by jphilo | Feb 18, 2013 | Daily Life
Mysteries have been my drug of choice ever since Mrs. Eggleston read one of the Bobsey Twins books aloud to our second grade class. Thereafter, I ditched swinging at recess for playing detective with whoever I could convince to be Freddie to my Flossie.
Mrs. Eggleston had no idea the Bobsey Twins could be an entrance drug.
During my middle school years, Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden ensnared me. By high school and into college, I was hooked on Agatha Christie. During our South Dakota years, I mainlined P. D. James and Arthur Conan Doyle. Once we moved to Boone, and books were freely available on the street corner than housed the city library, my habit grew: Elizabeth Peters, Diane Mott Davidson, Lilian Jackson, MC Beaton, Catherine Hart, Sue Grafton.
Those are only a few of the authors who turned me into a life long mystery junkie.
These days, I’m reading Craig Johnson, Jane Haddam, Jacqueline Winspear, Anne George, Elizabeth George, David Rosenfelt, and whoever else I can get my hands on. Reading when time allows. Listening to audiobooks when it doesn’t. Watching PBS Mysteries when I’m desperate.
But those fixes no longer satisfy my cravings.
I want more. Much more. Now I dream about making my own stuff, of setting up a little fiction lab in the living room. I’ve read two cookbooks–Elizabeth George’s Write Away and James Scott Bell’s Plot and Structure. I’ve gathered the ingredients: the strange disappearance of a rancher in northwest South Dakota, a greenhorn elementary teacher who comes to town and lands in the middle of the mystery. I’ve scrounged together a theme, a plot. I even have time to work on it. All that remains is to mix everything together and cook the book, so to speak.
But I’m scared. Really scared.
What if mystery writing consumes all my time? What if the book never gets published? What if it leads to unforeseen consequences? What if I’m a coward and turn my back on this opportunity? What if I fail? What if I succeed?
Why did Mrs. Eggleston have to introduce our class to those Bobsey twins?
But even if she hadn’t, even if she’d stuck with less edgy second grade fare like Dick and Jane, I probably wouldn’t have heard, “Run, Jane, run!” I would have heard, “Write, Jolene, write.” Because I hated to run. But I was hooked on stories. Even before the Bobsey Twins. So here goes nothing…
…write, Jolene, write!
by jphilo | Feb 15, 2013 | Daily Life
Valentine’s Day at our house was about as healthy as they come:
- No lunch date because Hiram spoke about heart health at a noon meeting for a church group.
- No home-baked sweets for Hiram because he’s watching his blood sugar.
- No heart-shaped box of milk chocolates because they contain dairy.
- No flowers because they make me sneeze.
- No dinner out because a) we’re just getting over viruses and have no desire to catch new ones, and b) Hiram helped the high school worship team at evening practice.
Our romantic Valentine’s dinner consisted of:
- Whole wheat spaghetti with marinara sauce,
- Crispy garlic bread,
- Greek salad,
- And fresh pineapple for dessert,
- With a tissue box centerpiece because we’re almost but not quite over the aforementioned virus.
In fact, our healthy Valentine’s Day was making me sick until I thought about:
Thank you God, for romance alive and well at our house!
by jphilo | Feb 8, 2013 | Daily Life
This past Wednesday was not a good day.
First, I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee in the morning and because I’d written the time down wrong, got there a half hour late. Being an impatient person, I hate to keep others waiting.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
After working on a blog post for over almost two hours, it refused to come together the way I wanted. Impatient people like me don’t have time to waste spend almost two hours on a single blog post.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The google chat audio feature was malfunctioning on my computer, so I missed an online meeting in the afternoon. Impatient people have no patience with technical glitches.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
A publisher rejected a piece I wrote for a devo Bible being compiled by a friend. Not only that, the publisher wanted extensive citations (including book page numbers) for a half-dozen quotes for other pieces I’d written. Impatient people don’t enjoy skimming long books to find page numbers.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Hiram spent all afternoon trying to file our income tax with Turbo Tax. He’s usually pretty patient, but after several hours of online chats with Turbo Tax experts and two phone calls, he was a little cranky. Impatient people like me think we’re the only ones with a right to be cranky.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The cold Hiram’s been fighting for two weeks came back with a vengeance that night. He ran a temperature again and coughed all night. Which didn’t sit well with a woman who needs plenty of sleep in order to be patient.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst of it was this. I woke up Thursday morning and realized impatient people like me spend all their time looking at gray skies. We are so focused on the gloom, we don’t even see the gap in the clouds and the sun streaming through.
Impatient people like me forget they have
friends to visit,
blogs to write,
a computer that functions flawlessly 99.9% of the time,
writing projects to complete,
income tax refunds to file,
and a husband whose job provides sick leave and excellent health insurance.
Yes, that’s the worst of it.
Dear Father, forgive me for not slowing down to look for the gap in the clouds. Forgive me for focusing on the gloomy clouds and missing the joy of the Son. Please teach me to be patient…as quickly as possible. Amen.
by jphilo | Feb 4, 2013 | Daily Life, Reviews
Regularly scheduled programming will resume as soon the writer quits coughing, finds a new box of tissues, and recovers from taking a dizzy tumble in the kitchen.
photo credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Jan 11, 2013 | Daily Life
My, I was surprised yesterday morning to glance out the living room window and see a fox trotting across the yard. Who knows what drew the critter–the first of it’s kind seen on our property in the 21 years we’ve lived here–to grace our snow covered lawn with it’s dainty feet. Perhaps the fox is as enamored with Hiram’s cross country ski trail as the squirrels are. Those bushy-tailed rodents zip down the man of steel’s carefully groomed trails like they’re on the interstate.
But I digress.
Back to yesterday morning’s bushy-tailed non-rodent. The fox. It was trotting toward the edge of the yard at an impressive pace, but just as I grabbed the camera, our visitor struck a majestic pose. I managed a few shots through the window–hence the blur created by the screen–and then followed my model’s gaze to see what it was staring at.
It was another fox.
Just as big as the first, but quicker on its feet. Much quicker. Frisky. Really frisky. Like I-just-got-wheels-and-you-can’t-stop-me teenager frisky. So frisky that when I swung my camera to digitally capture the visitor’s image, this is what I got.
Like I said. Frisky.
The more sedate older fox, who gave the distinct impression of the tired parent of an impulsive teen, joined its frisky counterpart, and they rounded the side of the house. By the time I made it to the dining room and looked outside, the foxes were on the far side of the hedge. They crossed our driveway without looking both ways, slipped through the fence, and disappeared into the neighbors trees.
Easy come. Easy go.
I put the camera away, thankful for the pictures I’d taken. Thankful to be inside on a winter day instead of outside trotting across the snow. Thankful I’m no longer the tired parent of teenagers. Thankful for the unexpected beauty of one fox, two fox, old fox, new fox on a winter day.
Thankful.
by jphilo | Jan 7, 2013 | Daily Life
Our little stairway to hell’s heaven’s been a long time coming, but this week it’s one step closer to completion. The current remodeling project began with the words, “It won’t take long or cost much to replace the flooring in the stairway and the upstairs hall.”
That sentence reflects the total break from reality required to begin any remodeling project–at least at our house. Take a look a the timeline of the project thus far to get an idea of how far from reality those words were:
Late April, 2012–Hiram removes the grungy carpet from the stairs and second floor hallway in just one weekend while Jolene is gone.
Early May, 2012–We spend a few weeks reassuring one another that the stairs are in pretty good shape, in need of just a little woodwork sanding, paint, and carpet runner to look good. We need the reassurance because the hallway floor is ancient oak plank, complete with square nails. It needs new subfloor before the hardwood floor can be laid. Plus, we have to locate hardwood to match the two boxes left over from laying the living room and dining room floor 6 years ago.
Late May, 2012–Hiram blows a disk in his back. All remodeling on hold.
Late June, 2012–While recovering from back surgery, Hiram does an internet search and finds a place to order the hardwood. It costs an arm and a leg, which hardly seems fair when we’re already paying for Hiram’s new back. But since it will take 2–3 months to get here, we have time to pay off at least one body part before it arrives.
Late September, 2012–The flooring is almost forgotten as we anticipate the arrival of our first grandchild. When we remember and Hiram thinks his back is strong enough to carry boxes, he calls the store. They say the order’s been there for 3 weeks. Maybe their phone only takes incoming calls?
Late October, 2012–We forget to call the flooring guy after the arrival of our new grandchild. Since everyone will be at our house for Thanksgiving, we tell the carpenter not to come until after Thanksgiving.
Late November, 2012–The carpenter calls. He’s a hunter. He can’t come until the weekend before Christmas.
Weekend before Christmas, 2012–The carpenter gets half the floor laid. It’s the weekend of Camp Dorothy. Mom’s nap is quite interrupted. She is not amused. But she doesn’t complain. Much.
Weekend before New Year, 2012–Floor is completed. It looks great. All that remains is to complete our stairway to hell heaven is sanding and painting woodwork, picking out and installing a carpet runner. We try to reassure one another that the work’ll be quick, easy, and inexpensive.
Sigh.
