An Apple for Piggy

Under a late-July sun I stood with three other boys inside the fence, waiting for Mr. Symonds to blow his whistle. I’m thinkin’, how could one little larded piglet evade the four of us tryin’ to catch it? With the countdown finished, the whistle blew, scarin’ the slicked up pig quite near to death. It darted here and there looking for a place to hide. My feet slipped in the mud chasin’ after the thing. Hank grabbed its tail. It squealed and darted off to the corner of the blocked off area that Mr. Symonds had set up for the annual pig chase. The other three of us waved our arms to keep it there.     On the other side of the fence Nell giggled.

Piggy darted out of its corner. I jumped in front of it to block its progress, but it snuck between my  legs.  I slid as I turned to grab it, and down I went, face first. I picked myself up, the mud reluctantly releasing me. Sticky, smelly muck clung to my shirt and pants. Thick globs of it stuck on my sneakers, and my arms and face were smeared with the stuff. Was this pig really worth the trouble? Through semi-blocked-up ears, I heard Nell laughing herself silly at my dilemma. Bet she couldn’t do any better if she wuz in here. I shook my head. Girls. 

Benny and Sandy shouted at the baby porker hopin’ it would be intimidated and stay put. But no, it continued to run around the outer edge of the pen. By this time, I was huffin’ and puffin’ and workin’ to keep my focus on the runt. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw an apple drop on the ground next to where the pink porcine stood. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. Hey! It was an apple. Next thing I knew, piggy gobbled it down, and Nell picked up that squealin’ package, yellin’ that she’d won it.

I grabbed my hat off’n my head, threw it in the mud and stomped on it. The other boys shouted “No fair”, but it didn’t do no good. Mr. Symond said Nell had paid her fee just like the rest of us, and she had indeed won it fair and square. 

 I plucked up my hat and headed out of the pen. I glared at Nell. She just smiled back at me, cuddled the little piggy, and fed it a slice of apple.

Writing prompt: "The four of us were chasing it."

Selling Bessie

Writing Prompt: Tell the story of car deal from the car’s point of view.
            

I dozed in the late afternoon sunlight, feeling the crisp breeze blow over my hood and roof. My owner, Paul, came out of the house and down the steps, the bottom stair creaking as he headed to the driveway. He called to his son. “Dougie, you want to take one last ride in ole’ Bessie?”

I blinked open my headlights and watched tow-headed Dougie run from the sand pile over to his dad. Paul brushed the sand off Dougie’s hands and knees, and then opened my big passenger door and helped his son get inside. Dougie slid across my red leather seat and started pushing the buttons on the shift box connected to my steering column. Take it easy there, little fella’. I’ve got feelings, too.

Paul walked around in front of me, running his big calloused hand across my hood. Yessir, he knows how to love-on me. He then opened my driver’s side door, and slipped in behind my red steering wheel.  “Enough pushing the buttons, Dougie. You’ll get Bessie all mixed up in what she’s supposed to do.” 

 Paul put the key into my ignition, and my 352 cu. in. overhead-valve V-8 engine roared to life. It tickled me every time. I cracked a wide chrome-bumper smile.

“Dougie, find the D on the shift box. Your name starts with the same letter, remember.”

Dougie leaned over toward his dad. His index finger hovered over the D button. “Is this the right one?”

Paul nodded his head. “Push ‘er in and we’ll be off.”

Doug punched his finger down onto my gearbox like a doctor delivering a flu shot. In spite of the indignity of having a four year old dive-bomb me, my transmission effortlessly shifted into drive.

Paul eased me along the dirt driveway that circled around an ancient elm tree, and we headed away from the farmhouse out onto the main road.

Paul keeps my tires filled with air to 32 psi so I roll along the country road without lurching my passengers from side to side. Paul flipped on my left blinker and I turned onto Lakeside Drive, which I know takes us into town.

  Wonder what this trip is for? Maybe the boy’s getting a haircut. Or maybe we’re going for ice cream, though I hope not. Dougie’s not too careful about dripping on my flawless interior. But it’s a beautiful day for a drive whatever the reason.

 Dougie wriggled on my seat, sitting up on his knees to look out my side window, then turning around to look out my big curved rear window, and then plopping himself down facing front. He pushed my automatic button to make his window go down. “Dad, where’re we going?”

Paul glanced in my rear view mirror and then at Dougie. “Goin’ to talk to Lester at Northlake Auto. See what kind of a deal he’ll give me for Bessie. Thought you could help me pick out a new car.”

From my outside mirror molded into the body of the door, I watched Dougie’s eyes grow big as he stared at his dad. “We’re getting rid of Bessie?”

Paul nodded his head. “Yep, might be. She’s been around a long time and your mom and me have been thinking about getting something newer, more modern.”

Dougie’s fidgeting stopped as we continued to town.

 Poor Dougie. I know how he’s feeling in his heart, ‘cause I feel sad in my engine, too. They’re selling me for a newer model.  What’s going to happen to me? I’ve been with Paul, Addie and the family for ten years. I brought Dougie’s older brother, Stan, home from the hospital back in ’57, a year after they bought me from the dentist. When Dougie came along. I got them all safely home in the blizzard of ‘62. And I can fit nearly the whole Little League team in here, as well as all their gear in my trunk.

Paul switched on my right blinker and turned into the car lot. My power brakes slowed me down with no jerking. Paul stopped in front of the office and turned off my engine. “Okay, Son, let’s go see what Lester thinks of our Bess.”

 While they got out of the car, my automatic load-leveler came on to make sure I was even in front and in back. When the motor shut itself off, I settled down to wait.

I watched through the plate glass window as a short, rotund man shook Paul’s hand and offered Dougie a lollipop. Then they all headed for the door and came outside, and stood around me. Dougie slipped his hand into his dad’s. He hadn’t even ripped the cellophane off his lollipop.

“Paul, I can’t believe you’re finally getting rid of this big old monster. ‘Bout time you moved into the 60’s since the decade’s more’n half over. What year’d you say she is?”

“A ’55.”

 “She was a beauty in her time, Paul, but big cars like this, with all the bells and whistles, like those power windows, are a thing of the past.”

 I watched Lester cock his head and walk around me. He kicked my tires. Oh, I’d like to kick him a time or two, myself.

He ran his hand along my rocker panels. “You’ve kept her in great shape, though, I’ll give you that. Not a hint of rust anywhere that I can see.”

Paul rocked on his heels. “Whatdya think you’d be willing to give me toward a trade?”

Lester fiddled with his fedora. “Well, now. Why not take a look around the lot and pick out something you’d like to try out. Then we can talk trade value. You gotta remember this one’s nearly twelve years old, and the problem Packard’s had with its transmissions and the electronics is goin’ to make it hard to re-sell her. I’ll do some figurin’ while you look for a new ride.” He doffed his hat and went back into his office.

 Paul and Dougie headed off to the road edge of the sales lot to look at the cars lined up facing the road, their antennas tied with brightly colored streamers that gently waved in the wind. I could see Dougie hadn’t let go of his dad’s hand. Paul leaned down a time or two to listen to something Dougie said to him.

 Paul opened the door of a red Plymouth Valiant.

 Oh yeah, she’s modern, but she’s too narrow in the wheelbase. She’ll never take you smoothly over the ruts in your road. And those thin tires are no good. They’ll blow out the first hole they hit in your driveway. I bet she has a tinny little beep horn, too. Not like my solid blare to get people to move out of the way. You’ll be tradin’ her in a year or two, and wish you hadn’t gotten rid of me.

Lester came back out of the office and opened my door. He slid into the driver’s seat. He adjusted my rear view mirror, curling his lips back to check his teeth. Then he rubbed his hand around my over-sized steering wheel. “Oh, she’s a beauty all right. Not a crack in this steering wheel or in any of the seat coverings.”

Creep! Get your hands off me.  I set my load-leveler off again, hoping he’d jump out.

Paul and Dougie walked across the tarred yard and stood next to Lester. Lester jumped out of the car and smiled at them. “See anything you like?”

“Depends on what you think you can give me for Bessie here.” Paul put his lower arms on my roof and leaned in on me.

“Best offer I can give you is $500.”

Paul nodded his head. “I see. Hmm.” He turned and picked Dougie up, looking at his face. Then he turned to Lester. “My boy and I have been talking, and we’ve decided we don’t want to sell Bessie after all. She’s more valuable to us than $500 and some shiny new car. She’s carried us through a lot and I know she has plenty of life left in her, so we’re just going to take her back home with us.”

Paul set Dougie back on the ground. “In fact, I told Dougie, we’re stopping at the Dairy Freeze for an ice cream on the way home. We’re goin’ to celebrate keepin’ Bessie.”

I couldn’t help it, but I tooted my horn and flashed my lights. I was going home with Paul and the boy! And it was okay that Dougie would probably drip ice cream on my fine interior. Paul would wipe up the mess and rub my upholstery with Ivory soap. It was good to be going home where I belonged.

                            

Daddy's Girl

     Annie wasn’t her given name, it was her middle name, but it was the name her daddy sometimes called her.
     Annie loved the smell of the chill of October in her daddy’s coat and hair when he came home from work and hugged her to him. How she looked forward to going down the street at the end of the work day and waiting for her daddy on a big rock at the end of the neighbor’s driveway. He would pick her up and together they would ride back home.
     How proud Annie was of her dad. Could anyone else’s daddy be as handsome as hers when he dressed up in his tuxedo with the tails on Lodge night?
     Annie was quite the young lady, too, when she accompanied her daddy to the Father/Daughter Day at his club. Sometimes when they went downtown together, people would tell her how much she looked like her daddy. If she went downtown alone, someone was sure to ask her, "Aren’t you Paul Choate’s daughter?" She held those words close to her heart.
     Annie is grown up now, and she has a husband and family of her own. She doesn’t get to see her daddy as much anymore and Annie misses those times, but he is still her first hero and she will always be her daddy’s girl.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Love you and miss you so much.
     Annie was a daddy’s girl.

My Mommy

     I was 42 years old, a grown and married woman, when Mother died. So, why did I start calling her Mommy again while I held her hand those last couple of weeks? Why was it me reading Bible stories to her instead of her reading them to me?

      When I was little, it was she who rubbed witch hazel on my body to cool me off and put Vicks on my chest so I could sleep without coughing, yet now it was me caressing her face and rubbing her feet to keep her comfortable.
    
     This was the woman who argued with me over whether or not to serve spiked punch at my wedding, but it was also she who climbed into my bed with me one night when I was about 8 and the thunder was so loud.
    
     My mommy sat for hours reading or mending clothes or talking to me when I was sick in bed with the flu, chicken pox or the mumps, but now it was my turn to sit and read to Mommy, talking with her about my day or writing in my journal while she dozed.
    
     It was Mommy’s voice I heard the night she came into my room, and I pretended to be asleep. She knelt by my bed and told me how sorry she was I hadn’t made the cheering squad. Now it was my voice in the night that Mommy heard as I stayed with her into the evening, and was the last of the family to say goodnight to her.

     My voice may have been the last voice of her family she ever heard on this earth. I told her "I love you", and though Mommy couldn’t talk anymore, she wriggled her eyebrows and said, "I love you, too."

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Love you and miss you.
Photo courtesy of corbisimages.com

I Should Have Left Early

     “Stop right there,” a voice said behind me. Panic rose in my heart. Janet and I stopped, inches from the outside automatic door with the Zayre’s logo on it. We turned slowly. Behind us stood a small man, flat top haircut, wearing dress pants, a short-sleeved shirt and a tie.

     He wasn’t smiling. “Both of you need to follow me.” He turned and walked toward the back of the store, not wondering whether or not we would comply. Janet and I silently followed. I kept my eyes straight ahead, but I wondered if other customers were looking strangely at the three of us marching through the aisles.

 

     He led us down a narrow hallway, a row of bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. He nodded us into a small room where a woman sat at a plain table. Her blond hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her neck. We went in and sat at the two unoccupied chairs opposite the woman. The man closed the door.

 

     The woman stood up and gestured to the empty table. “Empty your pocketbooks.” I saw she had a badge on her waistband.

     Janet and I dumped out the contents of our purses. I don’t know what Janet was thinking, but I was scared stiff. I began to shiver.

     The woman picked up a bottle of English Lavender from my pile. She set it aside. Next she picked up a beige lambs wool cloth and put that with the cologne. She lifted her eyes to mine. “We’ve been watching you and your friend by surveillance camera for awhile.”  She looked back at my pile. “Is there anything else in there that you took?” She was not expecting any evasion.

     “This,” I said, handing her a Chunky bar. She added it to my collection.

     She went through Janet’s pile in the same manner. Charlie cologne, a silver-colored charm bracelet, a pack of Bic pens. She picked up a Charleston Chew. “I suppose this goes along with the Chunky bar.” 

     Janet nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor.

     Without emotion, the female officer told us, “take off your clothes.”  At that, the plains-clothes detective got up and stepped out of the room. Janet and I stripped down to our bras and bikini panties. She looked us over closely front and back. It was obvious we had nothing hidden in our underwear. “Okay, you can get dressed.”

     Embarrassed and heart thumping, I hurried to dress. The officer took the confiscated items and swept her hand toward the rest of the contents. “You may take those things back.”  She sat at the table with an adding machine, hands flying over the number keys. She ripped off the tape. Looking at Janet, she said, “Your total is $17.54.”  She handed me a tape. Mine was $12.37. “They both fall under petty larceny. You’re lucky that way.”

     A stern look crossed the officer’s face. She folded her arms across her chest. “How old are you?”

     Janet muttered, “Nineteen, almost twenty.”

     “I’m nineteen, too.”

     “Well,” she shook her head, “I hope it was worth it.” She walked to the door and opened it. The detective was standing outside.

     “This way,” he said. He led us back the way we came, right to the automated doors. Outside a black and white police car waited. The detective escorted us to the open back door of the car.

     The fresh air hit my face. I noticed everything around us was going on as normal. We slid in on the black bench seat and he slammed the door shut.   The car took off, siren wailing, careening right past the college campus. I shrank down in my seat.

  

  

I breathed a big sigh and leaned over toward Janet. “Oh my goodness!” I whispered.

 

     She turned to me and let out a nervous giggle. “That was wild. I am going to get in so much trouble.”

     “Yeah, me too. My parents are going to kill me.”

     “I’ve already been through this once before in Boston so I am in double trouble.”

     “Oh wow. Do you think we’ll still make it into Delta Phi Epsilon?  We can’t deliver the items on our list, but do you think they’ll still let us in to the sorority?”

     “I don’t know. We may end up in jail anyway for this.”

     “Jail?  Are you serious?”  I fell against the back of the car. “That was never mentioned last night at the pre-initiation meeting. This was supposed to all be in fun.”

     “I couldn’t be more serious. You think the detective and that female Attila the Hun were just kidding around? She said it was petty larceny and that’s a crime, so I don’t think we’ll have to worry about being in a sorority. We may even be kicked out of school all together.”

     Tears stung my eyes now. How was I going to explain any of this to my parents? It would break my dad’s heart. He’d had such high hopes for me going to college. I’d probably blown everything now.

     I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. My palms were sweaty and I kept rubbing them with my thumbs. I confessed to Janet, “You know I really felt weird when Mona and Pat were laughing as they told all us pledges what we had to do to get into the sorority. What kind of sorority is it anyway that has its girls to do illegal stuff?  Did you hear them tell Debbie and Nancy they had to break into the school library at night and take the bust of Socrates?”

     “Yeah, but I bet the school would be more understanding of a sorority prank than someone getting caught shoplifting from Zayre’s. We’re going to be fingerprinted, photographed, and then have to go to court.”

     I burst into tears. No, it wasn’t worth it. I should have left early.

Based on the writing prompt: "I should have left early."

Photos courtesy of corbis.com and fotosearch.com

Spring is for Marbles

(This is one of my older writings, polished up a bit to reflect what I am learning in writers' group and through ACFW.)

Will wriggled in his seat and glanced up at the clock. The second hand crawled around its face.

He put his hand inside his desk and felt the bulging bag loaded with a new supply of marbles. Shucks, it’s the first day of clear weather, and all the guys are ready to shoot marbles. When will 10:00 o’clock come? This morning is dragging!

B-rrrr-ing!  Mrs. Adams looked up from her desk. "Class is dismissed for recess."

Will grabbed his bag, shot out the door, and down the stairs. He took a deep breath of mild spring air, and headed for the dirt next to the tarred playground, where the girls played jumprope, and broke out the chalk for hopscotch. His friends, Davey and Joey, waited for him.

Davey called to Will. "We were wonderin’ what was taking you so long. I’ve got the circle drawn and we’re ready to go." He tossed the stick off to the side and knelt down at the edge of the circle.

Joey opened his drawstring bag and took out a handful of polished marbles in varying colors and knelt down across from Davey. "My dad took me to the hardware store, and they’ve got a bunch of new colors."

He put the marbles in his hands and held them out for the other two to look at. "I got some green and yellow opaques, and white and red ones, too. I saved my birthday money this year to buy them."

He dropped them on the ground next to the circle, then picked up a large, clear red one. "Dad bought me this popper that’s a whooper!"

Will laughed at the rhyme. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the circle and dug a fistful of marbles out of his bag. "Well, let’s go."

Each boy put three marbles in the center of the circle.Will picked up one of the marbles and took aim at a straight line drawn next to the circle. His marble rolled across the dirt coming within inches of the line.

Joey shot his marble, but it had too much momentum and rolled across the line.

 Davey looked at the other marbles. He lined up his shot and flicked it across the circle. His marble pushed Will’s across the line and came to rest just on this side of the line. "There you go!" he yelled.

Will looked at Davey. "Okay, you get to go first."

"Hey, can I play too?"

Will stood up and turned around. He saw Petey, Joey’s little brother, watching them.

"Nah," said Joey, with a wave of his hand. "Go play with your first grade friends."

Davey nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we’re fourth graders now, and serious marble players." He rolled his eyes at Will.

"Let’s let him play this one time, " Will said.

Joey stood up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked at his friends. "If we let Petey play, we’ll have to give him his marbles back when the game was over, or he might cry."

Will walked over to Joey and put his hand on Joey’s shoulder. He leaned in and whispered, " If we let him play this one time, then for the rest of the school year, he can teach his own friends how to play."

Joey shrugged and turned to his brother. "Okay, but you gotta put three marbles in the circle first and you go last in shooting."

Petey’s face broke into a big grin, and he put his three marbles down.

  Davey placed his glassy popper on his index finger and took aim with his thumb. POP! Off went the marble, traveling into the circle, knocking one of Joey’s and one of Will’s marbles out of the ring.

"YAY!" yelled Davey, "my first captives." He picked up the two marbles and placed them in his pile.

 Joey stepped to the edge of the circle, knelt down, and took aim for Davey’s marbles. It went right straight out of the circle without hitting a single one. "Aw! What was that?"

His friends giggled, but they knew that was the risk they all took.

 Will knelt down. He preferred to knock his marble with a snap of his middle finger. Off it went, hitting two of Petey’s and one of Davey’s out of the circle. "Three for me!" he exclaimed.

Petey stepped up. His brother sighed, "He can’t play, he’s just going to lose all his marbles."

"I can so," Petey shot back. "I’ve watched ya’ play before." His lower lip pouted a little. Being smaller than the others, he stood and dropped his marble into the circle. It clicked off Davey’s and hit one of Joey’s, too, both of which rolled out of the circle in opposite directions.

"See, I can too play." and he proudly bent to pick up his two captives.

Joey sighed and crossed his arms. "Your turn, Davey."

Davey took aim at one of Will’s marbles, but the popper fell off his finger and only wobbled across the circle line.

"Oh no!" He grabbed his stomach and groaned.

Will pointed to Davey’s popper. "Yes! That one is mine. It’s the prize I’m aiming for." Will smiled at his buddies and rubbed his hands together. "It’s ripe for the picking." He knew Davey would be disappointed to lose his popper. After school, I’ll trade it back to him for four marbles, but I’m not tellin’ him that yet.

Will took direct aim at the popper. "Whoo! She’s a goner!" He scooped up the popper and held his fist up in the air.

B-rrrrr-ing! "Oh no!" the boys cried in one voice. Recess was over. They each picked up their marbles and headed back toward the school, calling out their farewells.

"Catch up with you guys later."

"Bye!"

"Good game!"

Will ran up the steps into the school. He smiled. It’s gonna be a good spring.

　         

(All photos courtesy of Corbisimages.com)

God gives us each of the seasons in their time-go forth and enjoy. 

　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

Genesis Contest Update

                There's good news and bad news on the contest front.

First, the good news: there were a total of just under 700 entries for all nine genres. That averages 77 per genre. That's good! As mentioned previously, I expected there would be a thousand in my category alone, so that figure certainly increases my odds. I have a 1 in 26 chance in making it to the top three. That would be AWESOME! That's more doable than the 1 in 200 that I thought I might be.

The bad news is: they don't have enough judges in the contemporary fiction category, so none of them have started to be judged yet. That means that when the judges finally get the entries, they may be more rushed to get them ready for the review deadline. That may not be good. I don't know if I have enough meat in my first fifteen pages to hook a judge right away so that they want to read more of my story.

However, in the long run, it's out of my hands and I need to be PATIENT! (I'm yelling so I can hear me tell myself that...)

One Word that Leads to Another

What do lightning, scar, wound, bleeding, pain, heartbreak, rain, spatter, fry, fish, jelly and peanut butter all have in common? A story! My writers'/critique group, Androscoggin Writers' Group, did a word association activity and this is how the list formed as the paper went twice around the table. So far only one member has written something, but I am going to use those words in my novel. I did a slight revision at the end of my fourth chapter so the next chapter can incorporate all those words. What a neat way to have the next chapter unfold itself! If we hadn't done this exercise,  this chapter would never have been created.  Wow.  Life is like that sometimes, too. What if...or if only...

 

Righteousness shall go before Him, and shall make His footsteps our pathway..

Genesis Contest

I just submitted the first chapter and a half of my novel  to the American Christian Fiction Writers annual Genesis Contest, for new, un-published authors. I will hear within a couple of weeks, hopefully sooner, whether or not it is in the correct format. If it is, it will be officially entered in the contest. Since this is an international organization, there will be thousands of entries, I suspect, spread over nine  different categories. My "genre" is contemporary fiction. Each entry is reviewed by three judges who score the writing up to 100 points, then the scores are averaged. The top 20% of each category move on to the second judging round. I figure if there are 1000 entries in my category, then I have to be in the top 200 to move on. That's do-able... The third round ends with the top three choices in each category. On May 28 those top three entries are notified and then given two days to polish up their work for the final judging. The best I expect out of my submission, and the accompanying entry fee, is that a published author will read my manuscript and critique it, then personally respond to me as to how my writing can be improved. If nothing else, I'm satisfied in paying $35 for a professional critique. The learning experience in preparing the manuscript and synopsis has, in itself, been enormously beneficial. The winners are announced at the annual convention in Dallas in September. Non-winners will receive a score sheet and their manuscripts the end of May/beginning of June. In the meantime, I will keep working on the novel.  Many thanks to my fellow writers in Androscoggin Writers' Group and to the critiquers on Scribes, the critique group for ACFW. If my writing ever gets recognized, much of it will be due to the detailed critiquing I have received from these two groups.

 http://www.acfw.com/

A Dress of Pink

In December, one of the Twelve Days of Writing prompts was to write a 20 line poem about a memorable event in your life. This was my daughter, Bre's, creation. I, on the other hand, did not attempt to write a poem, no, no, no. 

                              A Dress of Pink

               A dress of pink, a suit of black

Boston, a ballroom, a dinner, a dance

I was hosting, you were my date

        - we got lost, we were late.

I was the senior class vice president

We'd been planning this for months

You'd been planning something, too

        - a big surprise, I never knew.

A buzz of excitement, a flurry of people

Over three hundred college seniors

One final night of grand celebration

        - good-bye friends, soon graduation.

We ate quickly then joined the dance mob

You pushed us through to the middle

I wondered why we had to squeeze in on this song

         - the crowd parted, you were gone.

A song, a voice from across the room

You were singing to me, I was flabbergasted

You got down on one knee, pulled out a ring

        - I said YES! Oh, what a memorable thing!

Dan popping the big question to Bre, April 22, 2005

What's Up in 2012?

New Year's resolutions? Nah. The only resolution I ever make is to make no New Year's resolutions! I keep 'em every year! Goals are another thing entirely.

This year I hope to have my first novel manuscript completed and ready to submit, along with my synopsis, to an agent. I am going to enter the first chapter of the novel to the Genesis Contest through American Christian Fiction Writers. I can't mention the name of it until May, but the premise is: Can a man love three women at the same time? Ben will have to do some deep soul-searching to find out the answer, hopefully before it is too late.

After that I want to get going on a second novel, Summer on the Summit,

and a novella, Never Too Late. 

AND all that squeezed in with two new grandchildren on the way as well as each of their sibling brothers!  WHOO-EE!! Oh, yeah, and I work full-time, direct our 7-person church choir, run the Wed. kids' program and circus, and lead ladies' Sunday School and am the church clerk.  But you know what, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Oh, and don't forget the husband. He deserves some time in there, too.

All in all, don't call me bored or tell me to get a life-I have one and it's abundantly blessed.  I hope all of you have an equally "cup-runneth-over" year.