A merry heart does good like a medicine.  Proverbs 17:22

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Blog--July 18, 2008

iPods, Disk Errors, and Hearing God’s Voice (Part 3)

All right. So, I guess everyone’s been waiting forever to find out if Candice got her iPod working, right? Or, perhaps everyone thought the stress was too much, and I was admitted to a rest home for stressed out writers. A calm, peaceful place where authors can sit and drool, writing endless tripe with no real meaning. There are no deadlines. Food is delivered.

But, no. And there isn’t a place like that for writers that I know of, although I’m sure if I started one, I’d have many participants.

So, I must finish my tale here.

Last time I wrote, I was in the throes of deadline.

The good news was my computer had recovered from the blue screen of death. And I hadn’t lost two hours of work.

The bad news was my iPod still wasn’t communicating with my computer. I could no longer download music. So even though I could still use my iPod and listen to what was already there, I would not be able to add anything fresh.

Music is a form of therapy for me, and I use my iPod as my primary source of music. (Sometimes I remind me of Gollum on Lord of the Rings, stroking his precious gold ring. My iPod. My precious.)

At my desk, I have an iPod speaker system, which I use while I work. And I use my iPod with a headset as I clean, exercise, and walk. For a sometimes demented writer like me, music is the alternative to being medicated.

So, back to my story. My computer has informed me that the drive Candy’s iPod has errors. Do you want to fix them?

Knowing that I could possibly be destroying my precious, I pushed the button. Yes. Fix it. Because my precious is really not any good to me anymore if I can’t do any updating.

Well, a miracle happened. My iPod was fixed. Just like that. The answer was so simple.

So what does my iPod and disk errors have to do with hearing God’s voice? I’m sure most of you have put it together by now.

I’ll compare Candice to an iPod. And God is the big main frame computer. When I hook up to Him and listen to His voice, He fills me with good things—we have a continual back and forth dialogue going on. I can “download” the latest from Him about what’s going on in my life and how to deal with the situations I’m in. I can add to the things He’s told me in the past. Like the Bible says, I build precept upon precept.

God is always ready to talk to me. Just the information on my computer is always there. But if something happens to the communication—a disk error—the information might be there, but I can’t access it.

So, if Candice the iPod has a disk error, she will no longer be able to download fresh updates from her main frame computer—the Lord. My disk errors could be as simple as sin in my life that’s keeping me from seeking the Lord or hardening my heart. Or I could simply be choosing to ignore the things that he’s saying to me and communication stops. Not His fault. It’s my error.

That’s how I always know that something in my life isn’t right. When I don’t hear the Lord’s voice clearly. And that’s when I always go back and check for errors. Then I plug into Him and push the button. . .Fix Me.

May 31, 2008

iPods, Disk Errors, and Hearing God’s Voice (Part 2)

I left you hanging in my last blog with me in the throes of deadline, my computer suffering the blue screen of death, and my iPod possibly dying the death. Not to mention the really tragic possibility that I might have lost TWO HOURS OF WORK!

Oh, yeah. It was also after midnight. A time when most normal people are in bed. Asleep.

(Ah, yes, but writers aren’t normal. And don’t let any of them fool you. They might look normal, talk normal, and, unlike me, even go to sleep at a regular time, but all of them have serious quirks. I guarantee it.)

So, back to my story. I bravely turn my computer back on. And. . .

And. . .

YES! It comes back on. Well, with dire warnings about using the safe mode, etc. However, I’m not caring about safe mode. I’m ready to plunge into death if need be. Because I’m tired and just want to get this over with.

I push the turn-it-on-like-regular-and-be-quick-about-it (ha-ha) button.

I hold my breath. . .and wait. . .

Everything is fine! It comes on normally. Yes! So far, so good.

I take a few minutes to back up my work to my external hard drive. Then it's time to try downloading music into my iPod. Again. I plug it in and. . .

And. . .

ANOTHER BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH.

Okay, so this is pretty serious because my iPod is precious, not to mention a new one will be expensive. But at least the problem isn’t as deadly as I’d originally thought. I hadn’t lost any work, and I was pretty sure the problem wasn’t my computer.

So, without going into tiresome detail about the hour I spent looking on-line for answers, suffice it to say that I tried everything. Including turning my iPod to disk drive mode or some such thing (don’t ask), but nothing was working.

What I did figure out was that something on my iPod was preventing iTunes from speaking to it. And when iTunes attempted to, it couldn't, which resulted in my computer locking up. In other words, there was a lack of communication and it was on the iPod’s end.

At that point I had the good sense to stop and pray. Yes, I know. I should have done it at the beginning, but I’ve never claimed to be a spiritual giant. Far from it. And my prayer was along these lines.

God, please. I can’t afford a new iPod. Please, please, please. Help me. Please. You know I love my iPod. Please.

Yeah. Real spiritual. So, I'm a whiny baby.

Then, just as I was about to give up, a little Windows box pops up on my monitor.

Yo! Stupid! it says. You got your computer hooked up with the wrong people. . .er, disk drive. Called Candy's iPod. The disk has big problems. You got errors. You want I should check this out for you? Fix the problem? Permanently?

Okay, it didn’t really say that. I’m adding my pathetic attempt at a New Jersey accent spoken by a guy named Guido for entertainment purposes and to honor my friends from New Jersey.

Really it says something like, the drive CandysiPod has errors. Do you want to fix them?

I stare at the message and figure I have nothing to lose. I was probably going to have to replace the iPod anyway. So I tell Guido, Yo! Dude! Yeah! I want you should fix the errors permanently.

And you know what? I’m out of room again. Isn’t it amazing how a writer can make a simple story so long?

That means you’ll have to come back again for part three. Because I really am heading somewhere good with this.

May 29, 2008

iPods, Disk Errors, and Hearing God’s Voice (Part 1)

What do these three things have in common? Not a lot at first glance. Really, nothing unless you’re me at two in the morning with a crashed computer, an iPod on the blitz, and a looming book deadline.

To understand this blog, you have to understand that there are just a very few things in my house that are really important to me. Winston, the African gray is the most important, followed by my computer, and then my iPod.

(If you’re a Winston fan, I’m sorry. This blog has nothing to do him.)

My computer is essential for my job. That goes without saying. But so is my iPod. Maybe you wouldn’t think so at first, but any creative person worth his or her salt loves music. And I use my music as inspiration and refreshment.

So, last night at midnight, there I was, sitting at my computer, in the throes of deadline. (In case you’re wondering, “throes” means violent pangs of suffering. And honestly that sometimes doesn’t begin to describe what a writer goes through.)

Anyway, the clock says midnight. Most normal people are in bed. I’ve been writing my brains out and decide to download some music into iTunes to download onto my iPod so I could listen to the songs through my awesome iPod speaker system.

“But wait!” you say. “Why are you downloading songs at midnight?”

Ummmmm. Because violent pangs of suffering from throes of deadline lead to insanity?

I don't know. You got me. Maybe just for something to do besides writing my brains out.

Unfortunately things did not turn out as planned. I would have been better off writing more. Or just going to bed.

I downloaded the music fine. Then I plugged my iPod into the USB port to import the music into it—as I’ve done regularly for over two years.

I wait.

And wait.

And then. . .THE BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH appears on my monitor.

OH. MY. WORD.

No-o-o-o-o. Please. Not the blue screen of death.

I can’t tell you what happens to the stomach of a writer who thinks she might have just lost TWO HOURS WORTH OF WORK, not to mention having to deal with a crashed computer in the throes of deadline.

As I sat staring at the screen, a million thoughts ran through my head. First and foremost, I may have just lost TWO HOURS WORTH OF WORK. Yes, I’m obsessive about backing up, but I don’t do it every hour. So, maybe I should start.

Second, what if my computer has just died the death? What was I going to do?  ?  ?

Third, why was my iPod crashing my computer? Was it dead along with my computer?

My fourth thought. . .well, I don’t have room for that. And I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear my fourth through millionth thoughts.

So-o-o-o, what happened next?

Ah. One thing a good writer knows how to do. Leave a reader hanging with a cliffhanger. So, I’m going to do that here because blogs aren’t supposed to be that long. Besides, then you’ll have to come back so you can hear the rest of the story.

May 14, 2008

Updates

I'm in the throes of deadline again. What a year! I'm completing the last book in the Trish Cunningham series. It's called Kitty Litter Killer and will be out at the end of the year.

I've also embarked on a new venture. A consulting business called RS Writing Services. Check us out.

It's the middle of May. We're entering that period of time between spring and summer, but the warm weather seems a bit late in coming this year. The cool weather has hung on longer than normal.

Sometimes isn't that how life is? We have the expectations of the growing season, with the sunlight and growth of summer. Yet, sometimes the cool times linger. We feel static. Like we'll never change or be transformed into what God wants us to be. And we'll never see the things He's promised will come to pass.

But we know summer will come. It always does.

That's like faith in God's promises. Sometimes it seems they'll never come to pass. Like we'll never change and be what He wants us to be. But He is faithful. Always.

Summer, with its growth and warmth, is just around the corner.

March 11, 2008

Wall Breaching Tribbles

Remember the Star Trek episode where Uhura brings a cute little fuzzy tribble onto the Starship Enterprise as a pet? The tribble reproduces, and soon hoards of tribbles are causing technical failures on the Starship Enterprise and eating the food supplies.

Recently, as I worked through some challenging issues in my life, I thought about those tribbles. How something so little caused such a big problem. And then, because of the twisted way my mind works, I juxtaposed that with the book of Nehemiah, which I’m reading right now.

(Oh, yeah. About my mind. If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you know how my brain skews things. All I can say is that the wiring in my head must look like strings of tangled Christmas lights.)

In Old Testament days, walls were built to fortify cities. Guards walked the walls to keep watch to ensure that enemies couldn’t just walk in at will, murder unsuspecting citizens in their sleep, and burn the city down.

In the book of Nehemiah—one of my very favorite books of the Bible—Nehemiah is rebuilding the wall around Jerusalem. The story is packed with spiritual principles that I could write about for months. But for my blog today, the most important thing is that a wall is being built around the city for protection.

To me, that’s a spiritual sense of God building a wall of protection in us as we yield to Him. And the guard walking the wall is the whisper of the Holy Spirit, speaking to us.

For a Christian, our inner man—our heart or soul—is like a city. The place of emotion. Where we can be hurt.

Granted, some hurts can’t be avoided. For those, God is our healer.

But sometimes we find ourselves flat on the ground, emotionally bleeding out all over the place, wondering how it happened. Our soulish walls have been breached by something that wasn’t God’s will.

So, the question is, if God is supposedly protecting the wall of our souls, how come we can suddenly find ourselves in the midst of situations where our soul walls have been breached?  When we come unglued. Flip out. Or are devastated and hurt.

Perhaps because it all starts out like the tribbles. Maybe we entertain an errant angry thought against someone. The Holy Spirit says, forgive them. Move on. But the anger feels good. Besides, we’re right. So we feed it and pet it, and before we know it, we have a full blown case of rage going on.

Or we put our trust in people who aren’t trustworthy. We don’t listen to the Holy Spirit whispering in our ear that though we can love and accept that person, we should not put our trust in them. And then we end up hurt.

This is something I’m still thinking about. I haven’t reached a lot of conclusions yet. So far, I think it’s in our minds that our souls can be breached. When errant thoughts creep up on us, we need to listen to what the Holy Spirit is saying and obey Him.

So, I guess the moral of the story is this. Don’t bring home a tribble. Cute only goes so far.

February 9, 2008

The Genesis of a Book Cover

Since I’m only recently published, the whole process of how a book comes into being is new to me and totally fascinating. 

I didn't realize this, but a book cover is a work of art, really, and the artists begin with line drawings. I’ll show you here with my latest book cover

This is the line drawing. . .

And it led to this:

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February 2, 2008

Me in Audio Receiver Land

I love music. And that means I like things to sound good, including television and movies. When an army in a movie I'm watching is marching, I like to feel my floor rumbling with the low sounds. Built-in television speakers just don’t cut it.

I have some very nice speakers and a subwoofer. For those who know less about audio than me (very few people know less than I did when I started out on this adventure), a subwoofer is like bass on steroids. It amplifies all the low sounds.

So, recently I lost the one receiver I had. That was okay, though, because I hated it. It was evil. It handled video and audio, and was a confusing mess of wires that I never did understand. I think the receiver hated me in return and it didn’t want to live with me anymore.

But without the receiver, my speakers and subwoofer were. . .good plant stands. (For those who don't know what a receiver does, it's like a centralized command station for all the other boxes. You can route the cable box, CD player, and DVD, etc., through it to something else. Both audio and video, depending on the receiver. In my case, I wanted the sound from all the different boxes to come out of my speakers, so I needed to route the boxes into a receiver and run wires from it to the speakers.)

What was I to do? What else? Buy another receiver. But not an evil twin of the other one. I don’t care about high def video right now. I just want good sound.

Uncomplicated audio receivers aren’t easy to come by, but I got one.

I had to hook it all up. Uncomplicated. Yeah. I’m laughing.

Ummmm. Sure, Candice. That pile of wires on the floor? They're what's left from the evil receiver, plus some new ones. What a mess. Some had plugs. Red plugs. White plugs. Black plugs. And. . .oh, no. There are a few yellow plugs. What are they? Wait. Yellow plugs=video. Red/white/black=audio. White and black are the same? Go figure. Okay. And the plugs go in color-coordinated plug holes. Video 1. Video 2. CD. DVD. Lots of plug holes. DVD audio cords shouldn’t plug into the television anymore, but the video plug should. Sheesh.

After pondering the wires and plugs, I decide to do something easier. How about. . .the remote controls. I can add batteries. Easy. But, wait. There are too many remotes. Like five. I keep picking up the wrong ones. Daggone it.

I must label them with my label maker so I can tell at one glance what each one is.

I go in search of the label maker upstairs in my office, then I return to living room to make labels. CD. DVD. TV. Cable. Receiver. While I’m at it, I make labels for some of the wires. DVD to Receiver. DVD to TV. Etc.

Finally I finish that. I decide to continue avoiding all the wires with plugs because they still look a little complicated. Not to mention the hassle of working in and around the cabinet. I think I’ll do speaker wires.

Alrighty, then. Subwoofer to speakers with speaker wires which have two sides. I have to actually be able to see the little white line on the one side of the wire that tells me what side to stick where. Shoot. I have to take off my glasses and squint. (And why a white line and not black or red?) Anyway, okay. A. B. Input/Output. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Four connections into subwoofer from receiver. Four leave subwoofer—two to one speaker. Two to another. Right. Left. A. B.

Uh oh. I can’t remember what I just did. Maybe I’ll think about all of this. I lay on the floor feeling. . .confused.

But I persevered. Today it’s done. Successfully, I might add. And so to celebrate that I actually got completed the job, I’m going to turn on the music really loud. The walls and the floor will shake. Winston the parrot will love it. He loves loud.

Good thing I don’t have really close neighbors. J 

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January 29, 2008

Irradiated and Assimilated

So, what happens when you inform your doctor during a physical that you’re having heart palpitations, but they’re probably just stress related?

REFERRAL TIME! Yippee Skippy! To the cardiologist we go.

So, weeks later, I found myself at the cardiologist’s office with an I.V. stuck in the back of my hand for a four hour AFTERNOON testing procedure.

“Does that bother you?” the nurse asked after she’d put the I.V. in my vein.

“Yes,” I said. “It grosses me out. I don’t want to look at it.”

“Well, don’t worry.” She patted my arm. “It’s not a needle. I took that out. Now it’s just a plastic tube.”

Like I should be happy because having a plastic tube instead of a needle stuck under my skin and directly in a blood vessel is a good thing?

I don’t think so. And neither is being caffeine deprived and starving because I’d had to fast. Not that I was cranky, mind you.

And having some sort of radioactive material squirted into said I.V., followed by saline solution, (twice) isn’t fun, either, because I could feel it in my arm and that grossed me out, too. They said the radiation stuff went directly to my heart so they could take “pictures” twice with this big scary machine that hovered over me for twenty minutes while I lay back in this chair.

I think it was all an alien plot. We-are-The-Borg-you-are-being-assimilated.

Yes, I have a great imagination. I’m a writer. I’m allowed.

Besides, I’m not sure a heart full of radiation is better than The Borg.

In between being assimilated and irradiated, I was hooked up to all sorts of wires and put on a treadmill for a stress test. I’m thinking The Borg used that opportunity to install a GPS signal thingie in my chest. Now I will be monitored the rest of my life. And they can beam me up whenever they want to.

Oh, the treadmill. Do you know how frustrating it is to have people telling me how to use a treadmill when I use one regularly at home? Yeah, I know. I was hooked up to their machine, but a treadmill is a treadmill. At the risk of sounding not nice at all (what do you expect from a hungry person), I wanted to slap the guy over the head and tell him to stop acting so superior. He looked like he could use about six months of treadmill work himself.

When I began that part of the test, my pulse was jumping from 85 to 100 to 90 to 108 to 95, and so on. (On occasion it’s done that at home, too, when I use my treadmill heart monitor. Usually when I’m stressed and hungry. It never lasts. Sheesh.)

The nurse leaned closer to the machine and stared. That isn’t good, by the way—having a nurse gape at the computer screen of my heart rhythms.

“I guess that’s unusual?” I asked.

“Ummm, yeah,” she said.

Then the arrhythmias started as if on cue. Probably from starvation.

“I’m having some palpitations,” I said.

“Yes, I see that.” She pointed at the monitor. “Do you see them? Look at this. And this. And this here.”

I just grunted politely and kept walking as instructed so that guy didn't lean over and tell me what to do again.

What I wanted to do was scream at all of them: Hello!

I don’t need to see the arrhythmias on the computer monitor. I feel them.

And all of you are NUTS!

I’ve had no real food since dinner the night before and it’s NOW AFTER LUNCH.

I’ve had no caffeine for 24 hours.

I have a headache.  

And then I had to drink a decaf soft drink before we did this dang test??

Come on! I don’t do well when I don’t eat and then I drink soda—diet or not—okay?

No wonder my heart was acting like it wanted to jump out of my body. It wanted a better home. The body of someone who was allowed to eat.

My normally joking self was severely challenged. I came home ready to take on anyone who annoyed me, including the cable company. I had to call them because the DVR player I’d just rented wasn’t working. Fortunately, for the sake of the guy on the other end of the phone, Comcast technicians are trained to be very, very nice, even to people who call them in a snarly mood. 

(I won't mention the name of anyone who gets snarly when she's hungry and her brand new cable DVR box doesn't work, but she's sitting on that stack of books there.)

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January 20, 2008

Hey, Look. There’s a Parrot on my Head.

Thursday was just another day. Well, aside from a cow that might calve that I had to keep on eye on for my folks. And the falling snow.

From inside the house, snow falling makes everything seems so peaceful. I wasn’t expecting anything untoward. Except maybe a calf in the snow.

So in between excursions to the barn, I sat at my desk, working on a content review. Mr. Winston was in his usual position behind me on his play stand. My iPod was hooked up to my awesome speaker system, playing instrumental Celtic music in the background.

I love music, by the way. Cannot live without it. My listening choices depend upon my mood and exactly what I’m doing. For content reviews, I do best with instrumental music.

Other chores require other kinds of music. First thing in the morning, I drink my coffee, read my Bible, and listen to rousing worship and praise. When I’m working on my own books, my choice depends upon the scene I’m writing. Sometimes I choose gut wrenching love songs. Sometimes sentimental stuff. Obviously those choices help me add romance to my books. And sometimes I pick rowdy rock and roll, which I also like to use when I’m cleaning and filing.

Any song with a good solid beat means there’s a chance I’m going to jump up from my chair and dance. Of course that startles Mr. Winston, whose eyes get real big as he watches me.

I guess it’s only fair that he gets even with me.

So, picture this. I’m concentrating hard on fascinating issues like foreshadowing, dialogue tags, and pronoun antecedents.

I hear the sudden flapping of wings behind me. Winston leaps from his perch and lands on my head, accompanied by the usual bunches of little white feathers that he sheds whenever he exerts himself.  (He cannot fly far because I’ve had his wings clipped, and he can’t get the momentum going.)

He lands on my head and gropes with his claws in my scalp, trying to find a foothold. Finally he grasps clumps of my hair with his beak, as well as said claws, so he doesn’t slide off my head.

I have tears in my eyes from having my hair pulled. I’m trying to avoid inhaling feathers. Then I have to untangle him from my hair before he poops on me.

Watch it, he says pleasantly.

I taught him to say that when I move his stand. Now he’s saying it back to me when I move him.

No. You better watch it, Mr. Bird, I say as I lose a handful of hair putting him back on his stand.

So is there a moral to this blog entry? Probably. How about something like this. Even if you’re expecting that something eventful might occur, like a calf being born in the snow, beware that other unexpected things might fall on your head.

Or how about this. You can’t keep a parrot from jumping on your head. But you can keep him from building a nest there—or pooping on your shoulder.

And, no. The cow never had her calf. 

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January 11, 2008

Dying, Living, and Growing Fruit

In the last few years I’ve realized that without death, there can be no growth. And without growth, life is so static as to be nonexistent. In fact, it's fruitless.

Oh, you might think because I’m a cozy mystery writer, and plotting murder and mayhem is part of my job, that I'm obsessed with death. But that’s not what I’m talking about here. Not physical death.

Nope. I mean all the emotional deaths we go through on a regular basis. I say “emotional” for lack of a better way to describe what happens to us when something we’ve dreamed of or something we've hoped for doesn’t come to pass. Or when we have to give up something precious to us and move on.

The Scripture that comes to mind, of course, is John 12:24, . . .unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain.

That is a particularly good visual for someone who spent years gardening, tossing seeds into the soil each spring. For days after I'd planted them, I would wonder if they were really going to grow. If I dug them up at that point, they looked dead. Rotted, even. But when I left them alone, a miraculous thing happened. They changed into something totally different. Plants. With roots and a stem and fruit. . .and more seeds.

But sometimes I had to prune them or cut them back. And when the season was over, I had to pull up the dead plants, remove the seeds, then burn the leftovers. Point being, growth can be painful, even when it leads to new life. It is sometimes a form of death.

That can definitely be applied to our lives, the day by day choices we make, and how we handle circumstances.

For instance, what happens when circumstances are beyond our control? Maybe something as simple as being the object of someone’s angry words. Or something more serious, like the end of a marriage. That’s when we choose life or death. Do we become angry and bitter? Or do we choose to forgive despite our feelings and begin to move on?

Sometimes God requires us to give up something that isn’t in our best interest. Without going into my usual exercise for health tirade, I’ll just say that diet and exercise are good examples. God refers to our bodies as temples of the Holy Spirit. That means we should honor Him by taking care of ourselves. But exercise isn’t easy. It’s a sort of death of the flesh because—yes—it’s easier to sit and eat than it is to go sweat.

Another good example would be when we’re in unhealthy situations or emotionally destructive relationships, and God lets us know it’s time to shut the doors and move on. That’s tough for someone like me who often stubbornly clings to things. I’m not a person to give up easily. Ask anyone who knows me well and they’d say I can be tenacious. However, I’m finally learning in middle age that there are certain times letting things go is acceptable and/or in my best interest, even when I don’t want to do it.

Making choices and certain decisions and then moving in a new direction when we’d rather not is a kind of death. And like dealing with death, there is a process of grief. That’s when we make the choice to either stay in mourning and not grow—or to move on and live.  

Remember Miss Havisham in Charles Dicken’s book, Great Expectations? She sat around in a rotting wedding dress, in a moldering room, grieving the fact that her groom had never showed up at their wedding—decades before. That’s a vivid example of not letting go of something—of living in the misery of unforgiveness. Decay and rot set in until there’s nothing left but bitterness and hatred. And a fruitless life.

What a horrible picture. I think I’ll choose life. Even when I have to die a little bit to do so.

(Picture of Miss Havisham and Estella from the 1946 movie version of the classic, Great Expectations.)

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December 14, 2007

Friends & Family

At this time of the year, I begin to think about the things I'm thankful for--just like I do at Thanksgiving. Okay, well, I try to always have a thankful heart, but at the end of the year, I'm particularly mindful of what lies behind and considering what lays ahead.

This year in particular, I'm so grateful for the people God has put in my life. The ones who encourage me. The ones who don't turn away or beat me over the head for the things I do wrong. The people who are there, no matter what. And the ones who will make sacrifices on my behalf if the need arises.

Often it's the hard times in life that define the true depth of a relationship. Sadly, many relationships don't stand the pressure of difficulties. That's painful, but a fact of life.

However, those relationships that do stand the tests of time are worth more than money. And I'm privileged to have some of those. 

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December 5, 2007

Snowing! Snowing!

We're having the first snow of the winter.

My very first reaction when I see snow falling is happiness. Like when I was little. Snow meant the possibility of a whole unexpected day off from school. The sound of a metal snow saucer streaking down the hill, then me tumbling off at the end before I smashed into a tree. Running around outside until I couldn’t feel my nose and finger tips. Little tiny balls of snow clinging to my mittens. Holding a cup of hot chocolate and feeling the steam thaw my nose.

I still like to walk in it. Feel the snowflakes on my face. Kick the snow high in the air. And (yes) make snow angels. Oh, and don’t forget snowball fights.

Okay. That's my first reaction.

Now comes my second reaction.

SIGH! I have to shovel. I have to dig out my car. I have to drive in this. There are homeless people out there. Some people will have accidents. Some people don’t have heat.

And with some of those thoughts, I begin to feel selfish for enjoying it. Never-ending Candice guilt.

Anyway, here are some pictures:

Barn and field in the snow.

My confused rose bush, which still had pink blooms on it.

Purple cone flower seed pods.

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November 25, 2007

Beware of Falling. . .Cows?

Okay. For those of you who are new to my blog, I need to tell you that my folks have cattle. Beef cattle. Polled Herefords, to be specific.

No, the breed has nothing to do with my article today, I just wanted to make that clear because. . .well, because my folks don’t raise black angus. Or Guernseys.

That always has to be clarified because it's important to people who raise one particular breed.

Anyway, some of you might remember my blog last year about the dead cow in the middle of the road. That was the article in which I described in detail how traumatized I was when my folks went away for a trip and left me in charge of a. . .yep. . .dead cow in the middle of the road. Well, technically, it was in the middle of the road to the barn, but it was a road, nonetheless. And I had to make sure the good people from 1-800-deadcow (Valley Protein) picked up the cow and got paid. With a check. In a jar. Placed right next to the dead cow.

I’m still not sure I’ve recovered from that incident. I think I’m having PTDCD (posttraumatic dead cow disorder).

How do I know? Well, because of the vivid, imaginary, dead cow mental images this Associated Press article title gave me.

Here’s it is: Danger. Beware of Falling Cows.

So, what’s your first thought when you read that?

Mine was of a dead cow swinging from the picker-upper thingie on the back of the truck that picks up dead animals. Unfortunately (in my imagination) while the winch is hauling the (slightly puffy) cow up into the air, the carcass comes unfastened, falls, and lands hard on the ground. (Splat. Ick.) Then the guy has to bring out a shovel. . .and I have to look at a large stain on the road forever and ever and ever.

However, that didn't really happen. And that’s not what this AP article was about.

It was worse.

It seems this poor, innocent couple was driving back to their hotel during a first year anniversary celebration trip.

The article doesn’t say what they were thinking about or talking about or planning, but I can guarantee they weren’t prepared to have a cow drop on their minivan.

So, here goes my imagination again. Literary license. Picture two people in l-o-v-e. First anniversary. Together. Alone. Romance. . .

(Bear with me. I’m a true romantic. I can’t help it.)

“I love you, baby,” the girl murmurs as she glances up at her man.

The guy smiles. “I love you more.”

She shakes her head. “Not possible. I love you more.”

“Nope. I love you more.” He takes her hand.

She leans over and kisses his cheek, and then she grins. “Okay, so, how about let’s go back to the hotel and. . .”

BAM!

The article says, The year-old cow fell about 200 feet from the cliff and landed on the hood of the couple's minivan, causing heavy damage.

Oh my gosh! Can you just see that?

The poor guy said he never saw the cow coming from the cliff above them. He kept repeating, "I don't believe this. I don't believe this."

I don’t believe it, either. And who would be expecting a cow to drop from above?

Here's the thing. They missed being killed by inches.

In other words, if the cow had fallen on the roof of the van or the windshield, they would have been tragically dead. On their first year anniversary. 

Did you catch the irony, by the way? First year anniversary? One year-old cow?

Well, the couple was okay. Grateful to be alive. The 600 pound cow had to be euthanized. (No doubt 1-800-deadcow came to get that carcass, too.)

Talk about a blessing. But what you wanna bet that poor couple heads for some flat location for their second year anniversary? That’s to avoid the chance that two cows, both aged two years, might drop from the sky.  

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November 22, 2007

Some Cool Quotes (Happy Thanksgiving)

I like quotes. I collect them. Like this one:

Real strength is not just a condition of one's muscle, but a tenderness in one's spirit. McCallister Dodds

Isn’t that awesome?

Yeah, I know yammer on and on about exercise. And I do believe that taking care of our bodies is an essential part of good health. But I’m also aware of Paul’s words in 1Timothy 4:8 (NIV). For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come.

That’s important. And by my reckoning, if our spirits are healthy, then we’ll be more likely to have success in other areas, including taking care of our physical well-being. God’s presence gives us strength to do what sometimes seems impossible. Not only that, but after we’re done here on earth, we move on to a glorious forever. That’s awesome. We can’t lose.

And here’s another quote:

The person who makes a success of living is the one who sees his goal steadily and aims for it unswervingly. That is dedication. Cecil B. DeMille (1881 - 1959)

So here’s my desire. To endeavor always to be tender in my spirit. Keeping my eyes on the Lord, while I strive unswervingly to be excellent in the goals that lie before me.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving. Whether you’re just doing something simple or having an elaborate celebration with your family. It is indeed a time to consider all of God’s blessings and be thankful.

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November 19, 2007

Running is a Little Like Life, Pt. 2

I ended my last blog with the question, how is running like life? This is something I've given a lot of thought to, especially when I am in the midst of pounding the pavement.

Running isn’t easy. It’s one of the hardest physical activities I’ve ever tried. (I understand that not all people can do it.) And some runs are a lot harder than others. In fact, some days running is painful, and it’s the last thing I want to do. My muscles are stiff and sore. I don't feel like I have the stamina to continue. But when I recall the good runs and look forward to future success, I can get through the bad ones one step at a time.

The discipline pays off in perceptible as well as imperceptible ways. The obvious results are things like building muscles, losing weight, and lowering blood pressure. Not so obvious is the rise in self-esteem and character building.

Sometimes pain and injury can sideline a runner. For instance, I recently sprained the top of my foot. Weird, huh? I fell from the next-to-last step on my staircase because I thought I was on the bottom step. I’ve been unable to run for over a month now. No worries, though. I have other instruments of torture. I’m determined to continue staying fit.

And that brings to mind equipment. The right kind of running gear makes the job easier. The wrong kind can make it difficult and even detrimental. For instance, good shoes are a must. Without them I would hurt my body. And there’s nothing like a good quality treadmill (or a gym membership or aerobic DVDs) for rainy, cold, snowy, or otherwise bad days to be outside.

Successful running, along with any other kind of exercise, is something no one else can do for me. In the past, sitting around thinking about it, reading about it, wishing I were doing it, all while eating whatever I wanted to, never got it done. Instead, I got discouraged and fat. I had to get out there and do it.

I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this. Like running, life isn’t always easy. Sometimes I have bad days, but the memory of previous successes and hope for the future make the hard times easier to get through.

Emotional pain has the potential to sideline me from regular life. Sometimes I want to hide in a cave and blow spit bubbles; however, I have no cave handy in which to hide (darn), and running from pain only makes it last longer. My mother has a saying that might sound a little harsh, but it works for me. Build a bridge and get over it. Yep. Thanks, Mother. It's become joke to us. Everytime I think about it, I laugh. When she actually says it to me, I laugh harder.

And that brings me to my next to last comparison—the right equipment. The equipment for life can’t really be bought, but it does cost. The most obvious tools almost go without saying. The Lord, prayer, and worship. After that come my friends, laughter, and music. Serving the Lord costs time, as does maintaining friendships. Sometimes I don't feel like laughing, but if I go ahead and do it, my reward is an immediate lifting of my spirits. All of these require sacrifice of self and time.

Living my life successfully is something only I can do. No one else can do it for me. I succeed because I set out to succeed—or not, although success doesn't always mean what I think it's going to mean. Sometimes life takes strange twists and I'm redirected toward a better path.

Interestingly enough, what might look like failure often isn't. It is redirection. If I fail at one thing, I need to forge ahead, and not stop and dwell on it. If I've given an effort my best and it didn't work out, then blaming circumstances, other people, or even me, is a waste of time and emotional energy.

Of course, my efforts must be in the areas where my talents lie. In other words, it would do no good for me to try to be a physicist. I don’t have that kind of brain. I wouldn’t be happy, nor would I be successful.

So, that’s a lesson in how running is a little like life.

(And now a message from your drill sergeant. Maybe you can’t run, but you can do some sort of exercise. JUST GO DO IT!)

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November 12, 2007

Running is a Little Like Life, Pt. 1

For instance, you gotta know when to stop and take a breather.

The same thing goes for blogging. After a year of blogging twice a week, I needed a break. I had a book to finish and some personal issues to take care of. But after a respite, I’m back. Better than ever. And what topic would be more ideal to begin anew than something near and dear to my heart—exercise—specifically, running.

When I began running just a few years ago, I was way past the age that some experts say a person should start. I’m not sure why they say that except perhaps because it’s hard on the body. And according to some experts, I’m also not the ideal body type. I’m not lean and wiry. I’m tall, big-boned, and . . . not thin.

I didn’t run much as a kid. I was a dreamer. I spent all my spare time listening to music, playing music, reading books, and writing books. I hated P.E. In fact, I totally sucked at all sports except tetherball and croquet.

Hey, do you remember the movies where the poor geeky kid is the last one picked for a sports team? And then the two teams argue over who has to have the poor, unfortunate kid—right in front of everyone, including the teacher? And the geeky kid ends up crying in humiliation? That was me. A classic, tongue-tied, no-good-at-sports, homely, geek girl.

After that kind of discouragement, I never tried to run, although I had a great deal of respect for people who did. Like, Wow, you’re a runner? How cool is that? As if they were some kind of superhuman doing nearly supernatural exploits.

And so life went on. I grew up and changed. Became more confident. When I was in my twenties and thirties, I did aerobics successfully and walked a lot, but then middle age hit, as did some difficult circumstances. I gained weight. Then I developed high blood pressure, and I felt rotten all the time. Especially when I started wearing a size 24.

Some people call it middle age spread. For me, it was being lazy and eating too much. If I had given that kind of weight gain an excuse for existence, I would have been taking the easy way out.

I chose to make some significant life changes. I began the South Beach Diet. And I began walking. My attempts were pitiful at first. I was cranky and miserable. I couldn’t even do a mile walking without being winded. But, within six months, I was up to walking a mile at a good clip. Then two.

The first time I tried to run, I gave up because it was too hard on my body. The second time, I gave up again for the same reason. But, the third time—months later—was a success. Finally. I was a runner. Okay, well only like a quarter mile at a time, but I was really running.

Gradually I worked up to a mile. Some days two miles. I’m not fast. I don’t do long distances without stopping to walk. I’ll probably never run a marathon. I’m still not model thin and never will be. But the big deal is that I now take care of myself. I feel good.

So how is running like life? I've learned some lessons along the way. Stay tuned. I’ll tell you in my next blog entry.

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