Wednesday, September 29, 2010

I’ve Got It!!

It just came in the mail. Actually, it came in my parent’s mail as I am in Houston for my 1 month check-up after surgery. It was waiting for me on my bedside table when I arrived. I’m so excited!


I’m so glad the weather is perfect and the grandparents are nearby because I’m off to the hammock to read my blogging friend’s just released first book, The Preacher’s Bride, by Jody Hedlund.

I’ll catch up with you all just as soon as I can tear myself away!

Have you read any good books lately?

Friday, September 10, 2010

The Day The World Cried


Sept. 11, 2001
Today is a horrific day. Hard to believe when you wake up to such brilliant blue skies and such peace only to discover others were in the midst of terror. We are visiting my parents in Houston and as I turn on the TV, just as my Dad is walking out the door the sight of the WTC towers on fire fills the screen. My Dad and I watched horrified as the second plane was caught on video and sharply careened into the tower.

"That is a passenger plane!" my Dad shouts as he watches the video.

We would find out later it was, both planes, full of innocent people. The anguish just about brings me to my knees. I can't help but think the world as I've known it is gone and tomorrow will bring us into a new era...

Sept.17th, 2001
I can't understand this tragedy. I can't wrap my brain around it to sort it all out. But who can? Such a senseless act, causing so much death and despair. And yet almost a week later I realize how many life lessons will come out of this shroud of death. That even in death there is life. Those gone from this world will be deeply missed and yet we will continue to learn from them. They will not be forgotten. And faith comforts us by telling us they are at eternal peace. After their terrible suffering they no longer feel the pain. That will be the burden we must carry.

These two entries came from my journal from 2001.  I remember that day vividly.  I was over ten hours away from my husband while visiting my parents.  Holding my 1 1/2 year old daughter I turned on the morning news.  The house was eerily quiet as my Mom and Dad had already left for work. Suddenly the room was filled with sirens and the sight of a building on fire as the screen came to life.  I stared blankly, not understanding what I was seeing. The first plane had already hit one Twin Tower.  The plane that crashed into it, I immediately assumed had suffered some terrible malfunction that allowed in to careen so off course. I picked up the phone to call my Dad and tell him what had happened. Then another plane crashes into the other tower.  My Dad is asking me questions that I don’t have the answers to and I suddenly feel as if ice water is running through my veins. He tells me he’s close to home and he’s coming back.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur as the words passenger planes, hijackers, and terrorists are repeated over and over.  My Dad and I scramble to get in touch with family. My sister’s building downtown is being evacuated along with all the others.  My mother is at the hospital safe, but wishing she were home.   My husband’s parents are in Prague and we worry about them being so far away. My Aunt and Uncle live right by the Pentagon, but are fine.

The skies go silent over my parent’s house and the only sounds from the air are the F-16’s that are patrolling the skies over the next few days. I hug my child a little closer as we watch them streak across the sky.  I never imagined that some day I’d be walking through my parent’s neighborhood while fighters flew over, making sure we were safe.

Nor did I ever imagine life would ever be the same, and in a lot of respects it isn’t. But life does go on. Almost a month to the day I find out I’m pregnant with my second daughter.  The planes eventually took to the airways again as the fighters disappeared from the clouds above.  And I’m left with the feeling that I’m responsible for telling my daughters the story of 9/11, just like my parents’ told of Vietnam, and my grandparents’ WWII. 

Just like the quote on my 7th grade teacher’s wall, “Those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.”

Where were you on 9/11?

*I shared my story along with many others a year after 9/11 on a webpage dedicated to sharing memories about this event. You can find it at

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

The State Of Censored Books or Authors

While I was in Houston I came across an article in the Houston paper about an upcoming book fair/author signings at a school being cancelled.  It was an annual event that was to include kids in the 6th through the 12th grades.  The reason for the cancellation is that they supposedly withdrew an invitation from an author who wrote teen books dealing with drug abuse, sex, and drinking.  When the other authors found out she had been “banned” they withdrew from the fair as well, causing the school district to cancel.

Writer are a tight lot and I wasn’t at all surprised that the other authors should their support and withdrew from the event.  I understand that.  But I think it is sad that all those children are now not going to have that all important exposure to literature.  They won’t get to browse through the aisles of books, meet the authors, and fall deeply in love with reading or even maybe writing.

The banned author stated that she wrote about things teens face today. That nothing she wrote wasn’t something that many of those students weren’t faced with each and everyday. The school coordinators stood firm, believing it was subject matter that would not be appropriate for all the ages included. 

I find myself understanding each argument.  But I wish they could have come to some sort of agreement. Maybe divided the seminar into two ages groups. That is a wide range of ages to try to find subject matter that will interest and be appropriate for all involved.  But instead it is cancelled and I feel that is such a shame.

What do you think about censoring or banning authors or their subject matter?  Would you support another author that was banned?

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

On My Table Today

I’m in Houston at my parent’s house trying to heal from my surgery and trying to take my mind off things.  If I stay busy it is easier to ignore the twinges of pain, the incessant pounding in my ear as it tries to heal.  I seek refuge in one of my favorite rooms in my parent’s house.

IMG_0330[1] This room used to be the back porch, but a remodel several years ago turned it into a sunroom.  The big windows let in lots of light and offer views of my mom’s flower beds.  The room is furnished in antiques. Like this light that used to hang in my Grandmother’s house. IMG_0327[1] The room also holds all my mother’s sewing tools and inspirations. 

IMG_0331[1] In this room I can imagine the beautiful fabrics and threads weaving into anything my mind can conjure.

I’m better at imaging then creating, but I try.  Under my mom’s guidance I’m able to sew dresses, drapes, and whatever project catches my eye at the fabric store.  By myself, I tend to be a disaster. I know just enough to get myself into trouble, but not out of it.

Today I busy myself with the beautiful advent count-down wall hanging I saw at the store yesterday.

IMG_0332[1] All these figures will complete the nativity.


Today I am cutting each one out with a felt backing. 


And as I work with my hands, I am comforted. I’m wrapped in the warm glow of my Grandmother Nano’s light. And here I find a few moments peace.

Do you have a favorite room to be creative in?