Todd refuses to recognize the power of his own imagination, until his best friends are in danger.
http://www.amazon.com/Todd-Terrible-Fading-Plague-ebook/dp/B004TAWN16
Monday, February 18, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Friday, February 15, 2013
She's been on my mind. Miss her...
Another beloved family member. She may not be with us any longer, but her influence and love always is.
A Grandmother’s Greatest Gift
My sons enjoyed the benefits of growing up with two grandmothers. My mother is a typically loving and attentive grandparent. She spoils and fusses over them in all the ways that grandparents are notorious for, but this story is about the boys’ other grandmother; my former mother-in-law.
Grandma Hansen was also loving and generous. Through both of my pregnancies she would accompany me to my doctor appointments, perfectly content to sit in the waiting room with her latest trashy romance novel. For weeks following the birth of my firstborn, there would be a knock at precisely five o’clock each evening, Grandpa Hansen would be on our doorstep with a cardboard box holding the dinner Grandma had made for us. If the boys came down with a bug, another cardboard box with crackers, Jell-O and 7-Up would be promptly delivered. Added to each box was every “Dear Abby” column carefully cut out and folded, that included tips or advice for new mothers.
A trip to the pediatric dentist warranted a mandatory visit to the toy store with Grandma. Her walls were papered with her grandchildren’s pictures and artwork. Nothing was ever removed or replaced she just intermittently added to the mural. Their favorite foods and beverages were routinely restocked in her refrigerator in case they stopped by.
After seven years of marriage and two children, my marriage ended, but my relationship with Grandma Hansen didn’t. After all, she’d been a part of my life for such a long time and as my sons’ Grandmother would always be family. Grandma attended peewee football and later high school football and basketball games. Her pride in her grandsons was apparent to anyone who sat within a ten foot perimeter of her seat in the bleachers.
I called Grandma regularly to say hello and deliver reports on the boys’ upcoming activities and recent antics. She would giggle with wicked delight when I would relay an anecdote about one or both of our roughnecks. Stories of childish nonsense that I’m sure she would have throttled her own kids for. Sometimes she’d make me repeat the story while she took notes, so she could make sure she had it right to repeat later.
When I remarried two years later, there was no resentment towards my new husband; her heart was wide open to the man who became stepfather to her young grandsons. Our wedding anniversary never passed without her best wishes. Her unselfish attitude meant that the boys never felt a divided loyalty. They knew they could share anything without censor. It was one of the greatest gifts she could have given them.
We lost Grandma Hansen a few years ago. She was ninety years old and had grown increasingly frail. During her last year we feared that each visit with her might be the last. We were fortunate to be able to spend time with her before she passed away. She wasn’t able to speak any longer; she just took our hands and held them tight to her heart. Words weren’t necessary. We knew what she was trying to say. We loved her too.
A Grandmother’s Greatest Gift
My sons enjoyed the benefits of growing up with two grandmothers. My mother is a typically loving and attentive grandparent. She spoils and fusses over them in all the ways that grandparents are notorious for, but this story is about the boys’ other grandmother; my former mother-in-law.
Grandma Hansen was also loving and generous. Through both of my pregnancies she would accompany me to my doctor appointments, perfectly content to sit in the waiting room with her latest trashy romance novel. For weeks following the birth of my firstborn, there would be a knock at precisely five o’clock each evening, Grandpa Hansen would be on our doorstep with a cardboard box holding the dinner Grandma had made for us. If the boys came down with a bug, another cardboard box with crackers, Jell-O and 7-Up would be promptly delivered. Added to each box was every “Dear Abby” column carefully cut out and folded, that included tips or advice for new mothers.
A trip to the pediatric dentist warranted a mandatory visit to the toy store with Grandma. Her walls were papered with her grandchildren’s pictures and artwork. Nothing was ever removed or replaced she just intermittently added to the mural. Their favorite foods and beverages were routinely restocked in her refrigerator in case they stopped by.
After seven years of marriage and two children, my marriage ended, but my relationship with Grandma Hansen didn’t. After all, she’d been a part of my life for such a long time and as my sons’ Grandmother would always be family. Grandma attended peewee football and later high school football and basketball games. Her pride in her grandsons was apparent to anyone who sat within a ten foot perimeter of her seat in the bleachers.
I called Grandma regularly to say hello and deliver reports on the boys’ upcoming activities and recent antics. She would giggle with wicked delight when I would relay an anecdote about one or both of our roughnecks. Stories of childish nonsense that I’m sure she would have throttled her own kids for. Sometimes she’d make me repeat the story while she took notes, so she could make sure she had it right to repeat later.
When I remarried two years later, there was no resentment towards my new husband; her heart was wide open to the man who became stepfather to her young grandsons. Our wedding anniversary never passed without her best wishes. Her unselfish attitude meant that the boys never felt a divided loyalty. They knew they could share anything without censor. It was one of the greatest gifts she could have given them.
We lost Grandma Hansen a few years ago. She was ninety years old and had grown increasingly frail. During her last year we feared that each visit with her might be the last. We were fortunate to be able to spend time with her before she passed away. She wasn’t able to speak any longer; she just took our hands and held them tight to her heart. Words weren’t necessary. We knew what she was trying to say. We loved her too.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Free ebook today, 2/11
Today is your last chance to download Todd and the Terrible Fading Plague for free!http://www.amazon.com/Todd-Terrible-Fading-Plague-ebook/dp/B004TAWN16
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Free ebook!
Free ebook tomorrow...2/10. Todd and the Terrible Fading Plague, a magical adventure.
http://www.amazon.com/Todd-Terrible-Fading-Plague-ebook/dp/B004TAWN16
http://www.amazon.com/Todd-Terrible-Fading-Plague-ebook/dp/B004TAWN16
Sunday, February 3, 2013
May I Please Introduce Myself?
...just an example of what I'm inspired to compose....occasionally I'll rhyme supernatural prose.
A Crow’s Lament
By Barbara Edwards
On the edge of a sea, in a broken down bungalow, lived two wretched witches and one disheartened crow. One witch was uglier. The other was meaner. Yet each insisted she possessed the most hideous looks and demeanor.
"My mug is sooo monstrous, “Percy would proudly proclaim. "I hold the place of honor in the Haunted Hall of Fame." "Big deal!" Beatrice would boldly boast, her face turning an even darker shade of green. "At the annual Witches’ Ball, I was crowned Most Unbecoming Queen."
Soon, simmering tempers would boil and bubble. The terrified crow trembled on his perch, expecting the usual trouble. Insults turned to incantations. A war of mystical words, not for the ears of impressionable children or poor defenseless birds. Spells invoking the most vile beasts to execute the witches’ will. Such intent to wish harm on each other, abused their magical skill.
The waning of each new moon reflected the crow’s growing despair. For how was fate to know an unspoiled soul was hidden in the witches’ lair?
Time drug on for the hapless bird and the ferocious battles persisted. The hexes exchanged by the hateful hags grew even more violent and twisted.
Then one blustery evening, late in November, exploding through a charcoal cloud on a broom of glowing embers, Gelinda the powerful, elder witch unexpectedly appeared. She swooped down from the skies in a fiery flash, stepping lightly from her smoldering broom. It crumbled to steam and ash. She blew open the witches’ front door with one infernal breath of air, tossing back the two cowardly crones cowering there.
"Welcome, most evil one," Percy stammered as she struggled to her feet. "Do come in. May I take your cape and hat? Please, will you have a seat?" Shoving Percy aside, Beatrice bubbled, "Your Greatness excuse our clumsy welcome. May I offer refreshment? A cup of lizard tongue tea stirred with an old troll’s thumb?"
There was no answer. It was silent as a sealed tomb. Gelinda stepped from the shadows to the center of the dismal room. Slowly she brought her arms up from beneath her heavy cape. The crow frantically looked for a darkened corner to hide, but there would be no escape.
"Such atrocities have infected my poor ears," the elder witch purred. Her voice was neither loud nor soft, a sensation felt rather than heard. "Squandering your powers is a grave violation of the coven's doctrine."
Appearing contrite, Beatrice and Percy bowed their heads to conceal evil grins. "While you've engaged in harebrained folly and wasting your talents on trifling nonsense, the villagers have enjoyed a carefree and untroubled existence.”
The smell of sulphur permeated the room as the elder witch’s anger flared. Beatrice and Percy’s smirks promptly withered. For once they both were scared.
Gelinda set a top spinning on the wooden table by her side. The witches watched the dancing toy twirl, swoop and glide. “This trinket will gage your mystical conduct. Use your powers for the evil intended and the top will continue a steady gyration. Squander your magical talents and face possible annihilation.”
With her final cryptic syllable, a frigid wind blew through room and the elder witch vanished. Pointing a bony finger, Beatrice screamed, “This is your fault! We’ll be shunned or worse, banished.” Percy’s face darkened to an emerald hue. She growled, in response, “None of this would have happened had it not been for you!”
Her lips began to move in a silent chant. Instantly, the single potted cactus became a snarling carnivorous plant. With a snap of her fingers and a nod of her head, Beatrice turned Percy’s green face red.
Too frightened to watch, the crow covered his eyes with trembling wings. Suddenly, the top began to skip and jump around the room as if it were on springs. The walls began to heave and roll, the floor to surge and fall. The witches stumbled to what had once been a door, but was now a solid wall. The crow held on to his wooden perch with all his might and vigor. The witches clawed futilely at the walls, but there was no escape. After all, their mutual misdeeds had pulled the trigger.
Wielding their wands in a deadly duel, the witches were callously breaking every coven rule. The twirling top was now a thundering twister, spinning faster and faster with each rotation. The witches didn’t notice the toy’s frenzied flight as both were intent on malicious retaliation. Like a ravenous vacuum, the top pulled every morsel of magic out of the room, out of the boiling cauldron, the cupboards and even the witches’ brooms.
Once the retribution was complete, the top rolled to an easy stop and the two former witches struggled to their feet.
Now, all that remained in the broken down bungalow were two doddering old crones and one relieved crow.
A Crow’s Lament
By Barbara Edwards
On the edge of a sea, in a broken down bungalow, lived two wretched witches and one disheartened crow. One witch was uglier. The other was meaner. Yet each insisted she possessed the most hideous looks and demeanor.
"My mug is sooo monstrous, “Percy would proudly proclaim. "I hold the place of honor in the Haunted Hall of Fame." "Big deal!" Beatrice would boldly boast, her face turning an even darker shade of green. "At the annual Witches’ Ball, I was crowned Most Unbecoming Queen."
Soon, simmering tempers would boil and bubble. The terrified crow trembled on his perch, expecting the usual trouble. Insults turned to incantations. A war of mystical words, not for the ears of impressionable children or poor defenseless birds. Spells invoking the most vile beasts to execute the witches’ will. Such intent to wish harm on each other, abused their magical skill.
The waning of each new moon reflected the crow’s growing despair. For how was fate to know an unspoiled soul was hidden in the witches’ lair?
Time drug on for the hapless bird and the ferocious battles persisted. The hexes exchanged by the hateful hags grew even more violent and twisted.
Then one blustery evening, late in November, exploding through a charcoal cloud on a broom of glowing embers, Gelinda the powerful, elder witch unexpectedly appeared. She swooped down from the skies in a fiery flash, stepping lightly from her smoldering broom. It crumbled to steam and ash. She blew open the witches’ front door with one infernal breath of air, tossing back the two cowardly crones cowering there.
"Welcome, most evil one," Percy stammered as she struggled to her feet. "Do come in. May I take your cape and hat? Please, will you have a seat?" Shoving Percy aside, Beatrice bubbled, "Your Greatness excuse our clumsy welcome. May I offer refreshment? A cup of lizard tongue tea stirred with an old troll’s thumb?"
There was no answer. It was silent as a sealed tomb. Gelinda stepped from the shadows to the center of the dismal room. Slowly she brought her arms up from beneath her heavy cape. The crow frantically looked for a darkened corner to hide, but there would be no escape.
"Such atrocities have infected my poor ears," the elder witch purred. Her voice was neither loud nor soft, a sensation felt rather than heard. "Squandering your powers is a grave violation of the coven's doctrine."
Appearing contrite, Beatrice and Percy bowed their heads to conceal evil grins. "While you've engaged in harebrained folly and wasting your talents on trifling nonsense, the villagers have enjoyed a carefree and untroubled existence.”
The smell of sulphur permeated the room as the elder witch’s anger flared. Beatrice and Percy’s smirks promptly withered. For once they both were scared.
Gelinda set a top spinning on the wooden table by her side. The witches watched the dancing toy twirl, swoop and glide. “This trinket will gage your mystical conduct. Use your powers for the evil intended and the top will continue a steady gyration. Squander your magical talents and face possible annihilation.”
With her final cryptic syllable, a frigid wind blew through room and the elder witch vanished. Pointing a bony finger, Beatrice screamed, “This is your fault! We’ll be shunned or worse, banished.” Percy’s face darkened to an emerald hue. She growled, in response, “None of this would have happened had it not been for you!”
Her lips began to move in a silent chant. Instantly, the single potted cactus became a snarling carnivorous plant. With a snap of her fingers and a nod of her head, Beatrice turned Percy’s green face red.
Too frightened to watch, the crow covered his eyes with trembling wings. Suddenly, the top began to skip and jump around the room as if it were on springs. The walls began to heave and roll, the floor to surge and fall. The witches stumbled to what had once been a door, but was now a solid wall. The crow held on to his wooden perch with all his might and vigor. The witches clawed futilely at the walls, but there was no escape. After all, their mutual misdeeds had pulled the trigger.
Wielding their wands in a deadly duel, the witches were callously breaking every coven rule. The twirling top was now a thundering twister, spinning faster and faster with each rotation. The witches didn’t notice the toy’s frenzied flight as both were intent on malicious retaliation. Like a ravenous vacuum, the top pulled every morsel of magic out of the room, out of the boiling cauldron, the cupboards and even the witches’ brooms.
Once the retribution was complete, the top rolled to an easy stop and the two former witches struggled to their feet.
Now, all that remained in the broken down bungalow were two doddering old crones and one relieved crow.
Friday, February 1, 2013
The Tallest Man in the World...
At five feet, ten and a half inches tall, I'm taller than the average woman. My mother barely tops five feet, two inches. It's probably easier to round her short stature down to five feet. My dad tops off at five feet, seven inches...maybe. So, people are always asking me where I get my height. My answer is simple: "I'm not sure, but when I was younger my dad was the tallest man in the world."
A complete, perfect human, only six pounds....amazing!
Is there anything more joyful in a family than the birth of a baby?
V4STBCE3Q3QY
V4STBCE3Q3QY
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