YzsEpwBS7r6naclEtUC9y4wOnWI9omEUH-DlVnS4x-dJ5zN8pZdZsmCoppnSZlIv/s1600-h/Misc+family+and+Howard%27s+End%27s+fields+017.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xbYtpS53OzWPvj5PkBI0wqkKdlyp2lw51tl_OIaEJqC1EHRv2DScBSgGxbR9oPojyMqJzsTIBzX5YzsEpwBS7r6naclEtUC9y4wOnWI9omEUH-DlVnS4x-dJ5zN8pZdZsmCoppnSZlIv/s320/Misc+family+and+Howard%27s+End%27s+fields+017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436856233145254466" /></a><br />Sister Anne in "Eddie's Wake," one of the two real theologians in the novel, says to Karl, "God doesn't always keep bad things from happening to us, Karl. Of course God cares about you...and all of us. It's how God takes bad things and makes something good of them that matters, and how God never, ever abandons us."<br /><br />I have been spending the last week or so trying to think of something positive to write here, at a time when life feels so dark and my spirit cries out for a release from all the tension and stress I am feeling. Maybe you noticed that I edited my last post a few days after I wrote it in an attempt to make things sound better than they are. The truth is, I feel terribly low, and am unable to focus on writing fiction (or much else), which only adds to the sorrows. <br /><br />My Mom is staying with us for a couple of weeks, confused as to where she really lives or in whose bed she is sleeping (mine) or whose clothes are in "her" closet (mine). My brother is as stable as he gets, separated from me and from Mom by the whole state of Wisconsin, big old Lake Michigan and the U.P. of Michigan; but he needs some kind of support, too. It's not the way I would like to see either of them living their lives. I am not one prone to tears, but they are sure close to the surface these days. <br /><br />This morning I had an appointment in the Cities, got a late start from home because Mom decided today would be a good day for a shower, something she couldn't handle yesterday. I planned to take US 61 north, but when I got to the turnoff, the road was blocked by a snow truck and several cops. I was forced to turn the opposite way and drive several miles before I could stop or turn around. I learned that a propane tanker had tipped over due to a patch of ice, so I frantically called the clinic to see if I could get a later appointment. "Latoya," the woman who answered the phone, sounded a little gruff at first, then ended the call by saying, "You be safe, now." It took me a while to realize what she had said, to realize what a gift it was.<br /><br />A walk through Target, not finding the item I needed, but picking up a few other things for the house - and a new scarf - but not dropping a lot of money. A visit with my kindly physician and good friend, whose compassion for my pain reminded me why I drive all those miles to see him. Sharing a church meal with other friends, amazed at how loving they all are to Mom. The promise of coffee with another dear friend tomorrow, someone I've deeply missed for the past three months. <br /><br />These are all points of light, and they made my day end way better than it began.<br /><br />I've learned an important lesson: never withhold a small kindness, because you may have no idea how it may turn someone's day around, how it could be the only thing bringing light to a heart that hurts. <br /><br />I'm thanking God for Latoya tonight and remembering the driver of the propane tanker. I sure hope he's OK.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-40533291258742428802010-01-27T18:25:00.000-08:002010-01-29T10:43:02.998-08:00Musings on Family Dilemmas/ Family Dynamics<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjleG_E2gUUmNcru9YTmBlMRDNy66Tbbp6xFh1-wpaPJ7ZTCch34nDL0ChUFn5EnZ4u-s5Gwe06LWt3-V9tTWlsy-pU2nWPRDnwyarvhapMR7KoWZ9LEGD1lP24yUdqeIwD-OhITRYH2yf6/s1600-h/Hoar+frost+1-17-2010+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjleG_E2gUUmNcru9YTmBlMRDNy66Tbbp6xFh1-wpaPJ7ZTCch34nDL0ChUFn5EnZ4u-s5Gwe06LWt3-V9tTWlsy-pU2nWPRDnwyarvhapMR7KoWZ9LEGD1lP24yUdqeIwD-OhITRYH2yf6/s320/Hoar+frost+1-17-2010+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431627128477157762" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Maggie Stern, furious with Jacob Denver, stood with her hand on his upper arm, staring directly into his eyes. "...I believe when you're in a family and one person is sick or weak or hurt, everyone else works for the good of that person, no matter what it takes, because if that person isn't well, no one else in the family is, either."</span><br /><br />Yes, I know Maggie came from the deeps of my...head? heart? spirit? laptop? She's wise and sounds like the kind of mother, daughter, sister and wife I want to be. I love her - I love the idea of her and I love many of the ideas she has. But these days it feels like I'm living out her words in ways that are not very healthy. <br /><br /><br />What if the person who is sick, weak or hurt keeps hurting or damaging the others? What if that person drags everyone else into his or her illness, so that attempting to take care of or help that person only makes everyone else sick, weak and hurt? And is it right for everyone to work for the good of that one when doing what might appear to be good is really more like enabling and co-dependency? <br /><br /><br />I have to wonder what Maggie would say to this, but I'm too tired to try to figure it out. If you know her, if she resonates with you, what do you think she might say? I'd like to know. I wish I could share a cup of tea with her and ask her myself.<br /><br /><br />RE: the photo above: Here we are in the middle of winter, when blue sky and sunshine is a treat, when the sight of green grass, budding trees and blooming tulips seems light years away... Even so, I found some beauty a few weeks ago in the gray and cold. <br /><br />And the hours of daylight are getting longer. The earth is turning and hope hangs on.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-18909509039169440472009-12-31T16:15:00.000-08:002009-12-31T17:22:26.377-08:00The New Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLxnmeZYIvmW4zeFS1H4ZgUF1McLAWV-e4mxQQ99k-GAvyzK8fdKcYjTa70xNlzutM4X_FjKQBJFYvlpdqyfcx20L4NQx59o2pmL9Ymkcj3XqvWbVbw0RHf3Txi_oibfOn4B_ixF8lFV8/s1600-h/last+sunrise+2009+Jesus+Action+Figure+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLxnmeZYIvmW4zeFS1H4ZgUF1McLAWV-e4mxQQ99k-GAvyzK8fdKcYjTa70xNlzutM4X_FjKQBJFYvlpdqyfcx20L4NQx59o2pmL9Ymkcj3XqvWbVbw0RHf3Txi_oibfOn4B_ixF8lFV8/s320/last+sunrise+2009+Jesus+Action+Figure+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421569950245687362" /></a><br />My sister lives three time zones away, which is altogether too far. We can't meet for lunch or go shopping together, so we find other ways to stay close. Of course, there's the phone, but we have to time our calls just right, because one of us might be sleeping. We e-mail and send each other hilarious photos of questionable taste. It helps that the men in our lives hit it off last summer and now are friends, too. But the best way we stay close is by sending each other crazy gifts, a tradition that started when we were in college.<br /><br />A few years back, she gave me a Jesus Action Figure. (She gave me Moses, too, but he's not nearly as much fun. Tom says, "Moses only divides the water. Jesus makes wine!") Jesus has jointed, bendable arms and little wheels under his feet so he can move quickly to help the helpless and bless those who are wavering in faith, unsure of what they really need. <br /><br />My Jesus Action Figure has been the visual for any number of sermons (which only works because I have preached in many different places.) Imagine, me seriously preaching about "be what God made you to be, do what God calls you to do" then reaching into the pulpit, and whipping out my favorite toy: "Be a Jesus Action Figure!" I love the surprise, the giggles and then the laughter.<br /><br />As I write this in my time zone, we have only about five and a half hours of the old year remaining. 2009 has been good and bad for us. Job uncertainty, no jobs, our son needing surgery (and, oh, by the way, since he had no health insurance, we had to pay thousands of dollars up front). Then there was the failing health of our parents and the loss of my father in law, a traumatic move for my mother, worry for her well being and for that of my brother, many trips to visit them in the next time zone east... But then "Eddie's Wake" was published after all those years of work and the book itself looks fantastic, I left my last interim-pastor job feeling pretty good about how things went, our son went back to work, then back to college and got A's and B's his first semester... Our needs have been met often miraculously - more than once - just when we were about to panic. <br /><br />What will '010 bring? Probably another mixed bag. Sometimes I'm afraid about what's ahead, sometimes I can't wait (will I be able to write a whole first draft of book two by the end of the new year? I hope I've learned enough about writing fiction to be able to do that.) <br /><br />The thing is... the true, real, live Jesus Action Figure is already there in 2010... and beyond, ready and waiting to move quickly to help the helpless and bless those who are wavering in faith, unsure of what they really need. <br /><br />Happy New Year, friends. May 2010 be for you a time of joy and blessing upon blessing! Thanks for reading.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-82938303813857034302009-12-21T20:10:00.000-08:002009-12-21T20:35:42.136-08:00The Huddle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOuZEqBZm9uGQnfJ6tJxd7x7noVC_U-8wHiiL6vRxVZLm863Bdv0QZsi2M88zxBzm5z0NcqHYXeQt9C6tGoeXTRR7tvkYt1d5B7U5qBKWXW5WbrNqE7MI-OlvaymgrjE-bvW2MFotKR4Ax/s1600-h/nativities+-+bunched+005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOuZEqBZm9uGQnfJ6tJxd7x7noVC_U-8wHiiL6vRxVZLm863Bdv0QZsi2M88zxBzm5z0NcqHYXeQt9C6tGoeXTRR7tvkYt1d5B7U5qBKWXW5WbrNqE7MI-OlvaymgrjE-bvW2MFotKR4Ax/s400/nativities+-+bunched+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417914545938223234" /></a><br />When I felt that our boys were old enough to “be very careful” with breakable things, we set up our nativity set on a low shelf so they could see it. We remembered the story of Jesus’ birth as we placed the angel, then Mary and Joseph, then the baby in the manger, then the shepherd and sheep and finally the kings. With Christmas lights all around, it was a beautiful sight.<br /><br />But the next morning as I walked through the room, I noticed that the figures were all bunched up in a tight little wad around the manger. Hmmm... I was a little annoyed that I had to put it back in order, along with everything else I was picking up and putting back in order. <br /><br />Not too long after that, it happened again. Who was doing this? As I recall, the dog got blamed for it. Once more, I fixed it up and went back to chasing my two little boys.<br /><br />But the next time I looked, Mary and Joseph and their baby were again being suffocated by sheep, shepherd and wise men. What on earth? “Does everything in this house always have to be so messy?” I thought. <br /> <br />Then it dawned on me. We had been singing about the Baby Jesus, things like, "I love thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky, and stay by my cradle till morning is nigh." We’d been lighting candles on our Advent wreath and had been talking about Jesus’ birthday. To this day, I can’t get either boy to admit that he was the one who did it, but whoever it was understood this Christmas stuff way better than his Mom did. <br /><br />Who <span style="font-style:italic;">doesn’t</span> love a new baby? Who wouldn’t want to get close to this wondrous Babe, who’d come to bring healing to a hurting world? <br /><br />My wish for all of you, my friends, is that you huddle close around the manger this year, for herein lies your hope and salvation. <br /><br />A Blessed, Merry Christmas to all!C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-39143637201466103742009-12-06T18:31:00.000-08:002009-12-06T19:12:34.205-08:00A New Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw_htWae25j7RnYTSQCX8pzcaNFov2OyWNPxOVvIXtDM1dUaTs7ZF11gk3gGg2QXs6krZaohOPvXW6GBDL_a5jIeW3Cd0JOSXTuFgeKnZhnXre330dH2kE13JmOUri6aqkBSgcF-_uUtz/s1600-h/sunrise+004.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw_htWae25j7RnYTSQCX8pzcaNFov2OyWNPxOVvIXtDM1dUaTs7ZF11gk3gGg2QXs6krZaohOPvXW6GBDL_a5jIeW3Cd0JOSXTuFgeKnZhnXre330dH2kE13JmOUri6aqkBSgcF-_uUtz/s320/sunrise+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412326224436022626" /></a><br />This morning when I went into the kitchen to fix my oatmeal, I looked across the living room and out the picture windows and was stunned by the beauty of the sunrise. The house was dark, and the "automatic on-off LED Christmas candles" still shone brightly on the window sills... but outside and across the yard, I could see the deep night brighten to blues, then rose, then burning orange; the silhouettes of bare trees fancying it up, even though there was no need. <br /><br />It didn't last long. By the time I'd finished my oatmeal,it was gone. But it made a difference that I was able to behold such a spectacular sight at the start of my day.<br /><br />Like many others, our household has been hit by the bad economy. (I get really sick of hearing the term "touch economic times." I think it was coined by someone who's had little if any first hand experience, someone who wanted to package up the uncertainty of being able to pay all of next month's bills into a nice p.c. phrase when there's really nothing nice about it!) As I was saying - we've been hit here, too, and there are moments of high panic, moments of hope, moments of impatience.<br /> <br />But seeing a sight like I did this morning makes me thankful I had a reason to get out of bed. (Supply preaching that pays!) One way or another, things will work out. They always do. <br /><br />It was worth getting up for. Try it sometime.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-65420312322753547492009-11-22T18:39:00.000-08:002009-11-22T18:58:35.919-08:00November Changes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZgIgPTvfaoJn_qfTRCWh7kIgwgHUPKfiC64JJjlfkybUS0GN3s_Xu9ae0Nb0rhJY6AoMhAjZMd_LMWg1UT8PA8iXa72YqNSuQvwR_34kd1xfTUrP_BUpqkawQ6Pcrmijd7jBPxPJWEtH/s1600/New+stole+up+close+002.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZgIgPTvfaoJn_qfTRCWh7kIgwgHUPKfiC64JJjlfkybUS0GN3s_Xu9ae0Nb0rhJY6AoMhAjZMd_LMWg1UT8PA8iXa72YqNSuQvwR_34kd1xfTUrP_BUpqkawQ6Pcrmijd7jBPxPJWEtH/s320/New+stole+up+close+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407126781178973010" /></a><br />Two weeks ago today, I said good-bye to the congregation (CLC) I'd been serving as interim pastor for nearly two years. "Bittersweet" is the only word to describe the day; "bitter" because I knew I would no longer be kept in the loop about this parishioner's illness or that parishioner's family troubles; because I would not be there to watch and perhaps guide the growth of some exceptional young people I'd come to know and love. "Bitter" because it meant I would no longer have day to day contact with the dear friends who made my time there so much better than I'd expected it to be. The day was "sweet" because by the grace of God and with a lot of help from others, I was able to leave the congregation in better shape than when I'd arrived, "sweet" because of the love that was palpable as I said "farewell."<br /><br />With little time to relax in between, we set out to visit my mother and my brother, and help close the sale of the house she'd lived in for nearly 20 years, the last seven without my Dad. I didn't go over to Meadowbrook Drive for "one last look," wanting to remember the good times we had there instead of the sad emptiness that was sure meet me if I ventured in. Now my mother lives in an independent living apartment building for seniors, which doesn't really feel like home for her, except for the familiar furniture and pictures on the walls. She participates in some of the planned group outings, but is more forgetful than the last time we saw her. Which is another change...<br /><br />(We are somewhat humbled to realize that we - my husband and I - have reached the age when we are eligible to live in that same building!)<br /><br />All this while, we knew that the return to our own home meant coming back to the same old worries about our own lives, not sure at all as to what the future holds for either of us. We need at least one, regular, good sized paycheck coming in if we are to continue to pay our bills and live in this wonderful home. <br /><br />"Trust and be patient," "the Lord will provide..." "And be thankful, for that is the will of God for you..." <br /><br />Through the window of our hotel lobby in Michigan, as we ate our free breakfast every morning, we could see one red rose blooming at the tip of a long stem in the neighbor's yard. Although the daytime temperatures were fairly warm for November, the nights had been very cold and frosty; even so, that rose still bloomed. Maybe it flourished because it had been planted so close to the house... <span style="font-style:italic;">so<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> close to the house that I didn't dare go traipsing across the lawn to take a picture of it. With or without a photo to show you - that rose was a thing of beauty and a sign of hope for every day we saw it. <br /><br />I remember the saying I used to see on posters: "Bloom where you are planted." This rosebush grew in sandy soil, surrounded by needles from the white pines in that yard. Now, I don't grow roses, but I think that's hardly an ideal place for such a tender plant. "Bloom where you are planted," indeed, but I think you do a whole lot better if you're nourished with just the right plant food and planted in a warm place, like the sheltered spot next to the house. If you were going to bloom where you are planted - and flourish - who or what would be your warm place, your sheltered spot? And what would nourish you?<br /><br />Alas, (does anyone use that word anymore???) when we came to breakfast on our last day in Michigan, we saw that the rose had shed its petals. Another change. I could have grieved such a loss, but instead am very thankful for the promise and hope it represented at a time of upheaval and sadness.<br /><br />The embroidered cross in the photo above is from the back of my new green stole, lovingly created by a friend on the occasion of my departure from CLC, and lovingly, thankfully, received by me. The stole is a patchwork of greens - my favorite color and the color of "ordinary time" in the Church. All of our joys and sorrows and changes and thanksgivings are woven and pieced together by the Master Weaver/ Seamstress to become the one piece of life we are given. Treasure yours... and give thanks for it. Peace be with you!<br /><br />P.S. I tell you this so I'm accountable: this is the week Karl and Maggie and Jacob will all come together again in my writing. On to new adventures with these good friends.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-2085324939919844942009-10-24T09:35:00.000-07:002009-10-24T09:40:54.495-07:00Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3Bx-CzGsRZcEU6bdktUNt2LjXHWK-YdX1IfMXCbFa4oh-i4dg2h82DPDxXLCEw6ceVBBmfOmlIiCbFvdkh2JY0iVay9dIjLW6UvdF9nWDnyxe0g9Otm7CgMxHUVX5hmY21o_UoZzITa6/s1600-h/leaves+and+sun+10+24+09+006.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3Bx-CzGsRZcEU6bdktUNt2LjXHWK-YdX1IfMXCbFa4oh-i4dg2h82DPDxXLCEw6ceVBBmfOmlIiCbFvdkh2JY0iVay9dIjLW6UvdF9nWDnyxe0g9Otm7CgMxHUVX5hmY21o_UoZzITa6/s320/leaves+and+sun+10+24+09+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396207407737727874" /></a><br /><br />What a difference eighteen hours makes! No wonder it's called the "Theatre of Seasons."<br />Hope the sun is shining where you are.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-38639677204673748332009-10-23T13:32:00.000-07:002009-10-23T14:31:04.563-07:00I'm not ready for this!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEk7j9vl3lYw-P09HYqfWre9uZ9ZbTNQo6ubx7AEhiTNMcphkI6NAMF91XrJug3tf3IrPe7b21elG0ANf_Mt07sLLLrseTJUpcABcoM3fYs0PIaAlk9gZYeibPSpfZa4nc0EYWSEsD4Ul-/s1600-h/leaves+%26+snow+10+23+09+005.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEk7j9vl3lYw-P09HYqfWre9uZ9ZbTNQo6ubx7AEhiTNMcphkI6NAMF91XrJug3tf3IrPe7b21elG0ANf_Mt07sLLLrseTJUpcABcoM3fYs0PIaAlk9gZYeibPSpfZa4nc0EYWSEsD4Ul-/s320/leaves+%26+snow+10+23+09+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395910514773272706" /></a><br />I am amazed at how quickly time passes. Is it really time to start thinking about Thanksgiving and (gasp!) Christmas? No way, I'm not ready. But if you look out my window, you'd see that everything is jumbled up, confused. The corn stands in the field, proud and tall; the precious ears, ripe with kernels and ready, point down to the earth, not up to the sun like they did a few weeks ago. And today, the stalks are frosted with snow, but not because the farmer is late or lazy.<br /><br />We haven't raked leaves yet because most of them are still on the trees. The hose is still in the garden. Leaves on the black walnut tree are still green but they're wilted and sick looking. Branches sport leaves <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> snow. The birdbath has a layer if ice across the top. Snow is falling, heavy and wet. Six months from now, you'd say it was an April Fool's joke, but today... <br /><br />What's going on? "The last shall be first and the first shall be last?" Not quite. "For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert..." This is <span style="font-style:italic;">snow</span> not water. How about "Praise the Lord from the earth...fire and hail, snow and frost, stormy wind fulfilling his command..." That's nice...but then there's "He gives snow like wool; he scatters frost like ashes. He hurls down hail like crumbs--who can stand before his cold?" That's right: <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cold!</span><br /><br />Yes, indeed, I am complaining. Not ready for winter, haven't enjoyed fall yet. The turtle necks have not yet replaced the t-shirts in my dresser. The windows haven't been washed yet; the garden still needs to be put to bed.<br /><br />But, then, there is soup on the stove and bread baking. Candles seem to warm the house a bit. It's dark early enough that I can ignore the dust and the carpet that needs vacuuming. Good news (we think) from the business; <span style="font-style:italic;">Eddie's Wake</span> is selling and people seem to like it. <br /><br />I think that's called grace. No, more like <span style="font-style:italic;">grace upon grace.</span><br /><br />Peace be with you...C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-61875594959677300662009-10-02T07:31:00.000-07:002009-10-02T07:38:33.926-07:00Summer Glories<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJECa2e1YJzLg4Eo4GUPTwfBH1WB0XBwH1S2C_TXsm5-nYRttHwMMZX80vk-X2dnHHW6OEf49atTBlenoaWc1VTU0VKJcycHKylV4UBisZjXiY3IstxoxypLB7AHsPx_41w_b-MnML6BZ2/s1600-h/Morning+Glories+up+close+09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJECa2e1YJzLg4Eo4GUPTwfBH1WB0XBwH1S2C_TXsm5-nYRttHwMMZX80vk-X2dnHHW6OEf49atTBlenoaWc1VTU0VKJcycHKylV4UBisZjXiY3IstxoxypLB7AHsPx_41w_b-MnML6BZ2/s320/Morning+Glories+up+close+09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388011715321777746" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">From a piece I wrote for the Pastors' Column in a local newspaper yesterday, which helped me remember how much I love to write. Gotta get started on the next novel!</span><br /><br />All summer, I babied my Morning Glory vines along, hoping they would put out those beautiful blue blooms just like the picture on the seed package. In June they sprouted, in July they spread all over the trellises, but there were no flowers. The green vines looked nice, but something was missing.<br /><br />So I read up on Morning Glories, discovering that they like soil that is poor and dry. I’d had no luck with nasturtiums in that same spot last summer, maybe the soil was too rich, even though it’s mostly sand and I didn’t add any fertilizer. Maybe they were getting too wet when I watered the rest of the garden. Maybe, it was just too cool for most of the summer. I decided to make a mental note that Morning Glories are just one more flower that won’t bloom in that spot. Next year, I’ll try something else.<br /><br />I had to go out of town for a period of time, and forgot all about my disappointment with the Morning Glories. When I returned in the middle of August, there were a few flowers on each vine. They were such a gorgeous shade of blue that I grabbed my camera and took some pictures, just to prove that they actually flowered. As the weeks passed, and Labor Day came and went and we went deeper into September, much to my delight, the vines erupted with dozens and dozens of new blooms. By evening, the flowers would be pulled back and shriveled, but when the sun came up again, new flowers would be there to greet the day. Except for planting the seeds, I did nothing to make this happen. It was all God’s miracle of creation.<br /><br />Now here we are at the beginning of October and we’ve had frost warnings two nights in a row. There was no way to cover all those vines, so I hoped they’d survive just for a few more days, maybe even a few weeks. On the morning after the first frost, the flowers bloomed, but when I went to check on them, their edges were purple and curling inward already. As I write this, the plants are still valiantly making flowers, but the wind and rain and cold make them wither and fade well before noon.<br /><br />Every fall I am reminded of what the Prophet Isaiah says. <span style="font-style: italic;">The grass withers, the flowers fade; but the word of our God will stand forever.</span> As we move into the darkest time of the year, when no grass grows and all flowers have withered, when we burn candles to ward off the edge of night, this verse sustains me. Isaiah also says <span style="font-style: italic;">surely the people are grass,</span> and so we are, mortal and fragile, not only in our bodies, but in our spirits as well. But God, Creator of all, sent the Word, Jesus to save us from all that. No matter how we bloom and fade and watch our loved ones bloom and fade, the Word of God stands forever, steady, constant and always with us.<br /><br />May God’s peace be with you<br /><br />P.S. It was so windy overnight that the trellis holding the biggest M.G. plant blew over. Bye, bye, blue...C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-85714477565292500432009-09-29T19:06:00.001-07:002009-09-29T19:56:40.736-07:00A Cake - for Me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsDjru3rM1SpyrRjqSZwqgcrJq9NiTDJQVUMXsjPQzu3bZV-Xv4BhXpGJkWUAjsKHoEWumSV1EiUFJcfsPL19Oz_TnY_RhwY8prq2lY7D-AtfTQp6QypOz96iUxUjYMzmhaMy_I6zRN_a/s1600-h/Cake+at+Carefreee.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsDjru3rM1SpyrRjqSZwqgcrJq9NiTDJQVUMXsjPQzu3bZV-Xv4BhXpGJkWUAjsKHoEWumSV1EiUFJcfsPL19Oz_TnY_RhwY8prq2lY7D-AtfTQp6QypOz96iUxUjYMzmhaMy_I6zRN_a/s320/Cake+at+Carefreee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387081872512592290" border="0" /></a><br />Well, I <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> share it! It was the afternoon treat when I attended a book group at a golf resort with my sister-in-law and mother-in-law a couple of weeks ago. (The rocks were yummy - like m&ms!) I was amazed to see my name on the events sign at the entrance to the park. I was <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> amazed to see 33 people in the clubhouse, waiting to hear what I had to say about <span style="font-style: italic;">Eddie's Wake, </span>waiting to ask some great questions. It was fun, but kind of embarrassing, too.<br /><br />Soon we'll have a book celebration at our church for friends and family. We sent out 50+ invitations today! What will I fix to feed all these people? Wish I had time to make Maggie's apple pie. True comfort food, if it ever existed.<br /><br />And tomorrow, I'll be talking to a reporter from the local newspaper, who wants photos.<br /><br />This is all fun and exciting, but I want to remember - and maybe you can help me with this - that writing <span style="font-style: italic;">Eddie's Wake</span> was never meant to be about <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>. Yes, I love writing, and I'm antsy to start the next book, but that's not what this is about, either.<br /><br />I wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">Eddie's Wake </span>for every person who has lost a loved one, who has pined for someone who no longer walks on this earth; it's about everyone who knows first hand what "vain longing" is like. <span style="font-style: italic;">Eddie's Wake </span>might be a good read, but it's supposed to bring the message that life goes on and healing happens - even though the scars of loss never really go away. It's about love, and how true love comes about in the strangest ways. It's about how love does, indeed, conquer a whole host of problems, or at least make them a bit more bearable. Most of all, it's about how the love of God trumps all.<br /><br />No, <span style="font-style: italic;">Eddie's Wake</span> is not about me. It's all about <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span>, my friends.<br />May peace be with you.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-75471683266204497342009-09-25T10:24:00.001-07:002009-09-25T12:28:22.655-07:00A Tribute<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqGbxD1vcdqmaFc22-PqXr7S-u1Gc5yE-u959jFHAnqqS27BCkfIZUgYI4YpSZHUty0yiWuD1WmkXNfzkYjqbBothMuzr4igeFSQ2oLjLdtSlv_B2W1B0pfEuChq0LXcUVqYW7Jrw4ake/s1600-h/Dad's+Casket+Near+Columbia+%28Jon%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqGbxD1vcdqmaFc22-PqXr7S-u1Gc5yE-u959jFHAnqqS27BCkfIZUgYI4YpSZHUty0yiWuD1WmkXNfzkYjqbBothMuzr4igeFSQ2oLjLdtSlv_B2W1B0pfEuChq0LXcUVqYW7Jrw4ake/s320/Dad's+Casket+Near+Columbia+%28Jon%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385488649636253922" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Where have you been?</span><br />I know it has been a very long time since I have posted.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You do know how important a web presence is to selling Eddie's Wake, don't you?</span><br />Yes, I do, but... well, a lot of things have happened. Like my 'day job,' which isn't really a day job at all, with all those evening meetings.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You missed some of those, too. You're becoming a slacker!</span><br />And then there's my family. It's been a busy summer helping my Mom weed through her belongings and move. I missed lots of work for that and had no time or energy to think...<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You're making excuses.</span><br />They're all true. And then, we we thought things would settle down, someone important died. My father-in-law.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, dear.</span><br />He used to terrify me, but once, before I was even officially in the family, and I was visiting their house with my beloved and it was winter and I was freezing even with an extra sweater on, he turned up the furnace. I told him he didn't have to do that just for me, and he said, "What's the matter, don't you think you're worth it?" And the truth was, I didn't think I was worth it. That has stayed with me for over 35 years. Somehow, I thought I was being a good Christian or at least a good girl if I always put everyone else first, which would have meant, if the family wanted to save money on fuel oil, I should ignore my own needs and go along with it. It took a scary person telling me I was worth something before I began to believe it.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You've come a long way, baby.</span><br />Most of the time. But now I hear myself saying those same words to others. Maybe that's the greatest tribute I could pay.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Indeed.</span><br />So now do I have an excused absence from blogging?<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Of course. You're worth it. Just don't forget about us.</span><br />Never.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-64878502610554954302009-08-19T05:28:00.001-07:002009-08-19T05:51:04.579-07:00"How can I get a copy?"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSuZAhCDPIUdgH1AptskMyvAVVhyphenhyphenig1z3HnDmgsJAjiosQbvTHwf9N8aO66IwBbHNvHC0lF0Gx-vVAXuQDS9SCPD_chpidknMShyphenhyphen099dq5eaFG38ed31w67vPjeiCQXr5yBUaNxlMbdV1E/s1600-h/First+tomatoes+8+19+09.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSuZAhCDPIUdgH1AptskMyvAVVhyphenhyphenig1z3HnDmgsJAjiosQbvTHwf9N8aO66IwBbHNvHC0lF0Gx-vVAXuQDS9SCPD_chpidknMShyphenhyphen099dq5eaFG38ed31w67vPjeiCQXr5yBUaNxlMbdV1E/s320/First+tomatoes+8+19+09.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371656217153338546" /></a><br />It just occurred to me that I've been telling you about<span style="font-style:italic;"> my</span> getting my hands on copies of "Eddie's Wake," but that I haven't mentioned where you can get a copy. They are available through Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.com. I ordered one copy through Amazon last night; will let you know how long it takes for it to come. Haven't tried B&N yet.<br /><br />My Morning glories are finally beginning to bloom and the weeds in the garden are thriving. Between the book and more family crises, I haven't been able to do anything about the weeds or enjoy the flowers. <br /><br />But wait! I just went out to get a shot of the Morning Glories, and discovered, on August 19th, that we have ripening tomatoes; the first of the season. I will have tomatoes on my cucumber cream cheese sandwich today. And tomorrow I will make salsa!C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-72428654686228965902009-08-13T18:37:00.000-07:002009-08-13T18:49:57.202-07:00I have a BOOK copy of Eddie's Wake!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCg8TbkVQIUz_Az-yi9BGDsHRSekEwPjg8CpwaL84bG94QtCpkmjaLbuemxnl7o2UQ4bi4pRKJdfXAZv3vxAClErb2kDl4_MFQqnYDVpaGOJj9N4EEkS9Ox7IYYpE061dCHHSoWOIztI_8/s1600-h/cp,+mackinaw+018.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCg8TbkVQIUz_Az-yi9BGDsHRSekEwPjg8CpwaL84bG94QtCpkmjaLbuemxnl7o2UQ4bi4pRKJdfXAZv3vxAClErb2kDl4_MFQqnYDVpaGOJj9N4EEkS9Ox7IYYpE061dCHHSoWOIztI_8/s320/cp,+mackinaw+018.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369630608820998754" /></a><br />My stomach was in knots and my hands were shaking. I wasn't sure if I would laugh, cry or throw up as I when I opened the box... but I did none of those things. Just signed a copy for my Mom and left it on her chair. It's a beautiful book with some heft to it, thanks to Dave Aldrich. Yay, Dave!<br /><br />I've been with my Mom for three weeks helping with family stuff, but am on my way home, sleeping in the shadow of the Mackinac Bridge (above).<br /><br />We'll be planning some "Book Events" soon and will announce them here. Hope you can come help us celebrate!C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-33519252262283610782009-08-07T18:28:00.000-07:002009-08-07T18:39:15.516-07:00They're Here!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-X5iUFyT1psc4rpARnfamTYVmfW8-jpp_656SxCJiFsX_6u_vy6ppbbGb7C731Pq4GkpKyJxDMYH_rh8_5YESIyDi5L_UKZRQo5B2YFSat_VY36hx25CzEchPv-EaIG6jnY_mrE7Qr4di/s1600-h/andy+and+storm+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-X5iUFyT1psc4rpARnfamTYVmfW8-jpp_656SxCJiFsX_6u_vy6ppbbGb7C731Pq4GkpKyJxDMYH_rh8_5YESIyDi5L_UKZRQo5B2YFSat_VY36hx25CzEchPv-EaIG6jnY_mrE7Qr4di/s320/andy+and+storm+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367400285649056946" /></a><br />Finally, it's a reality. Two boxes of books arrived today, but since I'm in Michigan with my Mom, I had to ask my son to open the boxes. He says they look <span style="font-style:italic;">great.</span> Will keep you posted as to availability.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-52477232401096270352009-07-31T19:27:00.000-07:002009-08-06T06:00:28.979-07:00Beware of that perfect parking place<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIv7Fs_Uq-mK4xigbZdW7Am9bV0R4aVNBII5yG7exT9nZcj4Dm89xkryvgUPnPkupTIJHdqu6pBm0nuX89Qw0JQ1Yl2M4HliSpG9kJwlppXX1XZgwnq8YlenLAsvKxyuHOMTNPcvE2Eh-9/s1600-h/Berries!.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIv7Fs_Uq-mK4xigbZdW7Am9bV0R4aVNBII5yG7exT9nZcj4Dm89xkryvgUPnPkupTIJHdqu6pBm0nuX89Qw0JQ1Yl2M4HliSpG9kJwlppXX1XZgwnq8YlenLAsvKxyuHOMTNPcvE2Eh-9/s320/Berries!.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364824287875490962" /></a><br />It was a shady spot in a gravelly lot on a warm day. Nobody else is parked there, what luck! In fact, the whole lot is vacant. We pull in, park, get out, and start walking; Mom forgot her cane, so she hangs onto my arm. She mentions something about these little black blobs on the ground. I am very preoccupied. Looks like leftover asphalt crumbs, I say. You know, it's road construction season in the Midwest, and some of those workers can be pretty sloppy. <br />We return to the car about 30 minutes later. This time <span style="font-style:italic;">I<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> look down, and I look closely. Oh-oh, those aren't asphalt blobs, they're... berries? <br />I look up. A-hem. A big tree with red and blackish-purple berries, like big ol' raspberries... The source of our coveted shade. Well, I say, at least no birds have blessed us with droppings on the car. <br />Now, I look down again. At my feet, at my sandals. At Mom's feet. If we'd been barefoot, it would have looked like we'd been <span style="font-style:italic;">stomping out the grapes of wrath before his judgment seat!</span> (OK, self, settle down, now!)<br />Back home, we decide to wipe our feet on the grass. Picture: elderly woman, hanging onto daughter as they wipe gunk off their shoes. We look up. Neighbors watch us from their stoop. Almost fall over laughing, wondering what they must think of us.<br />Later, same neighbors watch as I scrub said shoes and sandals with a brush, <span style="font-style:italic;">Fantastik</span> and water from the hose. <br />Shoes cleaned up pretty well... then I notice the asphalt driveway, little bits of dark berry from our shoes, waiting for someone to walk all over them and tromp them through the house. More hose, more water. <br />Neighbors still watching: "Whatever they stepped in must have been good, Ray..."<br /><br />The berries in the photo above are wild black caps from my yard, much tamer than seedy mulberries mixed with gravel. <br /><br />Great news: <span style="font-style:italic;">Eddie's Wake</span> publish date, <span style="font-weight:bold;">July 31, 2009.</span> Today! Mom says we need to celebrate with ice cream. Chocolate, vanilla. NO berry!<br /><br />Books soon to come.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-6017126028292211322009-07-21T20:11:00.000-07:002009-07-21T20:15:05.473-07:00"We're On Our Way!"No photos for this post... (Can't think of anything to use. Maybe if I had a photo of a car...) We're on our way! <span style="font-style:italic;">Eddie's Wake</span> is in production. In a few more weeks, we should have books. Yay! <br />Thanks for reading.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172303290558907406.post-59707833885553926012009-07-20T07:15:00.001-07:002009-07-20T07:50:54.245-07:00Wild Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FrM-sxuFajq6rSEXbZBFxqFbCe3wm1zwww72FfPsU_UmVI_GB-1y3FjRsQs51jGbmHd_jbDBlDPMKZxPo391GdvdqA6rKA6UOVFoimb7jYJwYUKFIM_00xaraFpjhZB0No600zb8EmHi/s1600-h/Betty+is+Busted.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FrM-sxuFajq6rSEXbZBFxqFbCe3wm1zwww72FfPsU_UmVI_GB-1y3FjRsQs51jGbmHd_jbDBlDPMKZxPo391GdvdqA6rKA6UOVFoimb7jYJwYUKFIM_00xaraFpjhZB0No600zb8EmHi/s320/Betty+is+Busted.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360553797427348786" /></a><br />It seems like I've been seeing (and hearing) all sorts of wild critters lately. On the way to work last week, poking its head from the weeds at the side of the road was a bald eagle. I'm sure it was lunching on roadkill, maybe a whole deer or a raccoon. I remember fifteen years ago or so, when the eagles were just coming back from the brink of extinction, we took the kids on a hike down to the Mississippi River, hoping to see one. It was late December and the water was open and there were at least four or five big eagles feeding on Mississippi River fish. What a thrill that was! And now there are enough eagles that seeing them around here is a pretty common occurrence. <br /><br />And then there are the deer. This time of year they are more of a traffic hazard than anything. Two fawns at the edge of the road, trying to cross then chickening out, back and forth to the center line then finally across. I was glad I saw them soon enough to slow down and take in the show. On Saturday while fixing breakfast, I heard the strangest noise... was it a bird or squirrel? I looked, and saw a doe, 20 or 30 feet from the house, looking down at something and making that whistling-snorting noise. I opened the window a little and she looked at me. Then down. Then at me. I'm not sure I like having deer so close to the house (my hosta plants, you know) so I made a little bit of noise and she took off into the woods. And there, just above the weeds, went the furry tail of our mouser cat, Cougar, after her. Did she really think she could catch <span style="font-style:italic;">a deer?<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span><br /><br />I think I saw a groundhog heading into the corn the other day. And there are the howls of the coyotes and fox at night, making me go out looking for little Betty, my favorite cat, the one we don't think is smart enough to run from predators. And of course, there are the bluebirds and hummingbirds who like it when I water the garden. I quit filling the regular birdfeeder, since it attracts raccoons and possum this time of year, and I do NOT like having that kind of wildlife on the deck!<br /><br />All this is diversionary for me. We are still waiting for approval of the cover for "Eddie's Wake" from Outskirts Press. They have to OK it, then I have the final say, and then it goes into production and then, in three to four weeks, I'll see the book. The real deal. Next post I hope to be able to say, "We're on our way!" but for now... wait, wait, wait. <br /><br />The photo above is Betty, <span style="font-style:italic;">soooo<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> busted.C. A. Petersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10499079985695543508noreply@blogger.com0