tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77068644567091357472023-11-15T08:54:28.813-08:00It Just So Happens"Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous" Albert EinsteinAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-80979289907300160992016-05-31T06:25:00.000-07:002016-05-31T06:25:04.458-07:00Kindness repayed?
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My friend John told me this story
of coincidence and how it can change things. Maybe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">John was from New York City,
where his parents still lived, but at the time he was working in Washington, DC
and lived in Virginia. The rush hour going home each day was a hassle, with
several lanes of traffic headed out of the capitol city. This day there was a
car pulled onto the wide median, obviously broken down. Four men stood around
it. This was in the days before cell phones, and calling for help was much
harder than it is today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Although it was against his usual
habits, John pulled off onto the median behind the disabled vehicle. He said
that he had never done that before. He offered to take one of the men to the
next off ramp and find a telephone to call a tow truck. (Aren't you glad we
have cell phones now?) They did just that, and on the way back to the broken
down car, John asked where they were from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"We're from Acme Company
(not the real name)," the man answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"We're here from New York City."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"What do you know!"
John said. "My father lives in New York City and works for Acme!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"Acme has two offices,"
the man replied. "One in New York City and one in Washington, DC. We have
to close one of them, and we are visiting both, trying to decide which one.
It's a hard decision."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">By then they were back to the
disabled automobile, where they parted company. A couple of days later it was
announced that Acme was closing the Washington office. John's father kept his
job. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If John had not stopped to help
the stranded motorists, would the result have been the same? Or was John's
kindness the little nudge it took to make the decision? If he had passed on by,
would the choice been different? Or did those guys say, "You know, it's so
hard to pick which location to close, and that man was so nice to stop and
help, let's let his father keep his job." ? Or what if John had driven by
that spot an hour earlier, or an hour later? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he didn't. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Coincidence. God's way of
remaining anonymous. Or maybe a test.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-40158994650297819162016-05-24T03:37:00.000-07:002016-05-24T03:37:00.489-07:00I write fiction--I think.
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Some time ago I wrote a novel
that I titled "Broussard Court". I later decided to leave open the
possibility of making this a series, so I added "The New Witch" to
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It tells the story of several
women who are drawn (by the 'spirits') to New Orleans, where they find rooms in
one of the apartments surrounding a courtyard, known as Broussard Court. A shop
is adjoining, and all are managed by Madame Clothide Badeaux, nee Broussard.
Madame was the granddaughter of a slave who, as was typical, took the name of
her owner as her own surname. Madame 's father was the son of the slave and the
plantation owner, set free upon the owner's death. Lighter skinned, Madame's
sister, Adeline, 'passed for white' and moved to the East Coast and kept her
past a secret. It is Adeline's granddaughter who inherits Broussard Court,
apartments and shop when Madame dies. Until then, Addie knows nothing about New Orleans or her black grandmother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When I started the tale, I wanted
typical French names, nothing too common nor too unusual. As is usual for me, I
changed the names several times before I lit on ones that were 'just right'.
Broussard is a common French surname in south Louisiana, so I picked that for
the plantation owner and his slave, Madame's grandmother, and by extension for
her father and his three children. For her married name it took a little
longer. I worked with a name I had come across when in that area—Breaux (from
the town of Breaux Bridge, Louisiana). I changed it a little and it finally
ended up as Badeaux. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Now we are getting to the
coincidence part. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Quite some time after writing the
novel, after I had it professionally edited and started sending queries to
agents, on a completely unrelated interest, I had my DNA tested by
Ancestry.com. Working on the family tree is an intriguing hobby. I now have 400
plus pages of people whose DNA matches mine. On many of them I can look at
their tree and mine and see how we are related (actually Ancestry does that for
me) but there are many more folks who I don't have a clue how we fit. I know
they are kin, though, because the test shows we are from the same line of
ancestors in one way of another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So here is the coincidence: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I have a 4<sup>th</sup> cousin.
The 'code name' she goes by is MsNancy. Already there's a coincidence, but
nothing really special. MsNancy may be my 4<sup>th</sup> cousin, but I don't
see any mutual ancestors on our family tree. What I DO see is:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Her several times great-grandfather
was Jacques Francois Broussard. His son married Adeline, daughter of Claire
Buteau (spelled differently but pronounced almost the same as my Badeaux.).
Adeline, grand-daughter of Pierre Buteau) was born in 1685 in Ile Orleans, Quebec,
Canada. I wonder if she too, like my character, had a sister named Clothilde? Eventually the family migrates to "the East Coast", New York.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So how am I related to the
Broussards and Buteaus? By way of imagination, or maybe race memory, I guess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It's just a coincidence. Isn't
it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-59483289445681447842016-05-17T16:02:00.000-07:002016-05-17T16:02:04.449-07:00It's a small, small world
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It's a common occurrence to run
into someone you know. You are shopping at Walmart and see someone from your
church, or maybe you are shown to a table at a restaurant and sitting at the
next table is somebody from work. We all have those moments. But how often are
you on vacation and see someone from back home? It happens—at least it's
happened to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And how often, when you are on
vacation, do you meet somebody who knows one of your family members?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Let me explain what I mean. Often
when on vacation my husband and I would strike up a conversation with another
couple, and the usual question would soon be asked. "Where are you folks
from?" Or maybe someone would have noticed something on our car that
indicated we were from Arkansas. On every trip—we watched for it—someone would
say, "We met a girl from Arkansas earlier this summer (or last summer, or
two years ago.) She was working at the camp our daughter went to/running our
vacation Bible school/teaching a class/etc. Her name was . . ." And you
can bet it was our daughter, Holly. These vacationers might be from California
or Pennsylvania or Florida. It didn't matter where. On a vacation, we'd meet
someone who knew or had met Holly. I'll admit she did get around a bit on her
summer volunteer projects, but to meet people who knew her in a completely different state far
away from either our home or theirs was something else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a coincidence that we came to expect
wherever we went. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Another coincidence involving
meeting people occurs regularly at our local genealogy library, The Melting
Pot. It is a good sized place, having several thousand books. It is open two
days a week, Monday and Friday from 10am to 2pm, and is staffed by volunteers.
I work one day a month—the first Friday. It was already a joke that anybody who
comes in to research their family tree always finds a cousin. That's because
the 'regulars', the volunteers who work most often, were mostly born and raised
in Garland County or the surrounding area, and are related to many of the
founding families. A stranger can come in and when they leave they have a
family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was working my Friday about six
weeks ago. I was in a back aisle, matching index cards to books in the Texas
section. I could hear what was going on 'up front', (we aren't a keep quiet
kind of library) but I wasn't paying much attention, when I heard the name
"Mehaffey". I spoke up. "I have Mehaffey's" I called out
and went to where the conversation was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I have to tell you first that
although I and my parents moved to this county when I was a teen, neither I nor
they were raised here. My parents were born and raised in Arkansas, but not in
this county. Life took them other places and when they decided they wanted to move
back to Arkansas, they chose this beautiful, artistic town to live. It is centrally
situated in the state so they could reach their siblings and other loved ones within
a few hours drive in one direction or another. Other than one of my children
who now lives here, there are no relatives of mine in the county (but plenty of
my husband's). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So the Mehaffey I was kin to
wasn't in this county. Genealogists will recognize how I can stretch and find
the kinship. My great-grandfather's sister married a Mehaffey in DeKalb County Georgia.
He died (killed in the Civil War, I believe. Think the burning of Atlanta) and
when the family moved from Georgia to Arkansas by covered wagon, sister
Mehaffey and children came too. But not to this county.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So I went to the front of the
library and explained the connection. The couple who were researching had come
from Utah to find out more about her father's roots, and they came to the
Melting Pot Library because of our size. In trading information, we never did
find the exact connection between us, BUT (and this is important) she called up
her DNA relatives on her laptop, and there I was. We ARE kin. We couldn't
figure out exactly how, but we will.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">What a coincidence! They came all
the way from Utah, to a library that happened to be open the day of the week
they ended up in Hot Springs, and it was the one day of the month I, a
relative, was working, and I overheard the family name and recognized it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Coincidence? Or God's way of
remaining anonymous?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-7376330334810219732016-03-01T07:20:00.000-08:002016-03-01T07:20:46.478-08:00The Blessings Jar
<br />
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For many years, my church has performed the same ritual, or
a variation thereof, on the first Sunday in January.. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
We are given a sheet of paper. On it we write the things we
are wishing for in the new year, OR we write
the things we want to do away with—bad habits and all. It's the minister's choice. I might write
"be on time", or "eat healthy foods", or on the other side
of the coin, I might say "I will stop being negative" or "I will
not procrastinate." <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My statements
might be like wishes on birthday candles: " I will be in perfect health
this year," or "My books will become best sellers." Then we walk
up front and stick the paper into the flame of a candle, and burn those words—send
them out to the universe, so to speak. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In another version of the same thing, we write on our piece
of paper, put it in an envelope, seal it, and put it in the offering plate when
it comes around. Next December it will be mailed back to us so we can see that
everything that has materialized. (Yeah, right.) I don't think I've ever seen one thing
in my envelope come to pass. I'm never more patient, neater, thinner, nor more
organized. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This year I was expecting the same old same old, but the
minister surprised us. She had us bring a
jar to church, and she handed out a slip of paper that reads, "My
Blessings Jar. When you experience a blessing, write it down and put it in here
& count your blessings whenever you need a lift." We taped the message
on the outside of the jar and put it where we would see it every day. I think this is going to work--maybe not exactly the way it's stated on my jar, but in an even better way.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Counting your blessings is certainly a good idea, but I see
another benefit to the slips of paper in the jar—actually looking for
blessings. I think we often overlook the good things that come to us, but we
are all too eager to tell the bad things that come along. And there are even some people who says things like "that always happens to me" or "nothing good ever happens". With the jar sitting by the computer, and
I'm on the computer every day, my attention is drawn to the good in my life—that
extra little bump that makes me say "Thank you, God!", since something has occurred that is
more than just having a good day. I'm sure I'll be counting those blessings
more often than I used to. I'm just as sure that if I wasn't writing them on
slips of paper and putting them where I can see them every day, I'd forget to
actively watch for them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So that stirred up something else in my thought process. Why
not do the same thing for coincidences? If what Albert Einstein said, (or
whoever really did say it, if not him,) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Coincidences are God's way of remaining
anonymous," is true, then coincidences are signposts, pointing the way to
. . . what? A discovery? Could coincidences really be arrows showing us the
path? Like signs that say, "turn here", "go this way," or
"stop before you get hurt," maybe we need to pay closer attention. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Some years ago I watched a TV program about people who won
the lottery (or more than one.) One of the people they featured was a man who
had won (and was still winning) lotteries. He said he watched for numbers
wherever he went. He remembered the numbers, and if they repeated, that's the
numbers he played. He had trained himself to be aware of the numbers around
him: street numbers, dates, time, phone numbers, etc. In one instance, he
stopped to help a woman who had a flat tire. As he changed it for her,
he took mental note of her license number. When he bought his lotto card for
the day, he picked her license number. It won big. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I'm a reader. Writers are, you know, or they wouldn't be
writers for long. There are times coincidences come by way of the books I
choose. I'll pick a book completely at random, and then the next one, and the
next, and I'll find that something about them is the same. It might be
similarity in the base on which the plot is formed, or the characters have the same name, or the books take place in
the same city. Mind you, I haven't read the cover or a review, or anything else
that would have told me, but there they are, alike in one or more ways. I
remember one time I read three novels in a row that all took place in the
forests of the far northwest. I had no idea until I was deep into each book.
Just a coincidence. Hmm. Just because I notice the coincidences doesn't mean I know what it means.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I'm putting a little notebook beside the computer, and
like the blessing jar reminds me to watch for blessings, I hope the notebook
will help me watch for coincidences. I can only anticipate that they will point
me somewhere I need to go . . .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or think
about. Maybe they'll point me toward a blessing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-32375437209385241152016-02-16T06:45:00.001-08:002016-02-16T06:45:45.863-08:00What's In a Name? A Rose by Any Other Name isn't a Coincidence.I've mentioned here before that genealogy is a hobby of mine. It's like solving a mystery, going back in time like that, finding our relatives and how they lived. My daughter caught the bug too, and likes to delve in the past--ours or someone else's.<br />
<br />
She's currently working on her mother-in-law's genealogy. It is especially interesting because her MIL was adopted at age two weeks, and didn't learn this until she was well into adulthood. The clues they had (such as her MIL's birth mother's name) took her just so far, then DNA took her further.<br />
<br />
Before telling more of this story, I have to tell you that her MIL is very patriotic. Her home is decorated in red, white, and blue and she has Americana in every room. She drives a red car, red being her favorite color. July 4 is a really big day at their house.<br />
<br />
So a few days ago, my daughter had gotten as far back as her MIL's great-grandmother. She called. "You'll never guess what your great-grandmother's name was."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I hope it was Liberty. Liberty or America. I've always wished my name was Liberty or America. When I was a little girl I used to pretend it was!" she replies.<br />
<br />
I'll give you two guesses what great-grandmother's name was, and the first one doesn't count.<br />
<br />
God Bless . . . .Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-11329714854545497242016-02-08T07:35:00.000-08:002016-02-08T07:36:50.734-08:00My ValentineThis is the tenth Valentine's Day I've spent without my own Valentine. It's easier than it was the first one.<br />
<br />
The first one, he'd been gone six months, and I was really sad to be without him. It had been getting better, but Valentine's Day is the day of the year you really want your sweetheart with you.<br />
<br />
I had cried off and on all day. Not the big, sobbing kind of crying, just the kind that catches you off-guard and has the tears flowing again. Memories that flash suddenly, without warning, and puts that lump back in your throat.<br />
<br />
I cried a bit as I went to sleep that night. As is common among those of us who are 'a certain age', I woke in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I was still sure-footed enough that I didn't turn on the light. Coming back, in the doorway from bathroom to bedroom I stepped on something soft and furry. I backed up a half-step and turned on the bathroom light. It was a small stuffed rabbit which a friend had given Jim when he was in the hospital. There it was, in the path I had taken a minute earlier.<br />
<br />
I stopped telling people this story when they started saying, "It must have been there before. You just didn't notice it." Yeah, right. A stuffed animal was on the floor in the doorway to the bathroom and I just didn't notice it. I guess that's as likely to some people as the thought that Jim put it there for me.<br />
<br />
The rabbit sits on the old trunk that serves as my nightstand. It's been there for ten years now.<br />
<br />
Some people will say it was just a coincidence it appeared there on Valentine's night.<br />
I say it was Jim letting me know he is still close by.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-58762867799632349162016-02-02T07:45:00.000-08:002016-02-02T07:45:13.792-08:00Genealogy and Books((Sigh)). Ok, I admit it. I've been so lazy about this blog. I haven't posted in . . . well . . . it's been a long time. Not that I think anybody has missed it, but still, when I start something, I really should keep it up. Like cleaning house . . .well, let's forget about that.<br />
<br />
I'm still noticing coincidences, and one of these days I'll get back to writing about them. For now, let me tell you about my writing, and, come to think about it, about how coincidences shape the series that Betrayal on the Brazos has turned in to.<br />
<br />
The idea really started with genealogy. That's one of my interests, and one of my daughters, the one who lives nearby, has inherited that interest. We have both my family and that of my late husband, traced back a long, long way. And the weird thing we found was the coincidences that show up along the way.<br />
<br />
Now I don't know if I can explain this properly in a blog, but stay with me while I try. We keep finding long ago relatives who live next door to, or marry into a family, of people who show up in 'modern times'. Example: My mother-in-law was orphaned and adopted as a young child. Her adopting mother was a cousin of her father. That branch of the family had moved here from Indiana maybe 50 years previously. Her adopting father's family moved here from Tennessee a generation previously. In Tennessee, they lived NEXT DOOR to the ancestors of the man my mother-in-law would eventually marry.<br />
<br />
And my daughter and I have ceased to be surprised at the numerous coincidences that pop up. People from one side marrying into a branch of the other side, a hundred years before the modern couple even meet. <br />
<br />
She's working on the tree of her mother-in-law, who was adopted and knew very little of her biological parents. Wouldn't you know I'd find that in her lineage was the same ancestor from my husband's side of the family--back in 1700s Virginia. That means my daughter and her husband are very distant cousins. <br />
<br />
Edgar Cayce said we reincarnate with the same groups of people, and it looks like that is what is happening. If you believe in reincarnation. And I do.<br />
<br />
So what does that have to do with my books? <br />
<br />
Betrayal on the Brazos is the first in the series Tales From the Brazos. All the books will take place on or near the Brazos River. Some of them will emphasize the complete name of the river, The River of the Arms of God, and that name will have meaning to the story. They will not be written in chronological order, but can be read in any order. Each one is a stand alone story, but characters will show up in various books, much as in real life we meet a person, lose track of them, and meet them again later. Just as coincidences happen in real life, they'll happen in the lives of my characters.<br />
<br />
So far, the earliest book in the series, time-wise, is Betrayal on the Brazos, which starts in approximately 1875 when Maggie's uncle sends her to the fictional town of Rock Springs, Texas, to care for her cousin's children. There are laughs and love, along with murder, before the Happily Ever After.<br />
<br />
My WIP (work-in-progress) is set a couple of years later, and it is about Rachel, who moves her family by covered wagon from Mississippi to Texas to join her husband on the same ranch where Betrayal on the Brazos takes place. There are lots of surprises, both good and bad, and you'll meet some characters you met in Betrayal. The title of this one is Wherever Life Leads. Coincidences play a big part in this one.<br />
<br />
Just because it is the next chronologically, that doesn't mean I haven't been writing others in the series. Gussie and the Cherokee Kid is next one to be released. It is set in 1901 and follows the daughter of a character in Betrayal on the Brazos as she accompanies orphaned six-year-old Julia, to her uncle in Rock Springs. Full of more laughs and love, I think you'll like it. Release date is Feb. 10, 2016.<br />
<br />
Next is The Marriage Bargain, set in 1932. The Brazos River plays a big part in this one, along with the full meaning of the river's name. It has a lot more action and some sadness. That's the way life is, you know. Some fun. Some not so much. But if you have faith, it all works out in the end. Release date for that one is March 30, 2016.<br />
<br />
When I finish Wherever Life Leads, I have lots of options about what to write next. I have sticky-notes all around my computer monitor with ideas, and I have ordered scads of books to give background whichever direction I go. I even have one that will involve the mob and be full of tension, but I can't write that one yet until I pull the series closer to present time so I can connect the characters. I don't know yet how it will connect to those long-ago people I've already written about, but it will. The coincidence just hasn't shown up yet.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, maybe I'll start with the young man who comes back from WWI damaged in mind and body and the young woman who helps him. Or maybe the young woman who learns to fly airplanes, or Julia, who grows up to fall in love with the boy next door, who owns a vineyard and winery--during prohibition. <br />
<br />
In YOUR meantime, start looking for coincidences in your own life. Remember, they are signs of something. It's up to you to figure out just what!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-60729953110781091862014-01-13T13:39:00.000-08:002014-01-13T13:39:04.703-08:00What is Truth?
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
Recently one of my daughters shared a 'saying' on Facebook
that has been in my thoughts since I commented that day. It wasn't the first
time I had reflected on the idea, just the most recent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
I can't quote it exactly, but it was something like
"Just because it's popular doesn't make it true". And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>, my friends is very true. It
started me thinking, not for the first time, about all the ideas over the
centuries society has declared true—ideas that turned out to be very wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
I could write a whole blog just on that—and sometime I might—but
today I want to talk about just one such happening.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
I've been reading a lot recently, some books for just fun,
some books on interests of mine, and some as research for a possible sequel to
BETRAYAL ON THE BRAZOS, my romance/western/mystery to be published by Soul Mate
Publishing this summer. Which character shall I base a sequel on? What
direction will it take? What time period should I use? Some of my reading is
exploring these questions, and one of those books related a situation in which
society treated a whole segment of people in a manner most people at the time thought
was wise and true. I think differently. See what you think. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
This winter has been especially hard on people in America.
The weather has been severe, with snow deep and temperatures colder than usual.
Now, imagine yourself and your family—your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whole
family</i>—walking 900 miles in this snow and ice. This winter is the 175<sup>th</sup>
anniversary of the Trail of Tears: the forced removal of 18,000 Cherokee
Indians from eastern Tennessee, northwest North Carolina, northeast Alabama,
and northwest Georgia. Seven thousand soldiers rounded them up, put them in
stockades, burned their homes to the ground, dug up graves looking for gold and
silver, then marched them 900 miles through Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois,
Missouri, and Arkansas until they reached "Indian Territory", the
place that is now called Oklahoma. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
Society thought they were doing the 'right thing'. They were
sure the 'truth' was that Native Americans were immoral heathens, hell-bent on
murdering virtuous white people. Society thought it was noble that the army
didn't just kill all the Cherokees, and 'gave' them new land that they could
possess and live on "as long as rivers run and grass grows". Some
promise, huh?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
It may be a surprise to some people today to learn that the
Cherokee were a civilized group. They had towns and lived in houses, not
teepees. They farmed and raised cattle and various crops. They had a written
language and published their own newspaper, which was printed in both Cherokee
and English. In many instances they came to the aid of whites when needed. In
my own husband's genealogy, the Cherokee chief Nancy Ward gave orders that <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>corn be given to his ancestor when a party of
white men in a canoe came asking for help to survive the winter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
Many of the Eastern Band of Cherokees hid out, and therefore
avoided the Trail of Tears, but in the decades that followed, some of these families
decided to join their relatives in Indian Territory. That included ancestors
from my side of the family and my husband's (separately).<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
On my side, the Jacob Knight family came to northwest Arkansas
just after the Civil War and visited back and forth with family members who had
settled previously in northeast Oklahoma. Although they didn't march on the
Trail of Tears, they seemed to have followed the same route, since at least one
of the older children stayed in Kentucky when they came through there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
On my husband's side, Naomi Cherokee married a white man,
Charles Brumbelow and they started west. When they paused in McNairy County,
Tennessee, an older daughter, Louvenia, stayed there and married John
Gillentine Gooch. They were my husband's ancestors. The rest of the family
proceeded west, where they stayed in north Arkansas during the Civil War, then
proceeded to Texas. Naomi didn't make it that far. She died on the trip.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
During the Trail of Tears, 4,000 people died along the way
and were buried in shallow graves along the way. Most of them were children and
the elderly. Could you walk 900 miles? In the winter? Not me. And I would have
had to have gone. No excuses. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
All this is recounted in WALKING THE TRAIL, by Jerry Ellis,
who walked the trail on the 150<sup>th</sup> anniversary. He walked it in
reverse; that is, he started in Tahlequah, Oklahoma—the Cherokee capitol—and traced
the trail back to his home in Alabama. The scenes in Tahlequah brought back a
lot of memories for me. That's where my grandparents lived after my grandfather
retired from the oil fields. We used to visit Tahlequah every summer, where I
would stretch out and enjoy the cool wood floor as I listened to my step-grandmother's
stories of the ghost who scared her and her friends who spent the night in the
old Murrell house when she was young.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
So what does all this have to do with coincidences? <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
You'll have to read WALKING THE TRAIL to find out. When you
do, I think you'll agree with Albert Einstein. And I hope you'll think more
about whether most people believing a certain way makes it true.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-65731636738621047252013-10-18T12:55:00.000-07:002013-10-18T12:55:07.974-07:00As The Pendulum Swings
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
Decisions, decisions! Do you have a hard time, sometimes,
choosing between one thing and another? Do you ever use a pendulum to make the
choice?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
I learned about pendulums way back in what (in the old days)
was called Junior High School. Our science teacher explained the way farmers
divided a bunch of chicks into hens and roosters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
The farmer would make a pendulum by threading a needle so it
could hang down about a foot. He would hold it over each chick. It would either
go around in a circle or swing back and forth. Now I can't remember which way
was which for male/female, but that's the way it was done. I learned it doesn't
have to be a needle, it can be anything you can hang, like a button or key.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
Yes, I know you are going to say that you influence what it
does and can make it swing any direction you want it to. You're just going to
have to take my word that I don't do that. I hung it over my belly each time I
was pregnant, and it came out right all four times. Test it out over your
friends or pets. You'll see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
One of my friends uses this method to choose what she is
going to order off a menu. She points to an item with her left hand and holds
her keys dangling from her right. Of course to me that's no test, since
anything would be right, IMO, but I tried something similar today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
I've decided to try to find a literary agent for my novel,
BROUSSARD COURT. This takes a lot of research, as all writers know, to find an
agent who (1) is accepting new clients and (2) likes the genre you are
pitching. One of my first choices is a firm that represents one of my favorite
authors. This author writes women's lit with an edge of mysticism—sort of like
what I do. In researching this firm I found a couple of agents who are taking
new clients. I couldn't decide which one to pitch to. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
So I made a pendulum—out of a paper clip, of all things. It
swung forward and back for one agent and side to side for the other. I'm taking
forward and back as nodding 'yes' and side to side as shaking my head 'no'.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
And in that way, I chose which agent is for me. Now it may
not work out. She might not like my work. I'll let you know what happens.
Nothing fast, I'm quite sure. The publishing business is a slow process.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
I have a beautiful agate pendulum that I bought at a bead
and stone shop some years back, but I don't know what I did with it. It
probably wouldn't work any better than a paper clip, though, or a needle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
Have you ever worked with a pendulum? Let us know how it
worked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-66304701778013614912013-08-14T13:06:00.000-07:002013-08-14T13:06:25.850-07:00Someone Dark Has Found Me
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Those readers, friends, and family who keep up with what I
write know that I have a varied and quirky subject list for my stories.
Leprechauns, hoo-doo, ghosts, angels, djinns, spirits, out-of-body travel, spells,
the mystical properties of gemstones. Nothing is out of reach in my stories and
novels, both published and yet-to-be published. That makes it hard when I'm
submitting to agents and publishers. My stories don't fit into any one genre. A
little bit of western. A touch of paranormal. A soupcon of romance. A dash of murder.
A few spells thrown in for good measure. Sure! Why not? Because it makes it
hard to find the right 'place' for them, that's why not. Publishers want
specific genres, not the mystical stew I cook up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So I was pleasantly surprised to find a book as varied in
genre and quirky as those I write—if not more so.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
Someone Dark Has Found Me, by John
Orr, starts with three debonair, witty, attractive, private detectives (imagine
Remington Steele, Sam Spade, and…well, any other good-looking, wise-cracking PI),
and they meet a witch…with a W, not a B. She's a well-known restaurateur in
their town of Pala Alto, California, and she needs their help, more than you'd
ever believe. With disbelieving 'normal' cops trying to arrest them at every
turn, it's hard to fight the evil that (or who) is trying to destroy them. It's
the witch's brother, of all people. There are murders that aren't murders, an eccentric
computer developer, a magic cat, sympathetic trees, and all sorts of interesting
things going on. I'd try to explain it to you but I don't think I can do it as
well as author John Orr did. He made the whole thing make sense. You won't get
lost in this story, I promise.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Written with a lot of humor and a terrific voice, Someone
Dark Has Found Me would make a great TV series, IMO. I can see this group
solving 'everyday' crimes, as well as those with magic involved. I'm looking
forward to another book featuring these people. The only thing I'd change is
the cover. The author would be well-served to see what Farah Evers
could cook up for him. She produces spot-on covers at a reasonable rate, and
this book deserves a different cover.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So if you relish weird and unusual stories, and I have to
assume you do or you wouldn't be reading my blog, buy a copy of Someone Dark
Has Found Me by John Orr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enjoy!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In the meantime I'm working on a sequel to Broussard Court,
the story of spirits, hoodoo, rescued people, spells, charms, protective
gemstones, et al, set in New Orleans. No, you can't buy it yet, but a publisher
is 'interested', so hopefully you will be able to before long. I'm working on a
new cast of people the spirits are sending to Broussard Court. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
On the side, I'm working on "Sissy and Miss Boo",
about a jilted bride and an old lady who encounter murder when they 'run away'
to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Let me know what you think about Someone Dark when you read
it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-24474865777865049412013-07-20T07:41:00.000-07:002013-07-20T07:41:47.811-07:00Paranormal and Supernatural
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Many years ago I read a graphic description of the meaning
of the words "paranormal" and "supernatural".<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In the middle of a piece of blank paper, draw a dot. This
dot represents all of mankind. Now draw a circle around the dot. (The size
doesn't matter.) Everything within that circle is what mankind knows and
understands. We are familiar with this world within the circle. That's the
'normal' and 'natural'. But outside the circle is all the stuff we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">don't </i>understand. That's the paranormal
and supernatural.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The thing is—the circle keeps growing as mankind figures out
how things work. From biblical times to the middle ages, the circle expanded
slowly. Gathering momentum, it grew more rapidly. Draw another, larger circle
around mankind and the smaller circle. Mankind observed the stars and how the
earth moves around the sun. Others studied gravity, while still other men
worked out geometry and other higher math that supports today's inventions.
Most of those people were vilified for their opinions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today we can hardly keep up with the expanding
circle. Maybe it's bigger than the piece of paper. What was once 'supernatural'
is now commonplace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Even if you haven't read any commentary from the 1800s about
the possibility of inventions we take for granted, you can imagine the skepticism
and ridicule heaped on those who might have dared suggest vehicles that carried
people from America to Europe in less than a day's time, immediate
communication with people all around the earth, instant photography, and all
the other things we take for granted. Man would walk on the moon and come back
to tell about it? Foolish dreams and foolish people to believe these things
might come true. But they did begin to understand eclipses, electricity, and photography. These things were no longer paranormal events.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For a humorous look at what medieval mankind might have
thought about what we consider completely understandable events and inventions,
read Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. You'll get a
good laugh. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
But as quickly as we see the circle growing, we still keep
many subjects firmly outside our circle—out there in the realm of the
supernatural/paranormal. Coincidences that have purpose and meaning. Ghosts.
UFOs. Miracles. Auras. Telepathy. Out of body experiences. Precognition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People
who believe these happen are often made fun of, or worse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I once had a friend who was a retired Air Force navigator.
He told me it was not uncommon for Air Force pilots and navigators to
experience being followed or circled by UFOs, particularly on the Alaska to
Japan flights. They no longer reported the experience. Why? Because anyone
reporting a UFO was going to end up labeled a mental case and banned from
flying. So they just forget it—pretend to anyone not in the plane at the time
that they never saw a thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The whole world operates on cycles, patterns, sequences, spirals.
Scientists can explain why petals grow in sets of three or five, spring follows
winter, chemicals in our bodies can affect us in profound ways, sound waves we
can't hear can do damage. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Remember the old TV program Beverly Hillbillies? Whenever
they heard a chiming bell, someone appeared at their front door. Doorbells were
outside their particular circle. It was magic to them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Will we ever know why coincidences happen in threes? Not in
my lifetime, I'll bet. Will someone figure out why some places are haunted?
Maybe—maybe not. Will we discover where the UFOs come from? Yes. Someday. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The circle is getting bigger. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-22489166289374905542013-07-09T13:07:00.000-07:002013-07-10T06:12:41.507-07:00Signs and Omens of death<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Supposedly, there are many signs or portends that announce a
death is imminent. When I was writing my novel, Broussard Court, I researched a
few and put them in the book. When a picture of the person falls for no reason,
for example, or when a candle flickers and goes out without a cause, death is
close by. I used both of those to foretell the death of one of my characters.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
But I really didn't have to go any further than my family to
know about death signs. My mother's mother's family knew all about them. I had
heard about them all my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My mother's mother died when Mama was a baby, and since her
father was an oilfield worker and couldn't tend to his three children, Mama was
raised by her grandmother, Nancy Knight Wood, for whom I am named. When she was
a little older, her mother's sisters took over the job. My great-aunt Ethel
knew someone was going to die when she saw a big "ball of fire" hovering
in the air. It wouldn't do to scoff at this idea; she could name the times and
people whose demise was foretold in that way—including that of Uncle Jack, her
sister Emma's husband. I used Aunt Ethel's 'gift'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in my story "Birth and Death in Shadow
Cove" which was published recently in Elements of Life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elements-Life-Birth-Death-ebook/dp/B00BC7AEFG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1373461767&sr=1-1&keywords=Elements+of+Life+Nancy+Gibson">http://www.amazon.com/Elements-Life-Birth-Death-ebook/dp/B00BC7AEFG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1373461767&sr=1-1&keywords=Elements+of+Life+Nancy+Gibson</a></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My mother had a sign for death, also. She dreamed about
mice. I don't know what in the world mice had to do with death, but it's so. I remember
the time it was brought home, so to speak. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It was a hot summer day, and as was our habit after supper
each evening, my parents and I and the next door neighbors were sitting in lawn
chairs between the two houses, in the shade of the house, visiting. My mother was worrying
aloud, because she had dreamed about mice the night before and was worried
about who was going to die. The neighbors were interested and amused by her
tale of dreams of mice meaning death. My father was outright scoffing at the
idea, while my mother was telling of instances it had happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Then the phone rang. My mother went in the house to answer
it. It was her family calling. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her cousin Bud was closest to her in age. Her Aunt Emma had
nursed both Bud and Mama when they were infants. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That hot summer day he had been fishing with a
friend. The boat overturned and Bud had a heart attack and drowned while trying
to swim to shore.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
No one made fun of Mama's dreams any more. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Fortunately, I didn't inherit any 'gift' of foretelling
death. I'm glad. It's something I don't want. But I like writing about such
things. They are such a puzzle. There are so many 'why's, all unanswered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There was at least one person in my lineage whose gift
foretold good things, not bad. This happened just after the Civil War, the story goes, so it
must have been Nancy Knight's mother, Rebecca Little Knight, who had the vision
of her son standing in the doorway, leaning against the side. "It must
mean he has been killed," the people around her said. "No," she
replied. "It means he is safe and coming home to me." And he was. And
he did. And leaned in the doorway just as the vision had foretold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Happy visions and dreams!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-8983783204703314202013-07-06T22:07:00.003-07:002013-07-06T22:07:57.340-07:00Signs
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Are coincidences signs? Are they leading you along a path—the
path you are supposed to travel? What happens if you ignore them and go a
different direction? Some people say nothing bad will happen. Others can point
to a time when a coincidence kept them from being in an accident, or led them
to something good.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There is an old story I've heard told from the pulpit of a
church more than once.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There was a terrible flood. The river was rising and the
people were told to evacuate their homes and go to higher ground. One old man
wouldn't leave. The police went door-to-door telling people to move out. The
old man said, "I'm not going. God will save me."<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The water got up to the second floor. The rescue unit sent a
boat to save the old man, but he wouldn't get in it. "God will save
me," he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When the water got even higher and the old man had moved up
onto the roof, they sent a helicopter. "Grab the ladder," they called
down to him. "No, thank you," the old man answered. "God will
save me."<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The old man drowned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When he got to heaven and met God, he asked, "God, I
put all my faith in you. Why didn't you save me?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
God answered. "Well, I sent you a boat and a
helicopter. What else did you expect?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In other words, we shouldn't ignore signs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I used to sell real estate. One day when I was on duty a
woman came in. I'll call her Sue. Here is her story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her husband was a chemist at the paper mill near our town.
They were a young couple. He was right out of college and this was his first job.
He hated the job. He hated where he worked. He hated the type chemistry he was
doing. They hated the town. They hated the school system their children would
have attended had they not gone to church school. The only thing they liked was
the fundamentalist church they attended.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They had been praying fervently about the situation, asking
God to provide a different life for them. Now, the husband's favorite college
professor was a supervisor at a plant in another state, and had offered the
husband a job doing the kind of chemistry he loved—at a substantial raise. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
BUT THEY DIDN'T KNOW IF GOD WANTED THEM TO GO.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her dilemma that day was that she didn't know whether to
list their house for sale or not. God hadn't told her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It just so happened I had another couple I had been showing
houses for over a year. The husband had been driving well over a hundred miles
a day commuting to his work in our town. To say she was picky about a house was
an understatement. I had been showing her homes for so long we had become good
friends. We knew all about each other's kids and hobbies and such. I'll call
her Rita.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I knew Sue's home was just what Rita was looking for.
Perfect size. Perfect neighborhood. Perfect price. So I asked Sue if she would
permit a 'one time showing'. That is a listing to show to one customer only. No
sign. No ad. Just the one couple looking at it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rita and husband loved it. Made a full price offer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sue and husband turned it down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
God hadn't told them whether to sell or not.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Coincidences or signs? God sends a boat. God sends a helicopter. He
sends a job. He sends a raise. He sends a buyer for your house. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Can you recognize signs? Do you ignore coincidences?</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-2437707580315345962013-07-02T16:41:00.001-07:002013-07-02T16:41:21.850-07:00More death
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Coincidences, big and little. Do they mean something? Or are
they just that—coincidences? It's up to you to decide. All I'm trying to do is
make you more aware of them—encourage you to start watching for them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Here's a sad set of 'death comes in threes'.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A few months ago my daughter told me she had reconnected
with an old college friend. I'll call her 'Mary'. They hadn't been close
friends, but they were more than just acquaintances. They hadn't been in touch
since college—many years. Facebook had done what Facebook is really good for,
reconnecting people, and they had gone through the "what are you doing
now" routine. Weeks later, my daughter got the news that Mary had
committed suicide.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Not long after that there was news of another death. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My daughter is a teacher. About ten years ago she had
"Ellis" in her fourth-grade classroom, and a couple of years later she
taught his sister, "Alice". She became acquainted with Ellis and
Alice's grandmother and great-grandmother, as did I, and we kept the friendship
through the years. Ellis was a real handful back then and continued to be at
odds with the establishment as he grew up. Then came the sad news. Ellis had
committed suicide. He was only twenty-one years old.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My daughter said, "That's two suicides. Who'll be the
third, I wonder?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Within the month a close mutual friend of ours got the news.
Her son had taken his life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As sad as these deaths are, I can't help think that the
saddest part is that they didn't realize they didn't get out of anything by
ending their lives prematurely. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
You see, life is like a classroom. You (and I) are here to
learn something. What we have to learn—what we struggle with—is different for each
of us. But whatever it is, we have to learn it. If we don't, we'll face the
same challenge in our next lifetime. If you end your current life early, you'll
have to start all over again from the beginning. Might as well buckle down and
learn the lesson this time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There's really no such thing as death, you see. We move from
this plane of existence to another, back and forth, as we experience and learn.
Whatever you struggle with is your lesson. Once you master it, it won't be hard
again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I wonder if our coincidences are clues to our lessons. Hmm….
I'll have to think about that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04007323980323118625noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706864456709135747.post-10648066770035968382013-06-28T06:30:00.003-07:002013-06-28T06:30:33.858-07:00
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Why do things happen in threes? I don't have a clue. Of
course, incidents don't <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always </i>come
in triplicate, but I'll bet if you start paying attention you'll find it occurs
more often than you are aware of. Not just big things, like death, but small
things, too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
My husband used to tease me about this one. I have a habit
of sticking change into my pocket, intending to put it in my billfold later. In
the autumn, when I start wearing coats and jackets I haven't gotten out of the
closet since the spring, I inevitably find a bill or two tucked away. Find it
in two garments? There'll always be a third to come with money hidden away. It's
nice to find a little extra cash.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Here's an odd set of three that happened a couple of weeks
ago. I have small tube lights beneath my kitchen cabinets. They have been there
since I had my kitchen remodeled about five years ago, and one of them has
remained on almost continuously since then, to give a little light in the
kitchen at night. One evening it gave way and fell to the cabinet below,
scattering tiny bits of white plastic all over the cabinet and floor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A day or two later I was changing the sheets on my bed and
decided it was time to wash the blanket. It was a king-sized maroon blanket,
one of the kind as soft as velvet—some sort of fuzz on a mesh core. It had been
showing a few signs of wear, but when it came out of the washer it had
dissolved into piles of maroon lint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had cleaned up the white plastic bits in the kitchen only to have maroon fluff
in the washer and on the floor with a trail out the back door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A couple of days passed. I was cleaning out closets and
dividing clothes and shoes into 'keep' and 'donate'. I came across a pair of
shoes I hadn't worn in a couple of years. They had slipped to the back of the closet
and I forgot about them. When I got dressed to go meet friends for lunch I
thought I'd wear those shoes. They used to be favorites. I wore them back and
forth around the house when I noticed the crumbly black stuff all over the
floors. You guessed it. The foam soles on the shoes were falling apart as I
walked, leaving a trail of black bits all over the house. Three things fell
into tiny bits and made a mess. I'm glad that set is over!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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The one that really puzzles me concerns the books I read.
Now I must explain that I have books all over my house. My mother-in-law once
told me if I got rid of all the books I'd have room to put things. What I want
room for is books. They are in shelves, in piles, in boxes under the bed, in
all sorts of places. My Kindle has seventeen pages of books I will eventually
read. I buy them new and used. I buy them online, at yard sales, and at the
Friends of the Library sales. Some are reference books, but most are fiction. I
read several different genres. The books aren't particularly similar in nature
to each other in any other way. BUT…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Often when I read one book, then a second, I notice the
second one has one or more noticeable likenesses to the first in some way. It
may be the heroine has the same job in both books. It may be their dogs have
the same name. Maybe both stories start when the dog runs away. They may make
the same references to songs or books. Perhaps there is a flood or a wind
storm. If that happens in two books, it'll happen in the third. I could be
blindfolded and pick up a book out of a pile, and it will have several
similarities to the first two. Different authors, different genres, it doesn't
matter. There will be several distinct likenesses to each other that have
nothing to do with my choosing those books. They don't become apparent until I
read them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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The most recent time that happened, the evolving plots had
the story take place in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. That's a nice
place, I'm sure, but I didn't pick out a coming-of-age story, a romance, and a
mystery because they all happened in the same area. The blurbs I read before
buying the books didn't indicate the location, only the plot. Next time this
happens I make note of the names of the books and pass them along to you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Next time—another set of three deaths. So sad.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Do you have any stories to tell? Start watching for sets of
three in your life and tell us about them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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