The Grinch Was Right

Every December I love to watch the animated version of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". The song is hilarious ("You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch") and the animation adorable, but my favorite part is when the Grinch finally "gets it" and his heart grows three sizes, giving him the strength to rescue the falling sled full of stolen decorations and presents.

It occurred to me when we received our 1,000th catalog in the mail the other day that many people chase happiness as if it were something to find or buy or hold in their hands. They haven't yet reached their Grinch moment. I hope they will someday.

Now that I've tasted the bitterness of grief, loneliness, betrayal, cancer, depression, and anxiety, joy is all the sweeter in comparison. It comes from within us, and it is meant to be shared.

How can we find happiness or its deeper expression, joy? It's deceptively simple: being thankful in all circumstances, seeing the good in ourselves and others, giving rather than taking, and putting the needs of others above our own desires.

Here's to your own Grinch moment. May you find joy and spread it to others. After all, it's a gift that never stops giving.

The 10 Best Books I've Read in 2014

Old bookstores are my favorite places to shop. It's like going on a treasure hunt. Kindle books are fine, but there's nothing like the feel of a book, turning pages as you pore over the words and immerse yourself in the story. Although I've read some ebooks this year, all of my favorites I purchased as paperbacks. You'll also notice all of them can technically be termed "fantasy", either epic, urban, or science fiction. And all but one was written by an indie author who is a member of Clean Indie Reads. Here they are in order, from #10 to #1:
10: Ben the Dragonborn by Dianne Astle, an epic fantasy adventure about a boy who discovers who he really is by traveling to a dangerous world of water with mermaids, dragons, and all manner of creepy things.

9: Beyond the Hidden Sky by Marcha Fox, a science fiction adventure written by a scientist which is a coming-of-age story about a strong-willed and talented girl.

8: Alora: The Wander-Jewel by Tamie Dearen, a fantasy about a girl from Earth and a boy from another world who discover they are "soulmates" and will die if they can't stay in physical contact with one another.

7. A Cast of Stones by Patrick W. Carr, book one of an epic fantasy trilogy about the most unlikely hero ever, with writing so superb I could NOT put it down.

6. In the Enemy's Service by Annie Douglass Lima, one book of a fantasy trilogy from the point of view of a girl forced to serve the enemy who has shattered her life.

5. The Gypsy Pearl, Book Two: Craggy by Lia London, second installment of a science fiction trilogy about a ship-bred girl who must save an alien species from destruction by becoming their queen.

4. Prince of Alasia by Annie Douglass Lima, another book of the fantasy trilogy, a coming-of-age story about the young prince who must escape the conquerors who murdered his parents.

3. The Gypsy Pearl, Book One: Caren by Lia London is the first of a science fiction trilogy following the painful adventures of a ship-bred girl who must find a way to unite three worlds and save an alien species.

2. Song of the Mountain by Michelle Isenhoff is a must-read epic fantasy with an Eastern feel which tells the story of an outcast boy, his elderly mentor, and a dragon. This one is Newbery award quality writing.

1. Prince of Malorn by Annie Douglass Lima is the third book of the epic fantasy and a fantastic coming-of-age story about the prince from the conquering nation who was not part of the invasion and must stop it. I love this book so much it has replaced Anne McCaffrey's Dragonsong as my all-time favorite YA fantasy!

If you like to read books that don't make you flinch, check out this great site!

Post by Katy Huth Jones.

Life's Little Ironies

One definition of irony is "a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result." This is illustrated by two things that have happened in my life in recent years.

Irony #1: The Iron is Mightier than Chemo Brain

Hubby has always liked to look "well-pressed" and since I can do a better job of ironing than he can, it became my job when we first married 36 years ago. But not all irons and ironing boards are created equal, and the frustration of using cheap equipment, scorching pricey dress shirts, and badly burning my arm in a clumsy ironing accident combined to increase my hate for this odious chore.

But when I underwent chemo nearly 10 years ago, the poisons made my brain so foggy I couldn't read or watch a movie or even THINK. Low blood counts drained what little of my energy the nausea didn't steal. Ironing Hubby's clothes while sitting on a stool was the only activity I could always do, which helped me feel like I was accomplishing something, even on the days I felt utterly worthless, pretty much like a burnt piece of toast.

Since then I no longer dread ironing, even if it's a week's worth of clothes; it's a good excuse to listen to music or a chick flick while taming an unruly pile of wrinkled shirts and slacks. (It also helps that Hubby researched irons and found a GOOD one!)

Irony #2: How do I love thee? Let me make some pancakes.

When I was in 8^th grade my mother went to work full-time, leaving a weekly chore list for my younger sisters and me. I almost always traded "cooking" for cleaning or laundry because I (1) wasn't very good at cooking, and (2) didn't like it anyway. There was always something more important to do, like practicing my flute or writing stories or drawing pictures or sewing or crafts.

When we first married I tried to impress Hubby with my culinary "skills" but I had so many disasters I soon gave up trying new recipes and just stuck with what I could easily make. This mindless rut preserved my creativity for more satisfying outlets. Cooking was a "waste" of valuable creative time.

Since Hubby and I have been living with his 86 year old father, I've cooked 3 and sometimes 4 meals a day (Hubby and I eat about 6:30 a.m. and Pop doesn't wake up until 8:30 or 9:00). At first I resented having to cook all the time, especially when it was not even in my own kitchen. But something happened. I saw how Pop responded to eating regular meals of healthy, home-cooked food, and I realized that cooking was an expression of love, not just a necessary evil.

Most, if not all, of life's "big" lessons can be learned from the smallest things. Ironic, isn't it?

The Art of Listening

This photo shows how I feel: lonely

For years Hubby and I have had a running not-quite-joke. He will ask me, "Whose life story did you hear today?"

Most days I can reply that some total stranger poured out their heart to me, at the doctor's office, the grocery store, etc.  Long ago someone stenciled "sympathetic person" on my forehead, because I seem to attract people who need someone to LISTEN to them.

I often reply I should become a counselor and get paid to listen, but I realized that would never work. From my own recent experience talking to a grief counselor, I now recognize that my own desperate need to find someone who will listen to me makes me empathetic to those with the same need. I could never say at the end of a client's allotted time, "Okay, we'll continue this at your next scheduled appointment."

The need for a listening ear is closely tied to our need to be loved. For isn't the ability to put aside one's own needs in order to truly listen to another a tangible way to demonstrate love?

When I listen, truly listen to someone, I give them my undivided attention. I make direct eye contact, nod or make sure they know I'm still with them, and do NOT think about what I want to say when they pause, or what I need to do in the next hour when this conversation is finished. From what I've witnessed and experienced, this is a rare and precious gift.

Every time I go to a nursing home, I see listless lonely people who no longer feel loved or that anyone cares they are alive. But say "Hi," and ask (genuinely) how they're doing, and watch how their faces become animated. Often I'll be rewarded with a smile and a rambling, even incoherent response, but even that is a connection between one human and another, a vital connection, as vital as breathing.

During the last six weeks my life has been turned upside-down. In that short space of time, since we discovered my 86 year old father-in-law could no longer live alone, we have made the decision to sell our home, buy a bigger one, and combine two households. When I've tried to explain how living 65 miles away with Pop, taking care of him, giving up my regular routine and putting my writing on hold, all while trying to MOVE long distance, has exhausted and often overwhelmed me, I realized how rare is the gift of listening. I've been met with bored looks, glazed eyes, and interruptions to steer the conversation to what they want to tell ME. It has been quite revealing and discouraging.

But then Pop, who has been a virtual recluse for almost ten years, will eagerly tell me interesting stories of his childhood and his Air Force experiences, and I'm able to focus on showing how much I really do care by giving him my undivided attention. I can't change the world, but I can make a difference in the life of this one precious soul, just by practicing the fine art of listening.

Redefining heroism

From my Dad's medal citation

I have an embarrassing confession:  Since I was a small girl I've wanted to do something "heroic."

Save the world from destruction. Invent something to make people's lives better. Make a discovery (historical, archeological, scientific) that would enlighten the knowledge of the ages. There was even a time when I very much wanted to go to Africa as a doctor or at least a nurse and help the suffering children.

Pretty grandiose ideas.  No one could ever accuse me of dreaming too small.  (In fact, my husband used to tease me about all the "hero" dreams I used to have.  He would ask in the mornings, "So, who did you save last night?")

Even into adulthood I had some not-quite-as-grand aspirations of saving this, or fixing that, trying to make things better but always on a scale much larger than my immediate sphere of influence.

Is it because the world only attributes "heroism" to those who perform some mighty deed, such as staying cool under fire and saving lives in a battle or a natural disaster?  Isn't it even more important for each of us to do our best to influence those around us for good?  Smiling at an elderly lady in the grocery store may not seem like much, but what if she'd had a really bad day and felt like no one in the whole world cared?

I never will have the opportunity to become another Mother Teresa or Albert Schweitzer.  But that's okay.  There's been other work for me to do that will never be "recognized" but is just as important.  I now believe that heroism is, at least in part, how we treat the most helpless among us.

To paraphrase Jesus when He commended an otherwise unremarkable woman, "She has done what she could." (Mark 14:8)

All Good Things

Me as a fifer

After marching as a Colonial Militia fifer in the September 12, 2009 march in Washington, D.C., I realized what a great living history lesson could be had wearing period costumes and playing period music from our nation's founding.  I went home and shared my excitement with my home school band students, and several of them wanted to join me in forming our own fife and drum corps.

Our 1st gig October 2009 for the Conservative Lunch Bunch

All I knew about a fife and drum corps was what the Delaware corps had taught me in our several hours together in D.C. I read everything I could find plus watched many youtube videos of competitive F&D corps as well as more amateur groups of children to get ideas. From our humble beginnings we gradually added a uniform and better instruments.

December 2009 Christmas parade--it was 32 degrees here!

"Washington Crossing the Delaware" float followed us

The many groups we played with or for didn't seem to mind that we weren't "professional." They were thrilled that a group of homeschooled children were willing to dress up and play Yankee Doodle, British Grenadiers, Rally 'Round the Flag, Chester, the Star Spangled Banner, America the Beautiful, and God Bless America. For our first (Christmas) parade in nearby Boerne, Texas we asked my tall, handsome, noble-looking husband to be our General Washington, and he eventually had a more authentic costume, too, once I learned the hang of the very complicated 18th century coat pattern.

Before the local April 15, 2010 tax day tea party rally

September 11, 2010 memorial at courthouse

Our reputation grew, and we were invited to Houston four hours away for a large Tea Party rally in which we marched with a man who is a SERIOUS George Washington re-enactor.  He has his own white ponytail and a white horse!

General Washington in Houston

"Our" General Washington who's a good sport & wears a wig

We marched in parades and to open various events, once for the Daughters of the American Revolution, and twice for the Sons of the American Revolution.  Our last performance was in March 2012 for the SAR State Convention.  After that the students were all just too busy to devote so much time to this venture, especially when it appeared that we were going to have more and more requests.  I still occasionally get requests more than two years later!

When Governor Perry came to town (behind me)

Our only formal "portrait" (I'm front row, far left)

I still have my fife, and I still practice it.  I'll probably never have another chance to participate in a group this cool again, but it does help me keep my piccolo embouchure in shape, and the piercing sounds of "Yankee Doodle" bring back a whole lot of fond memories.