tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70510640941772179902024-03-22T01:27:14.359-04:00Laurean's LoreLaurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-1508646107895120532016-03-31T13:30:00.003-04:002017-10-02T12:34:27.851-04:00<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> BENEATH A MACON MOON</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela Andrews flees from her hometown of Brentwood, Tennessee, for Macon, Georgia after her mother reveals a heart-wrenching secret. But has Jaela gotten more than she bargained for when she house-sits the Victorian home for the vacationing Cranstons? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The egotiscial Handyman, a strange elderly neighbor, and a large Tabby cat, spell TROUBLE.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Br-rrin-nng! Jaela flings the door open. A policeman stands on the porch. "Sir, what are you doing here?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> "</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That, young lady, is MY question. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am Officer Codumbo." He raises his pen and notepad. "Furthermore, I came to inquire about the Cranstons."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela frowns. "They are in Europe. Why do you want to know?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He jots it down. "Uh...huh. And what proof do you have?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela puffs out a long breath. "What proof do I need? They've allowed me to stay here for the summer. I have a key."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Officer Codumbo arches one eyebrow. "In Europe? That is NOT the report I was given." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Report? By who?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I am not at liberty to say. She---er...this person asked to remain anonymous. Filed a report that there were 'strange goings on in this house." He points up to the second story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela folds her arms across her chest. "Uh-huh. Please elaborate." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"A Bohemian dance and wild chants."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Simple explanation. We were trampling towels on the carpet to soak up exesse moisture after a...water accident."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Aha! <i>We</i>?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela hikes her chin. "Yours Truly and that know-it-all Handyman."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> "Somebody rang?" Eric the Handyman reaches the top step then stops.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Officer Codumbo's gaze rakes his 6 ft. 4-inch muscular frame. "Who are you? State your business."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eric salutes. "The Handyman at your service. 'You rend it, we mend it.' I'm renovating this place."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The officer jots down a few notes. "Who hired you? Show proof of your credentials. "</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"The Cranstons hired me. They're in Europe. Raise your foot if you want my credentials."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"In Europe? So I've been told." Officer lifts his left foot. Eggshell-blue paint drips from his polished boot onto the freshly-painted porch. "Arrghh! My best pair of boots."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela giggles. "Better you than me. Been there, done that."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Officer Codumbo clears his throat. "It's also been reported there is a fresh mound of earth measuring...let's see...six feet by six feet, in this backyard. Explain <i>that."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eric rolls his eyes. "Ah-h....the flowerbed. Poked full of holes, no less."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Officer scratches his head. "It's strange you would aerate a flowerbed."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eric points to the neighboring house. "Not me. That eccentric old woman next door with her cane."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I must investigate." The officer marches off the porch then around the house with Eric and Jaela close on his heels. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Officer Codumbo whips out a tape measure, lays it across the square mound of freshly-turned dirt. He nods. "Exactly six by six. Yes, it looks like small holes have been poked all over. Then there's a mysterious hole dug in the center. What could that be?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>J. Ed-gar-r-r-r-r!</i>" The threesome whip around and find a beady-eyed old lady hobbling through the gate, leaning heavily on her cane.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela gestures at her. "Officer Codumbo, this is our neigbor, Mrs. Madge Wilcox."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I know who she--. I mean... Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilcox."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Madge glares at the officer. "Cut the small talk. Has anyone seen J. Edgar?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Officer Codumbo's brow creases. "J. Edgar...<i>Who?"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Not <i>who,</i> nit-wit! <i>Hoo-ver."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He raises his notepad, poises his pen to write. "And can you give me a description of J. Edgar <i>Hoover</i>?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Land Sakes, young man! He's a yellow cat." Madge snarls.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela props her hands on her hips. "What would J. Edgar be doing over here?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Madge points to the mound of earth with her cane. "Hmmpf! Digging a hole in that fresh<i>..</i>.dirt." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eric chuckles. "Burying forbidden treasure, no less."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Officer Codumbo narrows his eyes. "Treasure? Hmmm. Of course, that disturbed dirt in the center. I must check it out. Leave no stone...er...sod unturned." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jaela wags a finger. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Me-owwww!</i> A large Tabby cat darts out from the Azalea bush near the front of the house then bounds onto the porch. The <i>freshly-painted</i> porch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Handyman drags a hand down his face. "Oh no. Not <i>again!</i>" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">******</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hope you enjoyed this scene from my title<i> BENEATH A MACON MOON</i>. For more entertaining scenes, click on the puchase link to Amazon above this post. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Laurean Brooks</span><br />
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Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-28305956507089892902015-04-16T14:18:00.001-04:002015-08-17T14:13:13.225-04:00Announcing the Release of BENEATH A MACON MOON. 5-STAR Rated and ONLY $1.99 at Kindle. <br />
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Twenty-three-year-old Jaela Andrews is hurt when her mother reveals a long-kept secret which crushes her self image. How could mother betray her?<br />
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In anger and tears, Jaela obtains a job transfer then packs her things and moves to Macon to house sit for her friend's parent. Ahhh, her summer refuge. a place to rethink her life.<br />
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Not. <br />
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But if she expects to find peace and quiet among the chaos in the Victorian home, Jaela is dead wrong. Unknown to her, the house is being renovated.<br />
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The first morning Jaela awakens to a banging hammer followed by the squeal of a saw. Annoyed, she traipses down the stairs then flings open the door. Crouched on the porch, one knee on a board, his large hand gripping a saw, is a tall, handsome, Viking lookalike with the prettiest ice-blue eyes she's ever seen. <br />
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He glances up at her and smiles. But before he can speak, she snaps, "What are you DOING here?"<br />
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He squeezes the trigger on the saw, slices through a board. Sawdust sprays Jaela's shoes and ankles. Then he sets it down, looks up. and replies, "My job. What are YOU doing here?"<br />
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Let the games begin! Jaela and Eric get into more hilarious situations than you can count. <br />
How can JAELA resist the charming handyman--even if ERIC's brand of humor often strikes the wrong chord?<br />
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BENEATH A MACON MOON is loaded with witty dialogue and bumbling scenarios. But beneath the humor runs a deeper strand. The characters' need to forgive those who have wounded them and the struggle to forgive themselves for the wrongs they've committed. Only through God's grace is this possible.<br />
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Follow JAELA as she laughs, cries, and falls in love, only to realize she can't truly be free until she lets go of her anger.<br />
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BENEATH A MACON MOON is a story about the repercussions that arise from secrets, concealment, and words spoken in anger. <br />
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You will love secondary characters including, Eric's younger brother, ROD. and the nosy, elderly neighbors, GEORGE and MADGE WILCOX.<br />
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GEORGE is the proverbial teddy bear. JAELA easily wins the elderly gentleman over with cookies and coffee,. MADGE is another story. She has her suspicions about what is transpiring next door. Why did the homeowners suddenly disappear...and without telling her? Why is this young woman living in their home? And what about the Big Blond Galoot who calls himself the HANDYMAN? He could easily be an axe murderer. Keeping her binoculars zoned in on the Victorian house, MADGE attempts to stir things up for Jaela and Eric.<br />
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What secret does JAELA'S mother reveal? What message beyond the grave does she find in her jewelry/music box? What pain lies in ERIC's past? What will JAELA discover about the elderly MADGE? Why is she poking around in the backyard?<br />
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For<u> ONLY $1.99 at Kindle</u>, you can get the answers to all theses questions and more. 5-STAR- Rating at Amazon. <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UZXUL88">http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UZXUL88</a><br />
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<br />Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-28054922914708764062014-09-04T14:47:00.001-04:002014-09-04T14:51:21.787-04:00Dogs Have Masters, Cats have servants. Do you agree?Yesterday, while perusing the Pet aisle at Walmart, a sign above a shelf caught my eye. "Dog Training Aids and Supplies." I thought, "I wonder if..." then scanned the cat supplies across the aisle. Guess what. No "Cat Training Aids and Supplies"sign in sight.<br />
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Does this strike you as funny? It did me. When has a cat submitted to training? Yeah, they are intelligent creatures, but...submissive? I pointed this sign out to others skimming the pet items. Soon, everyone was laughing.<br />
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As an example, I have a year-old black cat we call Tux. Tux has a mind of his own. He usually gets what he wants, when he wants it. We also own two lab-mix dogs, Yipper and Riley. (Notice I didn't connect the word "Own" to the cat.) The golden lab, Riley, weighs in at 92 lbs. Well, Riley claimed a certain rug I placed on the porch, months before we adopted Tux.<br />
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About a month ago, after I let Tux out, I heard a noise. When I opened the door I found Tux, at a stance, in the center of the rug while Riley tried to close in to reclaim a piece of it. When Riley got too close, Tux hissed, swatted at him, then ran him at him.<br />
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Poor, sweet Riley. Tux intimidated him. Size had nothing to do with it. This 5-lb. ball of fur got his bluff in. This scuffle continued, while I laughed until tears ran down my face. Finally, Riley gave up, walked to a far corner of the porch, and plopped down, sulking.<br />
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Today, all Tux has to do is walk out on the porch, sit down and give Riley the evil eye, to make him surrender his rug.<br />
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So, what do you think? Should there be a section for Cat Training Aids and Supplies? Maybe there's a reason Walmart doesn't have that sign displayed. <br />
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Ha! Go figure. Cats Rule.<br />
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If you agree...or disagree, I'd love to hear your comments.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-18028834045303399022014-08-22T14:23:00.004-04:002014-09-11T11:37:55.357-04:00A Funny Thing Happened at Eiffel Gardens<span style="background-color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4c1130;">Two years ago this month, Eiffel Gardens, an assisted living facility, has become home to my mother. She enjoys the delicious meals, visits from family and friends, but mostly keeping a bit of her independence. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">When Mom moved in the home, she insisted on getting a wheelchair. Physical therapist started coming three times per week to make sure she walked. When she found out she could fire them, she did, saying, "I don't need anyone to tell me when to walk or how far."</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">Today, she's become lazy about walking. She stays in that wheelchair except to use the bathroom. The walker sit in the corner, never getting used</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">OR so we thought....</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">Until a couple of weeks ago. While I rolled Mom to her room, (from outside on the patio where we'd been enjoying the cooler day), a worker stopped us then, bent down to speak in my mother's ear. "Mrs. Annie, did you have a visitor in your room, yesterday?" </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">Mom replied, "That was my other daughter."</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;"> "No, I'm talking about a MALE visitor."</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">When I pieced together the her and Mama 's story, I came up with this. I hope you get a good chuckle. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">Mama lay in bed taking her afternoon nap when the door opened. An (obviously disoriented) elderly man, a new resident at Eiffel Gardens, walked into her room holding a plastic thermos. "Can I get some water in this?" Mr. Green asked </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">Mama rolled over and told him, "You're in the wrong room. The ice is in the kitchen." </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">He ignored her, walked close to Mom's bed, then sat down in her wheelchair. Just SAT there holding his thermos. Well...Mama was having none of that! She threw the covers back, got out of bed then adjusted the foot rests on the wheelchair for him. After opening the door she pushed Mr. Green straight down the hall, back to his appointed room. All the while Mr. Green sucked on the straw protruding from his dry thermos, enjoying the free ride. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">While Mom helped him into his easy chair, a worker came in. Guessing what had happened, she said to my mother, "Sit down in the wheelchair, Miss Annie, and I'll roll you back." Mom did and enjoyed the return trip to her room. LOL. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">I related the incident to my brothers and sisters. The incident we would have never known about if the assisted living employee hadn't spilled the beans. Everyone had a good laugh, but mostly, we kids were amazed that our mother could walk. She never lets on that she can do any more than get out of the wheelchair at the bathroom door.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">A year prior to entering Eiffel Gardens, our mother, at age 91, still mowed her yard with a riding mower. Though one brother took over the mowing, she never stopped packing in firewood we children stacked on the porch. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="background-color: white;">Sad to say, Mr. Green's family was alerted. They came to get him. This was the third time he had been in my mother's room. It was sadder because he left a wonderful lady (in the first stages of dementia), he had fallen in love with. It was endearing to see Mr. Green and Mrs. Odom walking the halls, hand in hand. Rarely, was one seen without the other. I thought to myself, "It's like the blind leading the blind." I wonder if these Love Birds miss each other, or...if they remember each other.</span></span><br />
<br />Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-56173317844394171472013-09-27T16:34:00.000-04:002014-08-22T13:14:30.307-04:00Annual Authors' Event and Memories from The ACFW ConferenceTomorrow we will celebrate our annual Author Gala in Paducah, Kentucky. If you are visiting the area, be sure to drop by the <i>Etcetera Coffee House</i> on 6th street to meet six authors from six states. <br />
<i>Etcetera Coffee House</i> is known for its specialty coffees, delicious sandwiches, and to-die-for desserts. The event runs from 11 a.m - 1 pm.<br />
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Author, Linda Swift always does a wonderful job of organizing the event and makes sure our tables are decorated with pretty tablecloths. Her talented husband will provide pretty keyboard music. Songs that will take you back to the time when songs had beautiful melodies. <br />
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Each author will have his/her separate table, his/her books, plus a candy bowl filled with treats for the grabbing. the authors and states represented are: Linda Swift--Kentucky, Celia Yeary--Texas, Danielle Thorne--Georgia, Larry Hammersley--Indiana, Pamela Hearon--Illinois and Laurean Brooks (me) Tennessee. We expect to have a huge crowd. Be sure to sign up for the drawings. A gift basket, and books. <br />
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On another note: <br />
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I returned from the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) conference in Indianapolis, on September 16th. The wonderful three-day event left my head spinning. The experience was a 72-hour blast filled with writing classes, appointments with editors/agents, and mutual introductions to seasoned, new, and promising authors, over a delicious meal in an elaborate dining room. <br />
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I talked to Frank Peretti, and Lena Nelson Dooley, to name a couple. Both are as nice as they can be.<br />
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Steve Laube from The <i>Steve Laube Literary Agency</i>, sat down at our table on Friday night. He gave us background on how he became an agent, then asked everyone's names, and what genre they wrote. Mr. Laube affable, and knowledgeable in his field, and has a gift for putting everyone at ease. <br />
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One thing I took away from conference that surprised me is that agents, editors, and well-known authors, are real people--just like you and me. People with which you'd like to sit down and chat over a cup of coffee and strudel. <br />
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Saturday evening was open (the only time I had to catch my breath). Deb Kastner, who writes for<i> Love</i> <i>Inspired</i> and one of three roommates, was free. We teamed up and walked at least 10 city blocks to <i>El Rodeo</i>, a Mexican restaurant. Before we pushed through the door, a sign on it caught my eye. "Restrooms $2.00." Upon entering, we noted the place was virtually empty. The food and service were excellent, meaning that wasn't the problem. When I looked toward the front, I saw the manager staring through the glass door at everyone walking past, as if wondering, "Why isn't anyone coming in?" <br />
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I must admit, I fought the urge to suggest, "Maybe...if you took down that 'Restrooms $2.00 charge" sign ...." I would hate to see a great restaurant fold due to something that could easily be remedied and would cost them considerably less than the the customers they will lose WITH the sign. <br />
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I left the conference with hope, renewed faith, and a request for a book proposal. I've put it in God's hands because He knows best. Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-6441356451097625612012-04-14T15:42:00.007-04:002012-04-14T17:02:35.663-04:00A Rose For Sharon--A Tribute to author Sharon Donovan.Roses seem to be harbingers in my life. Let me explain: In the fall of 1994 my mother-in-law passed away. The following summer, one single rose appeared on her normally flourishing bush.<br /><br />Was God giving me a sign? Did this lone rose represent my sweet mother-in-law, now with Him? The solitary rose was the only bloom that appeared on the bush in 1995.<br /><br />The following summer of 1996, a solitary rose appeared again on the bush--one month after my father-in-law was diagnosed with lung cancer. I couldn't help wondering, if the rose was connected to him and/ or my deceased mother-in-law.<br /><br />Days later my father-in-law died. After the funeral service I checked the bush again. I could hardly believe my eyes! Another pink rose flaunted itself beside the once solitary blossom. Two people who dearly loved one another, were now reunited.<br /><br />Sixteen years have passed. My husband and I live one hill over from his parents' home place. Our yard is also graced with a rose bush which normally blooms the week before Mother's Day. I pick my mom a fragrant bouquet every year. But, due to unseasonably warm weather this spring, a single large bloom appeared high on the bush last week. I contemplated what it might mean. Was another dear loved one about to pass? I checked the bush several days consecutively; still the lovely rose remained alone in its glory.<br /><br />The first of this week, I inspected the bush again. At least two dozen pink blooms had opened, surrounding the original rose, still in its glory. What was God trying to tell me?<br /><br />I would soon find out. Two days later I received the news that my sweet soul sister, Sharon Donovan had passed from this world. I believe God sent the beautiful rose as a sign that Sharon would soon be with Him, enjoying the splendor of heaven.<br /><br />But, what of the surrounding roses? Do these new blooms represent us, as Sharon's friends--the ones her sweetness and generosity touched while she dwelt here? Through kindness and love, she blessed many.<br /><br />Sharon Donovan, I miss you. But I can't quench the thrill that mingles with grief when I visualize your newly-restored eyes exploring the awesome wonders of heaven--gorgeous flowers, streets of pure gold, glorious mansions, pearly gates. Beauty beyond compare. A place where there is no more sickness, no pain, not tears. A place where only good things exist---things like love, joy, laughter, and peace.<br /><br />The once solitary rose still perches above the other blooms in its glory. Not only in my yard; I believe the rose, Sharon, now also graces God's heavenly garden.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-91863501613445246352012-02-15T21:43:00.000-05:002012-02-15T23:04:07.763-05:00A Day That Went RightWe've all had those days when everything went wrong. I even recently blogged about one. But today I'd like to tell you about today, a day that went "right." If I'd had my mind on mundane things, these sweet small acts of kindness would probably have flown by unnoticed.<br /><br />It started this morning with me shuttling my mother to her medical treatment in Paris, Tennessee. After the medical aids wheel her into the room, I have two hours and thirty minutes to waste. Somehow I have yet to be bored. In fact, a few times I've had to rush to get back to pick Mother up on time.<br /><br />Today, my first stop was Walmart. In the checkout lane, a young lady let me go in front of her, because as she said, "You only have two items, and besides I want to read this gossip tabloid." She added, "I'm really ashamed that I read this stuff, but I just can't help it." I picked up a <span style="font-style: italic;">Southern Living </span>magazine and told her to hide it inside. I laughed when she actually did.<br /><br />The conversation took off from there. When I told her I was an author, she became excited and announced it to the checkout clerk and everyone else within hearing distance, declaring she'd never actually met a celebrity before, (LOL) "though both Chuck Norris and Hank Williams, Jr. have visited the Paris Walmart store."<br /><br />Before I left Walmart, I gave the young woman my business card including this blog link and an email addy. I had to laugh at her parting words."The next time I see you, I'll bet the Pavarottzi will be following you around."<br /><br />I left smiling and feeling on top of the world. The next stop was a Get'n Go. I filled a cup with aromatic coffee and enough liquid French Vanilla creamer to make up for the calories I missed at breakfast. Then I reached into my jeans pocket for change (just to get rid of the nickels, dimes, and quarters). When the clerk and I added it up, I was thirty cents shy. I said, "I hate to do this, but..." I opened my wallet to pull out a dollar when the young man behind me threw two quarters on the counter. "Here's fifty cents. Take it." I explained that I had the money, but he kept insisting and shoved it toward the checkout girl. After shoving it back at him twice, I relented, squeezed his arm, and told him to have a blessed day.<br /><br />My next stop I bought pet food. When the checkout guy totaled the bill, I reached into my pocket and found myself two cents short on change. Looked like I would have to break a dollar for two pennies. (I spent my pennies at the Get'n'Go.) The checkout guy reached on top of his cash register and tossed two pennies on the counter. "Here you go. Someone threw these up here earlier because they didn't want them."<br /><br />I thanked him and told him to have a blessed day. By now I'm thinking, "I came out of Walmart feeling like I had a million bucks, and twenty minutes later I've been the recipient of two handouts." LOL. Now I look like a charity case.<br /><br />But this isn't the end of the story. I shopped for a few items at a large chain supermarket. (I won't mention the name.) When I started opened my wallet, I couldn't find the store's discount card. Without it I would have to pay full price for the sale items I had. The checkout lady tried punching my phone number in the computer, but it didn't take. So she yelled at the woman behind me with an overflowing shopping cart. "Do you mind if this lady up here, uses <span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> card?" The woman responded, "Of course not!" and handed it to the clerk.<br /><br />Because of her generosity I was able to buy two bottles of calcium for the price of one.<br /><br />These gestures may not seem like much, but after dwelling on them, they gave me a new perspective. I wondered how many small acts of courtesy we take for granted, daily, just letting them slide by. These kind deeds mean a lot in this age where we often shake our heads and wonder, "What is this world coming to?"<br /><br />Today I evidenced the generosity of three caring individuals. With all the bad reports we hear on the news, it's hard to see the good in others. But no matter what the news media would have us believe, wonderful, caring folks still live among us.<br /><br />So, how was <span style="font-style: italic;">your </span>day? I hope you were as blessed as I.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-42693793447219298022012-02-01T13:19:00.000-05:002012-02-01T13:49:34.403-05:00A Poll: What Makes For a Memorable Book and/or Movie?I have an inquiring mind and would like to know: Have you ever read a book or watched a movie that you just can't get out of your head?<br /><br />Every writer's dream is to pen a story that will linger in the reader's mind until he/she expires. But, what makes a story or movie memorable? That is the BIG question. Give us your opinion.<br /><br />Will you share that memorable book and/or movie title with readers and tell us why you think it (or they) should make it...or "did make" it to the top?<br /><br />Please post a comment. This should prove interesting.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-1800001642842773342011-10-27T18:29:00.000-04:002017-11-06T15:15:28.651-05:00A Pear Tree For A Legacy?More than 30 years ago my Dad transplanted a pear tree in the back yard. He was big on organic gardening, planting trees, bushes, nurturing them to watch them flourish. Ten years after we moved from Hickory Valley, Tennessee, he drove the110 miles back to dig up a fig bush he'd left behind. It now grows near the house in the backyard. The pear tree stands 30 yards away..<br />
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Daddy lived long enough to enjoy the figs, but passed away in the summer of 1980, years before the pear tree produced. I remember him fertilizing around it and wondering if his toil was for naught.<br />
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In the fall of 2011 during my weekly visit to Mom's, I gathered three large bags of the delicious fruit. Mom also called in friends and neighbors to share in the bounty. Still, innumerable pears hung from the tree and dozens were scattered beneath it.<br />
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After gathering the fruit that day, I set the heavy sacks on the table, then turned to my mother and asked,. "Do you think Daddy ever considered he might be leaving a legacy behind when he planted the pear tree? I wonder what he'd say if he knew people from miles around wree coming with baskets to gather his pears."<br />
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She shrugged. "I don't know, but it has really produced the fruit this year.<br />
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"A gift that keeps on giving," to use the cliche'. My dad was a giver. He would be pleased to know he shared pears with his small community. Who can count the jars of preserves that have been made from that one tree?<br />
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This gave me food (or fruit) for thought. Does everyone leave a legacy behind? Whether we know it or not, something we say, or some act of kindness we show to another, could become a legacy. Who knows what kind word or deed will change another's life?<br />
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My fifth-grade teacher did not live long enough to learn she'd planted a dream in my heart when she announced to the class, "One day, Laurie will become an author."I never forgot her words, but thought it was an elusive. Even so, I hid them in my heart while I married, worked at a toilsome job, and raised a child. It took a few decades before I acted on her words. But I finally did.<br />
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My desire is for the words I write to become my legacy. My prayer is the something I've written will influence and encourage my readers in a positive way. The best compliment I could receive would be to hear a reader say, "Thank you. Your story helped me through a difficult time."<br />
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And I am blessed to have already heard those words from readers.<br />
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An update on the tree: The following year, 2012, was another bumper crop for the pears. In August, before they ripened, we put Mom in an assisted living home. Nevertheless neighbors and friends were invited to gather the pears when they came in, in October and November..<br />
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The mystery to me was, the next year the tree produced nothing. It was as if an unseen hand had watched over the tree throughout the years, providing those pears for Mom and the community. But when Mom went to assisted living, that same hand let the pear tree rest because she no longer needed them.<br />
<br />Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-20010489894641000102011-09-27T14:45:00.000-04:002011-09-27T15:50:10.359-04:00One Of Those Days!Hi fellow Bloggers,<br /><br />Did you ever have one of those days when everything went wrong? Yesterday started out with computer glitches. Between error messages and freeze ups, I didn't manage to accomplish a thing online until after 2 p.m.<br /><br />It ran smoothly for a couple hours, then the computer gremlins attacked again. Page freezes, "Page not Found" etc. flashed on my screen. I shut down to prepare supper, praying the computer would be refreshed after its nap.<br /><br />It worked fine and I edited away until my hubby (Terry) interrupted me with, "Have you seen the cell phone?"<br /><br />It was 8 o'clock Monday night and I hadn't seen it since Sunday afternoon. Terry couldn't remember the last time he used it--when or where. So, I dialed the cell phone from our cordless. It didn't ring. Instead a woman's voice spat, "Your message has been forwarded to your mailbox."<br /><br />Arrrrgh! I strangled the phone hoping that insolent woman would at least cough from the clench. We turned the house upside down to perform a thorough search for the missing phone. We dug between cushions, rammed our arms down inside the sofa and Lazy-Boy, moved and lifted anything that might be covering it--even looked under the bed.<br /><br />When all the above proved futile, Terry walked out to the carport to search the pickup and car. I dialed the cordless three more times (to no avail) from the open door, listening for a "Brrrrinnnggg!" Nothing. Meanwhile, our black kitten, Sassy, slipped past my ankles and into formidable darkness.<br /><br />Since our quest to find the cell phone proved futile, we stopped for the night. "We'll search again tomorrow," Then I said. I turned to Terry. "I just realized Sassy sneaked out when we opened the back door." I turned on the carport light, walked out and called, "Here, kitty-kitty!"<br /><br />She ran toward me. "Great!" and right between my feet. Oops! I called again. The little black devil appeared out of nowhere in the darkness, 10 feet away. I crept closer planning to reach down and nab her. When I tried, Sassy streaked off again. This went on for 10 minutes. I tired and gave it up.<br /><br />An hour passed. Hubby decided to give it a try. He turned on the porch light and yelled, "Sassy!" She streaked past the steps. He yelled louder, "Sas-s-s-sy! You'd better come here, young lady, if you know what's good for you." She zoomed past him again and into outer darkness. He yelled, "Just stay out, then!" and slammed the back door.<br /><br />Terry waited until 10 p.m. to open the back door again. This time Sassy was ready to seek the warmth of indoors. She zipped between his feet and straight to the kitchen begging for milk.<br /><br />Terry got up from his Lazy-boy in front of the TV and walked past me at the computer. He yawned. "I'm going to bed. The TV is still on. I can't find the remote.<br /><br />By this time, I was ready to scream. I searched the sofa and chairs, anywhere a remote could wedge. Finally I turned the TV off manually. Argggh! I resorted to manual labor! LOL.<br /><br />Then it struck me to lift the two sofa cushions where they met in the middle of the couch. Yep, there it lay, just as pretty as you please. We had a remote, and a kitten, but still no cell phone.<br /><br />I finished up and went to bed, praying tomorrow would be better. Sometime during the early hours I remembered that Terry had taken a Sunday afternoon nap in the spare bedroom. Could it be....? Nah! Surely not.<br /><br />When I got up this morning, I checked the spare bedroom. Guess what I found lying on the headboard shelf? Yesssirrreee! The long lost cell phone.<br /><br />Isn't it funny how one incident led to another, all tied together? (Well, everything but the computer glitches.) Searching for the cell phone caused Sassy to escape into the night, and due to us ransacking the den, the lost phone was also the reason the remote control fell beneath the sofa cushions.<br /><br />That was my Monday. How was yours?Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-20627443314765926612011-07-18T16:06:00.000-04:002011-07-18T16:28:47.658-04:00Writers, Be Cautious!Hello Writers,<br /><br />We, as a group are voraciously targeted by scammers who promise the moon if we will submit our precious manuscripts. Maybe because we writers are so eager to see our name in the lights, so to speak, we fall for these traps.<br /><br />Thank God, I did my homework before submitting my first full length, "Journey To Forgiveness." But I did fall for the Poetry.Com scam a couple years prior. They oogled, ahhed and salivated over my poem, flattering my wonderful accomplishment. Then...then they asked for the right to publish this wonderful piece of work in a "beautifully-bound book along with 200 other poems" and sell the book back to ME (unlimited copies) for "ONLY $39.99 EACH!<br /><br />I left with a deflated ego, feeling pretty stupid, but thankfully, I sent them NO money. What I wondered was: Who REALLY won the $1,000 they offered in the poetry contest? Or did anyone win?<br /><br />That said, I just found an interesting site titled, "Agents From Hell." Very informative and enlightening. It could save a lot of heartache. The link listed below contains several links if you would like to check those out, too.<br /><br />We writers work too hard to be taken in by grasping, scammers. Let's band together and stay smart. Do your homework before submitting that manuscript you've poured heart and soul into. You will be glad you did.<br /><br />http://www.rightsofwriters.com/2011/04/agent-from-hell-and-top-six-scams.html/Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-72158081917737644792011-04-20T11:40:00.000-04:002011-04-20T14:56:34.790-04:00Until the Storm Passes OverLast night as I drifted off to sleep, a storm raged outside my window. I awoke around midnight to a roaring wind that ripped through the trees on the west side of our house. The blasts pounded the exterior until I wondered if we would sail through the air like the ill-fated <span style="font-style: italic;">Hindenburg.</span><br /><br />At times like these I realize my helplessness and run straight into the arms of The One who really is in control. I asked God to send His angels to cover our house, to steady it on its foundation. When the power faltered and and we were without light, fear rose again. I silently prayed to the God who <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> Light, and whose power <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> falters.<br /><br />Lines from the beautiful old hymn<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">, Master, The Tempest is Raging,</span></span></span></span> hummed through my mind<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>as I lay in pitch darkness, waiting for the storm to pass.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea, or billows or wind or whatever it be. No demon can swallow the ship where lies the Master of ocean and earth and skies. They all shall sweetly obey Thy will, peace be still, peace be still.</span>..<br /><br />At 2. a.m a calm settled over our little piece of the world. Hubby and I fell into a peaceful sleep and awoke to another glorious day, the only damage a few fallen limbs which miraculously missed the house. We rejoiced and praised the One who brought us through the storm once again.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When thou passesth through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Savior. <span style="font-style: italic;">Isaiah 43:2-3</span></span>Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-78971645758738185382011-01-07T16:46:00.000-05:002011-01-22T13:10:46.102-05:00Musings For A New YearHello, Dear Friends. What does the New Year mean to you? Sweeping out the old and scooping in the new? Time to re-set goals for the next twelve months? Maybe, it's a season of re-evaluation, a time to pause and contemplate on what you value most or where you will expend your time and energy in 2011.<br /><br />As a writer, all these questions have threatened to obstruct my muse since January 1. So please, bear with me in hopes that writing down these concerns will help release them.<br /><br />What do I REALLY want? This should be, "What does God want me to do?" Do my desires coincide with His plan for my life? Do I trust Him enough to believe He wants only the best for me?<br /><br />You've probably heard the saying, "If you want to see God laugh, make plans." Or, "The best-laid plans of mice and men..." How many times has this proven true? We plan our day/week, satisfied we have everything under control. Then, out of the blue something "throws a cog in the wheel." A family member falls sick, a friend needs your emotional support, or an unexpected emergency raises its ugly head.<br /><br />My burning desire? To write and publish stories that will not only inspire the reader, but bring laughter along with emotional healing. In the midst of serious soul-searching and a disturbing lack of focus, I ask, "Where do I go from here?" Will an ongoing hermetic lifestyle make me neglect those who love and need me?<br /><br />Balance is the keyword, but not easy to obtain. My "all or nothing" personality becomes absorbed in creating plots and characters--sometimes to the exclusion of everything around me. Like a woman possessed, I write on and on, fearing the muse will escape flee me if I stop to breathe.<br /><br />I will strive for balance this year, but will also sail for territory yet unexplored. I have no idea where this journey will take me. But by keeping God at the helm of the ship, no matter how rough the waters, I know I will safely reach the shore.<br /><br />What are your thoughts, goals, and desires for 2011? Stop and evaluate. Then ask God to guide you every step of the way.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-60399950915971195502010-08-19T15:01:00.000-04:002010-08-19T21:53:20.374-04:00A World Of Time<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000099;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;">There's a time to love, a time to hate,<br />A time to move forward, a time to wait.<br />There's a time for silence, a time to speak,<br />A time to be strong and a time to be weak.<br /><br />There's a time to give, a time to receive,<br />A time to rejoice, and a time to grieve.<br />There's a time to laugh and a time to cry,<br />A time to be born and a time to die.<br /><br />There's a time to embrace, a time to refrain,<br />A time of loss and a time for gain.<br />There's a time to unveil, a time to hide.<br />A time to keep secrets, a time to confide.<br /><br />There's a time to reap, a time to sow,<br />A time to linger and a time to go.<br />There's a time to be numb, a time to feel,<br />A time to work and time to kill.<br /><br />There's a time to believe, a time to doubt,<br />A time when fear should be cast out.<br />There's a time for sunshine, a time for rain,<br />A time for healing and a time for pain.<br /><br />There's a time to make peace, a time to fight,<br />A time for darkness and a time for light.<br />There's a time to lose, a time to win,<br />A time to halt and a time to begin.<br /><br />There's a time to mingle, a time to withdraw,<br />A time to rise and a time to fall.<br />There's a time to create, a time to crumble,<br />A time to be proud, a time to stay humble.<br /><br />There's a time to destroy, a time to rebuild,<br />A time to be emptied, a time to be filled.<br />There's a time when your heart will break from sorrow,<br />Time to pick up the pieces and reach for tomorrow.<br /></span><br /></span><br /></span><span style="color:#330033;">During my Freshman year of high school, I became friends with a classmate named <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Rosalynn</span>. She thrived on poetry--reading and writing it. With her encouragement, I started writing my own poems. Some were nonsensical, some serious. "A World Of Time" was born of my friendship with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Rosalynn</span>. For one solid year the words seemed to flow from somewhere deep inside. It seemed I couldn't write fast enough.<br /><br />I hope you enjoyed a "A World Of Time," based on Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3.</span>Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-22088868452754053352010-08-02T15:29:00.000-04:002010-08-03T00:44:47.168-04:00GPS: What does the acronymn REALLY stand for?Some of you requested highlights from the trip hubby and I took a couple weeks ago. Recuperation time was lengthy, thus, the delay of this post. LOL<br /><br />Our intinerary included: Meet fellow graduates in Lynchburg, Tennessee, at Miss BoBo's restaurant, then tour Jack Daniels' Distillery, "hic", followed by a 70-mile drive north to Nashville and the reunion at Treva's (classmate). The next day? On to the Smokies for Terry and me! Woo-hoo! (Or so I thought.)<br /><br />On the morning of July 17th, Terry programmed the GPS for Lynchburg, then we stuffed everythng into our Camry. At exactly 7:30, our planned time of departure, we jumped in the car and slammed the doors. Terry (hubby) turned the key. <em>Click-click-click.</em> (for want of better words).<br /><br />After turning the key several times to no avail, he got out, raised the hood, shook a few wires. "Hit it!" Minutes later, still no crank, we transferred the GPS and our belongings to the Ford Ranger, and hit the road. Running behind schedule, we picked up breakfast sandwiches at the convenient store where we fueled and ate while we drove.<br /><br />Alas! Back on schedule--that is--until we neared Hurricane Mills, home of "Loretta Lynn's Dude Ranch." Our GPS lady ordered, "In three-tenths miles, turn left." We slowed near the narrow, paved pig path, took one look and shook our heads, "Nah! This couldn't be it. Driving on, she screamed, "Recalculating! In three and five-tenths miles, turn left!" (My, she was testy!)<br /><br />Her suggested road looked about the same as the previous one, but we thought it best not to disobey again. So we took it. Duck River Road started out paved, but in less than half a mile, it turned to dirt, ruts, and wilderness. Cows grazed in forest-lined pastures, rabbits dashed from bushes, but few houses. I expected to see Laura Ingalls waving in one yard. Dust fogged behind us, but we kept on trucking. Five miles later, two jostled pasengers, (one ill-tempered driver) in a truck, landed on a four-lane highway.<br /><br />"Boy, won't this be something to tell everybody?" I laughed.<br /><br />"I'm not telling ANYBODY!" came Terry's angry reply.<br /><br />"Aw, come on. I think it was funny." (Oops! Shut-up, Laurie.)<br /><br />A few minutes later we came to a small town. I read a sign aloud, "Plunk Funeral Home" and started to laugh. Still frustrated from our Duck River Road experience, Terry didn't see the humor in it.<br /><br />We reached Lynchburg on schedule, took all the GPS-instructed turns, then came to a stop in front of a red brick house atop a hill. "Your Destination is on the left."<br /><br />Wrong! No sign to announce, "Miss Bobo's Restaurant." Pulling into a convenient store acrosss the road, I rolled down my window to ask a gentlemen climbing into his truck. "Excuse me, sir, can you tell us how to get to Miss Bobo's?"<br /><br />"Ma'am you've gone 'bout a mile too fer. Turn 'round, and drive 'til you see an amb'lance service on the left. Miss Bobo's is on the right."<br /><br />We thanked him, and arrived at Miss Bobo's, ten minutes later. After a southern meal of fried okra, macaroni & cheese, lima beans, a chicken-pot-pie entree' dish, peach cobbler and a history lesson on the civil war-house-turned-restaurant, we toured Jack Daniels' distillery. The intense July heat was unbearable before we entered the steamy rooms with huge whiskey-filled vats. One room had the sweet smell of baking sourdough bread...until our guide lifted the lid. The vapors nearly knocked us backward. By the time the tour ended, our clothes were glued to our bodies (Whose suggestion was this, anyway?)<br /><br />Terry and I left the other classmates with a promise to meet them in a couple hours in Nashville at Treva's for our class reunion. We left in search of our motel. I must mention here that, "Miss GPS" was of little help. But we finally found the place without her.<br /><br />While I pressed my new teal blouse made of rayon and spandex, Terry tried to program the GPS to find Treva's house. When his frutration reached the boling point, I stopped ironing to make a suggestion. "Put the thing away. I'll call Treva for directions." When I turned my attention back to my blouse, it had melted to the iron! I almost cried.<br /><br />We used Treva's directions plus the GPS, and came to stop at the bottom of a rough driveway, balloons attached to the mailbox. Spinning in loose gravel, we backed up and took a running start up the drive. This time we made it. I could not believe it.! A beautiful home in Nashville surrounded by dense woods! It almost felt like we were back in the sticks at home.<br /><br />Everyone ate barbecue with all the trimmings, while reliving the trouble we got into at school. Soon afterwards, Kemp pulled out the piano bench while I exclaimed, "Oh good! You're going to play!" (Kemp was and still is, a gifted pianist.)<br /><br />"Only if you promise to dance," came his sassy retort.<br /><br />Wasn't he surprised when a couple others joined me in the Charleston as we shook a leg to, "Has Anybody Seen My Gal?" After a couple duets with classmate, Charlotte, including, "Mansion Over The Hilltop," someone requested, "Chantilly Lace." Then we sang, "Just a Closer Walk With Thee." That's when Treva slid onto her piano bench to play and belt out, Linda Ronstadt's, song, "Crazy." She put her heart and soul into it. (It still echoes through my brain two weeks later.)<br /><br />A half-dozen poses for photos, then Terry and I said our goodnights, promising to meet the others at the nearest Cracker Barrel for breakfast. The next morning, after a late breakfast and tearful goodbyes, the two of us headed for Sevierville.<br /><br />A little too often I'd study the map and discover what appeared to be a route shorter than our GPS Lady's directions, then exclaim, "Look. If we took this road instead, it would cut out a lot of miles." After a couple of my suggestions didn't pan out, taking us to parts unknown, Terry put his foot down.<br /><br />"Either you get rid of that map, or we throw the GPS out the window! Make up your mind!"<br /><br />The decision was difficult, but after much deliberation (I still think the map was more accurate), the price of the GPS cinched my decision. I reluctantly threw the map in the backseat.<br /><br />We arrived in Sevierville around 5 p.m., checked in our moteld, then ate at Golden Corral. The next morning, after a breakfast at IHOPS, we drove into the mountains to climb Clingman's Dome. I had NO idea how strenuous a half-mile climb up a gradual incline could be. We had to stop and sit on a bench every 50 yards. And to beat it all, when we reached the Lookout Tower, the scenic view was blocked by clouds and fog. Ugh!<br /><br />We drove on to Cherokee and browsed through gift shops. Big trouble started when Terry asked, "Do you want to spend another night in Sevierville, or drive toward Chattanooga?" After several back and forths of "What do YOU want to do?" I pointed to a road sign announcing, "Chattanooga 135 miles," and asked, Why don't we head in that direction since we are already pointed that way?"<br /><br />Terry pulled down "Miss GPS" to reprogram her. He asked, "Shortest route, or fastest route?"<br /><br />"Shortest Route," I chirped. BIG mistake. Do you remember that country song from 1988, "Famous Last Words Of a Fool?" (Was it Ricky Van Shelton who sang it?) Anyway, it applies here.<br /><br />The next two hours found us careening around treacherous mountain curves on two wheels. Some had 20 mph speed limits, others 10 mph. The only other vehicles we met were motorcyles. Each time we swerved into a 360-degree turn, our Miss GPS shouted, "Recalculating!" Most of the time my eyes were closed as I silently prayed, "Lord, if you'll just get us off this mountain alive..." I made indentations on that plastic grip handle, while Terry kept a death grip on the steering wheel. His white face and clenched jaw told me it'd be best to remain silent.<br /><br />By the time we reached the bottom of the mountain and re-discovered civilization, Terry was not a happy camper. We found a restaurant and stopped to catch our breath and eat our evening meal. During the meal, we discussed where to stop for the night. "Do you want me to get the map out of the truck?" I asked.<br /><br />He gave me the extra truck key. I got the map. Before I sat down at the table again, I tried to give him the key. He ignored me, so I laid it on the table and said, "Don't forget to put it in your pocket." He still ignored me.<br /><br />We left the restaurant, drove until dark, then checked into a motel. Terry felt in his shorts' pocket. "Where's my key?"<br /><br />"I tried to give it back to you at the restaurant. Didn't you pick it up?"<br /><br />"No, it's not here, and I am NOT driving back."<br /><br />"I'll call the restaurant when we get home and ask them to mail it."<br /><br />When we arrived at home, Terry found the key in the zipper pocket of his small overnight bag, right where he had previously put it the night before. Explain that one. I know I didn't pick the key up from the table, and he says he didn't, either. (One of us is crazy. Ha!)<br /><br />What a vacation! But we are survivors. And through all this, we learned something new. The acronymn, GPS stands for...<br /><br />GRUELING, PERILOUS SHORCUTS.<br /><br />Has anyone else had a similar experience? Feel free to share it.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-21646926281752695772010-07-06T12:31:00.000-04:002010-07-06T13:33:44.426-04:00What Do Your Favorite Colors Say About You?Hi Fellow Bloggers,<br /><br />I found the neatest Color Analysis Test, one psychologist use to analyze patients' personalities. You won't believe how accurate it is. The test takes 5 minutes or less and it's fun! Just click on your favorite color square, next favorite, etc. until all color squares vanish. The same colors will pop up again in a different order. Repeat. Then click on your Test Results.<br /><br />The test lists 6 different categories, a paragraph or a couple lines under each listing. For example, under the heading: YOUR DESIRED OBJECTIVE, mine says,<br /><br />"Has a strong desire to contribute and influence others, but it can make her restless. She is often driven by her desires and hopes. Enjoys a wide range of activities, but she may spread herself too thin, taking on too much."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.colorquiz.com/">http://www.colorquiz.com/</a><br /><br />I'll not disclose anymore. Some aren't so complimentary, LOL, but still enlightening. I'll post the link. I want to hear what you think about the accuracy of YOUR test. I can't wait to find out what your personality analysis says about YOU.<br /><br />Please come back here to post a comment.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-45989063230660817022010-03-18T12:33:00.000-04:002010-03-18T12:58:00.625-04:00Survey: How Do You Show Characters' Emotions Thru Facial Expressions and/or Body Language?<span style="color:#000099;">Authors, we each possess our own style of describing emotions. I seem to be stuck in a rut, overusing "arched eyebbrows" for surprise, a "furrowed brow" for worry, and "pursed lips" for thinking.</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">Will you share the facial expressions and body language you use for the emotions below? I believe this list will help us as writers to add depth to our stories. Feel free to add extra emotions I may have overlooked. </span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">Answer all or only what you want to. This list reminds me of the names of The Seven Dwarfs. (Except I have Eight) LOL</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">How do you portray the following emotions? Let the input begin!</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">1. Anger</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">2. Amusement</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">3. Attraction</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">4. Fear</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">5. Joy</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">6. Pain</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">7. Peace</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;">8. Sadness</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span>Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-28864548626685010642010-02-10T20:58:00.000-05:002010-02-10T21:31:49.708-05:00I am so excited! My short story, "Jonquils in the Snow" has been up at Smashwords for 8 days, and I already have 5 great reviews. Thank you! I appreciate all my reviewers and readers.<br /><br />A little about JONQUILS IN THE SNOW. I wrote the story in 5 days. The words seemed to flow from my pen like honey..even if they were undecipherable to everyone else. Ha!<br /><br />Blurb:<br /><br />Miranda Stevens' finance' skipped town two days before the wedding. Two years later she is ready to "let by-gones be by-gones" and move on.<br /><br />But...Brady Watson's grief over his wife killed by a drunk driver, engulfs him. Three years have passed, but Brady can't...or won't...shake it off.<br /><br />Can Miranda find the key to release Brady from his grief to embrace a new beginnning? Does a cluster of bright Jonquils bursting through the snow, hold the answer?<br /><br />Be sure to check out this heartwarming, sweet romance at <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/9341">http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/9341</a><br /><br />And thru February 28, 2010, get 30% off just by clicking on "Shopping Cart" and typing in Code PM45D.<br /><br />Wow! That's 22 pages of exhilarating reading for only $2.30.! Take advantage of the sale while it lasts.<br /><br />Please write a review...uh...if you like JONQUILS IN THE SNOW. I really appreciate all of you.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-15518796676771251492010-01-11T23:01:00.000-05:002010-01-11T23:57:22.209-05:00Writer's'/Readers' Preference Survey ResultsWhen I asked five simple questions regarding Writers'/Readers' preferences I had no idea what to expect. Needless to say the result held some surprises. We had a good turnout, (21 participants), and you all knew exactly what you liked and didn't like. Even if you answered "both" on a question, you had clear reasons for that answer.<br /><br />Without further ado, the results of the survey.<br /><br />1. Do you prefer plenty of conflict in your stories, or would you rather the conflict be toned down?<br /><br /> <span style="color:#000099;">A. Plenty of conflict won out with (16) votes. B. Some conflict came in with (5) votes.</span><br /><br />2. Which do you prefer? contemporary or historical? What time era is your favorite?<br /><br /> <span style="color:#000099;"> A. (Nine) said, "Either contemporary or historical "as long as the historical doesn't read like a history lesson." B. (Eight) voted "mostly historical" C. (Four) stressed "only contemporary</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">3. Do you prefer strong heros and feminine heroines? Milder men and strong women? Or both hero/heroine about the same in strength?</span><br /><br /> <span style="color:#000099;">A. This at (20) votes, came in almost* unanimous for a STRONG hero. None of you wanted a "macho Mr. Tough Guy" who thought he was "God's gift to women," but a man who would fight to the death for his lady. </span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"> B. (One) vote came in for a milder man and "take-charge" woman. But the voter explained, the "man should have a character strength "something the woman lacks." </span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"> </span><span style="color:#000099;">C. (Five) stressed their heroines be feminine and act like ladies. D. (16) stressed their heroines be savvy, smart, independent.</span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"> </span><span style="color:#000000;">4. Do you find the story more enjoyable--less enjoyable when weaknesses are portrayed in the hero/heroine?</span><br /><br /> <span style="color:#000099;">D. (21) voted unanimous for weaknesses in both, though (1) voter stressed "only a small amount" of weakness in protagonists. That's understandable for science fiction. You can't show weakness when you are battling the other world creature. </span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">5. Do you prefer stories that are character-driven? Plot-driven? </span><br /><br /> <span style="color:#000099;">A. "Both" got (11) votes B. Plot-driven (7) votes C. Character-driven (3) votes. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br />Remarks: The preferences for historical eras were as diversified as you participants. I received everything from the Pirates era, Ancient Greece, pre-Civil War period, Civil War period and the Wild West era.<br /><br />I want to thank everyone for participating. This was enlightening and just plain fun.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-6778373262450052302010-01-07T14:08:00.000-05:002010-01-10T23:40:26.871-05:00What types of books do you enjoy?We readers and writers are a unique and diversified group. Some enjoy sweet romance while others delve into mystery, fantasy, or suspense.<br /><br />Please read the following questions in this short questionnaire and post your answers as comments. You can elaborate as much as you like, or write concise answers.<br /><br />Okay.....here goes!<br /><br />1. Do you perfer (to read or write) a book with plenty of conflict, or would you rather have the conflict toned down?<br /><br />2. Which do you prefer? Historical reads or present-day? Your favorite time era(s)?<br /><br />3. Do you prefer a strong, macho hero (not a chauvenist), with a feminine heroine? A milder hero with a strong woman?<br /><br />4. Do you enjoy the story more--or less--when weaknesses are portrayed in the hero/heroine?<br /><br />5. Do you prefer stories that are character driven? Plot driven?<br /><br /><br />Thanks for participating. Can't wait to read your comments!Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-19358018927286437962009-12-21T22:43:00.000-05:002009-12-21T23:27:12.866-05:00The Christmas Grouch'Twas the night before Christmas and out slipped the Grouch<br />To search corners and crevices in every house.<br />Grumbling and whining in each person's ear,<br />He worked to spoil the season's good cheer.<br /><br />Devising a scheme in his evil mirth,<br />He would tear Christmas away from planet earth.<br />"I'll approach the Creator and plead for permission;<br />If I win the debate, I'll set off on my mission."<br /><br />He filed a complaint and prepared his case,<br />Stated his arguments and started to pace,<br />Back and forth in front <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">of</span> the Throne,<br />His raspy voice a wearisome drone.<br /><br />God granted his request, but it would quickly be <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">stayed</span><br />If the Grouch found just one who gave thanks while he prayed.<br />Smirking and sneering, he left with a nod,<br />And laughed aloud at how he he'd fooled God.<br /><br />Not a moment to waste, he sped through each city,<br />Invading the homes, adorned and so pretty.<br />He lurked in the shadows and watched as they said,<br />"It's been a long day, and I must go to bed."<br /><br />Folks were busy, so much on their minds<br />That time for the Father was too hard to find.<br />The Grouch slipped through the houses, delighted, amazed<br />That no one took time to offer up praise.<br /><br />Dauntless and smug, he smirked to himself,<br />"My case has been won, and with so much time left!<br />One more stop and it will be 'in the bag.'<br />Then I'll bombard Heaven to gloat and to brag."<br /><br />At the edge of town on that cold winter's night<br />A scene through a window caught the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Grouch's</span> sight.<br />He slithered inside and what did he see?<br />A tiny boy, hands clasped, down on one knee,<br /><br />Thanking the Father for Jesus' birth--<br />Praying, "Good will to all men and peace on earth."<br />When the child whispered, "God bless us everyone,"<br />The Grouch knew his case would never be won.<br /><br />In an angry fit he yanked out his hair,<br />Then stamped out ranting, "It's not fair! It's not fair!"<br />The Creator smiled down, said, "You don't understand--<br />Salvation exists because Christmas began."<br /><br />I longed for each soul to know its true worth<br />So I sent my Son to this desolate earth.<br />And because of Jesus, My gift from above,<br />Christmas is eternal, and so is My love."<br /><br />A note from <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Laurean</span>:<br /><br />I hope you enjoyed this. Don't let "The Christmas Grouch" invade your home this year.<br /><br />I wrote the above poem in December 2003 after I awoke one morning with the first two stanzas rambling around in my head. As the day lengthened, so did the poem, until by 4 p.m. I had finished it.<br /><br />I pray that all have a very Merry Christmas, and not forget what the Season is truly about. Slow down and enjoy your family and friends. "God bless You Everyone!"Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-61125524956148520832009-11-25T23:09:00.000-05:002009-11-25T23:44:57.035-05:00Thanksgiving ThoughtsI've missed you guys. It's good to be back. October was a trying month. The first day started with computer woes and an awful eye infection, the result of a ruptured blood vessel. For three weeks, I hid myself for fear someone would think I had decked out in early Halloween get-up. "The Red-Eyed monster from Boogie Man Swamp. Grrrrrrr!"<br /><br />My computer crashed on the same day, and was in and out of the shop until November. That's okay. God knew what he was doing. How much could I have accomplished anyway with a swollen, burning eye, covered in a murky film?<br /><br />Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I thank God I still live in a free country. I thank Him for my family. They are well. For healing my eye, answered prayer. For sending me friends like you. For His peace in trials. But most of all that He loved us earthlings enough to give up His only child, (His Son, Jesus) that we might have a choice where we would spend eternity. And what a place! Pearly gates, mansions, golden streets, the river of life, and all the various fruit on those trees.<br /><br />"And God will wipe away all their tears..."<br /><br />Thirty-two years ago October 29th, I nuzzled my newborn son curled up in my arms, and whispered, "God, how did you do it? How could you give up your son to die for our sins?" It wasn't until I laid eyes on my sweet little cherub that it struck me just how much God loved us.<br /><br />If you haven't already done so, stop and count your blessings. As the song goes, "And it will surprise you what the Lord has done."<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving, Blogger buddies!Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-32153348189436573922009-09-23T04:45:00.000-04:002009-09-23T11:28:26.769-04:00The Trouble With Oscar (An excerpt from Journey To Forgiveness)Setting up the Scene:<br /><br />Oscar Ellwood III is the pampered guy who lives next door to Jenny's aunt. Tall and gangly, wearing coke bottle glasses, he has joined the mission trip. Oscar catches the church bus, enroute to the mission, equipped with binoculars, and clad in bermuda shorts, knee socks, complete with a Panama hat. His goal? To pursue Jenny Hinson, who tries her best to divert his attentions.<br /><br />Austin Grant throws a cog in the wheel when he walks in on what suspiciously appears to be a romantic scene between Oscar and Jenny.<br />************<br /><br />As soon as the truck pulled away, a whining Oscar trudged in to seek minor medical attention. The man had picked up a rough board and swiped it across his jaw. He showed Jenny the splinter embedded in his chin. A tiny piece protruded.<br /><br />"I tried to remove it," he wailed, "but apparently it broke off when I attempted the delicate procedure."<br /><br />"Follow me." Jenny gestured and led him to the area where the first aid supplies were shelved. He reached up and pulled down the supplies she requested. Jenny located the tweezers and set the rubbing alcohol and cotton to one side. After disinfecting the tweezers, she attempted to calm the nervous patient. "You sit down on that stool, close your eyes and relax. Think of something pleasant."<br /><br />She soaked a cotton ball in the alcohol and spoke softly. "Now this may sting a little. Just take a deep breath and bear with me."<br /><br />"Will it hurt v-ver-y much?" Oscar's voice quivered.<br /><br />"Nothing a grown man can't handle." She patted his shoulder to reassure him.<br />It seemed to calm him.<br /><br />Oscar took a deep breath and croaked, "Okay, Miss Hinson, I am now prepared for surgery."<br /><br />"Good. Keep taking those deep breaths and hold onto my arms.<br /><br />The patient did as he was told, and squeezed Jenny's arms. "Not so tight, Oscar."<br /><br />He loosened his grip slightly. "Now tilt your chin up and look at me."<br /><br />The trembling patient complied. Jenny planted one hand on his shoulder, and leaned in closer to inspect the angle of the splinter.<br /><br />She was eye to eye with Oscar when Austin tramped in. "Exactly what is going on here, Ellwood? Remove your hands from her or I will see to it that you don't have hands to grab any other woman!"<br /><br />Oscar yanked his hands down to cup his knobby knees. Jenny was more pleased than upset with Austin's display of jealousy. But she could not let him get by with insulting her patient.<br /><br />"Austin, can't you see that I'm treating this man for an embedded splinter?" She thumbed toward the kitchen. "Why don't you just prance yourself right back in there and finish your lunch? We'll be there in a minute."<br /><br />"Okay. I will." Austin took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. "But Oscar will keep his hands to himself."<br /><br />Oscar gripped his knees tighter as if his hands might have a mind all their own. When Austin turned to leave, Jenny shook her head. "Sorry, Oscar. I have no idea what got into him. He's not usually like that."<br /><br />"Miss Hinson, from my observation, I would say that Mr. Grant is in love."<br /><br />Jenny smiled as she closed the tweezers around the embedded splinter, and snatched it from Oscar's chin. "Ouch! That hurt!" Oscar shielded his jaw with one hand.<br /><br />She held up the offending sliver for his inspection. "Got it! Now let's get back to the kitchen before Austin brings Al Capone back with him."<br /><br />"You won't catch me dawdling," Oscar retorted, and leaped off the stool.Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-60700915366660796282009-08-29T23:21:00.000-04:002009-08-29T23:25:55.294-04:00And the Winner of the Scavenger Hunt...drawn at random from among all the correct answers, (2) is....Rachel Rosanno! Congratulations, Rachel. You will receive a free download of <em>Journey To Forgiveness. </em>Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7051064094177217990.post-16956289297775293592009-08-28T03:01:00.000-04:002009-08-28T03:01:01.603-04:00Scavenger Hunt question for Author Roast & ToastIn Laurean's interview with heroine, Jenny on August 13th, what did Jenny throw at our hero, Austin, after the stool tipped over?<br /><br />Send your correct answer to Laurean at <a href="mailto:landtbeth@yahoo.com">landtbeth@yahoo.com</a> and your name will be placed in a drawing to win a download of this same hilarious and heartwarming story, "Journey To Forgiveness." Good luck!Laurean Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06242693739806417138noreply@blogger.com0