Blabberings

I just have a lot to say.
August 11th, 2015 by celesteconner@comcast.net

I Lost My Nook

I lost my Nook.

I searched in every cranny and crook

With intensity building until I shook.

“Why can’t I just read a hard-copy book?!!!”

 

I misplaced a library! My heart rate quickens.

Now I’ll not know how the plot thickens.

My body aches and sickens—

“Where the dickens is my Dickens?!”

 

Ava’s Man by Rick Bragg,

The Brothers’ Grimm and a scary old hag, 

Fried Green Tomatoes by Fannie Flagg,

Count Olaf is a drag. 

 

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Olive Ann Burns, Cold Sassy Tree

Jane Austen and the Sisters Bronte 

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie

 

Like Sherlock Holmes, I did hunt it.

This is no fun! It

Made me yell, “Dadgummit!

How will I know who dunnit?!”

 

Mad as the Hatter I did grow

On my search for Victor Hugo.

My friends were as lost as Robinson Crusoe.

“Never was a story of more woe.”

 

Here and there, I did look

For Peter Pan and Captain Hook.

Until a big, deep breath I took

And the pageless search, I forsook.

 

Piglet, Pooh, and Eeyore

Wilbur’s squeal and Aslan’s roar

Harry Potter and Dumbledore

“Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’”

 

Little Women and Little Men

Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind

Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn

I will never see again.

 

On the porch and in my bed,

So many books I have not read.

I guess I’ll learn to knit instead.

“Here it is,” is what Chuck said.

 

“Oh, thanks. I was looking for that.”

March 14th, 2015 by celesteconner@comcast.net

The Miserable

Her initials are LJ, and she is literal. She wants the facts. She is not good at reading undertones and sarcasm. She is the youngest of three girls. I tell her all the time that she is my favorite, because being the youngest of three girls rocks. This is a concept she can grasp.

She and her family are Our Beloved Lake Neighbors. They were our lake neighbors before they were our friends. We live in the same town, but we don’t run in the same circles. We don’t go to church together; our kids go to different schools; we didn’t swim at the same pool. I am not sure that we would even know each other if we weren’t lake neighbors. We might be “Hey” acquaintances, but certainly not friends worthy of a “How’s your mama?” Over the years, the familial relationship has gone from casual to friendly to Don’t Wanna Pass through This World without You.

I can count on one finger the times that Chuck and I have gone to a friend’s house in the past umpteen years simply to watch a movie with other adults. Our kids don’t do that much anymore either. But at the lake, we pop our corn in an ancient electric popper that Chuck and I received as a wedding present and wear our pjs to Our Beloved Lake Neighbors’ cabin to watch movies together. Oftentimes, the movie is more adult-oriented. This makes watching a movie with LJ a nightmare. She talks non-stop throughout the movie. She wants to understand what’s happening, so she frequently brings the movie-watching to a halt with machine-gun rapid questions.

The time we watched Bill Cosby Himself, she wailed:

“I don’t get it!”

“Why is that funny?!”

“This is NOT funny!!!”

The time we watched the two-disk Oliver! and put the second disk in first, none of the movie made sense to ANYBODY until we figured out what we had done. But for LJ, it was torture. Since LJ is neither my daughter nor the sibling of my children, my family finds this annoying trait delightfully quirky and entertaining. What we cannot fathom is how her own family can tolerate watching a movie with her. They seem numb to her.

The summer that the musical version of Les Miserables was released on DVD, the older sisters wanted to come to our cabin to watch it. Eleven-year-old LJ tagged along. It was late before we ever started the movie, and we knew we were in for a long night. Fortunately for my children, they had seen the movie several times. Literal LJ pelted us with questions:

“Why is that man in prison?”

“Why is that man so mean?”

“Why are they singing all the words?”

“Is that the little girl?”

“Who is that other girl?”

“Which one is her mother?”

“Is that his daddy?”

“Is that a river of blood?”

“Are they all dead?”

“Didn’t she die already?”

“Why did the dead people go to Paris?”

We sent her out of the room for the entirety of “Lovely Ladies” and “I Dreamed a Dream.” She hollered from a back bedroom:

“Is it over?!”

“Can I come back in now?!”

(Don’t fret. Emma left with her and let her play with the bunny. We didn’t strand her.)

In the past 30 years, I have probably listened to the Les Miz soundtrack 1000 times. Never have I been so happy for the ghost of Fantine to come take Jean Valjean to Heaven. The 2 ½ hour movie took at least 3 hours to watch, but it seemed much, much longer.

Not ever being one to leave well enough alone, I wanted to explain something deeper about the movie to the older girls.

“Girls,” said I, “this story is about grace. When the priest forgave Jean Valjean for stealing the silver, he modeled mercy and forgiveness. Jean Valjean grasped it. He understood that we make mistakes in life, but because of Jesus and Calvary, we are freed from the burden of our anger and disappointment. We are meant to pick ourselves up and go on and make a difference in this world. Javert never figured that out. He was not a bad guy. He was swallowed by the Law. He said himself, I am the Law and the Law is not mocked. I’ll spit his pity right back in his face. He completely missed the point. He missed grace and could not accept the mercy that Christ, through Jean Valjean’s actions, offered him.”

The air in the room was thick with thought. I was so proud of myself for my spontaneous midnight sermon. The girls were spellbound at my words.

Literal LJ furrowed her brow and broke the silence:

“Wait . . . Who’s Javert?”

I kissed LJ on the top of her sweet head. I hugged her sisters and watched them home:

“G’night girls! Thanks for coming! See you tomorrow!”

March 7th, 2015 by celesteconner@comcast.net

Some Things I Don’t Like (and Some Things I Do)

When the kids were little, they reprimanded me or each other when one of us said hate.

“MOMMY! She said HATE!!!”

I don’t remember being strict about the word. Maybe that came from school. I wouldn’t blame teachers for banning it. It serves no purpose in elementary school.

When the girls were 8 or 9, when they had completed the 2nd or 3rd grade, when Phillip was 4 or 5, we had a summer-long discussion about hate: the word and the concept.

I know that’s the time frame, because it was the summer that Abby was obsessed with Star Wars (a time Emma certainly hated). Abby, my budding geek, was concerned that Luke said to Obi-Wan: Look, I can’t get involved. I’ve got work to do. It’s not that I like the Empire; I hate it, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. She thought her hero had said a bad word.

I told them that hate is neither a bad word nor a bad emotion. It is a strong word reserved for a strong emotion. While there are surely things worth hating, they were a little young to be trusted to use the word correctly. We began a list of things worthy of hatred:

Obviously, the Empire

The Devil

Cockroaches

We discussed many other things that summer, but nothing else seemed as deserving of the word as the trinity listed above.

That’s where our list began and ended until several years later, when Emma added:

Frogs

Mustard

I don’t know why Emma hates frogs, but she does. She is 21 years old now and knows her own heart. She can hate frogs if she wants to.

Without a doubt, she hates mustard. She was a good eater from the start. She was never afraid to taste new things. As a toddler, she would eat from my plate the onions that I picked out of my pepper steak at the Chinese buffet. If she says, “No mustard,” she means it. If the restaurant accidentally puts mustard on my cheeseburger, I scrape it off and cover the taste with ketchup. Not Emma. She won’t touch it. She returns it to the kitchen.

“I asked for no mustard, and this has mustard.”

(Don’t tell her I said this, but I think it’s more of an irrational fear than hatred. She has had four surgeries on her jaw, is facing two more, and doesn’t flinch at the sight of a needle. Every week, she stares down a Sunday school class full of 2nd and 3rd grade boys with joy in her heart. She is a brave young woman who cowers only at the sight of the WOOF Wolf and a certain yellow condiment.)

On a lesser note . . .

Some Things I Don’t Like

#wherehasthetimegone – It went at the grocery store and the pediatrician’s office. It went running carpool and watching soccer games. It went in time-outs for back-talking and smack-talking. It went kissing boo-boos, scratching backs, practicing multiplication tables, and reading bedtime stories.

Geometry – It is straight from the pits of hell. Actually, add this one to the list of things I hate. “Just make a 60 and get on with your life.”

The time change – I prefer Standard Time, the real time, the one on the sun dial. It is hard for this night owl to get up before the sun. However, to the folks who make this decision: PICK ONE AND LEAVE IT ALONE!

Pickled peaches – Other than alliteration, why would a person choose to pour preservative on God’s most palatable pleasure? I relish pickled veggies (see what I did there?), but pickled fruit?! Please pardon my puke.

Mascara – It smears under my eyes, darkens the circles I’ve had my entire life, and keeps me angry at friends with pretty eyelashes.

So, too, really, only, very – Is SO much more than much? Is TOO true more than true? Is REALLY unique more than unique? My exception (Is ONLY exception more than exception?) sings “Let’s start at the VERY beginning” with Maria.

Literally – “He was literally 100 feet tall.” No, he wasn’t. He was figuratively 100 feet tall, really so very tall.

(and Some Things I Do)

Tings – I have a Jamaican friend whom I talk to frequently on the phone. I like to hear her say tings instead of things. Maybe this list should be Some Tings I Don’t Like (and Some Tings I Do).

70s rock and roll and 80s country – I don’t know what music was popular in the 90s or the 00s. (I’ve heard mention about some boy bands.) I spent those decades listening to Hide ‘Em In Your Heart by Steven Curtis Chapman and Radio Disney. Currently in the 10s, I can’t get enough of hymns: Alan Jackson’s Precious Memories, Amy Grant’s Legacy, Kate Campbell’s Wandering Strange, Chris Rice’s Peace Like a River, Selah’s Greatest Hymns.

“We thought you was a toad.” – Delmar to Pete, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel – Females born in or around 1965 need this book, especially those who had a sincere love of Glen Campbell.

Words – units, representations, expressions, utterances

Adjectives – modifiers, qualifiers, identifiers, descriptors

Thesaurus – list, reference, lexicon, onomasticon

Florida rest areas – Driving east and south, I like the 60s-era picnic pavilions nestled among pines and live oaks and palm trees and palmetto plants and WE ARE GOING TO DISNEY!!

Driving north and west, I like that they are spaced 30 miles apart.

“Do you need to tinkle?”

“No, but I will in a half an hour.”

Papa Ramsey’s homemade bread and butter pickles – Please see above reference to inappropriate pickling.

Retractable cords

The do-it-yourself package machine at the post office

The large recycle bin that rolls to the curb – I like it even on Wednesdays, when Chuck forgets and puts it out a night early.

Foghorn Leghorn – “I say, boy, pay attention when I’m talkin’ to ya, boy.”

Birthdays on Facebook

Breakfast for supper

Happy Endings.

Click here to read “Some Things I Like (and Some Things I Don’t).

 

February 12th, 2015 by celesteconner@comcast.net

When Your Friend’s Son Dies

“Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman.”

We have periods. Before we start, we have PMS. We retain water and have cramps. Our boobs get sore.

We squeeze babies out of our bottoms, and it hurts like a son-of-a-gun. Our backs are never the same.

Some of us never bear babies. Still, we mark the day on the calendar every month for 40 years or more.

Boys beat each other up and get over it. Girls talk behind each others backs and make friends cry and never forget.

We are mean to one another even when we are grownups.

“You don’t stay home with your children? I can’t imagine letting someone else raise my child.”

“You don’t have a job? What in the world do you do all day?”

Lots of men help around the house. Lots of men don’t. Lots of women carry the burden of the paycheck and the children and the chores.

The menstruation slows. We burn from the inside. The Change comes.

Men think about a diet and lose weight. Women think about a bite of something fried, and it goes straight to our butts.

And yet.

Women get to hold each other and kiss each other on the cheeks. We get to touch each other in the hard times. We get to say, “I love you, I love you, I love you” when there is nothing else to say.

The day after my friend’s son died, a stunned group of women sat on the staircase for hours. I played with her hair. I combed it with my fingers. I made sure that my nails scratched her back as I flattened it out. I braided it and unbraided it.

The men didn’t try to be brave. They cried and said “I love you” too. Then, they had to do something. They had to pick up the half-empty water bottles strewn about the house and bag up the trash and put in new liners and ask what day is the garbage pickup.

“I’ll be back in the morning to mow the grass.”

They asked about gas in vehicles and fixed running toilets and sticky windows.

They kicked a lot of pebbles looking for something constructive to do, some tangible way to try to bring comfort in the nightmare.

I twisted and untwisted my friend’s hair. I rubbed her back and massaged her neck. I combed her hair with my fingers as she cried.

Sometimes it’s good to be a girl.

January 5th, 2015 by celesteconner@comcast.net

So, Whatcha Reading? 2015

nook, toes, Biscuit

I don’t like science fiction.

I am immediately sucked into an old mystery. If the 200-year old house was demolished and two skeletons and a love letter were found behind the cellar door, I can’t put the dadgum book down until I know whodunit. I don’t want to figure it out. I am disappointed if the author can’t trick me. I like to be surprised and say, “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

I’m not afraid of hard, sad books, but the next book on my list will be lighthearted and funny and probably pointless.

I don’t like books where the daddy died when the heroine was a child.

I like happy endings.

 

Book Club Picks

I have learned about myself through my book club that I would rarely read a new release on my own. I typically choose a book that has withstood the test of time and proven its worth and other cliches. I am usually wary of a book from a top-selling author. The more best sellers the person has written, the less I trust him/her. Danielle Steel has penned a gazillion hits. (I just picked a name. I’ve never read her.) Harper Lee wrote one book. Margaret Mitchell wrote one. Olive Ann Burns wrote one. I will always choose to read a classic a second time before I choose to read a current big-time American book. (I enjoy a Mary Higgins Clark mystery, but she tells the same story over and over, and I can pick the killer every time.)

My book club peeps often pick newer books. I take the book club pick seriously. It’s like an assignment, and I’m a mark-it-off-the-list chick. I like that I HAVE TO read the newer books. I enjoy occasionally being able to discuss a contemporary tome with semi-intelligence.

 

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

Thirteen-year-old Theo Decker and his mother were in the museum when the bomb exploded, and she died. In his confusion from a concussion and from the surrounding chaos, Theo took the painting The Goldfinch, because the old man who lay dying on the floor told him to.

The remainder of the 750 pages tell of the 13 or so years until the painting is returned.

It consumes his life, much as this book consumed mine. It is about 300 pages too long. I didn’t care what happened to Theo. I just wanted to read the last page.

I thought the plot was original, but there are only so many ways to say, “He took a lot of drugs and drank a lot of alcohol.” And the F-bomb does not make great literature, regardless of the amount of times it is repeated.

 

The Husband’s Secret by Liane Moriarity

I read it in 24 hours. (Please see above reference to old murders and lost letters.)

This story of three Australian women takes place the week before Easter.

Cecilia is a perfect wife and mother of three girls. She finds a letter from her husband to be opened after his death.

Tess’s husband Will falls in love with her cousin and best friend Felicity. Tess runs home to take care of her mom who broke her leg and takes her son Liam.

Rachel’s daughter was murdered 20 years ago, and the killer was never found.

Their lives intersect for that one week (or for me, one day).

 

Far Outside the Ordinary by Prissy Elrod

Prissy Elrod is an Ocala, Florida native and a current Tallahassee resident. This is her memoir about her attempts to save her husband from a fatal brain tumor. It is an easy, interesting read, and it made for a lively book club discussion between the women who think they would have reacted similarly in her situation (she dragged him to Texas for an unorthodox, unapproved treatment and had his parents’ bodies exhumed after his death, so they could rest in the same cemetery) and those–like me–who imagine they wouldn’t have responded in the same way at all.

Her husband’s name was Boone. Bonne and Prissy. How Southern is that?!

 

Wonder by RJ Palacio

Wonder is a children’s book on bullying told by seven characters.

August Pullman has serious facial abnormalities. He was not expected to live at birth. He was homeschooled until 5th grade when he enrolled in a private middle school in Manhattan. The story is about his every day struggle to be treated normally and the kids’ struggle to get to know him.

It raps up nicely, and the epilogue by the torturer Julian is unexpected.

 

“Let Me Tell You about the Time . . .”

I enjoy fiction and a well-spun yarn, but more and more as I age, I like for folks to tell their own tales, especially funny ones. Probably, I always liked it and never noticed.

 

Bossypants by Tina Fey

The book was funny, but I’m not really sure why I chose it. Tina Fey is popular right now, but I don’t watch anything that she does: SNL, 30 Rock, the Golden Globe awards.

She writes about her childhood and her journey to comedic superstar. She is a highly driven woman in a man’s domain; it was hard for me to relate. She has one daughter by the end of the book, but has two in “real life.” She loves her husband and her living, married parents. That was refreshing.

 

Dad Is Fat by Jim Gaffigan

This book was much more my style. Jim Gaffigan is called “a clean comedian,” but he doesn’t like that. He says that’s a phrase similar to “a family-friendly restaurant.” You can take your kids to it, but the food’s not good.

He tells about his and his wife’s adventures with their five children in a two-bedroom apartment in NYC.

It’s one of the books that I like to re-read at bedtime when I’m too pooped to retain any words. Just for fun.

 

A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel

Zippy was born in 1965 in Moreland, Indiana. She had a bad staph infection as an infant and was supposed to die. She didn’t die, but she didn’t talk until she was almost three. Her first words to her daddy were, “Let’s make a deal.” He called her Zippy, because she could not be still.

She was raised a Quaker in less-than circumstances; however, I found many similarities in our lives, simply because of our ages, but also . . .

  • She had two siblings who were several years older than she. The oldest one she adored, and the middle one was evil and they argued endlessly and chose to sleep together.
  • She loved, loved, loved Glen Campbell.
  • She had two best friends whose houses she hung at all the time.
  • Her daddy liked to go camping.
  • She made a new friend in the 5th grade named Jeanne Ann.

This was my favorite book of the year. It was published in 2001. I don’t know how I allowed her to slip through my fingers all these years.

 

She Got Up Off the Couch by Haven Kimmel

The sequel to Zippy. Zippy’s mom sat on the couch watching TV, reading science fiction, eating popcorn, and talking on the phone for the first 10 years of Zippy’s life. Then, she took a CLEP test and got some student aid and went to Ball State University. She graduated with Honors, got her master’s degree, and got a job teaching English at Zippy’s high school.

 

My Friend Charise’s Brother-in-Law

My friend Charise told me a couple of years ago that her brother-in-law had written a book I might li-i-ke (that’s how she says it). I humored and ignored her. Then I gave in. She was ri-i-ght.

 

Sorrow Wood by Raymond L. Atkins

Sorrow Wood is the name of a grand and spooky old house surrounded by sourwood trees. It was recently bought by a hippie love guru, and she was murdered.

Wendell is the sheriff who has to solve the crime. His wife, Reva, is the local judge. Reva believes they have loved each other in many lifetimes.

There are three storylines in this book:

  • Current day, murder solving
  • The history of Wendell and Reva from Reva’s childhood through meeting Wendell in WW2 and raising their children
  • About 10 flashbacks to the other couples through time whose bodies their spirits have inhabited (a tad freaky, but very romantic)

 

Camp Redemption by Raymond L. Atkins

Early Willingham lives with his sister Ivey who is 18 years older than he is. Together, they run a Bible camp in inherited Willingham Valley near fictional Sequoyah, Georgia, where his other books are set. The camp has fallen on hard times. Ivey is a Good Christian Woman who speaks in Bible verses.

Fabulously Southern, I want to re-read a real copy, not a digital one, to underline Facebook-worthy quotes (high praise, indeed).

 

Books I Listened To

I was taking Emma to Atlanta to catch a plane. I wanted something to listen to on the way home by myself. I looked at Cracker Barrel, but nothing piqued my interest. (See above reference to current literature.) I didn’t have enough time to call my friend Yo, who has a great audio library, but I did have a few minutes to run by Barnes and Noble. Rarely have I purchased an audio book. They’re so expensive, and I can’t imagine listening to them again. But I had a gift card. (I know! The new libraries have a good selection! I’ll go the next time! Sheesh!)

My eyes fell on Outliers. It had been on my To Read list for some time, so that’s the one I purchased with my 10% off members reward card.

I was home from Atlanta before I knew it and looking forward to the return trip to pick Emma up.

Malcolm Gladwell reads his audio books. His father is English; his mother is Jamaican; and he was raised in Canada. His accent is mesmerizing. I decided I wanted for him to read me all his books.

 

Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell

Gladwell dissects success, especially success that seems to come from nowhere, using the Beatles and Bill Gates, among many others, as examples.

  • Hard work (10,000 hours practice)
  • Right circumstances
  • A fair amount of luck and talent

 

David and Goliath by Malcolm Gladwell

Gladwell looks at the advantages of disadvantages: disabilities, mediocre schools. Often, the underdog wins by virtue of being the underdog.

 

Blink by Malcolm Gladwell

Gladwell analyzes split-second decisions that we make based on our likes and dislikes, prejudices, and experiences.

 

SheBooks

SheBooks are short, digital books for women. A few are released every month. I downloaded a couple that caught my attention.

 

The Mother of All Field Trips by Jeannie Ralston

Two married National Geographic writers took their two boys out of school for three years. They intended only one year. They explored South America. The boys talked them into another year – Europe, and then a third – Asia.

I should have gotten book club to read it just to discuss whether or not, given the opportunity, we would choose to do it. I think I would have done it, but I would have done USA in an RV.

 

Jamaica Dreams by Rosemarie Robotham

Four chapters, 52 pages, about growing up in Jamaica.

 

Sandra Dallas

Prayers for Sale was my first Sandra Dallas book and probably my favorite. It was a book club book several years ago. Frequently, I get obsessed by a theme or an author, and I became obsessed with her. I wouldn’t read anybody else until I had finished her dozen or so books. She writes of women of the west about a century ago. Sandra Dallas’s works are about hard life and strong women and everyday love. And quilting. I don’t quilt, but I do in my heart. Whatever that means.

Her characters meander in and out of more than one book.

I also love The Persian Pickle Club.

 

Fallen Women by Sandra Dallas

Set after the Civil War, Lillie Osmundsen was murdered in a whorehouse in Denver. Her sister Beret goes to stay with their aunt and uncle to assist the police in their investigation, whether they want her to or not.

 

A Quilt for Christmas by Sandra Dallas

Eliza Spooner loved her Will and their life together on their farm in Kansas with Davy, 14, and Luzena, 12. Kansas was not a state during the Civil War, but Will volunteered to fight. He hated the Secessionists and wanted to help preserve the Union and free the slaves. He left in August 1864. She began working on a Stars and Stripes quilt and sent it to him by a soldier returning from furlough.

“A quilt made with loving hands, a quilt that would warm Will against the winter cold, a quilt for Christmas.”

Will died, but his quilt came home with a Southerner and a good story.

 

World War II

I saw that Unbroken had been made into a movie to be released at the end of the 2014, and I wanted to read the book first. That decision plunged me into WW2. After reading Unbroken, it was time for me to pick a book for book club. I usually pick an older book that I have not read or haven’t read in two decades and think needs to be revisited. I chose The Hiding Place. I don’t remember why.

At the book club meeting, Night was mentioned. After I read it, I revisited The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. I don’t know why I chose to delve into Hell this year, but I felt if they lived it and wrote about it, their books deserved to be read.

Zamperini and ten Boom were adults fighting the evil, officially and unofficially. Wiesel and Frank were children stolen by the evil.

Faith is present on every page. Zamperini chose Christianity after his ordeal. Ten Boom’s Christian faith never wavered. Wiesel lost his Jewish faith, but Frank retained hers.

 

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand

The life of Louie Zamperini:

He ran in Hitler’s Olympics in 1936.

He was a bomber in WW2.

He was shot down over the Pacific.

He survived on a life raft for 47 days with another man (which is actually a world record).

He was captured by Japanese and kept as POW for about three years.

The world thought he was dead.

He married Cynthia.

He suffered from PTSD and was an alcoholic.

Cynthia convinced him to go to Billy Graham crusade in LA.

He became a Christian.

He ran a camp for troubled boys.

He returned to Japan for 1998 Olympics when he was 80 years old. He tried to find his tormentor, The Bird, to offer forgiveness. The Bird refused to meet with him. Zamperini wrote him a letter instead.

 

The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom

Corrie ten Boom tells about growing up with her watchmaker father and kind mother above their watch shop. She has a brother and two sisters. Her three unmarried aunts lived with them in post-WWI Holland.

Her father, Casper, was well-respected in the community. He read the Bible to his family every night. His family tried to put the words to action. They took in a dozen or so foster children through the years after everyone was grown and the aunts died. Corrie and her sister Betsie never married.

In spring 1940, after a five-day battle, Holland fell to the Nazis. Business boomed in the watch shop for a year or so because of the German soldiers.

Corrie witnessed the disappearance of Jewish citizens and businesses. While watching soldiers destroy a Jewish man’s belongings, she grabbed him and quickly shoved him into her house. This began the 50-year-old woman’s involvement (along with Caspar and Betsie) with the underground. Their home became the hiding place.

On February 28, 1944, their house was raided, and they were arrested. They went to prison. Caspar died.

The women went to concentration camps: Vught in Holland and Ravensbruck in Germany. Betsie died.

Corrie was accidentally released on December 30, 1944.

She returned to her home in Haarlem and set about establishing rehabilitation centers for war victims, including one in Germany at Darmstadt, a former concentration camp.

She died on April 15, 1983, her 91st birthday.

Their hiding place is a museum.

 

Night by Elie Wiesel

His village in Sighet, Hungary was warned by Moishe the Beadle of the horrors. They called him crazy and ignored him.

Their evacuation came in April 1944 when Elie was 13 years old. He and his father stayed together, but they were separated from his two older sisters, younger sister, and mother. He never saw his mother and baby sister again.

Cattle cars

A-7713

Birkenau

Auschwitz

Buchenwald

Suffering from dysentery, his father was beaten to death in front of him on January 28, 1945.

April 10, 1945, “the first American tank stood at the gates of Buchenwald.”

Elie Wiesel spent his life campaigning for peace and was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1986.

 

The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank

I thought Anne’s diary was important because it documented a young girl in Hell, which is true. But the writing is beautiful, profound. It is fascinating to watch her writing deepen as she grows up over the two years that her family was in hiding.

“Thank you, God, for all that is good and dear and beautiful.”

“At such moments I don’t think about all the misery, but about the beauty that still remains.”

“Beauty remains, even in misfortune. If you just look for it, you discover more and more happiness and regain your balance. A person who’s happy will make others happy; a person who has courage and faith will never die in misery!”

Their hiding place is a museum.

 

Fun-getable Fiction

Girl recovers from bad relationship and swears off men.

Girl meets Boy whom she hates and argues with.

Boy pursues her anyway.

They solve a mystery and confess their love.

They live Happily Ever After with a large, loveable dog.

 

Savannah Breeze and Savannah Blues by Mary Kay Andrews

Fun-gettable fiction set at the beach.

 

One Plus One by JoJo Moyes

Fun-gettable fiction set on a road trip across England and Scotland. (Bonus points for British accents in my brain.)

 

The Christmas Train by David Baldacci

Fun-gettable fiction set in a train. At Christmas. (There’s not a dog.)

 

This and That

The “Books that Don’t Fit Nicely into a Category” Category

 

The All-Girl Filling Station’s Last Reunion by Fannie Flagg

Sookie (whom we met in Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!) discovers at 60 years old that she was adopted. She was raised by Lenore in Selma and currently lives in Point Clear, Alabama, two doors down from Lenore who still runs her life.

She discovers that she is the illegitimate daughter of Fritzi Jurdabalenski from Pulaski, Wisconsin, who was a WASP in WW2. WASPs were women who flew planes to transport them from army base or factory to port to be shipped overseas. The women were allowed to help since it freed up men to fight.

 

Have a Little Faith by Mitch Albom

Albom shares uncomplicated truths learned from his friendships with a Jewish rabbi and a Christian preacher. I read it a few years ago. Mary told me to. It’s my favorite Mitch Albom book, so I re-read it. I’ll probably re-read it again sometime. (That’s not redundant.)

 

Moonrise by Cassandra King

(She’s my cousin!)

Emmett Justice remarries quickly after Rosalyn’s mysterious death. He takes his bride Helen Honeycutt to Rosalyn’s summer home, Moonrise. Helen spends the summer with Emmett and Rosalyn’s friends, who obviously resent her and yet she seems not to understand why.

The mystery of the death is uncovered.

The story is told from three viewpoints: Helen’s, Rosalyn’s friend Tansy’s, and the housekeeper Willa’s.

 

The Seven Experiment by Jen Hatmaker

A 9-week Bible study against excess in seven areas: clothes, spending, waste, food, possessions, media, stress. My Sunday school class read it together and watched the accompanying videos. It enlightens on American overabundance. I didn’t take it as seriously as I should have. I will read it again.

 

The Optimist’s Daughter by Eudora Welty

Laurel McKelva Hand goes with her father and silly young stepmother to a New Orleans hospital. Her father has eye surgery and loses the will to live. He dies, and Laurel and Fay return to Mississippi for the funeral. Fay leaves her for a couple of days after the funeral alone in her childhood home.

As she grieves her parents and their home, Laurel aches for her husband who died young and for the children they never had.

“If Phil could have lived–” she says out loud and repeats to herself.

That took my breath away. That was my mama’s mantra.

“If Phil had lived–.”

 

Fearless by Max Lucado

Jesus said “Do not be afraid” more than any other statement.

Lucado discusses about a dozen modern fears and how to face them with faith.

“Fear, at its center, is a perceived loss of control.”

“Storms are not an option but fear is.”

 

An Abundance of Katherines by John Green

Colin Singleton just got dumped for the 19th time by a girl named Katherine. Not Kate. Not Kathy. And heaven forbid, not Catherine.

He is a former child prodigy. Former, because he just graduated from high school.

He and his friend Hassan set out on a road trip. They end up in Gutshot, Tennessee, where they spend the summer gathering oral history stories for a rich woman named Hollis and befriending her daughter Lindsey.

Colin excels at anagrams and languages. He wrote a theorem on how to figure which person in the relationship will dump the other: Theorem of Underlying Katherine Predictability.

My Abby is a huge John Green fan. She told me this was her 2nd favorite John Green book after A Fault in Our Stars. It is great fun; there is no heartbreak. Thumbs up; thumbs up.

 

The Circle Maker and Draw the Circle by Mark Batterson

“All of us love miracles. We just don’t like being in a situation that necessitates one . . . We want God to provide for our need before we even need it.”

Circle the prayer.

“Pray without ceasing.” – Jesus

 

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson

“The Herdmans were absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world.” They finagled themselves into the Christmas pageant. It was going to be a disaster.

I read this out loud to my kids every year. We start on December 18 and read a chapter a night through Christmas Eve. I started when the girls were four. They were 20 this year.

 

Books that Are Already on My Nightstand or Downloaded to My Nook

The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning

It’s a book about grace, amazing grace.

 

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan

Cindi told me to read it, and her choices never let me down.

 

Sweetwater Blues by Raymond L. Atkins

See above reference to My Friend Charise’s Brother-in-Law.

 

What the Dog Saw and The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell

Santa brought me the audio books. I am looking forward to a road trip.

 

Almost 4,000 words about words later, that’s all I’ve got to say. Now it’s your turn. What are you reading?

 

December 22nd, 2014 by celesteconner@comcast.net

The Great King Family Gingerbread House Throwdown

I googled the word tradition. Among its definitions are descriptors like generations, long-standing, and customary. Can generations consist of merely the living or must it include deceased ancestors as well? How long is long-standing? How many times must an act be performed before it’s considered customary? What do we call an act that is immediately beloved and certain to stand the test of time? Is new tradition an oxymoron? Perhaps there is an appropriate word in another language besides English?

You see my dilemma, don’t you? I want to tell you about something that has only recently come about but is already part of Christmas folklore and ritual for the children of the King Girls and their growing families; yet, I don’t know what to call it. I want to call it tradition, but evidently, it is not. At least, not yet. I am going to borrow the word for this story, though, since I don’t know of another word to use.

Like most traditions, no one planned it or even saw it coming. Like most traditions, it began as nothing.

2007

Emma had stretched a ligament in her ankle at a practice for the vicious middle-school girls’ church basketball league. She had surgery over Christmas break to tighten it. Jordan Lee came to Dothan to cheer her. While grocery shopping, I picked up a marked-down gingerbread house. I thought the kids would have fun decorating it together, especially since Emma was housebound.

Emma was high on Lortab and dozing on the sofa when the other three decided to assemble the house. I smiled as I imagined the priceless image of my children and their precious college-aged cousin sharing a sweet—albeit forgetful—moment. Soon, their shouts woke me from my daydream. They were about to duke it out in the kitchen over whose turn it was to squeeze the icing! They cared deeply about whether or not to put icicles on the roof! They were not SHARING! They were COMPETING! In between licking their fingers, they were smack-talking each other over the placement of gumdrops!

S6300454

2008

They had acted so mean to each other that I bought two gingerbread houses to diffuse the festive tension.

It didn’t really help.

Jordan Lee, Abby, and Emma participated in the “family bonding” activity. After their tempers cooled, we decided that everyone needed his/her own house, and if the kids insisted on arguing over this sugar-coated fun, then we needed to organize a competition.

gingerbread 2008

2009

The Great King Family Gingerbread Throwdown officially began. Team Jeremy/Phillip out-decorated the girls in a stunning upset.

gingerbread 2009 - 2

Rules are ameliorated every year to adjust to new ideas and new cheaters added to the family. Basically, the rules are:

  • Everyone has a partner, which changes from year to year
  • A one-hour time limit, but houses are assembled before the clock begins
  • Impartial judges
  • All items must be edible and only items on the table may be used; no running all over the house for stuff
gingerbread 2011b

Finger-licking and nibbling are allowed, expected even.

gingerbread 2012

In 2012, Justin and Ellen couldn’t be with us, so they judged via skype.

gingerbread 2012c

Although the competition has always been held at Starla’s house, the location is not part of the tradition nor is the date. Starla likes to hold it before Christmas, because she enjoys using the bright and colorful gingerbread houses to adorn her own house for the holidays. She has saved them a time or two for the following year, and they hold up pretty well in her cool, damp basement. But location and date are just details. As more weddings are held and more babies are born, the act of gathering will become more difficult. The day might come where July 4th sees fireworks exploding outside the house and within it as well. If Independence Day were to be the best day for us to celebrate being an extended family, so be it.

Even then, we’ll be plotting and planning the most appropriate use of red and green M&Ms. Hopefully, we’ll be fussing about it until the Great King Family Gingerbread House Throwdown becomes true to the word tradition.

On your mark . . . get set . . . DECORATE!

gingerbread 2010

 

 

 

December 20th, 2014 by celesteconner@comcast.net

Searching for the Baby Jesus

I laugh at the Baby Jesus every year when we pull the Christmas decorations out of the attic.

We have an old popcorn tin full of Christmas toys. We have a Charlie Brown set with his little tree. We have all the characters from Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, including the misfit toys and Chuck’s favorite, Yukon Cornelius. (“Looky what he can do!” and “Bumbles bounce!”)

The collection began when Abby and Emma were two years old. I had my pretty, fragile manger scenes that they could not touch, so I bought a nativity play set for them. I don’t remember where it came from. One year, I represented Christmas around the World home shows, so it might have come from there. Or, I might have ordered it from the Lillian Vernon catalog that I enjoyed so much back in the days when Amazon was still just a river.

I set it up on their little table.

Baby Jesus 2

They loved it and played with it every day from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. Being toddlers, they rarely sat still to play with it. They wandered all over the house with it.

“Mommy, ‘her’s de Baby Jesus?” (Where’s the Baby Jesus? Consonant blends are tough at 2 years old.)

“I don’t know, Sweetheart. I put him on your table.”

At the beginning, I actively searched for the Baby Jesus.

I found him in the couch cushions: “I found the Baby Jesus!”

“Mommy, ‘her’s de Baby Jesus?”

“I don’t know. If you would leave him on the table, you wouldn’t lose him.”

When I wearied of looking for the Baby Jesus, I just waited until I stumbled across him.

I found him in the bathtub toys: “I found the Baby Jesus!”

“Mommy, ‘her’s de Baby Jesus?”

“I don’t know. You shouldn’t wander around with him.”

Sometimes the Baby Jesus went missing for minutes; sometimes he went missing for days.  One year, he went missing for weeks. I found him long after the Christmas decorations had been packed away. We always found him, and we always yelled, “I found the Baby Jesus!”

“Mommy, ‘her’s de Baby Jesus?”

“I don’t know. I am tired of looking for him!”

Sometimes I heard myself say, “Bring the Baby Jesus back into the house!” or “Get the Baby Jesus out of your mouth!”

We lived in Birmingham for three years, when the girls were aged 2 through 5. The Baby Jesus survived the move back to Dothan with us. By then, the girls could sit still to play with the manger scene. Phillip never seemed as interested in him, which is a good thing, because if he had been, we would have found the Baby Jesus up to his eyeballs in mud or run over by a toy John Deere.

“Mommy, ‘her’s de Baby Jesus?”

“Why, he’s right where he is supposed to be. He’ll be right here until my future grandbabies chew on him and misplace him. I will look for him–or at least be aware that he’s missing–until I can again holler, ‘I found the Baby Jesus!'”

(I’ll leave the interpretation of this story for someone wiser than I am. But there’s a Sunday School lesson in there somewhere.)

 

December 11th, 2014 by celesteconner@comcast.net

Coran’s Ears, Chapter 2

Chapter One

http://blabberingsbyceleste.com/2014/06/05/corans-ears/

Chapter Two

“Oh, Celeste, it was a wonderful day. I am so glad I could be a part of it!”

Viney hired a friend to drive Coran, his mommy Nicole, and herself to the Jamaican Christian School for the Deaf that morning. They left Hamilton Mountain at 6 am. They drove down the mountain to Ocho Rios, around the island to Montego Bay, and back up the mountain to the school. Coran tested for implants and passed the test administered by the audiologists.

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0Bzg8CscP7mRjLWg5LUdCaEQ0Mmc/edit

He returned home with one hearing aid. (I don’t know why only one.) His mommy received instructions on how to care for it and how to help him differentiate sounds.

I asked Viney if it was obvious that he heard something with it on. She said, “Oh, yes!!” She said he was “adaptable.” She said he did everything asked of him with his ever-present smile.

Plans were made for him to return in July for grade placement at the school and to begin the fall term in September.

Viney: There is a fee for the school. It is about $6,000 per term.
Me: (gulping, eyes bulging) Is a term one year?
Viney: No, a term is four months.
Me: (panting) So, there are 2 terms in a year?
Viney: No, three. (Listen with a Jamaican accent, and you’ll hear her say “tree” instead of “three.”)
Me: (calculating, blinking uncontrollably, struggling to breathe, trying to think of something coherent to say) . . .
Viney: . . . Jamaican dollars.
Me: SIXTY American dollars?!?! Two hundred dollars a year?!?! WE CAN DO THAT!!!!

I posted this information on my Facebook page. My friends responded with “Who do I make the check out to?” and “Where do I send the money?”

Of course, more than $200 was needed initially. It turned out tuition and fees were closer to $200 for the first term and $100 for the other terms. Viney had to hire a driver to take him on the 3-hour mountainous trip, and she would have to hire him a few times a year. School supplies and uniforms and tennis shoes and undies and sheets and towels and a suitcase needed to be purchased and shipped to Jamaica.

school supplies

Fifty dollar checks and $100 checks were mailed to my house or sneaked into my hand at church.

Enough money came in to have leftover to open an account for him. I asked my friend Vicki to co-sign the account with me and be treasurer of his money. She is a CPA, so she is better at counting pennies. Mostly, I wanted to keep my hands off the money to avoid any appearance of wrongdoing.

But that is detail.

Fourteen-year-old Coran began 1st grade at Jamaican School for the Deaf on September 2, 2014.

I asked Viney if he cried when his mommy left him. She said, “NO! He smiled and showed her his bed!”

Amazing.

I emailed the principal and asked for an update when she had a minute.

09/11/2014

Hello Celeste,

Good to hear from you.  Coran has settled in really well and he has already found a best friend. He is learning to sign and using it too…..that is a great step.  I am sure that he will soak this up and his communication will improve rapidly.

Feel free to email us anytime to get an update.

Here are a few pictures.

Blessings,

Dian

Coran at school 2

 

Coran at school 1

 

12/11/2014

Hi Celeste,

Great to hear from you. Coran did pretty well this term. He went home today for the holidays. He was happy to go home, he missed home. He still has his beautiful smile and he has a group of friends, they are so brotherly. They hugged when he was leaving today, it was so sweet to see.

He did exams last week but reports won’t be ready until next year when he returns to school. I will send you a copy of his progress report.

I will let you know if he is need of anything. Yes, his fee is about $60, also he has to pay approximately $28 for boarding for the term. Viney keeps up to date and I spoke with her recently.

Thank you for spearheading his right to an education, he will learn and we will prepare him as best as we can so he can become an upstanding independent and productive individual.

Take care and blessings for the holiday,

Dian

I wanted to shower him in Christmas gifts, but he has three younger siblings and lots of new friends. Somehow, that didn’t seem appropriate, especially not knowing Jamaican Christmas customs. (I need to find out his birthday!)

He will return on January 7, 2015 for his second term.

Coran can stay at JCSD until he is 18 or 19. His American friends will do their part to keep him there. Hopefully, he will one day need a passport for a trip to Vanderbilt for cochlear implants.

More to come . . . .

 

 

December 8th, 2014 by celesteconner@comcast.net

My Aubie Christmas Card Story

It’s been over a decade. My feelings have somewhat recovered, and my embarrassment has abated a bit. I love a good story, even if it’s at my own expense, so I’ll tell you exactly what happened.

Back in 2004, one of our local boys was a Friend of Aubie at Auburn University. One Saturday that summer, Aubie came to our church. An orange and blue backdrop with orange and blue balloons was set up in the gym for folks to pose for pictures. Everyone passed around their cameras. Aubie signed AUtographs.

Aubie

It was an AUsome afternoon.

It was an AUsome year to send an Auburn Christmas card, too. The Tigers went undefeated that fall. We received several cards with pictures taken on that same summer day with “Merry Christmas” and “War Eagle” expressed in a variety of ways.

Never one to leave well enough alone, I wanted to add a Bible verse to our cute picture which expressed my family’s love for Auburn—and Jesus, of course. I chose Isaiah 40:31.

I marveled at my cleverness and creativity.

sore

Every Christmas, I hand write the addresses on the envelopes. Every Christmas, Chuck asks, “Don’t you want me to print labels for you?” Every Christmas, I say, “No, thanks. I like to see the names of the people that I love.”

“I could print them out in minutes. It takes you days to address them all.”

“It’s okay. I like to touch the names of the people that I love. I like to think about each one before I mail them.”

“I don’t mind.”

“IT’S MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT CHRISTMAS, OKAY?!?!”

So, Chuck printed the cards for me–but not the labels! I stuffed and sealed and stamped each envelope. (I do like a return-address label, because writing my own address over and over would be boring and laborious, not to mention time-consuming and tedious.) I dropped them in the mail and marked them off my list.

A couple of days later, I saw Melissa. We grew up in church together. Our parents were friends. Her daddy called me Queenie. He said I was the queen of the Kings. Melissa is three years younger than I am, so she doesn’t remember life without me. She and I have each buried both of our parents. We each lost the first one quickly and unexpectedly, and we lost the other slowly and agonizingly. We have borne each others burdens as we walked rocky roads. Therefore, we have earned the right to say to (or about) each other whatever we want. (That’s why I’ll tell you that she is not “on” Facebook, but she stalks it through one of her sisters’ accounts every day.)

ANYWAY, when Melissa saw me, she grinned wickedly and asked, “Celeste, how do you spell soar?”

Sucker punch.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

I knew IMMEDIATELY what she meant and what I had done.

They will sore on wings like eagles.

I had printed it on my adorable Christmas card and sent it out to 200 of my closest friends all over the South and to beloved Yankee cousins in New York.

My people delighted in my oversight. I heard about my goof quite a bit for quite a while. (FYI, never give Bama fans a reason to gloat over you.)

I licked my wounds and stayed out of public for most of the year. (I’M KIDDING!! But I didn’t even know to rejoice that there was no social media. Thank you, Jesus.)

The following year, my friend NancyBorland (That’s not a typo. That’s her name: NancyBorland.) told me to dress up my kids as shepherds and misspell Luke 2:9. I didn’t go to that extreme (besides the girls were middle schoolers and never would have agreed), but I did have a cute pic from vacation that would work.

It wasn’t our main Christmas card. I asked Chuck to print just a couple of dozen (“Don’t you want me to print labels?”) . . .

. . . and I only cent it to my friends with a since of humor.

soar
December 5th, 2014 by celesteconner@comcast.net

In the Meantime

Read a good book. Go to the library and check out a hard-backed copy. Smell the pages. Listen to the plastic covering crinkle.

Read The Good Book. Start with James, and don’t skip over the part about the tongue.

Drive in the country. Walk in the park.

Rock a baby.

Sing “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog.”

Suck the juice out of an orange, then peel back the rind and devour the guts of it.

Call your oldest relative. Or better yet, visit her. Look at her fading pictures. Listen to her same old stories. Ask her to tell you about your mama.

Bake some cookies. Eat some dough.

Make a list.

Scratch a dog.

Fold the towels. Load the dishwasher.

Wander around an old cemetery. Find the person who lived the longest. And the briefest.

Catch a patch of sunshine. Feel it warm on your skin. Close your eyes.

Pick some flowers. Pull some weeds.

Paint your toenails (or at least clip them).

Write a thank-you note.

Take a long, hot bath.

Pour cold, iced tea into a jelly glass. Sip it in the bathtub.

Hold hands.

Fry some bacon in an iron skillet.

Poke around a junk shop.

Watch The Andy Griffith Show, preferably an episode with Ernest T. Bass. (“I’m a little mean, but I make up for it by being REAL healthy!”)

Buy a new coloring book and a fresh box of Crayola crayons, not cheap ones.

Pray without ceasing.

Count your blessings.

Mama King's diary 2