tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55771470269460489562024-03-27T22:30:53.584-04:00The Comma Goddess Speaks: Musings on Life's Joys & VexationsAuthor and speaker Jayne Jaudon Ferrer shares observations on life as a left-handed, right-brained, more-than-middle-aged magnolia who loves words, wit, her family, and a good cup of tea. Visit her websites at www.JayneJaudonFerrer.com and www.YourDailyPoem.com, take a gander at her books online or in your favorite bookstore, and invite her to come spend some quality time with your women's group. Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-84065927528815611362024-03-27T10:42:00.000-04:002024-03-27T22:30:19.845-04:00My Llove for Llamas is OverI am SO over my llama phase.<br /><br />Once upon a time, I thought llamas were the most wonderful animals on earth. I <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/S09pdfz6gXI/AAAAAAAAAGw/OM21iT9PDwE/s1600-h/Smore+Up+Close.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426672031481102706" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/S09pdfz6gXI/AAAAAAAAAGw/OM21iT9PDwE/s320/Smore+Up+Close.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 175px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 224px;" /></a>had dozens of stuffed and ceramic ones. I had llama earrings, llama clothing, and accessories made from llama wool. Then, for a "significant" birthday, I decided I would treat myself to a llama trek. Instead, I ended up BUYING a llama from the woman who owned the llama trek company. Actually, I bought two; because llamas are herd animals, she wouldn't let me have my sweet little Smore unless I took his not-so-sweet buddy, Pongo. The bell that went off in my head as Pongo looked disdainfully down his nose at me (quite a feat since, at that point, I was taller than he was!) should have been a warning.<br /><br />Three sons, two dogs, and t<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/S09p7L7xn5I/AAAAAAAAAG4/d4j2VrmYPM8/s1600-h/Playful1.JPG"></a>wo llamas made for a great life. We live in the country where there's plenty of room to romp and play, and llamas are the world's best pets: low maintenance, curious and clever brains, great eyelashes. Though my furry little fellows had great bloodlines, I quickly discovered I did not have the patience to go the show route (for their one appearance in a local parade, it took <em>four hours a piece</em> to brush and groom them!), and as a busy mom, I didn't have the time to pursue breeding them. Thus Smore and Pongo were left to enjoy life as "gentleman llamas"--lounging in the pasture, entertaining neighbors, sneaking out for an occasional stroll across the yard. We found out they loved guacamole taco chips. We found out they liked Christmas carols. We found out they love to sunbathe on scorching hot days. (Go figure!)<br /><br />A couple of years ago, my beloved Smore passed away. He was twelve years old and had lived a happy life. As we buried him, I worried about Pongo, in spite of the fact that he had done little over the years to endear himself to me. Did I need to find him a new buddy? Did I need to find him a new home? I was worried he'd be sad and depressed. Ha!<br /><br />Sweet Smore was barely in the ground before the pompous, arrogant beast I'd always<em> suspected</em> Pongo was revealed himself in full force. He snorted, he bucked, he charged--and, oh, yes, he spat--with great contempt and greater enthusiasm. He broke out of the pasture and headed straight for our back door, where he left a mound of "calling cards" then pranced around as if to say, "C'mon, cross that line. I dare you!" Once out of the pasture, it was almost impossible to get him back in. As long as Smore was alive, pasture breaks were no big deal; we'd lead both llamas right back in with a bucket of grain. But now, if any of us dared to leave the house while Pongo was on the loose, he'd come charging across the yard with malice in his heart, a look in his eyes declaring, "You want a piece of me? Huh? You want a piece of me?" Then he would GIVE us a piece: a hearty helping of stinky, slimy spit delivered with machine-gun force, and woe be unto whoever happened to be in his line of fire. As long as I was watching from inside the house, it was pretty darn funny to see this shaggy, 500-pound son of Satan terrorizing my 6 foot, 200+ pound guys. Not <em>nearly</em> so funny when<em> I</em> was the one running for my life--uncertain whether Pongo's goal was to kill me or claim me. I had no desire to experience either one.<br /><br />For the last few months, ol' Pongo has been pretty docile. It's been <em>really</em> cold, and he likes cold weather, so maybe he's been in a better mood. Or <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/S09qeTWzXOI/AAAAAAAAAHA/28yHTZPT2js/s1600-h/Pongo.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426673144829271266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/S09qeTWzXOI/AAAAAAAAAHA/28yHTZPT2js/s320/Pongo.JPG" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 216px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 163px;" /></a>maybe he's getting old and worn out. In any case, apparently he woke up this morning and decided it was time for a reminder about who's in charge. When my husband and son and I started to leave for work, there was Pongo in the front yard, looming like a long-necked, horizontal Abominable Snowman. I swear his eyes were twinkling; I <em>know</em> he was grinning. Forty-five minutes, four boxes of cereal, two ropes, and a Ford pick-up later, he was back in the pasture. His heart wasn't in this escape, I could tell, because one buck, one snort, and a few half-hearted charges were all the protest he offered. I think he just needed to show a little attitude for old times' sake.<br /><br />But as I stood out there shivering in the cold, waving that bucket of corn flakes (a sorry substitute for guaco taco chips, I might add) and wondering if my life should be flashing before my eyes, I thought, "Lord, it's time You call this llama <em>home</em>." And then, I'm sorry to say, my next thought was, "Wonder what kind of pet a miniature donkey might make?"<br /><br />I am <em>truly </em>my own worst enemy.Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-59648161313422350812024-01-29T14:23:00.002-05:002024-01-29T14:23:51.380-05:00Alphabetical Escape<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I should be doing laundry today. Or ironing. Or taking
advantage of the beautiful sunshine and happy 50s temperature and working in my
garden. But I have been sick for a week and am just not quite ready to be
productive, thus, my activity of choice at the moment is reading. A novel.
Reveling in its ability to take me away from my living room and into someone
else's. Just like that--in just a few well-crafted sentences.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have loved reading for as long as I can
remember--longer, actually; I can't ever remember <i>not </i>reading. My
earliest memories are of books--sitting with them at my mother's feet, or
pondering what to select as I searched through shelves in the library my
childhood church was blessed to have. I read at home, in my car, on vacation,
at meals if I have no companions, at night till I can hold my eyes open no
longer. It fascinates and, perhaps, annoys, my husband; "Don't you ever
just want to <i>sit</i>?" he asked one time, coming back to the car from a
quick trip into the post office to find me with my head in a book.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I do other things, of course. I can watch old movies
for hours, can spend all day in the kitchen conjuring up creative foodstuffs,
can get happily messy planting a garden or attempting some craft. But books are
the passion I return to day after day: when I finish one, if there isn't
another waiting, I feel bereft, at loose ends. As with my choice of music, my
taste in books is broad--although I have an admitted preference for happy
endings and a strong aversion to gore. I choose books based on what I've heard
or read about them, because I like the author's previous work, because the
cover or title catches my eye, because the overview intrigues me, sometimes
simply because the book is the "right" size (an inch to an
inch-and-a-half thick, which means I can read it within a week) and the pages
have lots of white space with appealing, easy to read type (though those
selections must also have one of the previous attributes, as well!).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">One of my greatest joys as a mother is that all three
of my children love reading. I suppose I took that for granted until I realized
at some point during my early carpool days that all children don't. What a sad
discovery! I can understand how a child who struggles with language skills
would find the act of reading a chore, but why on earth would a child who can
read choose not to? Who would want to miss out on those glorious excursions of
the mind? Just as I find people who think they hate poetry have simply never
been exposed to enough of it, or had an unpleasant encounter with it, I suspect
people who don't read--especially children--have suffered the same fate. What a
tragedy to miss out on one of life's greatest pleasures--one that requires no
work, no expense, no equipment, and no payback!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Okay, maybe some payback: as the new year starts, I
encourage you to join me in taking every opportunity to celebrate and share the
joy of reading. We've all heard stories about people whose lives have been
changed because of reading a book; who knows what impact you could have on a
child's life by introducing him/her to <i>Charlotte's Web</i> or <i>The Little
Engine That Could</i>? And if reading doesn't bring you joy, I urge you to make
an all-out effort to find it--in the pages of a novel, a memoir, a biography, a
poetry book, or even a magazine. Join a book club, befriend a librarian, meet
an author, do a search for "best books ever written," track down your
high school English teacher, whatever it takes, because I promise you, it's
worth it. Reading can take you places nothing else can and leave you with a
feeling of satisfactio</span>n <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">that nothing can take away...not even an
election year.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-11426123196772241442023-11-06T15:00:00.002-05:002023-11-12T17:00:20.795-05:00Favorite Memories of My Brother<p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nc_f3AjPjMdoBL8hxZdHaSwv_xbK3LHmnGFunIg-lhvYz_Uy38AEXfFgyqeEgLkwBLg-GZA1dThvZvl2ZyAklbDiLplE_X_i5a2c2UYl2cpsSqSeKOno04hQA099EShAVQZm1coP0rcnY5IA6g4bm6_r-kMtVkWcvXR4YGb5ZyAIHhFI-v_N0is9YS4/s385/Big%20Brother%20and%20Little%20Sister.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; margin-top: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="385" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nc_f3AjPjMdoBL8hxZdHaSwv_xbK3LHmnGFunIg-lhvYz_Uy38AEXfFgyqeEgLkwBLg-GZA1dThvZvl2ZyAklbDiLplE_X_i5a2c2UYl2cpsSqSeKOno04hQA099EShAVQZm1coP0rcnY5IA6g4bm6_r-kMtVkWcvXR4YGb5ZyAIHhFI-v_N0is9YS4/w265-h230/Big%20Brother%20and%20Little%20Sister.jpg" style="float: left; transform: rotate(-90deg);" width="265" /></a>My big brother was 18 and a senior in high school when I was born; I can only
imagine what an upheaval in his life that must have been. For the first couple
of years, I stayed in a crib in my parents’ bedroom but, eventually, I ended up
sharing a room with my sister—9 years my senior. Our room was right next door
to Roger’s, and the three of us shared a bathroom.<p class="MsoNormal">
My earliest actual memory of Roger is of hearing him come in from a date, or
whatever evening activity he’d been involved in. Vera and I would have long
been in bed, lights out. But when he got settled in his room, locked the door, climbed
into bed and spread out his cheeseburger and fries from Knight’s Drive-In, I
would tiptoe to the kitchen, get a knife from the silverware drawer, and
proceed to pillage the locked door that stood between me and that midnight feast.
To his credit, Big Brother always shared. (The price I paid for those
unauthorized entries would be exacted years later when, as a teenager, that room became mine,
and any hope of ever locking that poor mangled doorknob was long gone!)<br />
</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLr9RpSXDD5wXlmheXmcmbpc5uqLYjLxfV-VC8HabEDE8T-5Q2KyRsO8zA5a6oW8dx1zjoRi6T2_GGIbrnyadkjUQ0lisDHj7ax0CcwgRiH19kQ3nXPvpCTqR3E_GFpT5ORZmW-mzi-avEWAagY2-7tmzNWafMeBAYZxb_LgOkE93FHayF2Of8DJnurKI/s448/Jayne%20and%20Roger's%20Corvette.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="448" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLr9RpSXDD5wXlmheXmcmbpc5uqLYjLxfV-VC8HabEDE8T-5Q2KyRsO8zA5a6oW8dx1zjoRi6T2_GGIbrnyadkjUQ0lisDHj7ax0CcwgRiH19kQ3nXPvpCTqR3E_GFpT5ORZmW-mzi-avEWAagY2-7tmzNWafMeBAYZxb_LgOkE93FHayF2Of8DJnurKI/w367-h256/Jayne%20and%20Roger's%20Corvette.jpg" style="float: right;" width="367" /></a>At some point in my early childhood, my brother had a Corvette. I don’t
remember the color; I only remember standing in the passenger seat, grinning, my left arm wrapped around Roger’s neck. (No seat belts required back
then.) In that memory,
we are sitting in the driveway of our house, so maybe he never actually
suffered through having to drive around town with his chubby baby sister
holding on for dear life in his <i>very</i> cool car. In my mind, though, I was
a regular passenger. About that same time, I developed huge crushes on my brother’s friends. I was
four, they were 22, so the best I could hope for was a friendly smile or indulgent pat on the head. They <i>could</i> have viewed me as a total pain in
the neck, but they didn’t seem to, and I appreciated that.<div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW8PTX-RNvb_ZIGHwajejL5vMIgz6zyzDANVdA3ZoyMDsvnvN4tmYBafA9cxl6aOm83CXJr0bdkO1JF4ihoOtaT9ZPfDxxeqYzQ-q_lpAqbJl3zXbWSuXIs4H4Weg6gn_sr00Eed1IkTIk4mUKU0YWzYN1M0PbqEdX7vhdQ54p_HGut3X1mjrjhLDtkRo/s390/Jayne%20and%20Zipper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="390" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW8PTX-RNvb_ZIGHwajejL5vMIgz6zyzDANVdA3ZoyMDsvnvN4tmYBafA9cxl6aOm83CXJr0bdkO1JF4ihoOtaT9ZPfDxxeqYzQ-q_lpAqbJl3zXbWSuXIs4H4Weg6gn_sr00Eed1IkTIk4mUKU0YWzYN1M0PbqEdX7vhdQ54p_HGut3X1mjrjhLDtkRo/w301-h260/Jayne%20and%20Zipper.jpg" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;" width="301" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">When I was five, Roger had a bulldog named Zipper. He
decided to enter him in the dog contest of the Hardee County Fair, and he said
I could be the one to walk Zipper out in front of the judges and show him off.
I don’t remember if he won the contest or not, but I still vividly remember
walking across the <v:shape alt="A black and white photo of a child holding a stick
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stage on that chilly November night, holding Zipper’s leash and smiling at the
people out in the bleachers.<br />
<br /><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjdJJaJULXnIRApIAGtFxZlC4TClw7TGlr8zAQneaDt0_IcTp7NEyHF19nKRxqv_oawj1DIgp6sGnyY2gQuEsUovVwZvXib_jrP-9nPV-DoGMRLlBbptLAcrwV8U8CB8VM8RWuFBZ3ml6-WviKvMBLLAXtpmp8DmUcdz487zqey6WVomue2ejIPuwqOA/s301/Jaudon%20Siblings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="235" data-original-width="301" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjdJJaJULXnIRApIAGtFxZlC4TClw7TGlr8zAQneaDt0_IcTp7NEyHF19nKRxqv_oawj1DIgp6sGnyY2gQuEsUovVwZvXib_jrP-9nPV-DoGMRLlBbptLAcrwV8U8CB8VM8RWuFBZ3ml6-WviKvMBLLAXtpmp8DmUcdz487zqey6WVomue2ejIPuwqOA/s1600/Jaudon%20Siblings.jpg" style="float: right;" width="301" /></a></div>We <i>always</i> had music in our house when I was a child: Lawrence Welk on
the TV, Guy Lombardo on the stereo, Mother whistling or playing her violin,
Vera on the piano or organ, friends and family gathered around singing. Things <i>really
</i>got fun when Roger sat down at the keyboard for some rousing rock and roll,
or his duet with sister Vera of “Parade of the Wooden Soldiers”—the latter an
annual and always anticipated holiday
event (In later years, Roger’s soulful rendition of “Ol’ Man River”,
accompanied by Vera, became an equally anticipated event.)<p></p>
<br /><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPkdiAO3l7ptZ5yfJ-3WsgyHOScR3hGkGzcrBCUlRsyVAgruGgo5WXh27nOPZPEEAsIDWJDqwIaLZ_xqfqtFtsETsQ2XPxOGYs80nPbsH7nkzcQ4TpTanlJCkN4P-vI4t_OGtnEwNYfrnDdas3NAg7_majCToqfVxndYqSxDbvNEI6xT9KEeVRKoQ21sI/s2543/Jayne%20and%20Roger%20in%20the%20El%20Camino.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2004" data-original-width="2543" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPkdiAO3l7ptZ5yfJ-3WsgyHOScR3hGkGzcrBCUlRsyVAgruGgo5WXh27nOPZPEEAsIDWJDqwIaLZ_xqfqtFtsETsQ2XPxOGYs80nPbsH7nkzcQ4TpTanlJCkN4P-vI4t_OGtnEwNYfrnDdas3NAg7_majCToqfVxndYqSxDbvNEI6xT9KEeVRKoQ21sI/s320/Jayne%20and%20Roger%20in%20the%20El%20Camino.jpg" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 1em;" width="320" /></a>
When I was about 13, Roger put me to work one day answering the phone at
his furniture store. When I protested that surely there was something else I
could do because what customer was going to want to talk to ME, he gave me a
stern lecture in self-confidence: “The person on the other end of that phone has
no idea how old you are. Be polite, get your facts straight, and you’ll do just
fine.” That advice served me well during my adolescent years.<br />
<p></p>About that same time, or maybe a year or two later, I begged Big Brother to
teach me how to drive. He agreed, and drove us in his turquoise
El Camino out to "Wauchula International Airport" (pretty much just a big cow pasture), where he put me behind the
wheel and proceeded to show me the ropes of shifting gears, pushing the gas
pedal, using the turn signals and, most importantly, how to brake!
<br />
<br />
The summer I was sixteen, I wangled an opportunity to be a stringer for The
Tampa Tribune, doing interviews with country singers. I spent the
summer living in Nashville with Roger and going with him every day to the
booking agency where he worked. I remember us having lunch at Morrison’s downtown on one of my first days there; famous faces were scattered
around and as I wondered how I would ever be brave enough to take up these
people’s time, Roger gave me another self-confidence lecture: “These people put
their pants on one leg at a time, just like you do.” It was a glorious summer;
Roger took me backstage at the Grand Ol’ Opry, introduced me to so many talented
people, and the Tribune published every interview I sent them. I went home
feeling like a celebrity myself!<br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfx6B3M8svP4wVr4d-Lqpa-ikryx3f4f5V1dObzWzUyEKYG_jfp_9_zD_POQibzObGjH2WpENrHvvmvXio4XMjjCuHGPsrt1XeAB468ox1DVxcFNfpl1SXsdYz73UNR6SiYn1MzHlLjm7Dcj57LHYzX5Bzfr-JozFPYytQRkIwTGnQSGbgBJzLRBby5o/s362/Wedding%20Day.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; margin-top: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="362" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfx6B3M8svP4wVr4d-Lqpa-ikryx3f4f5V1dObzWzUyEKYG_jfp_9_zD_POQibzObGjH2WpENrHvvmvXio4XMjjCuHGPsrt1XeAB468ox1DVxcFNfpl1SXsdYz73UNR6SiYn1MzHlLjm7Dcj57LHYzX5Bzfr-JozFPYytQRkIwTGnQSGbgBJzLRBby5o/s320/Wedding%20Day.jpg" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; transform: rotate(-90deg);" width="320" /></a>
<br />
Our father having passed away many years earlier, it fell to my brother to give
me away on my wedding day. As we stood in the vestibule of First Baptist Church
in Wauchula, Roger looking handsome in his suit, me in my wedding gown
thinking, <i>“Oh, my gosh, am I really doing this?!”, </i>he smiled, squeezed my
hand, and gave me the soothing words I needed to hear before walking down the
aisle.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You delivered a <i>lot</i> of soothing words over the years, Big Brother. Thank
you for all of them; thank you for everything. I'm going to miss you. A lot.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p></div>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-62134640828614675222023-08-23T17:13:00.000-04:002023-08-23T17:13:10.481-04:00Words, Take Me Away!<p> Forget bath salts. When I want to be whisked away from reality (as I do this afternoon!), nothing offers a speedier getaway than books--specifically, novels. I enjoy reading nonfiction, too, but when things like broken A/C, weeds/endless weeds, piles of paperwork, an overloaded to-do list (isn't it always?!), and sundry undone-and-impending tasks are pecking at my brain like angry bluejays, it's to fiction that I fly.</p><a href="http://www.illustrationsof.com/images/thumbnail/9150.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.illustrationsof.com/images/thumbnail/9150.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 150px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 125px;" /></a><br /><div>At the moment I'm reading Pamela Duncan's <em>Plant Life</em>, and while Laurel Granger's life makes my mine look positively serene (even in my current agitation!), the Carolina surroundings soothe me and and the family banter makes me smile. But I'm no Southern snob: Lorna Landvik's Minnesota settings lift my spirits, too. In fact, I hate to see Landvik's novels end; even though her plots are typically contemporary and realistic, they transport me far away from my <em>own</em> reality and into a "happy place" in my brain that is truly divine.</div><br /><div>Words have done that for me since I first discovered the joy of the alphabet at age four. There is simply no level of fatigue, despair, or frustration that can't be held at bay by a good tale. Most recently, I've fallen under the spell of old "Gunsmoke" shows. Good/evil, black/white, love your horse/punish the gunslinger...what a blissfully simple code of ethics! Makes me wonder in these turbulent times (and would we feel <em>quite</em> so turbulent if we stopped listening to the news?) if we wouldn't all benefit from a daily dose of Fannie Flagg or Carl Hiaasen (now THERE's diversity for you!). I'm thinking we'd sleep better at night if a novelist had the last word instead of a talking head.</div><br /><div></div><div>Just a thought.</div><br /><div></div><div>All I know is I can't WAIT to get home and see what happens next at Pamela's plant in Russell...</div>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-27714669430112348262023-06-30T11:50:00.000-04:002023-06-30T11:50:00.723-04:00Who knew a squirrel could be cuddly?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRKIFRiJ196TV4ICRxsjNiivo6wEzZVJRet5XYxSATe_Nz8mZhclLagyhLT3cgOUsfRYmKGwfBdjvBcq5UABWl6RN3YOBlzuDh3hThgqvIxKU0Dxq_b59HRgxnubTkKR0D1udbhZtkdRgdvp7UtTnhw6tvyw7EheQ6PMrcDfJ8pig6Yv__WsksvsMAo_Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="234" data-original-width="313" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRKIFRiJ196TV4ICRxsjNiivo6wEzZVJRet5XYxSATe_Nz8mZhclLagyhLT3cgOUsfRYmKGwfBdjvBcq5UABWl6RN3YOBlzuDh3hThgqvIxKU0Dxq_b59HRgxnubTkKR0D1udbhZtkdRgdvp7UtTnhw6tvyw7EheQ6PMrcDfJ8pig6Yv__WsksvsMAo_Y=w320-h239" width="320" /></a></div><br />During Vacation Bible School at my church recently, to inspire everyone to dig deep into their piggy banks and support our designated mission project, I invited a local animal rescue organization to bring some of their critters and talk about their work.<p></p><p>To say that the ladies who came made an impression would be an understatement. The children were mesmerized by the chance to see and touch a sugar glider, raccoon, and squirrel up close, and we adults turned into big puddles of mush--begging to hold and cuddle these wild things that fate has domesticated. (Okay, calling Buddha the Raccoon "domesticated" would be a stretch, but he was amiable and accommodating, if not docile!) Hazel the Squirrel, brain damaged at an early age due to a fall from her nest, was an angel, happily nibbling nuts from our palms and snoozing contentedly on our shoulders. Splenda the Sugar Glider was cordial and curious but, being nocturnal, fell asleep and pretty much missed the party.</p><p>While we ogled and petted and cuddled these animals that were fortunate enough to be rescued from their sundry disasters, the rescue reps shared staggering statistics and sobering stories: the fifteen volunteers of their organization took in 11,500 injured, abandoned, abused, or endangered animals from nine different counties last year. (Do the math: that's almost 770 animals A PIECE--2 a day, every day for a year!) So where do these animals come from? Sometimes they're exotic pets that people get bored with or tired of. Sometimes they wander into dangerous or inappropriate places and someone calls for help. Sometimes a neighbor reports another neighbor who's tried to turn a wild thing into a pet. Sometimes someone sees an animal being abused and asks the rescue team to intervene. Sometimes a park ranger calls to say "the mama's dead and we have no way to take care of the babies." So off goes the rescue team, superhero saviors of the furry and the four-footed. Of course, these volunteers don't just show up, save the day, and drive away; many times they take these animals into their homes and nurse them back to health, give them a home until one can be found, or care for the animal until it can be released back into the wild.</p><p>Did I mention that these are volunteers? As in, they offer up their time, gas, resources, and homes for FREE, with no compensation whatsoever, purely because they have hearts made of solid gold? We were happy to bestow a week's worth of Bible school donations on them, but what we gave doesn't even begin to make a dent in what they need. So if you'd like your hard-earned money to go to something besides the gas pump for a change, toward something that is human kindness of the purest kind, consider sending a few dollars to support your local animal rescue effort. (And, yes, even a few dollars really helps!) If you can't spare cash, consider giving some time or supplies; these organizations are always in need of runners, clerical help, vet services, food, etc.</p><p>It's getting harder and harder to make a difference in today's world; here's an opportunity that's guaranteed. Buddha and Hazel thank you!</p>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-22687734331408073902023-05-18T21:04:00.004-04:002023-05-18T21:04:24.107-04:00Remembering June in May<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjirLSHAE3M-jndsZGAqNGIuBIN33YUv3XLMequHUQTGJIZZGlKupbQB1xIad3Ok25cKF5EWWy_CltqpjWVQQR-4pAajNm2MNlcAJIXIs_6jFreMaX0wMNUiIhDqUXj09rk-HftaEvl6X2iIQ9Tgei7TPm5OO9qwCDqIN5_aIC-w6gVjILBUei846R" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjirLSHAE3M-jndsZGAqNGIuBIN33YUv3XLMequHUQTGJIZZGlKupbQB1xIad3Ok25cKF5EWWy_CltqpjWVQQR-4pAajNm2MNlcAJIXIs_6jFreMaX0wMNUiIhDqUXj09rk-HftaEvl6X2iIQ9Tgei7TPm5OO9qwCDqIN5_aIC-w6gVjILBUei846R" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Who’s
your favorite mother? Well, besides your own, of course. Or maybe you always
wished you had the mom down the street instead of the one God gave you—the one
that let her kids come and go as they pleased, never issued all those pesky
rules and ultimatums, and was SO much cooler.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">While I
greatly admire the wise and wonderful Marmee from </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Little Women</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> ,
I must confess that my </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">favorite</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> mom is June Cleaver. A fellow
mother of sons, June offered the perfect blend of intelligence, humor,
assertiveness, skepticism, modesty, graciousness and spunk. During all those
years when I watched faithfully every week as Mrs. Cleaver capably dealt with
crisis after crisis, I had no idea I’d have a Beaver and Theodore of my own
someday. Thankfully, my days as a mom never brought forth an Eddie Haskell or a
baby alligator to deal with; even so, I feel certain my sons benefited from
lessons my subconscious surely retained as I watched June carry out her role as
Arbiter of Domestic Harmony without ever breaking a sweat.</span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
In contrast, my own mother sweated a <i>lot </i>to keep me on the
appropriate path to adulthood. Working in the yard was always her favorite way
to reduce stress; let’s just say our yard looked TERRIFIC during my teenage
years! While our living room looked just like the Cleavers', our confrontations
weren’t nearly as polite--and occasionally involved a ruler, flyswatter, or
switch to help focus my attention. Because I loathe confrontations and learned
early the power of words, my favorite battle tactic was to leave a note on
Mother’s pillow detailing her horribly unfair assessment of my sin du jour, her
ridiculous overreaction, and the depth to which her wrath had grievously
wounded me. It’s too bad she didn’t save any of those notes; they would have
made great reading all these years later.<br />
<br />
I worry about the moms we’re watching on TV and in movies today. Are they instilling/demonstrating
essential traits such as honesty, compassion, and integrity? Self-respect and
self-control? Do the Real Housewives of Wherever even <i>know</i> those
terms? And if new generations aren’t being taught basic values, where exactly
is civilization headed?<br />
<br />
Be proactive this month: tell a good mom she’s worth a lot more than she
realizes. And next time you vacuum, put on your pearls; maybe June knew
something we don't.</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none; mso-no-proof: yes;"></span>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-63342898402878842622023-04-24T12:14:00.000-04:002023-04-24T12:14:52.415-04:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6TwGdbQA6gE6xtJf3-GmkP6OrPyoQ-rquK62Gkz-Oq7UJFlgbWiQiO1YSl99cRk1iRCQAytnandlpct6JMskyXFluKAN0rh6iSEIdOLcuepJ0Eh1a1x6WWZ9BNvgH_RoZQyc4M0QJwv2N6LPCH-TmBt0ZhRdNwzDZC71xua59zJInLyiCClbUPkf/s200/Grumpy%20man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="186" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6TwGdbQA6gE6xtJf3-GmkP6OrPyoQ-rquK62Gkz-Oq7UJFlgbWiQiO1YSl99cRk1iRCQAytnandlpct6JMskyXFluKAN0rh6iSEIdOLcuepJ0Eh1a1x6WWZ9BNvgH_RoZQyc4M0QJwv2N6LPCH-TmBt0ZhRdNwzDZC71xua59zJInLyiCClbUPkf/s1600/Grumpy%20man.jpg" width="186" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">10 Ways
to Make a Bad Day Better</span></b></b></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">My days
have been pretty good here lately, but we all know those crummy ones roll
around sooner or later. Don’t give in to them! The older I get, the more I
realize we are very much the determiners of our own destiny—on a day-by-day
basis, at least. We can </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">choose</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> how to react to
less-than-perfect days, whether their badness comes in the form of weather,
events, encounters (or the lack thereof), and by choosing NOT to let our
happiness be derailed by some external force, we can salvage that day for good.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">If your
happy mood is about to be hit broadside, try one of these tips:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: -.25in;"></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Take a
10-minute walk outdoors by yourself. Okay, so this might not be an option if
it’s raining like crazy or there’s a blizzard in town but, otherwise, this is a
terrific way to “push your reset button,” as my friend Pat used to say. Pay
attention to detail: a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, an old guy
walking his dog, a shopkeeper fixing a window display. The point is to realize
what’s happening in your life is a tiny little speck in the great scheme of
things. Whatever’s out of sync <i>will</i> pass.</span></li></ol><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 7.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Indulge
in a treat that’s good and good for you. Chocolate milkshake, probably not so
much, but a straight-from-paradise Honey Crisp apple or a banana and peanut
butter sandwich? Maybe all that’s wrong is low blood sugar or the need for a
caffeine fix. You’d be surprised how grumpy that can make you!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Look for
a gift. Not one topped with a bow, but one you’ve overlooked. Parking place at
the front of the lane? Happy little bird singing outside your window? Your
favorite song on the radio? I call those little presents from God. He knows
when you’re in a rotten mood and he may not be able to orchestrate a lottery
win or heal your plantar fasciitis, but pay attention and you’ll be amazed at
how many times He tries to say, “Here, will this help?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 7.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Focus on
the least worst thing you’re dealing with. Yes, I’m fully aware I have an inner
Pollyanna that annoys people to no end but, really, does it do any good to
wallow in your misery? (Okay, sometimes a short pity party does help.) Skip
past the emaciated savings account, the fight you had with your teenager, the fact
that your mom is getting more and more forgetful, and dwell on the fingernail you just broke. Will you die from that? No. Will you lose your job over
that? No. Will said nail grow back? Yes. See? That's one thing that's not
nearly as awful as it could be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Put
things in perspective. I know, from where you sit at the moment, life looks pretty
sorry. But switch views. Pretend you’re your 13-year-old neighbor, or your
80-year-old uncle, or the homeless guy on the corner, or Meghan Markle. You
might decide you like your life a lot more than you thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Don’t be
a Don’t-Bee; you be a Doo-Bee! Anybody remember the TV show, “Romper Room?”
We’re never too old to take good advice: don’t be a Negative Nelly when you can
be a Positive Pammy! Sometimes changing your mood is as easy as making up your
mind to adjust your attitude.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 7.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Turn on
your radio. Or your MP3, cell phone, CD player, or whatever is the handiest
source of music. (Maybe one of your coworkers will do an Elvis
impression for you.) Music has an uncanny ability to immediately transport us
to a different place and time, especially if it’s a song with fond memories
attached. Music is the quickest path I know from crabby to happy (along with
#9!).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Find
something to make you laugh. Go to YouTube and search for laughing babies or
goofy animals. Revisit your email joke folder. (You have one of those, right?)
Take a break to go read funny greeting cards. Pull up a comedy on Netflix. Not
only will you feel better, you’ll add a few years to your life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Find
something four-legged and furry. Okay, maybe if you’re a fan of reptiles, a
snake can make you smile, but my money’s on mammals. I <i>dare</i> you
to stay downtrodden while there’s a kitten in your lap, a dog grinning in your
face, a meerkat peering up at you, or a horse nuzzling your neck. Animals =
smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Do
something for someone who’s not expecting it. Sometimes, reminding yourself
that it’s not all about you can get you past those rough spots. Focusing on
someone else will get your mind off your worries and <i>doing</i> something
for someone else, well, that makes you feel good all over. How about putting
quarters in a bunch of parking meters downtown, or buying a burger for the lady
behind you in the drive-thru? I guarantee that if you surprise the tellers at
your bank with a bag of donuts they <i>will</i> treat you like a
hero, and if you take a couple of board games or a basketball to your local
women’s shelter, you may turn your bad day into the best one ever.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-51830302005755529442022-06-22T11:12:00.003-04:002022-06-22T11:12:59.434-04:00<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1L4BiFmJv-IpdCmvizGzrIhTy9RKEJHkWDgyPiwQxKz-SIOW_YRE76u_IKr88VLM6FG6YCMYQjMqLdx4NZ8fqMCJtu3ZYaheS1EWD9buSIxIHA1l415NJd9DiEqTz9VdKYJpa-PP9WDdHrAGtSKvRTPG_-yGZriS6NMAumpAOhQX_5aSrXkhVoP7h/s367/Peter%20Noone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="336" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1L4BiFmJv-IpdCmvizGzrIhTy9RKEJHkWDgyPiwQxKz-SIOW_YRE76u_IKr88VLM6FG6YCMYQjMqLdx4NZ8fqMCJtu3ZYaheS1EWD9buSIxIHA1l415NJd9DiEqTz9VdKYJpa-PP9WDdHrAGtSKvRTPG_-yGZriS6NMAumpAOhQX_5aSrXkhVoP7h/s320/Peter%20Noone.jpg" width="293" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>In a recent conversation with one of my Millennial
sons, I made a reference to Herman’s Hermits. He was clueless. “You know,
“I-I-I-m ‘enery the eighth, I aaaam…” I intoned. He shook his head. “There’s a
kiiind of hushhhhhhhhh…?” Blank stare. Having thoroughly enjoyed Peter Noone
and the current Hermit line-up in concert a couple of years ago, I felt a pang
in my heart that my child knew NOTHING about those great songs. A few days
later, listening to the ‘50s channel on Sirius XM in my car with another son, the
Spaniels’ “Goodnight, Sweetheart” came on. “This is such a great song!” I sighed
in pleasure. “Never heard it,” came the response.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Now, as a mother, exposing my children to different
types of music was very important to me. I <i>thought </i>I’d done a good job—my
youngest does a rousing rendition of “Up from the Grave He Arose,” my middle is
pondering season tickets to the Charlotte symphony, and my oldest bought me a
Mills Brothers CD for my birthday—but, that day, it occurred to me that we
Boomers are blessed with a much broader musical horizon than any other
generation. We grew up with that fabulous music of the ‘50s, ‘60s, and ‘70s.
Those of us with older parents had the privilege of knowing music from the ‘40s,
as well. What a gift to have four decades worth of incredible mood-lifting,
finger-snapping, soul-touching, memory-marking tunes readily accessible in the
jukebox of our brains!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, for all the grief we Boomers are dealing with as we
move from middle age into <i>old</i> age, comfort yourself with this thought: there’s
not an arthritic hip, a bum knee, a cataract, or a foggy brain that can’t be perked
up with the amazing music of our generation. Turn up your hearing aid and rock
on! <o:p></o:p></span></p>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-22647005264454662152022-05-02T19:11:00.002-04:002022-05-02T19:11:16.559-04:00Life Moments: May 2nd<p> Things That Made Me Smile Today:</p><p>1. Waking up to discover that my rose garden went from 2 to <i>dozens</i> overnight!</p><p>2. A dog that smiled at me from the back seat of a truck. (The window was down.)</p><p>3. Lunch with my sister and two good friends. One of them is about to turn 90 and tells THE funniest jokes.</p><p>4.Listening to Pat St. John on Sirius '60s Gold. (He <i>always</i> makes me smile.)</p><p>Things That Annoyed Me Today:</p><p>1. An urgent care center marquee that is still advertising an event from October. Hello??? Doesn't anybody who works there ever read the sign?</p><p>2. The idiot who pulled out in front of me, made me slam on my brakes not to hit him, and then made a left turn 100 feet later.</p><p>3. The rude person who stayed thisclosetomybumper on a residential street where the speed limit was 35.</p>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-5768514934434683032018-01-01T16:39:00.000-05:002020-02-24T16:18:55.299-05:00Can this be the year of kindness?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O0gJGIUFvrU/Wkqopv8CY3I/AAAAAAAABGQ/QwLwL3lAz0o4r-CiCz53WxS6ufBdPdaUwCEwYBhgL/s1600/Wonder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="831" data-original-width="736" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O0gJGIUFvrU/Wkqopv8CY3I/AAAAAAAABGQ/QwLwL3lAz0o4r-CiCz53WxS6ufBdPdaUwCEwYBhgL/s320/Wonder.jpg" width="283" /></a></div>
I've just finished reading <i>Wonder</i>, by R. J. Palacio. I highly recommend both the book and the movie by the same name. The order doesn't matter; both are excellent and proved to be a perfect note on which to start a new year.<br />
<br />
A central theme throughout the story is kindness, a trait that has been sorely absent in our world for some time now. As I devoured page after page about August Pullman's family, friends, and feelings, I was pleased to come across a little poem generally attributed to John Wesley among the "precepts" (defined as "rules about really important things") presented by August's fifth grade English teacher:<br />
<br />
"Do all the good you can<br />
By all the means you can,<br />
In all the ways you can,<br />
In all the places you can,<br />
At all the times you can,<br />
To all the people you can,<br />
As long as ever you can."<br />
<br />
It struck me that this is the goal toward which <i>all</i> of us should aspire in this fresh, new year. Face it: there is little we can do individually about hunger, violence, disease, human trafficking, or the hundreds of other issues with which political leaders across the world must struggle every day. But we can do a <i>lot</i> in our own tiny circle of existence if we consciously make a choice to consistently do the good<i> </i>thing, the wise thing, the generous thing, the kind thing.<br />
<br />
I am making a pledge to myself to try and heed Rev. Wesley's admonition on a daily basis in 2020. Will I fail? Undoubtedly. But I just might tip the scale toward something positive--and I like the thought of that.<br />
<br />Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-79043047136487863282017-11-01T15:27:00.000-04:002020-02-24T16:21:13.030-05:00The Return of the Generation Gap—in the Grocery Aisle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NPC3FqmY2C8/UryNCNNIN6I/AAAAAAAAAT8/tOPa1TVkiJE/s1600/Burger+and+fries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NPC3FqmY2C8/UryNCNNIN6I/AAAAAAAAAT8/tOPa1TVkiJE/s320/Burger+and+fries.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Today's generation gap isn't centered around music (much to their chagrin,
I quite like most of the bands my sons listen to); it's centered around food.
In a recent survey done by The Institute of Grocery Distribution, statistics
show that shoppers under 35 are twice as likely to want organic food as those
over 35, and a third of them don't mind paying more for it. Those under 35 are
also more likely to waste less food, cook from scratch, and base their food
purchases on a company's reputation for social responsibility. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Having read Michael Pollan's riveting and
enlightening book,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The
Omnivore's Dilemma</i>, my eyebrow inevitably quirks any time I read a
product's proud proclamation as "Organic!!!" (though I've recently
conceded that if I'm planning to eat the peel on a fruit or vegetable, perhaps it really
is worth paying for the chance it might actually be pesticide-free).
Meanwhile, my 29-year-old's silent stares of recrimination when he's with me in
the produce aisle are such that—at least when he's around—I find myself picking
up organic more and more. In fact, the changed eating habits of my three sons—all
under 36— have changed<span class="apple-converted-space"> my own</span> grocery
buying habits dramatically. Gone are the white bread, soda, chips, cold cuts,
and sugary cereals they loved in their youth. Now they ask for brown rice, dried beans,
sweet potatoes, oatmeal, whole grain pasta, and Brussels sprouts. Yes, Brussels sprouts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">How is it that a generation raised on
Pop-Tarts, Red Bull, and sundry processed foods has suddenly discovered their
inner Euell Gibbons? These are children who grew up with 2XLs and Furbies, not
Easy-Bake Ovens—children who ate more meals in back seats than at dinner tables
because their parents were always working or on the go. That 29-year-old who
now sneers when I reach for sugar instead of raw honey was the "Taco Bell
Kid" until his passion evolved from burritos to bicycles a few years back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But all this purity is a good thing,
surely—and not just for those farmers wily enough to grab on to a USDA label.
(Go for it, guys; you farmers deserve any break you can get.) Certainly there's
enough evidence now to convince us that homemade whole wheat bread is healthier
than a loaf of Sunbeam, that snacking on a fresh apple from a local orchard is
a better choice than French fries from a local McDonald's. And how can you
fault a mom who works all day then comes home and willingly makes kale and
goat cheese calzones</span><span style="font-size: 18px;">—</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">with tomatoes and basil from a backyard garden, no less</span><span style="font-size: 18px;">—</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">instead of whippin' it through the Pizza Hut drive-thru?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">No, I'm quite willing to let the Millennials lord their superior nutritional
standards over us Boomers, because while I will never feel the need to
apologize over serving up a cake that started with a box from Duncan Hines, I
readily admit that Happy Cow un-homogenized whole milk, with no
additives, from [happy!] grass-fed cows, is significantly better than ye olde
mass produced 2% and worth the price difference. Meanwhile, it's pressure (read: guilt) from my own 3 Millennials that has reduced my soft drink consumption to almost nil, my fast food
meals to a minimum, and my love affair with white food to the occasional
crush. For that, I credit them (and say a heartfelt thank you) for a healthier
body and a hefty weight loss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I'm not quite ready to jump on the tofu wagon or give up Coke
completely, but if this generation wants to raise their own chickens, bake
their own bread, grow their own fruits and vegetables or insist on buying what
goes into their bodies from someone they know instead of from Monsanto, who are
we to stand in their way? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Respecting those choices is the least we can do after raising them
on Pop-Tarts and Tang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-44115952072809850632017-05-03T16:00:00.000-04:002017-05-03T15:28:49.837-04:00Is Encouraging Entrepreneurship the Solution to Unemployment?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zyI3A5F5-Rk/VU1UgHBg4JI/AAAAAAAAArs/AACK2htrWO0/s1600/Daddy%2Band%2Bhis%2Bemployees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zyI3A5F5-Rk/VU1UgHBg4JI/AAAAAAAAArs/AACK2htrWO0/s400/Daddy%2Band%2Bhis%2Bemployees.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The man in the middle is my dad. He started
a Western Auto franchise in a tiny little town in central
Florida and won one top sales award after another. He loved his employees and they loved
him!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Did you know this is
Small Business Week? Sponsored by the U.S. Small Business Administration since
1963, this annual celebration of the foundation of the American economy is a
great time to consider a few facts you might not know:</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18pt;">More than half of Americans
either own or work for a small business.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18pt;">Small businesses create 2 out
of every 3 new jobs in the U.S. each year. From the end of the recession
(mid-2009) through mid-2013, small businesses were responsible for 63% of
the net new jobs.*</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18pt;">From 2002 to 2012,
self-employment among young people age 25 and under decreased by 23%. In
that same time period, self-employment among senior adults 65 and over
increased by 66%.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I'll come back to that last bullet point in a moment but, in the meantime, if
you think big business is where big ideas come from, think again: a 2008
study** from the SBA’s Office of Advocacy found that small companies are much
more likely to develop emerging technologies than are large ones. Plus, small
business owners have a strong interest—and an active voice—in economic and
political affairs: a whopping 95% are registered voters and 84% vote on a
regular basis. Small business owners put their money where their mouth is, too:
91% of them routinely volunteer for, and donate to, nonprofit and community
organizations.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So why, when small
business is the proven backbone of this country, have we made it so
ridiculously hard to start one? Even if they can figure out what licenses have
to be obtained, what forms need to be filed, what regulations must be adhered
to, and what taxes need to be paid, what small business owner has time to DO
all that when he or she is likely working 70-80 hours a week to get that new
business off the ground? And how’s he supposed to pay for all those licenses
and taxes when he’s barely generating enough to stay afloat in those early
days?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Let’s go back to that
last bullet point. We know why seniors are starting their own businesses—they can’t
afford to retire and just sit on the porch—but why the decline in
entrepreneurial efforts among young people? I’m thinking it’s because there’s so
much red tape and so many roadblocks, which is a crying shame because it seems
to me that starting their own business would be an ideal way to get unemployed
young men in our urban areas off the streets and into a productive lifestyle.
Seems to me big cities with big crime problems, big drug problems, big gang
problems and other issues that seem to center around big numbers of idle young
males would do well to offer free classes in entrepreneurship then do whatever
they can to help these fellas take a shot at running their own business. Seems
as good a strategy as anything else and, who knows? Instead of getting swept up
into illicit activities due to boredom or desperation, those streetwise,
calculating young brains might instead spawn some amazing contributions to
society. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you’re the owner of
a small business, take a moment right now to pat yourself on the back for your
role in helping to sustain the U.S. economy, because starting and running a
business has never been more challenging. If you’re one of the 25% that has
hung in there for 15 or more years, you <i>really</i> deserve some
applause. Meanwhile, if you work in the corporate world, as you go about your
routine for the next few days, think about the many ways small businesses make
your life better—from your local grocer and your hair salon to your day care and
your vet. It would be a sad world without them, so how about a tip of the hat
and a word of appreciation? They’ve earned it.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">*SBA’s Office of
Advocacy<br />
**“An Analysis of Small Business Patents by Industry and Firm Size,” by Anthony
Breitzman and Diana Hicks</span></i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-56631618333488428002016-04-18T17:32:00.000-04:002016-12-30T09:30:38.674-05:00In Praise of Libraries<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-06E566eWtyQ/VTVvm7tmXdI/AAAAAAAAAqc/NyoDB6H44pA/s1600/library.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-06E566eWtyQ/VTVvm7tmXdI/AAAAAAAAAqc/NyoDB6H44pA/s1600/library.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Okay, so I'm late to the party: National Library Week was<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>last<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>week, but I was too busy reading
then to stop and write a blog post. Now that I've finished my book, though, I want to spend a few paragraphs raving about that most precious
of public resources.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I won't bore you with the history of how
libraries came to be in most every city; let's just jump right to the fact that
they're<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>there</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and if you're not taking advantage of
the one closest to you, you’re seriously missing out. First of all, your tax
dollars are helping sustain that library, so you ought to be reaping its
benefits. Second of all, you need to be setting a good example for your fellow
citizens by showing them how easy and rewarding it is to be a library patron.
And, finally, if you're not visiting your library on a regular basis, you are
missing out on so many marvelous things (books are only <i>one </i>of a library's many assets) that those of us who<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>do</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>visit on a regular basis should be
lined up murmuring laments on your behalf—but, sorry, we don't have time
because we're so immersed ourselves in said marvelous things. Also, it's pretty
hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't take advantage of marvelous things
that are there, free, for the taking.*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">In the last
month, my life has been forever changed by the three most recent books I've
read:<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>I Am Malala: <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by
the Taliban</span></i><span style="background: white;">, by <wbr style="line-height: 16.545px;"></wbr>Malala Yousafzai and
Christina Lamb; </span><i>Extra<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Virginity: The Sublime and Scandalous World of Olive
Oil</span></i><span style="background: white;">,</span> by Tom Mueller; and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Invention of Wings</i>, by Sue
Monk Kidd. I consider myself a pretty informed person, but each of these books
introduced me to information I was unaware of, broadened my understanding of
their respective topics, and dispelled longstanding assumptions I've maintained
which have now proven to be untrue. On top of all that, each book kept me
riveted for hours, bringing immense pleasure and satisfaction. Pretty
spectacular payback for something that cost me nothing.* </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">This weekend,
as I hungrily and regretfully finished the final chapter of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Invention of Wings</i>, I found
myself thanking God for words, and language, and the edification and connection
that comes from written communication. We take it so for granted, but without
the ability to read and write, without<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>words</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>to read and write, our world would not
only be scary and confusing, it would be small and dull. I love nature and its
many manifestations, but is our experience with a bird's bright feathers and
merry song not enhanced by reading about that creature's lifestyle and unique
characteristics? Is our encounter with ocean and mountain not deeply enriched
by reading of others' encounters, as well?</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I do not ever
take books for granted; reading has been among my greatest pleasures for my
entire life and I mourn the thought that, a hundred years from now, books and
bookstores—even libraries!—as we know them may not exist. All the more reason
to arise at this very moment and travel to a library near you to select a title
(or two . . .or three!) that will transport you to a place you've never been, a
place you dearly love, or a place you can only imagine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">See you in the
stacks!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">*Alas, unless
you come on foot, you cannot experience the library for free at Greenville’s Hughes
Main Library. In what is an abomination akin to requiring payment to attend church,
one must pay to park at the downtown library. Therefore, I urge you to know
what titles you want so you can get in and out in under 15 minutes (no
charge!), go after 5 PM (no charge!), or patronize one of the branch libraries
instead.</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-19099106986794717532015-01-31T17:34:00.001-05:002015-02-01T13:04:42.752-05:00Rest in Peace, Rod McKuen<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cwC_bY4c4uE/VM1W0WLjoSI/AAAAAAAAAmA/vDJqnuV-PDc/s1600/Rod%2BMcKuen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cwC_bY4c4uE/VM1W0WLjoSI/AAAAAAAAAmA/vDJqnuV-PDc/s1600/Rod%2BMcKuen.jpg" /></a>I cried when I heard the news about Rod McKuen’s death. (Only
briefly, because I was in a marketing meeting and the response when I gasped
and said, “Rod McKuen died!” was, “Who’s Rod McKuen?” At that moment, I stifled
my tears and questioned the company I am keeping. It’s hard for me to imagine
anyone <i>not </i>knowing who Rod McKuen is,
but there’s a link at the end of this that will enlighten you if you don’t.) For
the moment, though, I want to talk about this man’s impact on my life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robert Louis Stevenson was the first poet I loved; Rod
McKuen was the second. I was 12 and just beginning to discover the world beyond
my small, central Florida hometown when my sister came home from college with
Rod’s books and records. As the Viet Nam war and the civil rights movement raged
on, as Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy were murdered, as people everywhere
were protesting everything, I slipped into adolescence on the wings of the gentle
words of this Oakland-born poet who wrote about love and summer mornings, love
and yellow buses, love and loneliness, love and snowfall, love and God, and
love. Why my mother failed to intervene is a mystery; many of Rod’s
poems fell far outside the parameters of my strict Southern Baptist upbringing. Perhaps she, like
so many, dismissed poetry as unworthy of notice. Or perhaps she, like so many,
never realized the impact that year would have on all our lives. In any case, as
those months of ugliness, unrest, and uncertainty permeated the pages of
history, I immersed myself in McKuen’s world of keen observations, pensive reflections,
probing questions, and insightful assessments. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Along the way, I fell deeper in love with poetry. Since
discovering Robert Louis Stevenson’s <i>A
Child’s Garden of Verses</i> (every child should own this book) soon after
learning to read, I already loved the genre. But McKuen’s simple, honest words took
me to a new level of appreciation and inspired me to view the world in a
different way—in my opinion, the most important thing poetry can do. From the
beginning, the academic world dismissed McKuen as a lightweight, but the real
world wholeheartedly embraced him. In the course of his career, the man sold
more than 100 million records and 60 million books. His songs have been
recorded by artists ranging from Johnny Cash to Madonna, and he earned a Grammy,
two Oscar nominations, and a Pulitzer nomination. Some things never change: the
academic world still largely dismisses any poet who is commercially successful.
I’m not sure why it’s such a sin to have one’s poems adored by the masses;
seems to me that’s the ultimate indication of being a successful poet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end, my experience with McKuen’s poetry formed the
foundation of my belief that poetry is most valuable when it readily resonates
and is easily understood. That conviction is what led me to launch my annual
April “Poetry Parade” many years later, which led to the birth of <a href="http://www.yourdailypoem.com/">www.YourDailyPoem.com</a> in 2009, a venture currently celebrating its fifth year with a subscription list that continues
to grow daily. I actually exchanged emails with my poetic hero in 2003 when I hesitatingly asked permission—and Rod generously granted it—to share one of his poems in that year’s
Poetry Parade. (I still have that email in my inbox; I will leave the task of
deleting it to my children, when I am dead and gone.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not everything Shakespeare or Yeats or Frost wrote was brilliant; not everything Rod McKuen wrote
was brilliant, either. But much of what he created touched the hearts of millions
and for some, such as I, those words had a lasting impact. I am grateful for his
talent and legacy, grateful to have been the recipient of my sister’s literary
hand-me-downs, grateful that my introduction to love and its sundry
pleasures came packaged in such tenderness. I will miss you, Rod McKuen, but I
know the poets’ corner in heaven is definitely a bit brighter today.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To learn more about
Rod McKuen, visit <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/rod-mckuen-mega-selling-poet-performer-dies-81-234455928.html">http://news.yahoo.com/rod-mckuen-mega-selling-poet-performer-dies-81-234455928.html</a>.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-71549690434696113852014-07-02T22:56:00.000-04:002014-07-02T23:08:41.200-04:00It's Time for the Tao of Thumper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vBuA81ipS4c/U7SqBZyUNXI/AAAAAAAAAZw/FXOsheo55kk/s1600/constitution.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vBuA81ipS4c/U7SqBZyUNXI/AAAAAAAAAZw/FXOsheo55kk/s1600/constitution.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you
can."</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /> -- Arthur Ashe, American
professional tennis player<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I read this quote today and thought, it's
those who embraced and lived out<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>exactly<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>this attitude in the years leading
up to 1776 that we need to be thinking about and thanking as we celebrate
American independence this weekend. The people who gave birth to this country
weren't special, weren't unified, weren't perfect; they were simply committed
to principles they believed in and chose to do whatever they could, wherever
they were, with whatever they had. Whichever of the increasingly divergent socio-eco-political
principles<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>you<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>believe in, you owe your ability
to sing the praises of those principles, ad infinitum and ad nauseum on the
world's sundry news and social media channels, to those men and women who died
defending<span class="apple-converted-space"><i> </i></span>theirs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I am astonished, and saddened, at how angrily
divided this country has become. Perhaps there have been other times like
these; I can speak
only to my own years as an American citizen. No longer is it a matter
of simple etiquette to avoid the subjects of politics and religion in conversation, it’s absolutely essential if you want to avoid starting a fight
or losing a friend. We can get past Coke vs. Pepsi and Rolling Stones vs.
Beatles without too many hard feelings, but mention gay marriage or minimum
wage or Hobby Lobby and things get ugly in a hurry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">For that reason, I don’t “do” politics
online. Does that make me a wuss? Possibly. But if we don’t dwell on our
differences, I can love you without liking your taste in senators or appreciate
your sense of humor without appreciating your position on immigration reform.
It becomes a different matter, however, when you start labeling my opinions as
evil, wrong, or stupid simply because they differ from yours. You may <i>think </i>I
am evil, wrong, or stupid, certainly, but how incredibly rude of you to <i>say</i> so—in
a public forum, no less! I would <i>never</i> say those things about
you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">To me, it's like books and movies that fill a great story <i>everyone<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>would enjoy with violence and
profanity only<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>some<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>will enjoy. I don’t understand the
logic of alienating part of your reading/viewing audience—especially if that
audience is comprised of friends and family members about whom you ostensibly
care. Seems to me a better approach, if you're determined to initiate controversial topics on social media, would be to share reasons <i>why</i> you support your particular
solution/candidate/position rather than denigrating what others hold <i>equally</i> dear and declaring them deviant
satanic morons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I don't think anyone would ever call me an
activist (except, perhaps, on behalf of poetry or the Oxford comma), but I
never miss the opportunity to vote and I've enthusiastically volunteered in a
number of political campaigns over the years (for various sides, I will point
out; I am all about the person and the issue, not the party). I'm certainly
aware of and involved in current issues and affairs, but I see nothing to be
gained by vehemently espousing views which, no matter<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>what</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>they are, are guaranteed to invoke
reactions ranging from mild surprise to rabid rage from anyone who doesn’t
agree with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So as we celebrate the 4th of July and move another few days deeper into the unpleasant morass the next 28
months are shaping up to be, I'm asking you to be nice. I’m pretty sure that’s
a recommendation given in the Torah, the Qur'an,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>the Bible—though, goodness knows,
we’ve certainly dropped THAT ball. As Thumper suggested, “If you can’t say
somethin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.” And whether you do it on a lake, at
a barbecue, or </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">with a protest sign in your hands, I hope you will
celebrate your American heritage this weekend with the pride and appreciation
it deserves. At the same time, I hope you will consciously rein in your
animosity for your different-from-you-but-equally-deserving-of-respect fellow
Americans. We are united, like it or not, and badmouthing your teammates when
times get tough is poor sportsmanship at its most repugnant.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Americans are not always the best or the
brightest, we are not always right or respectful but, in our 238 years, we have
done much to make this world a better place. And beleaguered, flawed, and
imperfect though we may be, we are still a land of opportunity in which I
firmly believe the majority of folk are kind, generous, honest, hardworking, and fair-minded. Even the ones who prefer Pepsi and the Rolling Stones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The next time you start to post something online, ask yourself if it is potentially (or, perhaps,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>intentionally?) inflammatory.
If it is, please consider posting Mr. Ashe’s quote instead so that each of us might be inspired to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>start where we are, use what we have,
and do what we can to make a difference in a <i>positive </i>way.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-38953105609725593792013-06-21T18:08:00.000-04:002013-06-21T18:15:20.541-04:00Who Hasn't Ever Said That Word? PLENTY of Us!<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">NEW
YORK (AP) — Paula Deen should hope for more fans like Jennifer Everett of
Tyler, Texas, who carried a shopping bag filled with $53 worth of merchandise
from the celebrity chef's Georgia store on Thursday. A day earlier, it was
revealed that Deen admitted during questioning in a lawsuit that she had
slurred blacks in the past.</span></i> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></i><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">"Who
hasn't ever said that word?" Everett said. "I don't think any less of
her. She's super friendly. She's a warm person who wouldn't hurt a fly."*</span></i></span></blockquote>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i>I</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> haven’t
ever said that word, Jennifer—and I take monumental offense at your assumption
that such a vile racial epithet might roll off people’s tongues like a benign
adjective. Using the Lord’s name in vain or dropping the F-bomb is one thing;
those unfortunate word choices speak to poor judgment, a bad day, or lousy
manners. But referring to a fellow member of our human race by a hateful,
derogatory term that is universally recognized as a slur is a <i>choice</i>,
not an accident, and it speaks directly to contempt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I find
that word so offensive I could not even bring myself to read <i>The
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</i> to my children. Though I encouraged
them to read that wonderful book for themselves when they were older, I simply
could not say that word aloud—even within a literary context.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I have
used it once in print—in a poem based on a conversation that left me staggered.
If it is difficult to imagine any educated, ethical person willfully uttering
that ugly word, it is <i>impossible</i> to imagine hearing it used
against your own child. Reading this poem still brings tears to my eyes as I
ache for the pain my friend suffered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Parameter</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She is
a gentle woman—pretty,</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">with a
sweet smile that is honest and warm.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We
would be friends if we had the time</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">but we
don't and so we are </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">barely
more than acquaintances— </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">except
that she comforts my mother </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">when I
am not there, </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">soothes
her in the night,</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">wipes
the oatmeal from her chin.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And
because even though </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">she has
to do those things—it is her job—</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">she
does not have to do them</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">with
love, and so I love her.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I do
not know her favorite color </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">or her
childhood heroes,</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">but I
know she adores her children,</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">enjoys
her job, and loves to laugh.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She is
a loyal friend, busy mother,</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">with a
beautiful son and compassionate heart.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I think
of us as alike until she tells me a story one day</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">and I
am aware that no matter how many tears </span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I might
shed for her pain, I can’t<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>know</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>her pain;</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">no one
will ever call my child "nigger."<br />
<br />
From<span class="apple-converted-space"><i> </i></span><i>She of the Rib</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>(CRM Books, 2006)</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">No,
Jennifer, every one has <i>not</i> ever said that word, and there is
no apology—however heartfelt it may be—that can remove the stench from the
tongues of those who have. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-33978184693046490222013-05-30T18:10:00.000-04:002013-05-30T18:11:59.093-04:00When the Spirit Says "Shout!" . . . <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kFTeG_29wMw/UafLV8NHzQI/AAAAAAAAAM4/3ajSXs0mhQY/s1600/cymbals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kFTeG_29wMw/UafLV8NHzQI/AAAAAAAAAM4/3ajSXs0mhQY/s320/cymbals.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For the last
week or so, when I awaken in the morning, I am singing the Doxology. (Only in
my head, thus far; not sure what my husband’s reaction would be if I were to
start warbling in his ear at 6 AM!) </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That song is
as familiar to me as my image in a mirror, but it’s never been a particular
favorite. Suddenly, though, its words seem glorious and essential:</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Praise God,
from whom all blessings flow!</span> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Praise Him, all creatures here below!</span> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Praise Him above, ye heavenly host!</span> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My communication
with God has always been more about thanksgiving than petition. I frankly
believe He gives us <i>way</i> more than we
deserve, so I’m constantly saying thank you—for the incredibly beautiful tulips
I saw in Chicago recently. . . for the fact that my sons have reached adulthood in one piece and without undue harm . . . for my comfortable home, good health, and beloved friends. I do ask for guidance on
a regular basis, but I hold back on special requests—thinking, perhaps, we
might get only so many in the course of a lifetime.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To suddenly
wake daily with a praise song on my cerebral tongue is a new experience,
though, and causes me to wonder what has triggered this need to more effusively
praise my Lord. There’s been no miracle, no disaster, no upheaval or resolution.
At this point in my life, one day is pretty much like the next, so why this mysterious
flood of gratitude emanating, apparently, from my subconscious?<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I wish I
knew. Could it be simply another new milestone in being older and wiser? Thus
far, aside from the incessant need for reading glasses and the inability to
cram quite as much into my days, the positive aspects of being over 40 (okay,
over 50) vastly outnumber the negative. Perhaps I’ve just finally become aware
of how <i>many</i> blessings flow daily from
the Lord into my life. The beautiful birds that gather outside my office window
. . . the network of creative, funny, wonderful people with whom I get to interact
every day . . . the fresh eggs and vegetables that result from my husband’s
hobbies . . . the words I read and write that bring such pleasure to my soul .
. . <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Truly,
nothing good in life happens of our own volition; to arise singing praises to
God is as it <i>should</i> be. So I’m fine
if my newly enlightened (for whatever reason) self keeps up the early morning
exaltations; in fact, I may see if my subconscious can work in a little brass
and percussion. After all, Psalm 150 says, “Praise Him with the sounding of the
trumpet . . . Praise Him with loud clanging cymbals . . . Praise ye the Lord!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />Selah! (And thank you to my son Jaron for his visual interpretation of my melodious dreams!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-35826248696934848932013-01-19T20:00:00.000-05:002013-01-19T20:09:04.421-05:00<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Good
gracious. Here it is two weeks into 2013 and, I swear, we were all in a snit
about Y2K just yesterday. How time flies when we're all so busy trying to make
a living, get dinner on the table, and find something decent to watch on TV!<o:p></o:p></div>
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My old year ended badly when a
precious friend unexpectedly died. I'll feel her loss for a long time to come,
but she would want me to move past my sadness and celebrate all that's good in life,
so I'm going to try and focus on that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s a lot to celebrate! First
off, I finally finished the rewrite of a novel I've been working on for two solid years.
Secondly, after a long, exhausting stretch of self-representation, I've signed
with Hartline literary agent Diana Flegal, the warmest, bubbliest person I've
encountered in a long time. We met this summer, clicked immediately, and I'm
looking forward to her guidance as we take my career into the fiction arena.
What a transition to go from poetry to prose! Index cards have become my new
essential writing tool as I try to keep track of hair color, eye color, middle
names, favorite games, and repetitive words—ten chapters out!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcVi9T7FChU/UOhRRzeuUyI/AAAAAAAAAMI/-TGHg6ZR_3c/s1600/The+Art+of+Stone+Skipping_web_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcVi9T7FChU/UOhRRzeuUyI/AAAAAAAAAMI/-TGHg6ZR_3c/s1600/The+Art+of+Stone+Skipping_web_cover.jpg" /></a>Speaking of games, that's my third—and
biggest—piece of news. En route to fiction, I took time out for a <i>nonfiction</i> project that sort of fell
into my lap: my newest book, THE ART OF STONE SKIPPING AND OTHER FUN OLD-TIME
GAMES comes out February 1st from Imagine Publishing, an imprint of
Charlesbridge Publishing. The first review is a good one, so I'm crossing my
fingers and holding my breath. Of course, if it never sells a single copy,
writing it was a great experience; I had an editorial dream team (thank you,
Charlie Nurnberg and Kate Ritchey!), the graphic artists totally captured the
spirit of the text (thank you, Todd Dakins and Melissa Gerber!), the
research was fascinating (who knew there's a World Egg Throwing
Federation?!), and my sales reps are awesome.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We Girls Raised in the South
(better known as GRITS) are taught from our earliest days that it's bad manners
to draw attention to oneself, but in today's publishing world, there's about a
6-week window that determines if a new book will flop or fly, so I'm asking—in
my most ladylike way, of course—for your help in making the most of that
window. STONE SKIPPING is a collection of instructions and variations on
every kind of game you can think of—from scavenger hunts and shadow puppets to jacks
and Johnny on the Pony—plus all sorts of fun history and trivia in between. It’s
a wonderful resource for schools, libraries, youth groups, Scout groups, teachers,
activity directors, and families. Check it out at <a href="http://www.imaginebks.com/children/ArtofStoneSkipping.html">http://www.imaginebks.com/children/ArtofStoneSkipping.html</a>, at your favorite local bookstore, or at any
of many online booksellers. If you think it sounds worthwhile, would you
please spread the word to anyone you think might enjoy owning it or selling it?
THE ART OF STONE SKIPPING AND OTHER FUN OLD-TIME GAMES is available in
paperback ($14.95) and as an e-book ($9.99). Watch for it February 1st, pre-order it now, and if you're interested in doing a review, let me know and I'll get a copy in your hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I hope
your year is off to a good start, too. Stay tuned; I have a feeling more great things
are just around the pike!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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P.S. If there’s a great bookstore, toy store, or gift shop in your
town, ask them to contact me about a signing event!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-21258206422891667562012-04-05T20:56:00.003-04:002012-04-05T21:01:25.674-04:00A Poem by Arabella Eugenia Smith (1844 - 1916)<a name="content"></a><br />If I should die to-night,<br />My friends would look upon my quiet face<br />Before they laid it in its resting-place,<br />And deem that death had left it almost fair;<br />And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,<br />Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,<br />And fold my hands with lingering caress, —<br />Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!<br /><br />If I should die to-night,<br />My friends would call to mind with loving thought<br />Some kindly deed the icy hands had wrought,<br />Some gentle word the frozen lips had said,<br />Errands on which the willing feet had sped;<br />The memory of my selfishness and pride,<br />My hasty words would all be put aside,<br />And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.<br /><br />If I should die to-night,<br />Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,<br />Recalling other days remorsefully;<br />The eyes that chill me with averted glance<br />Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,<br />And soften in the old familiar way,<br />For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay?<br />So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night.<br /><br />Oh, friends! I pray to-night,<br />Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow:<br />The way is lonely, let me feel them now.<br />Think gently of me; I am travelworn;<br />My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.<br />Forgive, oh, hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!<br />When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need<br />The tenderness for which I long to-night.Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-21333780345423998262012-02-01T10:15:00.005-05:002012-02-01T11:24:09.300-05:00Ten for All and All for Ten--More or LessA new poll reports writers' votes for the ten greatest books of the 19th and 20th centuries. It's worth reading the entire article <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/01/the-greatest-books-of-all-time-as-voted-by-125-famous-authors/252209/">here</a>, but take a quick glimpse at the winners:<br /><br />Top Ten Works of the 19th Century<br />1. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1399">Anna Karenina</a> by Leo Tolstoy<br />2. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2413">Madame Bovary</a> by Gustave Flaubert<br />3. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2600">War and Peace</a> by Leo Tolstoy<br />4. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76">The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</a> by Mark Twain<br />5. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0553381008/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0553381008&adid=08DFG5J5PT8BT5JCWQ7Y">The Stories of Anton Chekhov</a><br />6. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/145">Middlemarch</a> by George Eliot<br />7. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B003GCTQ7M/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=B003GCTQ7M&adid=016A68SGC4YNY0YSP2EK">Moby-Dick</a> by Herman Melville<br />8. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1400">Great Expectations</a> by Charles Dickens<br />9. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0486415872/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0486415872&adid=01D8DBFC9JZH9AS0TN40">Crime and Punishment</a> by Fyodor Dostoevsky<br />10. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/158">Emma</a> by Jane Austen<br /><br />Top Ten Works of the 20th Century<br />1. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0679723161/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0679723161&adid=0HVE8JX53V0T3V57FNZ4">Lolita</a> by Vladimir Nabokov<br />2. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0743273567/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0743273567&adid=0PG1XZCW44WRJPNN6QPN">The Great Gatsby</a> by F. Scott Fitzgerald<br />3. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0812969642/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0812969642&adid=02PBW49F19QDCT0EXTME">In Search of Lost Time</a> by Marcel Proust<br />4. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4300">Ulysses</a> by James Joyce<br />5. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2814">Dubliners</a> by James Joyce<br />6. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0060883286/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0060883286&adid=1852ZRCFZMPZNAD0YXXH">One Hundred Years of Solitude</a> by Gabriel Garcia Marquez<br />7. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0679732241/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0679732241&adid=1J4JD6S89BDAB184N0YF">The Sound and the Fury</a> by William Faulkner<br />8. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0156907399/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0156907399&adid=15QGZRE4JTJK5PSYKYN5">To the Lighthouse</a> by Virginia Woolf<br />9. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0374515360/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0374515360&adid=1QQ29YRNDRSZGH7SZEPR">The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor</a><br />10. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0679410775/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=braipick-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=0679410775&adid=017Z1R9NGD1HK17NPGZR">Pale Fire</a> by Vladimir Nabokov<br /><br />Do you agree? Have you read all of these profound pieces of literature?<br /><br />Aside from <em>Middlemarch</em>, I completely agree with the 19th century list. Despite my friend April's assertion that it's the best book she's ever read, I've never been able to get past the first chapter before thinking, "Nope, life's too short for this." Call me bourgeois; what can I say? In any case, I'd be hard pressed to choose a favorite from the rest of that list; all are <em>wonderful </em>stories whose popularity with generation after generation is certainly testament to their greatness. (My 21-year-old son is currently reading <em>Anna Karenina</em> and is completely captivated by it.)<br /><br />The 20th century list is a little harder to cheer for. I've only read about half those titles (have tried to read Joyce but, genius or not, he's not my cup of tea) and, of those I have, neither <em>Lolita</em> nor <em>The Great Gatsby</em> would make my top ten list. I wouldn't have wanted to <em>miss</em> them but, frankly, my dear, <em>Gone with the Wind</em> and <em>Little Women</em> brought me a lot more pleasure. The stories of Flannery O'Conner, whom I discovered in high school, stay with me to this day, as do those of William Faulkner, who--admittedly--may be as much of an acquired taste as James Joyce, though I think Mr. Faulkner is infinitely easier to embrace.<br /><br />Polls, as we are all too aware in this nasty political season, are often nothing more than polarizing tools of propaganda. I hope these will be, instead, a source of inspiration, conversation, and motivation for you or your book club. Most of us don't pluck <em>War and Peace</em> off the shelf for a quick read, and I'm afraid the few of us who still include libraries and bookstores on our list of hang-outs know a lot more about Stephanie Plum than Pip. But there's a deep satisfaction that comes with being "well read;" not only does it give us an advantage on <em>Jeopardy</em> and in Trivial Pursuit, it allows us to feel part of something bigger than ourselves--part of a giant mind meld, if you will, that transcends our differences and brings our disparate selves together temporarily, at least on a literary level.Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-38204371397152954332011-10-17T14:24:00.007-04:002011-10-17T18:33:16.269-04:00My 77 Hours on the Left CoastI just returned from a whirlwind weekend in San Francisco and parts therein. I've made several visits there over the years but, this time, my family came along and I loved introducing them to one of my favorite places.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lD6QD_SDQ5E/TpysyN-F_VI/AAAAAAAAALY/3nTfz1jFGeY/s1600/Sambeth%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bredwood%2Bforest.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 110px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 164px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664592410068778322" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lD6QD_SDQ5E/TpysyN-F_VI/AAAAAAAAALY/3nTfz1jFGeY/s320/Sambeth%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bredwood%2Bforest.JPG" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wiLcNlLaDUk/TpyqIFxGXuI/AAAAAAAAALM/0hLxfD4xVhk/s1600/Front%2Bof%2Btavern.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 243px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 176px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664589487289032418" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wiLcNlLaDUk/TpyqIFxGXuI/AAAAAAAAALM/0hLxfD4xVhk/s320/Front%2Bof%2Btavern.JPG" /></a><br />The purpose of the trip was my nephew's wedding so that, of course, was the real highlight of the weekend. The nuptuals took place at <a href="http://www.tavernatlarkcreek.com/">The </a><a href="http://www.tavernatlarkcreek.com/">Tavern at Lark Creek</a>, a charming Victorian inn nestled in a stand of redwood trees. Hard to say which was the more enticing aroma: food or trees! The weather was perfect, the bride and groom all smiles, and by day's end, they were well on their way to happily ever after and the rest of us were on our way to Frisco.<br /><br />With a full moon shimmering overhead, the Bay was more enchanting than ever. With our limited tim<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q9efwGaf0OU/TpymnJq8CpI/AAAAAAAAALA/EcbvRcFulWE/s1600/Fountain%2Bin%2BSausalito.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 171px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 202px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664585622866365074" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q9efwGaf0OU/TpymnJq8CpI/AAAAAAAAALA/EcbvRcFulWE/s320/Fountain%2Bin%2BSausalito.JPG" /></a>e, we did what is de rigueur: Golden Gate Bridge, Embarcadero, Fisherman's Wharf, sea lions, Lombard Street, sourdough bread, and clam chowder. We mourned having to miss Alcatraz, Golden Gate Park, and a bike ride across the bridge itself, but we enjoyed an unanticipated trek (read: we got lost) through Oakland's International Container Terminal (a surprisingly interesting sidetrip!), a quick jaunt through the <a href="http://www.marincountrymart.com/farmers-market">Larkspur Farmer's Market</a>, and a marvelous stroll around Sausalito which culminated in a display of some wonderfully whimsical creations by Dr. Seuss at Petri's Fine Arts.<br /><br />After so much romance, so much scenery, and lots of special moments with ne<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--SDNTDE85nQ/Tpyk7KBIqMI/AAAAAAAAAK0/aNEKoGVKEJk/s1600/Point%2BLobos%2Bview%2Bat%2BCliff%2BHouse.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 217px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664583767533594818" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--SDNTDE85nQ/Tpyk7KBIqMI/AAAAAAAAAK0/aNEKoGVKEJk/s320/Point%2BLobos%2Bview%2Bat%2BCliff%2BHouse.JPG" /></a>w friends and old, a last-minute suggestion led to the best denouement we could ever have hoped for. En route to the airport, we found ourselves at sunset at <a href="http://www.parksconservancy.org/visit/park-sites/ocean-beach.html">Ocean Beach</a>. Oh, my goodness. California's coast has no shortage of stunning views, but this one is truly breathtaking. After our frenetic pace, it was like a visual elixer. We drank in the serenity, the more <em>adventurous</em> of us explored the morass of caves and baths below, then we joined up at <a href="http://louissf.com/">Louis' Restaurant </a>(less pretentious than Cliff House, and with an equally interesting history) to cap off our day.<br /><br />Didn't leave our hearts in San Francisco but, boy, we sure brought home some good memories.Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-26072462801798724232011-08-27T12:59:00.012-04:002011-08-27T14:37:54.636-04:00Things We Don't ForgetI was four years old when Hurricane Donna hit Hardee County, Florida in 1960. Let me save you the trouble of doing the math by telling you that, even thoug<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ARvMjQpVSI8/Tlkzqye7jXI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/neV-HIawVmQ/s1600/donna.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 216px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 187px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645600418084654450" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ARvMjQpVSI8/Tlkzqye7jXI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/neV-HIawVmQ/s320/donna.jpg" /></a>h it’s been fifty years, I still <em>vividly</em> remember the experience—and I mean remember as in I can still play back specific moments in my head like a black and white movie. Black and white—or, more accurately, grey—because that’s all there is when a storm of that intensity comes to town: roiling grey skies . . . sheets of incessant grey rain . . . suffocating grey shadows in homes and offices where power failures make time and humidity unbearable . . . nothing but swirling, smothering, sopping, seething grey. It was like Mother Nature swept in and sucked out all the color in the world.
<br />
<br />Wauchula in 1960 was right up there with Mayfield and Mayberry—a wonderful small town full of gracious homes, manicured yards, a friendly and flourishing downtown, and a thriving agricultural industry based on cattle and citrus groves. Ours was a close knit community of good citizens, good neighbors, and strong faith. Enter Donna, a storm that raged for nine days--September 2 to September 11—as she churned through the Atlantic, demolished Florida, then ripped on up the U.S. East Coast. To date, Donna is the only storm <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1NVxeIfmPI/Tlk0DpN2-_I/AAAAAAAAAKE/YdYyEElyzvY/s1600/hurricane_donna.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 207px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645600845093862386" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1NVxeIfmPI/Tlk0DpN2-_I/AAAAAAAAAKE/YdYyEElyzvY/s320/hurricane_donna.jpg" /></a>on record to generate hurricane-force winds from Florida to New England. A Category 3 storm for most of her duration, at one point, Donna actually grew into a Category 5. Because of her devastating impact (nearly $3 billion damage, in today’s dollars) and high mortality cost (364 people died), the National Hurricane Center declared that the name Donna would never again be used for an Atlantic storm.
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<br />To maintain my goal of blogging this year about “ten” things, I tried hard to come up with ten memories of Hurricane Donna, but I could only manage the four I’ve hung onto all these years. Perhaps some of you readers can finish off the list.
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<br />1. I remember sitting behind the screen of our front door watching the wind lift the right corner of the roof off the house across the street, over and over again. (The Lambert’s house.)
<br />2. I remember watching a palm tree that stood in the corner of the Lambert’s yard blow over and crash into the roof.
<br />3. I remember opening the garage door and walking out to stand in our driveway as the eye of the storm passed over. It was absolutely silent and I was mystified at how there could have been such turmoil and then such stillness.
<br />4. I remember my mother cooking on a campstove.
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<br />Tragically, any mercy shown to my hometown in the years since Hurricane Donna came to a too-bizarre-to-seem-real end in the summer of 2004 when three hurricanes<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8VXWS7lc4w/Tlk2PJ74zSI/AAAAAAAAAKM/16IXA1lf28Q/s1600/charley%2Bdamage.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645603241878670626" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8VXWS7lc4w/Tlk2PJ74zSI/AAAAAAAAAKM/16IXA1lf28Q/s320/charley%2Bdamage.jpg" /></a> ravaged Hardee County back to back in a span of six weeks. Buildings that had stood for generations were destroyed, lives and livelihoods were swept away, there was no power for more than a week. Seven years later, the good people of Hardee County are still trying to recover; I'm not sure they ever will.
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<br />Thankful to be spared the wrath of Irene, I know their gratitude is accompanied by prayers for those in her path, because if you've lived through a Donna--or an Andrew, Charley, Hugo,Katrina, or Ike, you never forget.
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<br />Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-88975198171689611172011-05-11T10:38:00.005-04:002011-05-26T18:28:05.420-04:00More Potato Salad, Y'all?Now that late afternoon temperatures seems more or less fixed above 70 degrees, it's time to start thinking about cook-outs. We've already fired up the grill several times in recent days, which got me thinking about who I'd love to invite over for ribs and chicken or burgers and dogs. I'd even throw a few portobellas on there, having recently expanded my gastronomical horizons with the reading of Michael Pollan's thoroughly engaging <em>The Omnivore's Dilemma</em>.<br /><br />So who would I like to gather for a casual meal on my deck?<br /><br />1. Kathy Bates - Kathy strikes me as a woman who cuts right to the chase. No folderol, no foolishness, no facade. Her new series, <em>Harry's Law</em>, showcases her wit and charm as well as her intolerance for shams and stupidity. I think we could have a serious good time talking about everything from the stupidity of six-inch heels to the unfailing madness of crowds.<br /><br />2. Red Skelton - A funnier man never lived. Well, maybe Robin Williams, but with Red you get all the hilarity without all the profanity. Plus he was a genuinely nice guy. Nice people who make you laugh make great dinner guests.<br /><br />3. Rhett Butler - Now here's a man who could liven up a barbecue. Not only would he charm the socks off everybody there, he'd undoubtedly have something in his jacket pocket that would add a little kick to the basting sauce. Smart, sexy, unpredictable and unafraid, there would be no dull moments with this man at the table.<br /><br />4. Carol Burnett - Another woman who is so comfortable in her own skin that she makes everyone else comfortable, too. Funny, smart, a great teller of anecdotes, but happy to share the spotlight so she wouldn't hog the conversation.<br /><br />5. Leo Buscaglia - I got to hear Leo speak once--even got to meet him and get one of his famous hugs afterwards. What a dear man! (If you've not read any of his books, you <em>must</em>.) One of those people who can always find something positive, who exults over simple pleasures such as a perfectly ripe tomato or the sweetness of a just-picked ear of corn, Leo's presence at a dinner party would guarantee a good time.<br /><br />6. Jack Hanna - I got to see Jack Hanna once, too--front row seats. (Not necessarily a good thing when he's carrying a 20 ft. python!) Jack strikes me as a likeable fellow--compassionate, attentive to detail, lots of life experience without the ego you might expect. And you never know what he might have tucked away in his knapsack . . .<br /><br />7. George and Laura Bush - I know you might not want them at <em>your </em>barbecue, but I think George and Laura are good people and would be great guests. I feel pretty sure George knows his way around a grill and I bet Laura would bring a delicious homemade dessert. I wouldn't have invited them while he was president, but now that they're just hanging out at the ranch, I'd love to chat about about raising cows and writing books and how the world reacts to a Southern drawl.<br /><br />8. Patti Humphreys - I wasn't <em>done</em> with my precious friend Patti when God called her home a year ago, and I'd give anything to have her back in my kitchen helping me put ice in glasses and pouring up my crowd-pleasing sweet tea. Patti enjoyed a party like nobody else; you could hear her wonderful laugh spilling from every corner. At 75, Patti still possessed the wide-eyed curiosity (and enthusiasm) of a teenager; who doesn't want <em>that</em> in their midst?<br /><br />9. Tugalo Rogers - My granddaddy died nearly 30 years before I was even thought about it, but I would love to put him in a rocking chair on my deck, then just sit back and listen. A lanky Alabama farmer who worked hard and played harder, I'm told his fiddle-playing and joke-telling made him a welcome guest at many a gathering.<br /><br />10. Walter and Betsy Cronkite - For starters, Walter always made me think of Captain Kangaroo, whom I adored, plus he seemed like another of those genuinely decent folk who makes you feel good to be around. And any long-time married couple make great company because that shared history lets them finish each other's sentences and benefit from a tag-team approach to conversation. Betsy was a print journalist at one point and, like me, a mother of three, so we'd have plenty to talk about.<br /><br />None of these people will ever grace my table or eat my husband's delicious grilled specialties, unfortunately, but it's fun to think about, nevertheless. So ponder and then tell me: whom would <em>you</em> like to have over for a cook-out?Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-78956452672836517882011-03-26T20:51:00.013-04:002011-03-27T15:44:13.573-04:00Ten Ways to Celebrate National Poetry MonthApril is National Poetry Month, and you <em>are</em> celebrating that, aren't you? Here are some terrific ways to make the most of the occasion: <br /><div><br /><div><br /><ol><br /><li>If you think you don't like poetry, or if you usually avoid it, use the mo<a href="http://www.yourdailypoem.com/"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 138px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588838074419467298" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-druDf83QW1c/TY-KniTzVCI/AAAAAAAAAJg/dsWZfqMFRjA/s320/New_YDP_logo.jpg" /></a>nth of April to expose yourself to poetry for 30 days. Lots of poetry sites offer up daily doses during Poetry Month; I shamelessly suggest MY site, of course: <a href="http://www.yourdailypoem.com/">http://www.yourdailypoem.com/</a>. Click the "Subscribe" button on the left-hand side of the page and sign up for the "April Poetry Parade." Give me 30 days, and you don't have to read another poem till next April. But don't be surprised if you come back begging for more!</li><br /><li>Write a fan letter to your favorite poet. If he/she is alive, try a Google search or Facebook to find contact information. If your favorite poet is deceased, write an open letter that you share on FB or your blog. Even if the poet can't read it firsthand, the rest of us will enjoy knowing what makes his/her words special to you.</li><br /><li>Check out a book of poetry from your school or public library. Read it all the way through then choose at least one poem to share with a friend or family member. If you have children in your life, you OWE it to them to share poetry with them at least this one month out of the year. Children <em>love</em> poetry; your librarian should be able to recommend sure-to-please titles. You can never go wrong with Dr. Seuss, Shel Silverstein, Eve Merriam, Jack Prelutsky, Jane Yolen, or Frank Asch. I adore <em>How Now, Brown Cow</em>, by Alice Schertle.</li><br /><li>If you can afford it, <em>buy</em> a book of poetry. At your local independent bookstore is always best, or directly from a poet (at a reading, for example), but even a thrift store purchase helps the cause. <em>Tons</em> of people write poetry; not so many buy it. Set an example and be proud! </li><br /><li>Visit a poetic place. They're everywhere! Here where I live, near the Blue Ridge mountains, there's Carl Sandburg's home in Flat Rock, NC. Concord, MA, is teeming with poets' homes, as is Boston and New York. James Whitcomb Riley has <em>two</em> homes in and near Indianapolis . . . you'll find a listing of all sorts of poetic places <a href="http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/196">here</a>.</li><br /><li>Ask a favorite restaurant or business if they'll post a poem (or several!) during the month of April. Maybe the owner is a fan of Robert Frost or his daughter likes Jewel. If they don't have a preference, offer up a favorite of your own to post by the cash register or even on the bathroom mirror. The worst that can happen is that they'll say no, but if they agree, think how many people will read that poem in the course of a month. You might change somebody's life!</li><br /><li>Watch a movie in which poetry plays a role. "Four Weddings and a Funeral," "Barfly," "Sophie's Choice," "Million Dollar Baby". . . you'd be astonished how many there are. Or go all out and watch a movie <em>about </em>a poet: "Bright Star," about John Keats; "Sylvia," about Sylvia Plath, and "Shakespeare in Love" come most immediately to mind. You'll find a gazillion other possibilities if you search online for 'poetry in movies.'</li><br /><li>Read a poet's biography. From the sheltered routine of Emily Dickinson to the bawdy brawls of Charles Bukowski, poets come from as diverse backgrounds as you can imagine. Treat yourself to some insider information and you might find a whole new layer of meaning beneath poems you only <em>thought </em>you understood. </li><br /><li>Host a poetry reading for your friends or family. We twenty-first centurions are missing out on a great tradition of the past: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salon_(gathering)">salons</a>. Embrace your inner host/hostess, rearrange the furniture, borrow your Aunt Vinnie's antique punch bowl set and let the good times roll! If there's a poet in your circle of friends, invite him or her to be the guest of honor and read a few poems. Then let others read poems they've brought along--either something they've written themselves, or a favorite by somebody else. Add exotic wines or teas, an array of treats and finger foods, an impromptu ukelele or piano solo, and voila! Instant salon! Or keep it simple and invite every member of the family to select a poem to read and share at the supper table every Sunday night in April. Either way, you'll up your poetic (and cultural) horizon at least a notch.</li><br /><li>Commit Random Acts of Poetry. My friend Wendy Morton did this on an <a href="http://national-random-acts-of-poetry.blogspot.com/">official scale </a>for many years in Canada. <a href="http://www.poetsontheloose.com/">Poets on the Loose </a>is doing it in the Northwest. I challenge you to find the most c<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Ez9nkHW8oI/TY-Np3Dny1I/AAAAAAAAAJw/Bv2H9gx7o4I/s1600/James%2Bsmall.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588841412883368786" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Ez9nkHW8oI/TY-Np3Dny1I/AAAAAAAAAJw/Bv2H9gx7o4I/s320/James%2Bsmall.jpg" /></a>reative ways you can think of to interject poetry into your life and the lives of those around you during the month of April. Volunteer to read poetry at your child's daycare center or your grandmother's nursing home. Ask your church if they'll print a poem in the bulletin every Sunday in April. Pair up with a buddy and hand out copies of your favorite poems to people at the bus station. Stage a 24-hour poetry reading marathon outside a truck stop. Your imagination knows no end and I know you'll astound me with the clever ways you'll come up with to celebrate National Poetry Month. Let me hear from you so <em>your </em>great ideas can inspire someone else!</li></ol></div></div>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577147026946048956.post-55471682645676112472011-01-31T19:54:00.016-05:002011-01-31T23:23:08.750-05:00Ten Things That Are So Good I Want You to Know About Them<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/TUdiheccuRI/AAAAAAAAAJA/fhkh0MI-pgY/s1600/star.png"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 136px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 111px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568527791514499346" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/TUdiheccuRI/AAAAAAAAAJA/fhkh0MI-pgY/s320/star.png" /></a><br /><div>Okay, here we go, singing the praises of products and services I absolutely would not want to live without. I’m not shilling; I have no connection to any of these except #9 and #10—and I will provide full disclosure when I get to those.<br /><br />1. <strong>James Foods Caterer’s Select Chicken Pot Pie</strong> – Just discovered this fabulous product last week at my local Bi-Lo (the company tells me Ingles, Harris Teeter, and Food Lion carry their products, too). The pie provided four ample servings and costs around $8, so it’s a great value, but more importantly, it tastes like your grandmother made it! Even my son commented on the flaky, tasty crust—and he is <em>not</em> a man to notice things like that. Plenty of chicken, bright, plump peas and carrots, well seasoned, and went from frozen to dinner plates in an hour and a half. Not low-cal or low-fat, but it <em>is </em>a pie, after all! I’m keeping several in my freezer from now on.<br /><br />2. <strong>Diner’s Choice Orange Herbal Tea</strong> – Found this little jewel of a bargain in Big Lots back in the fall. Amazingly, they’ve had it in stock ever since, but I live in fear that one day, I won’t be able to find it, so I’m trying to track down the manufacturer. It’s excellent tea—smells heavenly, has the perfect amount of orange flavor, and it is A DOLLAR A BOX. Yep, 18 cups of morning bliss for a buck. Sorry, Twinings; you’ve lost me as a customer for a while.<br /><br />3. <strong>Jolly Time Healthy Pop Crispy White Naturally Flavored Microwave Pop Corn</strong> – I like my popcorn pure—no butter, no oil, and no (or minimal) salt. Do you know how hard that is to find? Thank you, Jolly Time, for giving me what I want. 250 calories for the entire bag (3 bags to a box), and if I add thirty seconds to the “Popcorn” setting on my microwave, virtually every kernel pops into a beautiful, white fluffy…um…whatever popcorn becomes when it’s not a kernel anymore. Bonus: Jolly Time is a family owned company and has a great website: <a href="http://www.jollytime.com/">http://www.jollytime.com/</a>.<br /><br />4. <strong>Pantene Ice Shine Shampoo</strong> – I’ve used Pantene products off and on over the years and found them to be good, if not electrifyingly different. I’ve also been known to ask women with gorgeous hair what kind of hair products they use and, very often, the answer is “Pantene.” <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/TUdeE_OTfXI/AAAAAAAAAIo/Ersh_oL-4u8/s1600/ice%2Bshine.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 80px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 80px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568522904050826610" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/TUdeE_OTfXI/AAAAAAAAAIo/Ersh_oL-4u8/s320/ice%2Bshine.bmp" /></a>Ironically, almost every stylist I’ve ever known condemns it as a horrible brand which will ruin your hair; not sure why unless they view it as a threat to their own ridiculously overpriced products. In any case, I bought my first bottle of Ice Shine about a year ago because the clean, clear packaging was so appealing. It is <em>awesome </em>shampoo—for my hair, at least—which is long and fine. People actually comment on how shiny my hair is! (Lots of other positive experiences with it reported on Epinion.) Besides being shiny, my hair also feels healthier than it ever has, and it’s easier to manage. I have a brilliant and gifted stylist (bless you, Natalie Brown!) who deserves much of that credit, but I think Ice Shine deserves some, too. So imagine my utter horror when I discovered that Pantene has discontinued this product!! Go figure. But that explains why there are bucket loads of it sitting at Big Lots; stock up, people!<br /><br />5. <strong>Glad Press’n Seal Wrap</strong> – I’ve lost my religion more than once trying to put plastic wrap on a bowl of leftovers that wasn’t made of glass or CorningWare. And what’s the point of covering it with aluminum foil if you have to replace that with plastic wrap to reheat it? Press ‘n Seal is a miracle product. It saves frustration, time, and money, because it sticks to ANYTHING, instantly and easily. It even has a little stretch to it so you can eke out that extra eighth of an inch you need to seal things up tight. I am amazed how many people I talk to who don’t know about this product. Hie thee to the paper goods aisle! You and your leftovers will thank me. It comes in handy for a thousand other tasks as well; check out some creative ideas <a href="http://www.1000uses.com/">here</a>!<br /><br />6. <strong>International Delight French Vanilla Coffee Creamer</strong> – I love chai, but I refuse to pay $4+ for a cup of flavored water and a squirt of steamed milk. With this yummy stuff, I don’t have to. One tea bag, a cup of hot water, and a dollop of Delight, and I am a happy girl. They make lots of other mouthwatering flavors, but I keep coming back to this one. Other brands are <em>not</em> as good; accept no substitutes! Next time you’re cold, try this tasty warm-up: a packet of hot chocolate, a cup of boiling water, a splash of Kahlua, and a big dollop of IDFVCC. Happiness, thy name is hot beverage! More recipes (theirs, not mine) at <a href="http://www.internationaldelight.com/Recipes">http://www.internationaldelight.com/Recipes</a>.<br /><br />7. <strong>Shout Stain Rem<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/TUdeREp0QyI/AAAAAAAAAIw/VR-mpmKmQ6s/s1600/shout.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 219px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 153px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568523111666828066" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/TUdeREp0QyI/AAAAAAAAAIw/VR-mpmKmQ6s/s320/shout.jpg" /></a>over</strong> – Other stain removers don’t work. Period. I’ve stopped experimenting. Tough stains sometimes require a second application, but I am constantly amazed at what Shout can do. I got grease spills all over the front of my favorite turquoise turtleneck last weekend (stir fry with no apron; dumb, dumb, dumb) and I was sure it was ruined. Wrong! Just like their advertising promises, I Shouted it out!<br /><br />8. <strong>Blue Mountain.com</strong> – My husband once remarked that I spend more time picking out a greeting card than I do picking out a house. Yeah, well, greeting cards are important to me—but they’re <em>not</em> worth what most of them cost these days. Blue Mountain has a huge selection of everything from inspirational to interactive e-cards, with new ones added all the time. And if you don't think you can bring yourself to give up the real thing, you have the option to print out your cards and mail them. $10 a year lets you send unlimited cards <em>plus</em> gives you two additional accounts to share. My favorite features: a reminder service that lets me know when someone’s birthday is coming up, and the ability to schedule a card whenever I have time or happen to think about it, then have it delivered on the appropriate date.<br /><br />9. <strong>Constant Contact</strong> – For years, I struggled with sending out my newsletters and publicity materials through e-mail. Outlook was a joke, Yahoo and I almost came to blows, and Google wasn’t much better; mail servers are simply not designed for mass mailings. Then I discovered Constant Contact, an e-mail marketing company that is <em>specifically</em> designed for mass mailings. Literally overnight, my life became infinitely easier. <em>Literally.</em> I was so impressed, I asked if I could become one of their “solution providers,” so I could help people learn how to use this wonderful service. If you send recurring mail to a mailing list of more than a hundred people, Constant Contact will make <em>your</em> life better overnight. It runs about $15/month, depending on the size of your mailing list; you will have SO much fun using their templates and images and features, and you will LOVE being able to track and monitor your marketing materials. If you’re interested, let me know; maybe I can get you a deal.<br /><br />10. <strong>Your Daily Poem</strong> – Don’t like poetry? That’s okay; most people don’t. But will you give me sixty seconds a day for <em>one</em> week—that's a measly 7 minutes of your life!—to see if maybe, just <em>maybe</em>, imbibing a bit of poetry might actually turn out to be fun? There’s even an option for a weekly or monthly<a href="http://www.yourdailypoem.com/"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 138px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568523765658014786" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_7rPEiMpniaA/TUde3I9d1EI/AAAAAAAAAI4/H8TGB4QfjGk/s320/logo3%2Bcopy-1.jpg" /></a> poem if you don't think you can handle a daily dose—but you’d be shocked by how many poetry-haters have grown to LOVE starting their day with Marge Piercy’s <a href="http://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=96">advice</a> on what to do with excess zucchini or Shoshauna Shy’s <a href="http://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=611">confession</a> that a foreign accent makes her blood sizzle like butter in a skillet. Hey, it’s free, it’s fun, there’s a comment box so if you hate the poem you get to SAY so, and you can cancel your subscription at any time, with no lip from me. How fair is <em>that</em>?</div>Jayne Jaudon Ferrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208478365348912235noreply@blogger.com1