by jphilo | Sep 10, 2008 | Out and About
This past weekend I was in a Kansas City suburb, Lee’s Summit, for a speaking engagement. I was plenty smug as I drove south, glad to trade an Iowa early fall weekend for a Missouri late summer one. In my way of thinking, the gig was an opportunity to pretend winter isn’t on the way.
Unfortunately, nobody told Missouri what I was expecting. When I got there, fall greeted me. The next morning on my walk – without a coat or sweatshirt because I was in Missouri in early September which should still be summer four hours south of my usual morning walk – the weather was damp, cool and undeniably fallish. You might assume I’m exaggerating, but this picture squelches that idea. Looks like fall, doesn’t it?
After Missouri’s nasty weather deception, I’m worried about the future. Next weekend, I’m attending a conference in Minneapolis, about three hours north of here. I’m thinking I ought to take my winter coat. Maybe even my long underwear and Hiram’s cross country skis. Definitely the winter survival car kit, complete with candles, blankets and a couple Hershey bars.
Make that a couple dozen Hershey bars, and I could learn to cope with winter. As long as it doesn’t snow. Watch out Minnesota, I’m on my way.
by jphilo | Jul 30, 2008 | Out and About
Today’s the last full day at Family Camp here in Idaho. To commemorate the day, all work crews were given the day off (though two die hard men hung sheet rock in cabins and wired the indoor kitchen) and two excursions were planned.
Half of our number climbed a mountain. My husband was one of them, along with his Idaho cousin who served as the guide, and a passel of teens and young adults who don’t know any better than to risk their lives in such vertical pursuits.
The more reasonable among us piled into three cars and drove to an old growth cedar forest about 45 minutes away. We took a horizontal hike through a virgin forest. The further we went, the smaller we felt. The trees were massive and the forest floor absorbed our words. A hush fell upon us as we passed trees so ancient they were old when Native American tribes first walked through them.
The hike was good for me. This past week, what with sleeping in a tent and watching the younger crowd race around with more energy than they have any right to possess, I began to feel old. But an hour in the forest was all it took to regain a proper perspective. Compared to those cedar trees, I’m a spring chicken and pretty light on my feet. Once again, life is good.
Proper perspective is a wonderful thing.
by jphilo | Jul 23, 2008 | Out and About
A few evenings ago Ginger, her husband and I had supper with some of their friends. Danny, Gretchen and Cleo (Gretchen’s mother) live in a beautiful home on the side of an Idaho mountain. They used to live in Alaska. Since I’m married to an Alaskan, I should have seen what was coming when they invited us on a short hike before we ate. “We’ll take it easy and slow,” they assured me right before the mountain slope went completely vertical.
I made it about twenty feet before I admitted defeat and announced I would go back to the house. Cleo, who at age 85 has a whole lot more sense than me and didn’t pretend she could handle a hike, welcomed me when I returned. We sat outside together and watched the humming birds visit the feeders.
I took pictures of the tiny birds. Most of them were grey with green backs, but now and then a red hummer came to feed. At first, I was infatuated with the flashy little fellow and took picture after picture. My infatuation evaporated quickly when I saw him swoop in and chase the others birds away. The red-throated wonder was nothing but a big bully.
Disappointed, I put the camera away and visited with Cleo. She told stories of her life and her children and of God’s goodness through every trial she’s faced. Before we left that evening, Cleo came outside to say good-bye and hug me.
The next day, Ginger complimented me for being so thoughtful. “You gave up the hike to go back and sit with Cleo.” I told her it was no sacrifice because hiking isn’t my thing. No matter how much I protested, she insisted I’d been nice. I even suggested she call my husband, my children, my siblings, and my mom to see if they thought my behavior had been nice. She declined the offer deprived them of a golden opportunity to rat me out.
So now Ginger thinks I’m a really nice person. So it’s a good thing I leave tomorrow. Maybe she’ll never discover that I’m a lot like the red-throated hummingbird – real flashy, but not as nice as I look.
by jphilo | Jul 20, 2008 | Out and About
Ginger and her husband Dan collected me from the Spokane airport Thursday afternoon and brought me to their home in Chewelah, Washington. And no matter how it might appear to the casual observer, we’ve been working hard on our mystery novel ever since.
Sure, we go to a friend’s lakeside cabin every day to brainstorm and write and organize and edit. Sure, the bald eagles entertain us as swoop down and catch fish in the sparkling blue waters. Sure, we break for lunch and then take the paddle boat out for a spin before we go back to the salt mines and slave over the book.
But in between those moments, we slave away. I’ve spent three days rereading the 400 pages already written, checking for continuity and looking for passages to cut. Ginger is writing the final climax scene, which involves orchestrating the movements of a cast of pesky characters. By late afternoon, our brains are fried and we drive back to town for supper at Dan and Ginger’s house. But after supper, I grab a pencil and the manuscript and sit in the low-humidity, mosquito-free shade, and make more scribbles on the manuscript.
It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it. Despite the sacrifice required, Ginger and I will persevere until I leave Thursday afternoon. So don’t let the best tan I’ve had in years fool you. We are hard at work.
by jphilo | Jun 30, 2008 | Out and About
My trip to Grand Rapids was an out-of-body experience. Michigan is beautiful this time of year, so the scenery itself gave the trip a dreamlike quality. But, so many things occurred that don’t normally happen to ordinary Iowa girls like me, I began to wonder if I was living someone else’s life. I’m not being modest. More like flabbergasted, incredulous, blown-away. Here are a few examples:
- The editors at Discovery House Publishing took me out to dinner. (I can’t believe I’m saying this: “My editors took me to dinner.”) It was pretty cool, discussing who to get to endorse my book, and finding out they can contact some people I thought were way out of reach. And I managed not to spill anything on my lap, belch, or sneeze with food and drink in my mouth.
- The friend I stayed with, Shelly Beach, knows everyone in Grand Rapids. We met a couple of them, both published book authors, at a bakery one morning. I thought they would be highfaluting, literary types. But instead they were frazzled moms happy to talk grown-up for a few minutes while somebody else watched their kids. They even appreciated my parenting advice.
- Shelly took me to visit her editor. He asked to see our mystery book proposal when it’s ready in a month. If you are a writer, you know how many hurdles were avoided with that request.
- At the “Speak Up” Conference, which was the main reason I went, my-son-the-monk was often the topic of conversation. Many people were so fascinated, they asked for my business card. What can I say?
If it weren’t for the laundry waiting to be done, the backlog of mail, the huge list of things to follow up on, and my increasing sense of panic as my to do list grows exponentially, I’d be sure I’m living someone else’s life.
But I’m not. And the only explanation I can come up with is this: Aslan’s on the move.
by jphilo | May 23, 2008 | Out and About
No doubt about it, this spring has been one of the chilliest in recent memory. Though the weather warmed up earlier this week, yesterday the temperature slid enough to kick on the furnace. A noisy, crackling thunderstorm, complete with a soaking rain and a little hail, ushered in the day. The sky remains overcast and I keep putting off my walk, waiting for the wind to die down and the temperature to warm up. Pretty soon, I’ll have to suck it up and take a chilly walk.
But a cold spring hold blessings, too. Before we left for West Virginia, I mourned about missing the red buds, which were waking up just as we left. I was sure they would fade before our return. I didn’t consider the effects of a cold spring all across the Midwest.
Red buds were in full bloom along the southern route through Iowa, Illinois, and Indiana. Mile after mile of breath-taking color. On the return trip, the southern trees had faded, but as we drove north the blooming commenced again, even along our lane. I took this picture on Tuesday, three days after we got home. Not only the red buds, but the honeysuckles and lilacs, the irises and columbines waited to bloom until we came home – thanks to a cold spring.
Chilly blessings, I see, can be more beautiful than warm, fuzzy ones.
