Monday, June 30, 2008

The Moore's take on Burger's Lake

This weekend my husband's side of the family joined forces with us as we took on Burger's lake for the day. I think we have found a new hot spot for all of us to go. I have to say I have the most adventurous sister-n-law. Lori challenged me to go off the diving boards both high and low along with a ridiculously high slide. And you know a challenge has to be met face on. What an exciting challenge they turned out to be. I will confess that I will never go off the high dive again. It is different as an adult, I am sure the fact that gravity pulls harder on my body than it did when I was younger and of course lighter.










Boy does time change things, the last time many of us had been to Burger's lake was in the late eighties and well it has shrunk. I remember it being so much further to the diving boards. One thing that did not change it was a lot of fun.
I love the fact that we were able to get together an enjoy this time together. I know the time we have together is short and I look forward to spending that time with those I love. I loved watching Princess and Lil Princess play together in the water. Isn't it great to have a cousin to play with. Jojo had so much fun jumping off the diving board and he can't wait to go back again. Captian M loved hanging out with his Uncle Wes. but my favorite part was watching my husband let loose and enjoy himself. I look forward to many other family outings together.


Friday, June 27, 2008

Review of Along Came a Cowboy by Christine Lynxwiler


Just enough to wet your whistle:
At seventeen, Rachel's illusions about romance were trampled by a rogue cowboy. In fifteen years since, she's steered clear of spurs and Stetsons-until she finds herself roped into chairing the Shady Grove Centennial Rodeo Committee. How will she handle working so closely with the one man in town she most wants to avoid? Ex-Rodeo star Jack Westwood never forgot his unrequited teenage fascination for Rachel Donovan, but now that hes' back in town, he barely recognized the woman she's become. Jack can't help but wonder...Is the feisty cowgirl he remembers still there beneath the shuttered exterior? When secrets from long ago comes knocking, Rachel fights to maintain her sterling reputation. But can the woman who has devoted her life to healing others allow God to mend her own hurts? Will she seize the opportunity to reconcile with her past and open her heart to love again?

To order a new copy click here
Along Came a Cowboy: The Pinky Promise Sisterhood, Book 2 (Truly Yours Romance Club #22)

What is not to love in about a story involving cowboys, romance, forgiveness and friendship? This is the first of Christine's novels I have read and it is always a little scary to pick up a new author and it is wonderful to be rewarded with a great new author. I enjoyed this novel and even though it is the second in the Pinky Promise series it stands alone rather nicely but I look forward to reading the others in the series. The novel deals with forgiveness of yourself and others. So often we make poor decisions in our youth and then have to deal with the consequence for the rest of our lives. This is the situation that Rachel finds herself in. She struggles to accept her forgiveness and deal with the secrets that have surrounded her life. If you are looking for a novel that is fun and insightful this is a great choice.

If you would like to win a copy of this book please leave a comment and answer this weeks question but be sure to disguise your addy so the webspiders don't capture it. You can use the format of yourname[at]address[dot]com. What would you like most to do? I really want to jump out of an airplane for my fortieth birthday. I have a five years to work myself up to actually doing it though.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Today's Wild Card

Leave a comment for a chance to win!

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!





Today's Wild Card author is:


and his/her book:


Along Came a Cowboy

Barbour Publishing, Inc. (May 1, 2008)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Award-winning author and past president of American Christian Romance Writers, CHRISTINE LYNXWILER has numerous novels and novellas published with Barbour, including Arkansas, Promise Me Always, and Forever Christmas. She and her husband, Kevin, along with their two daughters, four horses, and two dogs live in the foothills of the beautiful Ozark Mountains in their home state of Arkansas.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.97
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc. (May 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1597898961
ISBN-13: 978-1597898966

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Chapter One

Babies complicate life, but the human race can't survive without them. Maybe I should write that on the dry erase board out in the waiting room—Dr. Rachel Donovan's Profound Thought for the Day.

Ever notice how some months are all about weddings? When you turn on the TV or pick up a magazine, everything is white tulle and old lace. Then there are what I think of as baby months. Unlike June and December for weddings, baby months can pop up anytime.

And here in Shady Grove, Arkansas—just in time for summer, when the irises are pushing up from the ground, the new leaves are green on the trees, and the crepe myrtles are starting to bloom—we're smack dab in the middle of a baby month.

I finger the latest birth announcement on my desk. One of my patients just had her fifth child. You'd think, at this point, she'd be sending out SOS messages instead of announcements, but the pink card proudly proclaims the arrival of her newest bundle of joy.

The front door chime signals the arrival of our first patient, so I send up a silent prayer for the baby. Then my eyes fall on the family picture on my desk.

Lord, please be with Tammy, too, in her pregnancy.

My thirty-eight-year-old sister was so thrilled when she called a couple of months ago to tell me she was pregnant and so scared yesterday when the doctor put her on temporary bed rest.

While I'm on the baby thread, I mention my friend Lark who is desperate to adopt. I say amen, steadfastly ignoring my own out-of-whack biological clock.

My receptionist, Norma, sidles into my office like a spy in an old movie, softly shuts the door and turns to face me, her brown eyes wide. "Whoever warned mamas not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys," she whispers, "never saw the man in our waiting room."

"What?" I absently flip through the small pile of files on my desk. Not long ago I remodeled my entire clinic—repainted the walls with calming blues and browns, added new chiropractic tables and new waiting room chairs, and even got solid oak office furniture with nifty little cubbies. For about a week I could find things.

And did she just say the word babies? What did I tell you? It's one of those months. "Do you know where Mrs. Faulkner's file is? I thought it was here, but I can't find it."

Norma raises her eyebrows. "You saw her after hours Tuesday night, didn't you? I think it's on my desk waiting for charges."

Now I remember. "No charge," I say automatically.

She puts her hands on her hips. "C'mon, Doc, you can't fall for every sob story you hear."

I grin. "We make it, don't we? If I can't help out a sixty-two-year-old woman who lifts and bathes and cares for her grown son around the clock, then I'd just as soon not be in practice."

She shrugs. "You're the one who has to worry about paying your bills. I get my paycheck regardless." Her round face lights up and she motions to me. "Now come look."

Norma's always slightly out of sync with reality, but today is shaping up to be odd even for her.

"At the man in the waiting room," she clarifies, as if I'm a little slow. "You have to see him."

"I usually do see everyone who's in the waiting room, don't I? Eventually?"

She blows out her breath and folds her arms. "It'll only take a second."

"Who is it?"

She shakes her head, her short brunette curls springing with the movement. "I'm not telling. You'll have to see for yourself."

I sigh. I know I'm the boss, but once Norma has something in her head, it's easier just to go along with her. She turns to lead the way out to her desk where a large window overlooks the main waiting room. I promise she's tiptoeing.

"Hey, Nancy Drew," I say quietly.

She jumps and spins around. "What?" she hisses.

I grin. "Let's try not to be so obvious."

She presses her back against the wall and motions for me to go ahead of her. I saunter to her desk. Right on top is the file I was looking for. At least this wasn't a wasted trip. I retrieve it while I give the waiting room a cursory glance. The cowboy chooses that moment to look up, of course. A slow grin spreads across his face.

I fumble with the file and almost drop it.

Jack Westwood.

I don't believe it. Alma Westwood could give the-little-engine-that-could lessons in persistence. I return his grin with a quick professional smile and—holding the file high enough that he can see I had a valid reason for being there—walk back to my office.

Norma is right on my heels. She closes the door. "So? What did I tell you? That's Alma Westwood's son. The rodeo star."

"I know who he is." I toss the file on my desk and plop down in my chair to look at it.

"You know him?"

I shake my head. "We were friends when we were kids, but I don't know him really. I've just seen his picture in the paper like everyone else." And since he moved back a few months ago, I've seen him around town enough to know that women fall all over themselves when he walks by. Definitely not my type. Which is one reason I've avoided him.

"Oh yeah. His hat was shading his face in that picture." Her brows draw together. "Which is a cryin' shame."

I look up at her cherub face. "Hey, remember old What's His Name? The handsome guy you're happily married to?" I grin.

She shrugs. "Doesn't mean I'm blind. Besides, you aren't married."

Thanks for the reminder.

"So when Alma signed in, she said she brought her son to see her new X-rays."

"How nice." Not that I'm falling for her flimsy excuse. Alma is just one in a long line of Mama Matchmakers. My patients with unmarried sons seem to take my singlehood as a personal affront. Ever since Rodeo Jack moved back to run his family ranch next door to my parents, Alma has upped her efforts
to make me her daughter-in-law, or at least reintroduce me
to him.

Don't ask me why Jack needs his mama to fix him up with someone in the first place. Norma is not exaggerating. He was passably cute back when we were kids, and he's one of those men who gets better-looking with age. If he's lost any teeth or broken his nose riding in the rodeo, he's covered it well. Not only is he a real cowboy, but he could play one on TV. Last week at the diner, I was two tables away from him when he smiled at the waitress. For a moment I was jealous that the smile wasn't for me. But only for a moment.

Then common sense kicked in. Me and Jack Westwood? Not likely. Which is just as well, because on a less personal note. . .a chiropractor and a rodeo star? What a combination. I'd spend the rest of my life trying to fix the mess he makes of his body. Besides, I can't imagine myself with someone whose belt buckle is bigger than his IQ. And even though he seemed smart when we were in school, as far as I'm concerned, anyone who'll willingly climb on a bucking bull over and over is a few calves short of a herd.

Still, it's my job to educate patients and their families about their health. I turn back to Norma. "After you put them in a room, pull Alma's X-rays for me, okay?"

Norma starts to leave then smacks her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Oh, I almost forgot. Lark Murray is on line one."

I glance at the phone. Sure enough, line one is blinking. "Thanks."

Never mind that we let Lark sit and wait while we sneaked a peek at Alma's cowboy son. Norma marches to her own drummer, and I run along behind her trying to stay in step.

I reach toward the phone, and for a split second, I consider having Norma take a message. Lark is one of my three closest friends. I'm a few years younger than the rest and came late to the Pinky Promise Sisterhood group they formed in childhood. But ever since the night they found me crying in the bowling alley bathroom, the Pinkies have been family to me. We share our deepest secrets and craziest dreams and—now that we all live in Shady Grove, Arkansas, again—regular face-to-face gabfests.

And any other day of the year, I'm happy to hear from any of them. But this particular anniversary day is always filled with awkward conversations. They never know what to say, and neither do I.

I snatch the handset up before I give in to my cowardice. I'll just make it short and sweet. "Hey, girl."

"Rach, I'm so glad I caught you. I was afraid you'd already started with patients."

"No. Sorry you had to wait." Here it comes. The gentle "You okay today?" Or the "Just called to say hi and wish you a good day for no particular reason."

"I can't take this anymore." Her voice is trembling.

Okay, I wasn't expecting that. "What?"

"The waiting. Why do they make us go through an in-spection worthy of a Spanish Inquisition if they're not going to give us a baby?"

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding and sink back onto my chair. Lark is focused on one thing and one thing only these days, so thankfully this call isn't about me. "They're go-ing to give you a baby. They'd be crazy not to. These things just take time."

"You sound like the caseworker." She sighs. "I called her last night even though Craig didn't think I should."

"Lark, honey, I know it's hard to wait now that you've finally decided to adopt. But you're going to have to. God has—" My throat constricts, but I push the words out. "God has the perfect baby for you."

"It doesn't feel like it." She must be upset, because that's definitely a bit of a whine, something she never does.

"Has He ever let you down?"

"No. But maybe I was right before. Maybe it's just not His will for me to be a mom."

I thought we'd settled all that a few months ago when she showed up on my doorstep late one night with a suitcase because her husband wanted to adopt. Still, I can totally relate to old insecurities sneaking back in when you least expect them. "You're going to have to think about something else for a while, Lark. Are you helping Allie today?"

"I'm supposed to. I was thinking about seeing if she can make it without me though."

"How are y'all coming along?" Our Pinky friend Allie Richards recently won the Shady Grove Pre-Centennial Beautiful Town Landscaping Contest and consequently landed the town landscaping maintenance contract for the year. She has some real employees now, but during the contest her crew consisted of Allie's brother, Adam, Lark, me, and our other Pinky, Victoria Worthington. So we all have a vested emotional interest in TLC Landscaping.

Lark sighs. "We're swamped trying to get everything in perfect shape before the centennial celebration really gets going. I guess I really should work today. I know Allie needs me."

Good girl. "You know what your granny always said—a busy mind doesn't have time to worry."

"You're right. I'm going to have to trust God to handle this and go get ready for work. Thanks for talking me down off the ledge."

"Anytime."

"See you tonight, Rach."

"I'll be there." When the connection is broken, I close my eyes.

Lord, please give me strength to face today.

I open my eyes and push to my feet. Time to cowgirl up.

v


As soon as I walk into the adjusting room, Alma stands. "Dr. Donovan, I'm sure you remember my son, Jack."

Jack holds his cowboy hat in his left hand and offers me the right. I promise I expect him to say, "Ma'am," and duck his head. "Dr. Donovan," he drawls, and from the boy who used to pull my braids, the title sounds a little mocking. "Nice to see you again." As we shake hands, he flashes that heartbeat-accelerating smile again.

"You, too." His hands are nice. Slightly calloused. Working hands, but not so tough that they're like leather.

I look up into his puzzled brown eyes and then back down at his hand, which I'm still holding. Behind him, his mother beams as if she has personally discovered the cure for every terminal illness known to humankind. I jerk my hand away. Should I tell him that I always notice hands, since my own hands are what I use most in my profession? Or would he think that was a pickup line? I'm sure he's heard some doozies.

Better to ignore it. I slap the X-rays up on the view box then focus my attention on Alma as I point out the key spots we're working on.

When I finish, Jack crosses the room in two steps and points to the X-ray. "This increased whiteness is arthritis, right?"

My eyebrows draw together. "You've had experience with X-rays?"

He shrugs and gives me a rueful grin. "Occupational hazard."

Of course. "In any case, you're right. It is arthritis, but no more than normal for someone your mother's age."

"Thankfully, Dr. Donovan keeps me going. Otherwise I'd be like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz," Alma pipes up from her chair in the corner.

"To hear Mom tell it, you're the Wizard of Oz," Jack mutters, still standing beside me. He turns to Alma. "Your X-rays are normal?"

Her eyes open wide. "Yes."

"Totally normal?"

She blinks at him. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Yes, but—"

"I thought you'd be pleased to know your old mom was going to be getting around without a walker for a few more years." Alma's voice is soft and sweet.

He frowns. "You know I am. But since Dr. Donovan has apparently already explained these X-rays to you, you could have told me that on the ph—" He stops, apparently realizing that I'm like a reluctant spectator at a tennis game, watching their verbal volleying.

"But this way you can see for yourself," Alma says with a satisfied smile.

He opens his mouth then closes it and nods.

Game, set, match to Alma.

I turn back to her. "Any questions?"

She smiles. "Not a one. Thank you so much for taking the time to go over this with us."

"I'm always glad to help you understand your health better."

"I'm going to go freshen up before we head home," Alma says. And just like that, she's gone, leaving me with her son. No doubt the whole point.

"Jack," I say in what I hope is a coolly professional voice, "thank you for coming by."

He nods. "I'm sorry we wasted your time. I don't know why I'm surprised this was a setup. Our mothers have been singing your praises ever since I got back in town."

"Our mothers?" My mother and I barely speak, and I'm certain she's never sung my praises a day in my life. At least not since I was a teenager.

"They make you sound like Mother Teresa and the Alberts all rolled into one."

I raise a brow. "The Alberts?"

"Einstein and Schweitzer."

I can't keep from laughing. "Now that's an appealing combination. And don't forget the Wizard of Oz."

"They're probably not far off, actually. It's just that—" He runs his hands around the brim of the hat he's still holding. "Thanks for being a good sport." He grins. "And at least now when we see each other at the diner, we can say hello."

A hot blush spreads across my face. The curse of being a redhead. I blush easily and at the oddest times. It's not like he knows I was admiring him the other day while I was waiting for my food. At least, I sure hope not. "True." I open the door and step back for him to go through.

"I guess I'd better go. I'll just wait for Mom out here," he says dryly and saunters down the hall.

"Not a moment too soon," I mutter under my breath and retreat to my office for a few minutes. The last thing I need is a blast from the past. Especially in the form of a rugged, sweet-smiling cowboy.

I will post a review Friday so be sure to check it out. Also if you would like to win a copy of the book please leave a comment or email me here. Please leave an addy but disguise it so the internet spiders don't capture it such as myemail[at]sbcglobal[dot]net.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Did I pick that color?

Well, we had Rico and his guys out to paint the house. We are slowly getting things done to the house to get it ready to sell. This month we had the outside painted. Have you ever thought about how important the color is that you put on the outside of your home is? It isn't like the inside where you can close the door and nobody will see it. No, the outside paint is for everyone to enjoy or hate. I labored over the decision of the paint. All of the homes in our subdivision currently have the same vanilla paint scheme and I wanted my to be different. Not like lime green and purple different just enough to make the statement that this house is not the same as the others (even if the floor plans are pretty much the same). I went yesterday to pick up the paint from Home Depot and I thought I had picked wisely. You would think that they could give you a free sample like they do of icecream at Marble Slab. Just a small amount to see if you really like it. Those little squares really do not give you much to go on. Well, to make a long story short, instead of having a darker tan my house has a light sage paint and truth be told, I think I like it! If nothing else the house is painted and it doesn't look just like everyone elses house on the street.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Have you done all you want to do yet?

Today I went to the community center to sign my children up for swim lessons. The trick is you have to be there by 4 even though they do not start until 5:30 but that is a entirely different story. During the time that I waited I started talking to an older lady named Catherine sitting beside me. She didn't have any children with her but I thought maybe she was signing up her grandchildren for the lessons. Catherine asked me if I was taking the lessons or my children. I answered that my children were. She said she was going to finally learn how to swim. Her children and her grandchildren all swim and she felt she was "missing out on the fun". She told me about how she was afraid of swimming but she still wanted to learn. This made me think how often I have stood on the sidelines as an adult and observed because I didn't want to take a chance or learn something new. Have you challenged yourself to learn something new lately?

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Calico Canyon by Mary Connealy





It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!



You never know when I might play a wild card on you!















Today's Wild Card author is:









and her book:





Calico Canyon



Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2008)





ABOUT THE AUTHOR:




MARY CONNEALY is married to Ivan a farmer, and she is the mother of four beautiful daughters, Joslyn, Wendy, Shelly and Katy. Mary is a GED Instructor by day and an author by night. And there is always a cape involved in her transformation.



Visit her at her website and her blog.



Product Details



List Price: $10.97

Paperback: 288 pages

Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc (July 1, 2008)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1597899380

ISBN-13: 978-1597899383



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:





Chapter One



Mosqueros, Texas, 1867





T he Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode in.



Late as usual.



Grace Calhoun was annoyed with their tardiness at the same time she wished they’d never come back from the noon recess.



They shoved their way into their desks, yelling and wrestling as if they were in a hurry. No doubt they were. They couldn’t begin tormenting her until they sat down, now, could they?



Grace Calhoun clenched her jaw to stop herself from nagging. Early in the school year, she’d realized that her scolding amused them and, worse yet, inspired them. To think she’d begged their father to send his boys to school.



Her gaze locked on Mark Reeves. She knew that look. The glint in his eyes told her he was planning. . .something. . .awful.



Grace shuddered. Seven girls and fifteen boys in her school. Most were already working like industrious little angels.



Most.



The noise died down. Grace stood in front of the room and cleared her throat to buy time until her voice wouldn’t shake. Normally she could handle them—or at least survive their antics. But she hadn’t eaten today and it didn’t look as though she’d eat soon.



“Sally, will you please open your book to page ten and read aloud for the class?”



“Yes, Miss Calhoun.” With a sweet smile, six-year-old Sally McClellen, her Texas accent so strong Grace smiled, stood beside her desk and lifted the first grade reader.



Grace’s heart swelled as the little girl read without hesitation, her blue eyes focused on the pages, her white-blond hair pulled back in a tidy braid. Most of her students were coming along well.



Most.



Grace folded her skeletal hands together with a prayer of thank-fulness for the good and a prayer for courage for the bad. She added prayers for her little sisters, left behind in Chicago, supported with her meager teacher’s salary.



A high-pitched squeak disrupted her prayerful search for peace. A quick glance caught only a too-innocent expression on Ike Reeves’s face.



Mark’s older brother Ike stared at the slate in front of him. Ike studying was as likely as Grace roping a longhorn bull, dragging him in here, and expecting the creature to start parsing sentences. There was no doubt about it. The Reeves boys were up to something.



She noticed a set of narrow shoulders quivering beside Mark. Luke Reeves, the youngest of the triplets—Mark, Luke, and John. All three crammed in one front-row desk built to hold two children. The number of students was growing faster than the number of desks.



She’d separated them, scolded, added extra pages to their assign-ments. She’d kept them in from recess and she’d kept them after school.



And, of course, she’d turned tattletale and complained to their father, repeatedly, to absolutely no avail. She’d survived the spring term with the Reeves twins, barely. The triplets weren’t school age yet then. After the fall work was done, they came. All five of them. Like a plague of locusts, only with less charm.



The triplets were miniature versions of their older twin brothers, Abraham and Isaac. Their white-blond hair was as unruly as their behavior. They dressed in the next thing to rags. They were none too clean, and Grace had seen them gather for lunch around what seemed to be a bucket full of meat.



They had one tin bucket, and Abe, the oldest, would hand out what looked like cold beefsteak as the others sat beside him, apparently starved half to death, and eat with their bare hands until the bucket was empty.



Why didn’t their father just strap a feed bag on their heads? What was that man thinking to feed his sons like this?



Easy question. Their father wasn’t thinking at all.



He was as out of control as his sons. How many times had Grace talked to Daniel Reeves? The man had the intelligence of the average fence post, the personality of a wounded warthog, and the stubbornness of a flea-bitten mule. Grace silently apologized to all the animals she’d just insulted.



Grace noticed Sally standing awkwardly beside her desk, obviously finished.



“Well done, Sally.” Grace could only hope she told the truth. The youngest of the three McClellen girls could have been waltzing for all Grace knew.



“Thank you, Miss Calhoun.” Sally handed the book across the aisle to John Reeves.



The five-year-old stood and began reading, but every few words he had to stop. John was a good reader, so it wasn’t the words tripping him up. Grace suspected he couldn’t control his breathing for wanting to laugh.



The rowdy Reeves boys were showing her up as a failure. She needed this job, and to keep it she had to find a way to manage these little monsters.



She’d never spanked a student in her life. Can I do it? God, should

I do it?



Agitated nearly to tears, Grace went to her chair and sat down.



“Aahhh!” She jumped to her feet.



All five Reeves boys erupted in laughter.



Grace turned around and saw the tack they’d put on her chair. Resisting the urge to rub her backside, she whirled to face the room.



Most of the boys were howling with laughter. Most of the girls looked annoyed on her behalf. Sally had a stubborn expression of loyalty on her face that would have warmed Grace’s heart if she hadn’t been pushed most of the way to madness.



Grace had been handling little girls all her life, but she knew noth-ing about boys.



Well, she was going to find out if a spanking would work. Slamming her fist onto her desk, she shouted, “I warned you boys, no more pranks. Abraham, Isaac, Mark, Luke, John, you get up here. You’re going to be punished for this.”



“We didn’t do it!” The boys chorused their denials at the top of their lungs. She’d expected as much, but this time she wasn’t going to let a lack of solid evidence sway her. She knew good and well who’d done this.



Driven by rage, Grace turned to get her ruler. Sick with the feeling of failure but not knowing what else to do, she jerked open the drawer in her teacher’s desk.



A snake struck out at her. Screaming, Grace jumped back, tripped over her chair, and fell head over heels.



With a startled cry, Grace landed hard on her backside. She barely registered an alarming ripping sound as she bumped her head against the wall hard enough to see stars. Her skirt fell over her head, and her feet—held up by her chair—waved in the air. She shoved desperately at the flying gingham to cover herself decently. When her vision cleared, she looked up to see the snake, dangling down out of the drawer, drop onto her foot.



It disappeared under her skirt, and she felt it slither up her leg. Her scream could have peeled the whitewash off the wall.



Grace leapt to her feet. The chair got knocked aside, smashing into the wall. She stomped her leg, shrieking, the snake twisting and climbing past her knee. She felt it wriggling around her leg, climbing higher. She whacked at her skirt and danced around trying to shake the reptile loose.



The laughter grew louder. A glance told her all the children were out of the desks and running up and down the aisle.



One of the McClellen girls raced straight for her. Beth McClellen dashed to her side and dropped to her knees in front of Grace. The nine-year-old pushed Grace’s skirt up and grabbed the snake.



Backing away before Grace accidentally kicked her, Beth said, “It’s just a garter snake, ma’am. It won’t hurt you none.”



Heaving whimpers escaped with every panting breath. Grace’s heart pounded until it seemed likely to escape her chest and run off on its own. Fighting for control of herself, she got the horrible noises she was making under control then smoothed her hair with unsteady hands. She stared at the little snake, twined around Beth’s arm.



Beth’s worried eyes were locked on Grace. The child wasn’t sparing the snake a single glance. Because, of course, Beth and every other child in this room knew it was harmless. Grace knew it, too. But that didn’t mean she wanted the slithery thing crawling up her leg!



“Th—ank—” Grace couldn’t speak. She breathed like a winded horse, sides heaving, hands sunk in her hair. The laughing boys drowned out her words anyway.



Beth turned to the window, eased the wooden shutters open, and lowered the snake gently to the ground. The action gave Grace another few seconds to gather her scattered wits.



Trying again, she said, “Thank you, B-Beth. I’m not—not a-afraid of snakes.”



The laughter grew louder. Mark Reeves fell out of his desk holding his stomach as his body shook with hilarity. The rest of the boys laughed harder.



Swallowing hard, Grace tried again to compose herself. “I was just startled. Thank you for helping me.” Taking a step toward Beth, Grace rested one trembling hand on the young girl’s arm. “Thank you very much, Beth.”



Beth gave a tiny nod of her blond head, as if to encourage her and extend her deepest sympathy.



Grace turned to the rioting classroom—and her skirt fell off.



With a cry of alarm, Grace grabbed at her skirt.



The boys in the class started to whoop with laughter. Mark kicked his older brother Ike. Ike dived out of his chair onto Mark. They knocked the heavy two-seater student desk out of line. Every time they bumped into some other boy, their victim would jump into the fray.



Pulling her skirt back into place, she turned a blind eye to the chaos to deal with her clothes. Only now did she see that the tissue-thin fabric was shredded. A huge hole gaped halfway down the front. It was the only skirt she owned.



Beth, a natural caretaker, noticed and grabbed Grace’s apron off a hook near the back wall.



Mandy McClellen rushed up along with Sally and all the other girls. Mandy spoke low so the rioting boys couldn’t overhear. “This is your only dress, isn’t it, Miss Calhoun?”



Grace nodded, fighting not to cry as the girls adjusted the apron strings around her waist to hold up her skirt. She’d patch it back to-gether somehow, although she had no needle and thread, no money to buy them, and no idea how to use them.



Grace looked up to see the older Reeves boys making for the back of the schoolroom.



“Hold it right there.” Mandy used a voice Grace envied.



The boys froze. They pivoted and looked at Mandy, as blond as her sisters and a close match in coloring to the Reeves, but obviously blessed with extraordinary power she could draw on when necessary. After the boys’ initial surprise—and possibly fear—Grace saw the calculating expression come back over their faces.



“Every one of you,” Mandy growled to frighten a hungry panther, “get back in your seats right now.” She planted her hands on her hips and stared.



The whole classroom full of boys stared back. They hesitated, then at last, with sullen anger, caved before a will stronger than their own. Under Mandy’s burning gaze, they returned to their seats. Grace’s heart wilted as she tried to figure out how Mandy did it.



When the boys were finally settled, the eleven-year-old turned to Grace, her brow furrowed with worry. “I’m right sorry, Miss Calhoun,” she whispered, “but you have to figure out how to manage ’em yourself. I can’t do it for you.”



Grace nodded. The child spoke the complete and utter truth.



The girls fussed over Grace, setting her chair upright and returning to her desk a book that had been knocked to the floor.



“Miss Calhoun?” Beth patted Grace’s arm.



“Yes?”



“Can I give you some advice?”



The little girl had pulled a snake out from under Grace’s skirt. Grace would deny her nothing. “Of course.”



“I think it’s close enough to day’s end that you ought to let everyone go home. You’re too upset to handle this now. Come Monday morning you’ll be calmer and not do something you’ll regret.”



“Or start something you can’t finish,” Sally added.



Grace knew the girls were right. Her temper boiled too near the surface. She was on the verge of a screaming fit and a bout of tears.



My dress! God, what am I going to do about it?



These boys! Dear, dear Lord God, what am I going to do about them?



She tried to listen for the still, small voice of God that had taken her through the darkest days of her life during her childhood in Chicago. He seemed to abandon her today. The good Lord had to know one of His children had never needed an answer more. But if God sent an answer, her fury drowned it out. She’d been putting off a showdown with these boys all term. It was time to deal with the problem once and for all.



Sally slipped her little hand into Grace’s. “Boys are naughty.”



Grace shared a look with Sally and had to force herself not to nod. Seven sweet little girls stood in a circle around her. Grace wanted to hug them all and then go after the boys with a broom, at least five of them. The other ten weren’t so badly behaved. Except when inspired by the Reeves.



God had made boys and girls. He’d planned it. They were supposed to be this way. But how could a teacher stuff book learning in their heads when they wouldn’t sit still or stop talking or quit wrestling?



Digging deep for composure, Grace said, “You girls return to your seats, please. And thank you for your help.”



Beth shook her head frantically, obviously sensing Grace wasn’t going to take her advice.



“It’s all right, Beth. I’ve put this off too long as it is. And thank you again.”



Beth’s feet dragged as she followed her sisters and the other girls to her seat.



Grace waited as the room returned to relative quiet, except for the usual giggling and squirming of the Reeves boys.



Glancing between her chair seat and her open desk drawer, Grace was worried she might develop a nervous tic. She sat down but left the drawer open. An almost insane calm took over her body. “School is dismissed except for Abraham, Isaac, Mark, Luke, and John Reeves.”



Forehead furrowed over her blond brows, Beth shook her head and gave a little “don’t do it” wave.



Grace could tell by the way the sun shone in the west window that it was only a few minutes early for dismissal. Good. That gave her time to settle with these boys, and then she’d have it out with their father. Things were going to change around here!



The rest of the students, stealing frequent glances between her and the blond holy terrors in her midst, gathered up their coats and lunch pails and left the schoolhouse in almost total silence.



And that left Grace.



Alone.



With the Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

MIXED BAGS BY MELODY CARLSON



It's June 21st, time for the Teen
FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance! Click the button!) Every 21st, we will
feature an author and his/her latest Teen fiction book's FIRST
chapter!




and her book:


Zondervan (May 1, 2008)




ABOUT THE
AUTHOR:

In
sixth grade, Melody Carlson helped start a school newspaper called The
BuccaNews (her school’s mascot was a Buccaneer...arrr!). As editor of this
paper, she wrote most of the material herself, creating goofy phony
bylines to hide the fact that the school newspaper was mostly a "one man"
show.

Visit the Melody's website to see all of her wonderful
and various book titles.

Don't miss the second book in this
series: Stealing Bradford (Carter House Girls, Book 2)

And one of
her latest, A Mile in My Flip-Flops will be featured on FIRST Blog Alliance
on July 1st!

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99

Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (May 1, 2008)

Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310714885
ISBN-13:
978-0310714880



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

“Desiree,” called Inez as she
knocked on the other side of the closed bedroom door. “Mrs. Carter wants
to see you downstairs.”

“The name is DJ.”

“I’m
sorry, but your grandmother has instructed me to call you Desiree.”

DJ opened the door and looked down on the short and slightly
overweight middle-aged housekeeper. “And I have instructed you to call me
DJ.”

Inez’s dark eyes twinkled as she gave her a sly grin.
“Yes, but it’s your grandmother who pays my salary, Desiree. I take
orders from Mrs. Carter. And she wants to see you downstairs in her office,
pronto.”

DJ grabbed her favorite Yankees ball cap and
shoved it onto her head, pulling her scraggly looking blonde ponytail
through the hole in the back of it.

“You’re wearing that?” asked
Inez with a frown. “You know what your grandmother says about?—?-”

“Look,” said DJ. “My grandmother might pay you to take orders
from her, but I’m a free agent. Got that?”

Inez chuckled. “I
got that. But you’re the one who’ll be getting it before too long,
Desiree.”

“DJ,” she growled as she tromped loudly down the curving
staircase. Why had she let Dad talk her into living with her
grandmother for her last two years of high school? She’d only been here since
last spring, late into the school year, but long enough to know that it
was nearly unbearable. Boarding school would be better than this. At
least she’d have a little privacy there and no one constantly riding
her?—?-telling her how to act, walk, look, and think. She wished there were
some way, short of running away (which would be totally stupid), out of
this uncomfortable arrangement.

“There you are,” said
Grandmother when DJ walked into the office. Her grandmother frowned at her
ball cap and then pasted what appeared to be a very forced smile onto
her collagen-injected lips. “I want you to meet a new resident.” She made
a graceful hand movement, motioning to where an attractive and
somewhat familiar-looking Latina woman was sitting next to a fashionably
dressed girl who seemed to be about DJ’s age, but could probably pass for
older. The girl was beautiful. Even with the scowl creasing her forehead,
it was obvious that this girl was stunning. Her skin was darker than
her mother’s, latte-colored and creamy. Her long black hair curled
softly around her face. She had high cheekbones and dramatic eyes.

DJ noticed her grandmother smiling her approval on this
unhappy-looking girl. But the girl looked oblivious as she fiddled with the gold
chain of what looked like an expensive designer bag. Not that DJ was an
expert when it came to fashion. The woman stood politely, extending her
hand to DJ.

“I’d like to present my granddaughter, Desiree
Lane.” Grandmother turned back to DJ now, the approval evaporating from
her expression. “Desiree, this is Ms. Perez and her daughter Taylor.”

DJ shook the woman’s hand and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.” But
the unfriendly daughter just sat in the leather chair, one long leg
elegantly crossed over the other, as she totally ignored everyone in the
room.

Grandmother continued speaking to DJ, although DJ
suspected this little speech was for Taylor’s mother. “Ms. Perez and I
first met when my magazine featured her for her illustrious music career.
Her face graced our cover numerous times over the years. Perhaps you’ve
heard of Eva Perez.”

The woman smiled. “Or perhaps not,” she
said in a voice that was as smooth as honey. “According to my
daughter, kids in your age group don’t comprise even a minuscule part of my fan
base.”

DJ smiled at the woman now. “Actually, I have heard
of you, Ms. Perez. My mom used to play your CDs. She was a serious
Latin jazz fan.”

“Was?” She frowned. “I hope her taste in music
hasn’t changed. I need all the fans I can get these days.”

Grandmother cleared her throat. “Desiree’s mother?—?-my daughter?—?-was
killed in a car accident about a year ago.”

“Oh, I’m so
sorry.”

DJ sort of nodded. She never knew how to react when
-people said they were sorry about the loss of her mother. It wasn’t as if
it were their fault.

“Desiree,” said Grandmother, “Would you
mind giving Taylor a tour of the house while I go over some business
details with her mother?”

“No problem.”

Grandmother’s recently Botoxed forehead creased ever so slightly, and DJ knew
that, once again, she had either said the wrong thing, used bad grammar,
or was slumping like a “bag of potatoes.” Nothing she did ever seemed
right when it came to her grandmother. “And after the tour, perhaps you
could show Taylor to her room.”

“Which room?” asked DJ,
feeling concerned. Sure, Taylor might be a perfectly nice person, even if a
little snobbish, but DJ was not ready for a roommate just yet.

“The blue room, please. Inez has already taken some of Taylor’s bags
up for her. Thank you, Desiree.”

Feeling dismissed as well
as disapproved of, DJ led their reluctant new resident out to the
foyer. “Well, you’ve probably already seen this.” DJ waved her arm toward
the elegant front entrance with its carved double doors and shining
marble floor and Persian rug. She motioned toward the ornate oak staircase.
“And that’s where the bedrooms are, but we can see that later.” She
walked through to the dining room. “This is where we chow down.” She
pointed to the swinging doors. “The kitchen’s back there, but the cook,
Clara, can be a little witchy about trespassers.” DJ snickered. “Besides,
my grandmother does not want her girls to spend much time in the kitchen
anyway.”

“Like that’s going to be a problem,” said Taylor,
the first words she’d spoken since meeting DJ.

“Huh?” said
DJ.

“I don’t imagine anyone is going to be exactly pigging
out around here. I mean aren’t we all supposed to become famous models or
something?” asked Taylor as she examined a perfectly manicured
thumbnail.

DJ frowned. “Well, my grandmother did edit one of the
biggest fashion magazines in the world, but I don’t think that means
we’re all going to become famous models. I know I’m not.”

Taylor
peered curiously at her. “Why not? You’ve got the height, the build,
and you’re not half bad looking .?.?. well, other than the fact that you
obviously have absolutely no style.” She sort of laughed, but not with
genuine humor. “But then you’ve got your grandmother to straighten
that out for you.”

DJ just shook her head. “I think my
grandmother will give up on me pretty soon. Especially when the others get
here. She’ll have girls with more promise to set her sights on.” At least
that was what DJ was hoping.

“Has anyone else arrived?”

“Not yet.” DJ continued the tour. “This is the library.” She
paused to allow Taylor to look inside the room and then moved on. “And
that’s the sunroom, or observatory, as Grandmother calls it.” She laughed.
“Hearing her talk about this house sometimes reminds me of playing
Clue.”

“What?”

“You know, the murder game, like where
Colonel Mustard kills Mrs. Peacock with a wrench in the
observatory.”

“Oh, I never played that.”

“Right .?.?.” Then DJ
showed Taylor the large living room, the most modern space in the
house. Grandmother had put this room together shortly after deciding to take
on her crazy venture. Above the fireplace hung a large flat-screen TV,
which was connected to a state-of-the-art DVD and sound system. This
was encircled by some comfortable pieces of leather furniture, pillows,
and throws.

“Not bad,” admitted Taylor.

“Welcome
back to the twenty-first century.”

“Do you have wireless
here?”

“Yeah. I told Grandmother it was a necessity for
school.”

“Good.”

“This house has been in our family for
a long time,” said DJ as she led Taylor up the stairs. “But no one has
lived here for the past twenty years. My grandmother had it restored
after she retired a -couple of years ago.” DJ didn’t add that her
grandmother had been forced to retire due to her age (a carefully guarded and
mysterious number) or that this new business venture, boarding teen
“debutantes,” was to help supplement her retirement income. Those were
strict family secrets and, despite DJ’s angst in living here, she did have
a sense of family loyalty?—?-at least for the time being. She wasn’t
sure if she could control herself indefinitely.

DJ stopped at
the second-floor landing. “The bedrooms are on this floor, and the
third floor has a ballroom that would be perfect for volleyball, although
Grandmother has made it clear that it’s not that kind of ballroom.” She
led Taylor down the hall. “My bedroom is here,” she pointed to the
closed door. “And yours is right next door.” She opened the door. “The
blue room.”

Taylor looked into the pale blue room and shook her
head in a dismal way. “And is it true that I have to share this room
with a perfect stranger?”

“Well, I don’t know how perfect
she’ll be.”

“Funny.” Taylor rolled her eyes as she opened a
door to one of the walk-in closets opposite the beds.

“I
try.”

“It’s not as big as I expected.”

“It’s bigger
than it looks,” said DJ as she walked into the room and then pointed to a
small alcove that led to the bathroom.

“Do I get any say in
who becomes my roommate?”

“I guess you can take that up with
my grandmother.”

Taylor tossed her purse onto the bed
closest to the bathroom and then kicked off her metallic-toned sandals.
“These shoes might be Marc Jacobs, but they’re killing me.”

“So,
you’re really into this?” asked DJ. “The whole fashion thing?”

Taylor sat down on the bed, rubbing a foot. “There’s nothing wrong
with wanting to look good.”

DJ felt the need to bite her
tongue. Taylor was her grandmother’s first official paying customer to
arrive and participate in this crazy scheme. Far be it from DJ to rock
Grandmother’s boat. At least not just yet.

“Well, thanks for
the tour,” said Taylor in a bored voice. Then she went over to where a
set of expensive-looking luggage was stacked in a corner. “Don’t the
servants around here know how to put things away properly?”

“Properly?” DJ shrugged.

Taylor picked up the top bag and laid
it down on the bench at the foot of one of the beds and opened it.

“Don’t you want to go down and tell your mom good-bye?” asked DJ
as she moved toward the door.

Taylor laughed in a mean way.
“And make her think she’s doing me a favor by dumping me here? Not on
your life.”

“Here are some more bags for Miss Mitchell,” said
Inez as she lugged two large suitcases into the room, setting them by
the door.

“Put them over there,” commanded Taylor, pointing
to the bench at the foot of the other bed. “And don’t pile them on top
of each other. This happens to be Louis Vuitton, you know.”

DJ saw Inez make a face behind Taylor’s back. But the truth was DJ
didn’t blame her. Inez might be a housekeeper, but she didn’t deserve to be
treated like a slave. Suddenly, DJ felt guilty for snapping at Inez
earlier today. She smiled now, and Inez looked surprised and a little
suspicious. Then DJ grabbed the largest bag, hoisted it onto the bench
with a loud grunt, and Taylor turned around and gave her a dark scowl.

“Thank you,” she snapped.

“Later,” said DJ as she
exited the room with Inez on her heels.

“Mrs. Carter wants to
see you downstairs, Desiree,” announced Inez when they were out on the
landing.

“Again?” complained DJ. “What for?”

“Another girl just arrived. Your grandmother wants you to give her a tour
too.”

“What am I now?” asked DJ. “The official tour
guide?”

“That sounds about right.” Inez gave her a smirk.

DJ wasn’t sure if she could stomach another fashion diva with an
attitude problem, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to risk another
etiquette lecture from her grandmother either. Once again, she clomped down
the stairs and made her appearance in the office, suppressing the urge
to bow and say, “At your ser-vice, Madam.”

“Eliza,” gushed
Grandmother, “This is my granddaughter, Desiree Lane. And Desiree, I’d
like you to meet Eliza Wilton.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet
you, Desiree.”

DJ nodded. She could tell by how formal her
grandmother was acting that Eliza Wilton must be someone really
important?—?-meaning extraordinarily wealthy?—?-even more so than the Mitchells.
And that’s when she remembered her grandmother going on about “the
Wilton fortune” this morning at breakfast. Of course, that must be Eliza’s
family.

“Nice to meet ya, Eliza,” DJ said in a purposely
casual tone. This girl was pretty too, but not like Taylor’s dark and
dramatic beauty. Eliza was a tall, slender, impeccably dressed, blue-eyed
blonde. She wasn’t exactly a Paris Hilton clone?—?-and she didn’t have a
little dog as far as DJ could see?—?-but there was a similarity, except
that Eliza’s face was a little softer looking, a little sweeter, but
then looks could be deceiving.

DJ wondered if the Botox was
starting to wear off, as her grandmother studied her with a furrowed
brow, probably comparing her to Miss Perfect Eliza. Naturally, DJ would
not measure up.

“Eliza is from Louisville,” said Grandmother.
“Her parents are presently residing in France, where her father just
purchased a vineyard. But Eliza’s grandmother and I are old friends. We
went to college together. When she heard about what I was doing up here
in Connecticut, she encouraged her daughter to send dear Eliza our
way.”

“Lucky Eliza,” said DJ in a droll tone.

Eliza
actually giggled. Then Grandmother cleared her throat. “Desiree will
give you a tour of the house,” she said. “And she’ll show you to your
room.”

“Which is .?.?.??” asked DJ.

“The rose
room.”

Of course, thought DJ as she led Eliza from the office. Next
to her grandmother’s suite, the rose room was probably the best room
in the house. Naturally, someone as important as Eliza would be entitled
to that. Not that DJ had wanted it. And perhaps her grandmother had
actually offered it to her last month. DJ couldn’t remember. But she had
never been a flowery sort of girl, and she knew the rose wallpaper in
there would’ve been giving her a serious migraine by now. Besides she
liked her sunny yellow bedroom and, in her opinion, it had the best view
in the house. On a clear day, you could actually glimpse a sliver of
the Atlantic Ocean from her small bathroom window.

DJ started
to do a repeat of her earlier tour, even using the same lines, until
she realized that Eliza was actually interested.

“How old is
this house?”

“Just over a hundred years,” DJ told her. “It
was built in 1891.”

“It has a nice feel to it.”

DJ
considered this. “Yeah, I kinda thought that too, after I got used to
it. To be honest, it seemed pretty big to me at first. But then you’re
probably used to big houses.”

“I suppose. Not that I’m
particularly fond of mansions.”

“Why aren’t you with your
parents?” asked DJ. “In France?”

“They’re concerned about things
like politics and security,” said Eliza as they exited the library. “In
fact, they almost refused to let me come here.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I think they felt I was safer in boarding school. If our
grandmothers hadn’t been such good friends, I’m sure they never would’ve
agreed.”

“So, you’re happy to be here?” DJ studied Eliza’s
expression.

“Sure, aren’t you?”

DJ frowned. “I don’t
know .?.?. I guess.”

“I think it’ll be fun to go to a real
high school, to just live like a normal girl, with other normal
girls.”

DJ tried not to look too shocked. “You think this is
normal?”

Eliza laughed. “I guess I don’t really know what normal
is, but it’s more normal that what I’m used to.”

“But what
about the whole fashion thing?” asked DJ. “I mean you must know about my
grandmother’s plans to turn us all into little debutantes. Are you into
all that?”

“That’s nothing new. Remember, I’m from the
south. My family is obsessed with turning me into a lady. That was one of
the other reasons my parents agreed to this. I think they see the Carter
House as some sort of finishing school.”

Or some sort of
reformatory school, thought DJ. Although she didn’t say it out loud. Not
yet, anyway.



Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Its a Wild Card Day



It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!






Today's Wild Card author is:


and her book:


She Always Wore Red

Tyndale House Publishers (April 23, 2008)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Christy-Award winner Angela Hunt writes for readers who have learned to expect the unexpected in novels from this versatile author. With over three million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of more than 100 works ranging from picture books (The Tale of Three Trees) to novels.

Now that her two children have reached their twenties, Angie and her husband live in Florida with Very Big Dogs (a direct result of watching Turner and Hooch and Sandlot too many times). This affinity for mastiffs has not been without its rewards--one of their dogs was featured on Live with Regis and Kelly as the second-largest canine in America. Their dog received this dubious honor after an all-expenses-paid trip to Manhattan for the dog and the Hunts, complete with VIP air travel and a stretch limo in which they toured New York City.

Afterward, the dog gave out pawtographs at the airport.

Angela admits to being fascinated by animals, medicine, psychology, unexplained phenomena, and “just about everything” except sports. Books, she says, have always shaped her life— in the fifth grade she learned how to flirt from reading Gone with the Wind.

Her books have won the coveted Christy Award, several Angel Awards from Excellence in Media, and the Gold and Silver Medallions from Foreword Magazine’s Book of the Year Award. In 2007, her novel The Note was featured as a Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel. Romantic Times Book Club presented her with a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2006.

In 2006, Angela completed her Master of Biblical Studies in Theology degree and completed her doctorate in 2008. When she’s not home reading or writing, Angie often travels to teach writing workshops at schools and writers’ conferences. And to talk about her dogs, of course.


Visit her at her website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Chapter One

The nameless cadaver on the cover of my anatomy textbook—a middle-aged man who is no longer black, white, or brown—would be counted among the orange in a census of the embalmed.

Someone should have adjusted the tint before they juiced him.

I flip the book open and study the color photographs of the cadaver’s aortic arch and brachiocephalic veins, then close my eyes and try to commit the multisyllable words to memory. Here I am, near the end of my first semester of mortuary school, and I’m still having trouble keeping my veins and arteries straight.

Behind me, an irate mother in the carpool line is honking, though we have a good three minutes before kindergarten dismissal. She probably has to pick up her child and get back to work before the end of her lunch hour. While I sympathize with her impatience, I wish she’d lay off the horn so I can concentrate.

I open one eye and examine the book propped on my steering wheel. The right internal jugular branches off the right and left brachiocephalic veins, which lie outside the brachiocephalic trunk. Brachiocephalic sounds like some kind of dinosaur. Bugs would like that word.

I turn the book sideways, but the photograph on the page looks nothing like a prehistoric animal. In fact, I find it hard to believe that anything like this jumble of tunnels and tubes exists in my body, but skin covers myriad mysteries.

I snap the book shut as the bell at Round lake elementary trills through the warm afternoon. The kindergarten classes troop out into the sunshine, their hands filled with lunch boxes and construction paper cutouts. The tired teachers stride to the curb and peer into various vehicles, then motion the appropriate children forward.

My spirits lift when my red-haired cherub catches my eye and waves. Bradley “Bugs” graham waits until his teacher calls his name and skips toward me.

“Hey, Mom.” He climbs into the backseat of the van as his teacher holds the door.

“Hey yourself, kiddo.” I check to make sure he’s snapped his seat belt before smiling my thanks at his teacher. “Did you have a good morning?”

“Yep.” He leans forward to peek into the front seat. “Do we hafta go home, or can we stop to get a snack?”

My thoughts veer toward the to-do list riding shotgun in the front passenger seat. I still have to run to the grocery store, swing by the dry cleaner’s to pick up gerald’s funeral suit, and stop to see if the bookstore has found a used copy of Introduction to Infectious Diseases, Second edition. Textbooks are usually pricey, but medical textbooks ought to come with fixed-rate mortgages. Still, I need to find that book if I’m going to complete my online course by the end of the semester.

“I’ll pull into a drive-through,” I tell Bugs, knowing he won’t mind. “You want McDonald’s?”

He nods, so I point the van toward Highway 441.

“Mr. gerald make any pickups today?” Bugs asks.

I ease onto the highway, amazed at how easily my children have accepted the ongoing work of the funeral home. “none today.”

“See this?”

I glance in the rearview mirror and see Bugs waving his construction paper creation. “Yes.”

“It’s a stegosaurus. Can I give it to gerald?”

“I think he’d like that.” I force a smile as an unexpected wave of grief rises within me. like a troublesome relative who doesn’t realize she’s worn out her welcome, sorrow often catches me by surprise. Gerald, the elderly embalmer at Fairlawn, has become a surrogate father for my sons. Thomas, my ex-husband and my children’s father, has been gone for months, but in some ways he’s never been closer. He lies in the Pine Forest Cemetery, less than two miles from our house, so we can’t help but think of him every time we drive by.

I get Bugs a vanilla ice cream cone at the McDonald’s drive-through, and then we run to the grocery store and the dry cleaner. I’ll call the bookstore later. no sense in going there when a simple phone call will suffice.

Finally we turn into the long driveway that leads to the Fairlawn Funeral Home.

Gerald has poured a new concrete pad next to the garage, and as I park on it, Bugs notices that the call car is gone. “uh-oh.” He looks at me. “Somebody bit the dust.”

I press my lips together. A couple of months ago I would have mumbled something about the old station wagon maybe needing a wash, but now I know there’s no reason to shield my children from the truth—we are in the death care industry. The squeamishness I felt when we first arrived vanished the day I walked into the prep room and gloved up to help gerald lay out my ex-husband.

“Come in the house,” I tell my son. “I’ll pour you a glass of milk.”

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

In one word.

ONE WORD ONLY! I took this from Camy's blog

Not as easy as you might think. Now copy, forward, or post this and change the answers to yours and pass it on.

It’s really hard to only use one word answers.

1. Where is your cell phone? purse

2. Your significant other? working

3. Your hair? short

4. Your mother? traveling

5. Your father? traveling

6. Your favorite thing? books

7. Your dream last night? forgot

8. Your favorite drink? tea

9. Your dream/goal? writer

10. The room you’re in? office

11. Your ex? huh?

12. Your fear? failure

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? published

14. Where were you last night? home

15. What you’re not? lost

16. Muffins? blueberry

17. One of your wish list items? books

18. Where you grew up? Texas

19. The last thing you did? eat

20. What are you wearing? clothes

21. Your TV? loud

22. Your pets? sweet

23. Your computer? Slow

24. Your life? wonderful

25. Your mood? tired

26. Missing someone? sister

27. Your car? Ford

28. Something you’re not wearing? makeup

29. Favorite store? Borders

30. Your summer? scorching

31. Like(love) someone? hubby

32. Your favorite color? PINK!!!

33. Last time you laughed? yesterday

34. Last time you cried? yesterday

35. Who will re-post this? dunno

Monday, June 16, 2008

Adventure Bible Camp

Today was the first day of ABC. I am torn over how I felt about today. There were times when I thought things went great but as with working with children the surprise factor certain to come into play. I know that I am tired but I am still filled with awe at the people who came out and dedicated a week of their time to make a difference. Thank you to the youth and adults who are sharing their lives with the kiddos in our community.

Non~Fiction First


It's June 15th, time for the Non~FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance!
Click the button!) Every 15th, we will featuring an author and his/her
latest non~fiction book's FIRST chapter!


The feature author is:


and his book:



Harvest House Publishers (March 1, 2008)



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

A career biology instructor, Kenneth Poppe holds a doctorate in education
and taught in secondary schools for more than 25 years. He is now
senior consultant with the International Foundation for Science Education
by Design (www.ifsed.org). In addition to working in teacher education
and assisting in DNA research of stream ecology, he has authored
Reclaiming Science from Darwinism.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (March 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736921257
ISBN-13: 978-0736921251


AND
NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


The majority is not trying to establish a religion or to teach
it—it is trying to protect itself from the effort of an insolent minority
to force irreligion upon the children under the guise of teaching
science.


—WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN


BRYAN WAS THE ATTORNEY FOR THE PROSECUTION AT THE 1925 “SCOPES MONKEY
TRIAL” IN DAYTON, TENNESSEE THAT MADE EVOLUTION A HOUSEHOLD TERM. THE
ABOVE WORDS ARE FROM HIS
WRITTEN CLOSING STATEMENT, WHICH WAS NEVER READ IN COURT.

1

EXAMINING YOUR FAMILY TREE

A Monkey for an Uncle?

Consider your biological father. He is
responsible for half of the genetic codes that shaped your body, and probably
some of your personality as well. Now consider his father, your
grandfather. If typical, I would guess at least a couple of your body traits
are more grandpa’s than dad’s—having somehow skipped a generation. And
how about your great-grandfather? Were you lucky enough to know him, even
if just like me, through those vague and shifting memories as a very
small boy? Dare I throw in a great-great-grandfather—in my case known
only through legend and those grainy black-and-white photos of a roughly
dressed man beside a horse and buggy?

Consider that when your great-great-grandfather was your age, for
surely he once was, he could try to reconstruct his lineage just as you have
done. What names and faces would he have recalled? And if you could
piece great-great-granddad’s and your recollections together, that would
create a timeline taking you back eight generations—perhaps 250 years
or so! Where would you find your ancestors then? In my case, I’m told,
the Hamburg, Germany, area. And would my ancestors then be traced to the
nomadic Gaelic stock that inhabited Western Europe before formal
countries were established there? And then to where? Ancient Phoenicians,
Sumerians, Egyptians? And how about yours?

Now to get to the main point. If you kept traveling back in time in
this manner, generation after generation, where would you end up? Where
would your dad’s ancestors have been living 1000 years ago? 2500 to 5000
years ago? And so on? Those who believe in strict Darwinism would say
an extended family schematic would show your ancestors going back
several million years ago where they first evolved on the African continent.
And on this reverse journey you would see slowly reappearing total body
hair, steadily shrinking brains, increasingly sloping foreheads and
jaw protrusions, and extending arms whose knuckles would eventually be
dragging the ground, assisting a clumsy, bent-over gait. In other words,
strict evolutionists say if you could backtrack your family tree for,
say, 5 million years, your ancestors would now be closer in appearance
to a chimp than a human. And if you continued farther back in time, the
coccyx bone at the bottom of your pelvis would extend into a prehensile
tail, and the reappearing grasping toes on your feet would send you
back to swinging in the trees from whence you came some 10 to 15 million
years ago.

Stop and ponder your supposed family tree in this way—a videotape in
rewind. Is this really how it went down? Did humans come from monkeys?
(Often a Darwinist will answer no to this question by saying it wasn’t a
direct path of evolution. But monkeys have to be on the path before
apes, right? And apes would have to be on the path before humanoids,
right? So it most absolutely is, in theory, “monkey to man”—no matter how
crooked the line.) Now if this isn’t the truth, what’s the alternative?
Unless you consult primitive worship superstitions, I’ve stated before
that the world’s five major religions give you one origin—Genesis—and it
includes a tantalizing tale of an innocent man Adam and his companion
woman, Eve, in a pristine garden. But for so many, that’s a fairy tale
of bigger proportions than monkeys becoming humans. So what is the
truth?

Here’s my response. Regardless of which religious view(s) might supply
the answer(s), I will stand firmly on this:

There is absolutely no scientific support for the
monkey-to-man scenario—absolutely none.


On the contrary, science, and even philosophy, validate the title of
this book and its overriding message as stated a few pages ago.

Either-Or

If there is an alternative answer to the totally unscientific view that
monkeys slowly turned into people, ostensibly it is one of the
religious variety. But before we tackle the idea, let me first share the
concept I find continually bubbling up from the origins cauldron: Almost
every major issue concludes with just two choices—either it could
have happened this way, or it couldn’t. So grab a writing
instrument and check your choice of one of two for each of the ten
statements below.

It Could It Couldn’t
Happen Happen


_______ ______ 1. The most violent accidental explosion ever, the big
bang, was sufficiently self-appointed to create the largest and most
fine-tuned object ever known, the universe.

_______ ______ 2. The sheer number of planets in the universe, and the
number of years these planets have existed, give us a mathematical
chance that at least one would become a fully interactive biological
world—ours—by accident.

_______ ______ 3. Blind luck had the ability to construct the
approximately 80,000 different life-required protein chains of specifically
sequenced amino acids (from an “alphabet” of 20 different amino-acid
choices)—even those proteins 10,000 amino acids long.

_______ ______ 4. The RNA/DNA molecules, containing information
equivalent to all the books in 20 standard libraries, suddenly appeared by
chance in the “primordial soup” before the first cell was a reality.

_______ ______ 5. Almost as soon as Earth’s conditions permitted, a
functional cell appeared, selfprepared with a wide array of metabolizing
and reproductive mechanisms.

_______ ______ 6. A half billion years ago, in the blink of an
evolutionary eye, the Cambrian explosion self-generated the completely
interactive gene pool of all 32 animal phyla with complex organ systems. Once
complex life didn’t exist, then it was all there.

_______ ______ 7. After the Cambrian explosion, random scramblings of
genetic information kept producing improved genetic codes. This allowed
life to surge forward as animals kept giving rise to improved offspring
with which, suddenly
or eventually, they could not mate.

_______ ______ 8. These accidental genetic surges adequately explain a
whole host of large-scale advances— for example, straight bones in fins
turning into jointed bones in legs, reptile scales turning into bird
feathers, photosensitive cells turning into eyes, births from amniotic
eggs turning into births from a placenta, and chordates like cows or
hippos going back into the ocean to become whales.

_______ ______ 9. While animals randomly surged forward within 32 phyla
from sponges to mammals, plants accomplished a similar advance in
complexity from moss to cacti, but did it in only 8 steps, often called
divisions instead of phyla.

And central to this book:

_______ ______ 10. Primates like monkeys left the trees and kept
getting bigger, stronger, and smarter. About 5 million years of natural
selection was sufficient time for hominids to adapt to walking on their hind
legs, learn to use tools,
fashion clothes to wear, master fire, develop first spoken and then
written communication, and finally organize societies in cave homes among
maple groves that eventually became cottage homes on Maple Street.

So how did you score on this checklist? The two most extreme scores
would be to have all ten checks in the right column of “it
couldn’t happen”—like me—or all ten checks on the left column of “it could
happen.” Of course, you realize that one single check in the
right column dooms Darwinism to immediate failure. All it takes is one
legitimate “couldn’t” check in this either-or set-up and natural evolution
has no chance to produce me the writer, or you the reader. If you can,
actually imagine trying to agree with all ten statements as checked on
the left, and I’ll wager you’ll feel the full weight of the folly of
“self-made” life. Therefore, if you find evolution insufficient in
even one instance
, you need to consider a bigger-than-science
connection— unless, of course, you want to remain apathetic. So, if
evolution or apathy is not the answer, I suggest you begin a quest to come to
grips with the “God” who engineered this miracle.

Rejecting statement #10 above reflects this chapter’s opening rejection
of the idea that all our ancestral lines slowly become more stooped
and stupider as we observe the reverse of totally natural processes. If
the world generally rejected that notion and stood on the “God
alternative” with confidence, it would dramatically change the debate on the
other nine statements. And yet if monkeys are not our uncles then how do
you explain human origin? How do you explain the master plan of God the
Designer?