Advent: God Comes Toward Us

May you be blessed with joy and peace, with sweet moments to remember, with the whisper of healing words as God comes near to you. 

Stained glass from St. James Episcopal Church, Perry, Florida

From The Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp:

"This day, this night, the Light comes, and whose heart isn't kindled by ths Love that's a wildfire? The shepherds got angels, were lit by the angels. Everyone else that night got shepherds, heard the news from kindled, heart-burning shepherds who went and 'told everyone.' When your heart burns, you are a flaming match for other hearts. When you're a manger tramp who comes with nothing but your ragged heart and leaned close over that creche, when you've beheld his glory, the white heat of a Love like this--who doesn't tramp out of the manger and into the world with a heart glowing like hot embers in your chest?"

Wishing you Love.

Merry Christmas

Voices of Christmas

I love this beautiful book by Nikki Grimes. The Christmas story unfolds in the voices of all those who were a part of the miracle of Jesus birth. Eric Velasquez' illustrations capture the mystery and wonder in the faces of each character. A lovely addition to any Christmas collection.



The Innkeeper
by Nikki Grimes

"And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in band of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn."

See here!
My inn is splitting its sides
with travelers,
the spare rooms swallowed up
by Roman soldiers, merchants,
and who knows who!
Don't blame me.
The young girl with belly
round as a drum
was not the only one
forced to come to Bethlehem.
But, since her husband
rapped upon my door,
I led them to a dry spot
in my stable,
and a bed of hay
on which to lay themselves.
It was the most I could offer,
other than to share \my own, warm room.
And who would care
to do that for strangers?
It's's not as if they were royalty, right?
A stable would do for the night.

Tabatha hosts the roundup  at The Opposite of Indifference.

Pleasure Reading

I have quite a lot of projects going on at the same time, which is a bit unusual for December. I'm putting together a couple of proposals for an educational publisher. When I sent the query, suggesting three topics they might be interested in, I was surprised to hear back so quickly and to find that they wanted to see proposals for all three topics. So I've been pleasure reading children's books on my topics, formulating my ideas, and jotting lots of notes. Got one one them done and off today. Maybe we'll come back to this topic after the first of the year and talk about the process.

I'm also pleasure reading children's books for my nonfiction picture book that I wrote about in the last entry on this blogging/writing journey with Nancy I. Sanford. I've chosen Sequoyah as my topic for multiple reasons. I've already done a low level biography for State Standards Publishing, a small educational house, so I have already done some research and he's a pretty interesting guy to me, so why not use some of that research in another format? Nancy's latest post is about choosing titles from the pile of children's books I've collected to purchase, used of course, for referring back to when the need arises as I write.

I also have a pile of pleasure reading on the African country of Mali, on which I have a contract to write a third grade level book for State Standards after the first of the year.

My piles of books are taking over the house. And yes, I'm over my limit at the library, but shhhh! Don't tell anyone. I'm taking a stack back tomorrow. And yes, the weights are there for a reason. I need arm strength to carry all my piles from one place to another!

Writing a Nonfiction Picture Book

If you've never followed along on a writing adventure with Nancy I. Sanders at her Blogzone, I highly recommend it.

Last week Nancy began her newest adventure--write an 800-word nonfiction picture book. Am I excited? Well, yeah. I had just made up my list of projects I want to consider for the next few month of writing, and a new nonfiction picture book manuscript was at the top of the list. I love the camaraderie, encouragement, and accountability that comes with working with other writers to accomplish a goal.

Nancy's suggestion here at the beginning of this project is to find ways to stay motivated for the next three months until the project is complete. Since I haven't been blogging very regularly lately, I see it as a good way to get both projects on track. AND I'm going to hide a little money for a shopping spree when I get to the end of this adventure!

If you're interested in joining the journey, check the links to Nancy's blog above and climb aboard. (If you haven't noticed, I like journey metaphors.) Hey, maybe we'll plan a shopping trip for the end of February, too.

The Idea of Order in Key West

It's Poetry Friday and I'm rambling on about my recent trip to Key West. Be sure to stop by Jama's Alphabet Soup for her latest concoction of poetry!

 Last week the hubs and I took a much needed November vacation. We flew to Miami and rented a car, drove down into the Keys, through the mangrove swamps lining either side of the road, across the seven-mile bridge, all the way to Key West. We stopped in Key Largo for Cuban coffee (oh, so good!) and a glimpse of the African Queen, the old steam boat famous for the scenes between Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. The Queen currently takes sightseeing tours out into the Atlantic on motor power, but the steam engine is currently being recreated, and she will once again sail on her own steam. 

They say Truman's Little White House is one of the best kept secrets in Key West. What great history this place holds. It was originally the Navy Commandant's House until Truman began using it for his presidential trips to the Keys. He originally went on doctor's orders for rest and loved the place so much he once wrote in a letter to Bess, "I've a notion to move the capital to Key West and just stay." Some pretty historic documents were discussed and signed here--The Marshall Plan, the firing of Gen. Douglas MacArthur, and the executive order integrating the armed forces. 

Chickens roamed the grounds! Many other presidents have visited and stayed here. And when they go, they actually have to pay to stay. 

Truman's catch of the day--a six-pound grouper and a three-pound yellowtail. 
U.S. Navy photo, Harry S Truman Library

I am making my way to the literary world of the island. Hemingway's gorgeous house is a full of light and air. He was prolific while here, and I can see why. Such a beautiful place to write.

Hemingway's House in Key West is still home to 50-75 poly dactyl cats--all descendants of Hemingway's original brood of felines. 

A well-fed, fat cat on Hemingway's bed.

Hemingway's writing studio.

And finally to poetry! 

Wallace Stevens loved the island, too. He once wrote, "It was very much like a cloud full of Cuban senoritas, coconut palms, and waiters carrying ice water."

Stevens and Hemingway reportedly had a fist fight in Key West. Both were inebriated. Stevens insulted Hemingway to his sister. She went home crying and Hemingway went looking for Stevens. They met in the street where Hemingway knocked Stevens down, but Hem was still wearing his glasses. Bystanders called for Hemingway to take them off. When he did, Stevens punched him the jaw, but only succeeded in breaking his own hand in two places. After that, Hemingway thrashed him and left him in a puddle. Later Hemingway wrote in a letter, "But on mature reflection I don't know anybody needed to be hit worse than Mr. S."

Don't you just love hearing the stories, the stuff life is made of?  Hemingway fightng his demons, most likely he was bipolar with a history of suicide running through the pages of the family album. Stevens wrestling with his own disassociated worlds of poetry and  business. 

Oh, but the art. The words. 

From Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea:

“He always thought of the sea as 'la mar' which is what people call her in Spanish when they love her. Sometimes those who love her say bad things of her but they are always said as though she were a woman. Some of the younger fishermen, those who used buoys as floats for their lines and had motorboats, bought when the shark livers had brought much money, spoke of her as 'el mar' which is masculine.They spoke of her as a contestant or a place or even an enemy. But the old man always thought of her as feminine and as something that gave or withheld great favours, and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them. The moon affects her as it does a woman, he thought.”

Sunset cruise on the Schooner America 2.0. (I even got to steer!)

The Idea of Order at Key West

by Wallace StevensShe sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.

The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.

For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.

It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.

Read the rest here.

Time to Stand and Stare

There has been very little time to "stand and stare" the last few weeks. I knew October would be a challenge when I realized I had scheduled four out of town trips in three weeks with my job. Add a writing conference and remember to breathe. 

I have officially resigned as editor of the Bugler. At a farewell dinner, my bosses presented me with the Order of Saint Maurice for contributions to the Infantry. I was so delighted, as very few women receive the award, and honored to have served our Infantrymen for these last eleven years.  

MG (Ret) William B. Steele, me, and COL (Ret) Richard Nurnberg

I worked the COMO (Council of Media Organizations) conference a few weeks back. The Delaney booth was next to a booth with three magicians who drew quite a crowd. Tell me just how you compete with the big bad wolf and a live bunny rabbit!

By the time I made it to the writing conference, Southern Breeze WIK in Birmingham, I was too tired to take photos. Matt de la Pena was an excellent keynote speaker. I taught a class on the Nuts and Bolts of writing for children, roomed with the effervescent nonfiction wonder, Heather Montgomery, and can't say enough thank you's to Joan Broerman for being the wonderful hostess she is. 

Last week I drove down to Albany and presented Stride Academy, a pretty cool adaptive learning product, to a curriculum director one day and a room full of librarians the next. And this week I held a teacher preview day at Coweta Charter School where I packed up half my office and carted it to Senoia, Georgia (location for the Walking Dead--the town, not the school!)

Only a few more days to manage and then it's vacation! I love vacations in November. I am planning to do an awful lot of standing and staring.

Leisure
by William Henry Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Irene Latham is our host today for Poetry Friday, so travel over to Live Your Poem and celebrate her 1,000th blog post with lots of poetry. 

Poetry Friday is Here!

On this Poetry Friday, the temps are finally dropping a bit here in the deep South, at least at night. The squirrels are bounding over my yard like acorns will never fall from the sky again. And it's time for the county fair.

Last weekend hubs and I flew to visit our grands in San Antonio where we took in the Comal County Fair. The biggest hit was the incubator with chicks pecking their way into the world as we watched mesmerized. The next attention grabber was the three-gallons of milk squirting into the collection jar attached to the milking machine attached to the cow. Three gallons in about four minutes!

My nine-year-old granddaughter had to squench up her toes to keep her slightly too large cowboy boots on her feet as she flew around in the sky on something called OMG! My sweet oldest didn't really want a ride and gave his coupons away to a little girl whose father couldn't afford tickets. Gotta love those kids. For the little boys, it was the roller coaster!

So my offering for today is from the American Sign Language Slam, a delightful interpretation of
"The Great American Roller Coaster Poem" from Season 5, ASL Slam Poetry Spots. The poem is read by Stella Bugbee, Lucianna Burse, Laura Ciporen, Cristina Collier, and Raul Draganac and directed by Andy Biskin.

Think cotton candy, snow cones, and the clatter of wheels on a wooden track. Hot dogs, merry-go-rounds and livestock!




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