(Flickr photo by Faster Dix)

Remember the days of movie projectors and white screens erected in the living room? When black and white laughter rang through the clicking of the machine and images paraded in a silence shattered with the burst of memories? When happy times of yesteryear flickered across the screen, bathing you in an odd combination of  warmth and melancholy?

I feel like that today. I want to replay the tape of 2009 and feel warmly melancholy–a desire undoubtedly induced by Theraflu and the realization that this is the last week of the year.

I’m remembering events of this past year and thinking, 2009 was good. It was full of new friends, new experiences, and lessons learned the hard way (which apparently is the only way I learn anything). The only New Year’s Resolution I succeeded at was sending  out the query letters for Ride. I didn’t get organized, didn’t lose weight or rebuild muscle tone, didn’t finish any of my other manuscripts. But overall, I can’t complain about this past year. Not at all.

I just reread many of the posts I wrote this past year and giggled again at the memories: My earring rolling off the stage as I sang a church solo for the first time in years; my ducks learning how to fly and cutting Vs into the pond’s surface; my mom’s crazy desire to stop and get something to eat in every tiny town in Central Texas. The year had its ups and downs where my writing career is concerned: I had a few articles published in an e-zine even though my novel is getting mixed messages; AuthorCulture is skyrocketing in popularity, even as Peppermint Place is declining in readership; I got to play a small part in the success of others, even though I haven’t realized my own success yet. My time is coming–every now and then, when I peek out from my blanket of discouragement, I remind myself of that.

Aside from a broken tooth and a bout with the flu that I’m still battling, this year has been the healthiest I or my mother have had in close to a decade. Neither of us had a hospital stay or any prolonged illness to knock us out of our activities. Believe me, that’s a blessing in itself.  MSB still has a job, our house is almost paid for and both of our vehicles still run. Friends, old and new, still keep in touch, still care enough to share in my highs and lows. Our kids and grandkids are healthy and happy if not all independently wealthy yet–and I feel closer to them this year than I have during the entire eighteen years I’ve been privileged to call them “mine.” I think I have Facebook to thank for that. (Who knew almost the entire clan was on FB?!)

What else could I ask for? How much more blessed could I possibly get? I’ve never really needed proof that God loves me, but He gives it to me anyway. Right now, it’s replaying on the white screen in my mind as the projector clickety-clacks through scenes of 2009.

To all the folks who played a part, even those who just left a comment or sent an e-mail . . . thanks.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

& GOD BLESS YOU WITH JOY!

I had the privilege of serving as one of the judges for the Visual Arts Junction’s writing contest this month. The prompt for the contest was Aggie Villanueva’s photo art, Valle Pintado:

Valle Pintado, by Aggie Villanueva

The contest ended in a tie between two gifted writers, Ed Leonard and Jacki Donnelly. One of the prizes was for their pieces to be posted in each of the judges’ websites. I’m honored to present them here for my readers to enjoy.

Life in the Valle Pintado

by Ed Leonard (Papa Ed)

Ankles tucked and breathing slowed, I feel the tree dance, my wood platform sways and rocks in the hot southern trade winds. My sad, burnt, drought-stunted valley stretches before me. My humble ranch home swelters in a dry, coarse bunchweed field surrounded by stunted agreste woods that threaten to become caatinga.

Death menaces life like a Samhain specter. Gnarled stick trees grasp each other for desperate support. Their life juices drawn deep to survive the uncommon warm, dry winter. Earth spirits have driven the Numida fowl and the high plains antelope down the Tocantins to richer lands. The loss of precious water and the increased heat are taking a horrendous toll on animal and plant habitats in the Valle Pintado.

I have barely survived another winter. Spring has arrived with little promise, and my energy and will are suffering. I call out to the spirits of the jaguar and of the ocelot who once roamed here. But, they do not hear me.

I close my eyes, intent on escape. I release my saddened spirit. Hawk spirit enfolds me and I soar to a better time. I stroke the heavens and relish a gentle wind with a smooth glide. I alight to proudly perch atop a tall post and search the autumn grass for my choice of scampering breakfast.

The Valle Pintado proudly displays a dappled Autumn abstract quilt with primary colors blended and fused like fresh oils on nature’s canvas. My well-tended red adobe brick home blends quietly and comfortably before a large sugary wave of Palo Verde, Box Elder, and Hop Trees in full glory. My harvested corn patch glows golden yellow and my second growth wheat field rusty red.

A warm wind whispers, flicks leaves loose to float and flip their way to rich soil, and bathes my feathers in ripples. A hazy gray cooking fire screen rises among the trees with the rich smell of mesquite fired meat.

Two distant sandstone buttes, glimmer and flash with life, shrouded in milky early morning light. My world is balanced, healthy, and harmonious. I know now that the natural cycle of seasons will return my ranch to glorious life.

I spot a striped field mouse and launch, flapping lightly, then diving fast to my target. I dive and dive, but my prey remains distant. I linger, but the inevitable change reaches me. My spirit snaps back to my earth-bound body. Hawk has brought me hope and reminded me of the potential of my life in the Valle Pintado.

I resolve to exercise patience, to go back and seal my roof against the rain that must come again, to mend my fence against the predators that will return, to plant my corn and wheat knowing they will be nourished and watered. I resolve to hike to the top of the distant butte blessing all earth along the way. I resolve to come often to my tree platform and to meditate with the spirit of my totem animal, the hawk.

My sadness is gone.

Ed Leonard:  My online name is papaed. I’ve been a compulsive reader and writer for nearly 50 years. I prefer poetry and have over 100 poems posted online. I’ve never tried to publish a book or articles in a magazine although I’ve done journalistic reporting freelance for several newspapers. I chose to place the Valle Pintado in the Tocantins watershed of Brazil and researched the habitat, geography, watershed, language, and native animals so that my 500 word piece reflects a possible mystical scenario there. I advocate meditation and peace issues in many of my writings and found your picture inspirational along those lines.

You can find Ed in these sites:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writers/edleonard/
http://papaed.multiply.com/
http://www.ipeace.me/profile/papaed
http://coldcoffee.ning.com/profile/papaed
http://nolan-ruizbooks.ning.com/profile/papaed

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Painted Mountain Life

by Jacki Donnelly

It was almost a month since I resigned as Editor in Chief of New York’s most popular fashion magazine “Moda”, but my mental alarm clock was still sounding off promptly at 6 a.m. For the past 29 days this annoyed me, but today was different. Today I started my new life- I left my upscale life and the chaos in NYC. I traded it all in for what I hoped would be a more peaceful and meaningful life.

***

My dearest friend lost a life long battle with cancer. During her last few months I didn’t spend as much time with her as I should have. I didn’t have the time, you know, with being successful and all. Luckily I made it to her before she died. She reminded me to enjoy the life’s little things, and not always focus on money and work. “You are only what you let yourself become.” she gently whispered. And with that I gently embraced her frail hand for the last time.

I finally understood the meaning behind her unsolicited suggestions. She always wanted me to take time off work, to go on a date or read a book, which I refused. I always justified my disregard by her not having or wanting the lavish lifestyle I was accustomed to. I was wrong. Now I sat humbled and dissatisfied.

At that moment I decided to change. I resigned from my job, sold my apartment and packed only the necessities, which included a book I had been working on for over twenty years. I searched the internet for a cabin to retreat to in the mountains. Finally I found a quaint cabin rental nestled in the Apache-Sitgreaves Forest. After a short telephone call with the owner I packed up my car and headed west.

***

I slowly got out of bed letting my feet touch the cold wooden floor. The sunrise was creeping over the mountains and into the cabins’ windows. The fall air had a slight chill with a sweet smell to it. I managed a fire in the ancient woodstove, the only heat source for the small cabin. I walked to the kitchen and poured me a cup of coffee in my only mug. I grabbed a sweater from the pile of clothes on the floor and wrote a few items on a box lid I needed from the market. My chores today were to unpack, set up a space to begin writing again, and groceries.

That would have to wait I wanted to enjoy my first cup of coffee of my new life. I walked out onto the porch and sat down in a rickety, wooden rocking chair. The warmth of my coffee felt good as it trickled down my throat to the pit of my stomach. The scenery took my breath away.

I was overwhelmed with a feeling of awe and tranquility, foreign feelings to me. Such beauty greeted me with open arms on that porch. I listened to the sweet melody of the Mountain Chickadees’ and the Western Meadowlarks’ coming from the forest that surrounded me. The wind was swooshing gently through the Locoweed and Indian Paintbrush wildflowers that outlined the small wooden cabins land. The trees adorning the mountains were reflecting shades of crimson, wheat and amber down to me.

I sat captivated. At that moment, with that warm cup of coffee in my hands, I knew I had made the right choice. Today would mark the day I started to “live” life. A Painted Mountain Life – one I could only dream.

Jacki Donnelly: I currently live in the tropical state of Florida. I am new to writing and am currently discovering my talents. Any commentary on the attached piece would be greatly appreciated. This will be my first piece entered for review! I am very excited and look forward to continuing my path of writing. I am 30 years old, married to a wonderful husband and have a wonderful Boxer puppy named Baxter.

This picture reminded me of a trip we took recently to the Appalachian mountains – Life is so much different in a quiet country setting. I have recently returned to college in pursuit of a degree in English with a Creative Writing emphasis, and so far I am loving every minute of it. I hope to one day become an editor for a small press!

Y’all remember Chris and Jenn Micek, the horse rescuers from my hometown?

I could’ve sworn I had a picture of them together, but for the life of me, I can’t find it.  If you missed their story, use the search function on this site and type in Micek–there were three posts about them and their work.

Anyway, these two are the only folks since Joan who had mercy on me and sent me some snow pictures. They also told me they’re looking to move to Colorado. Jenn is originally from there and I believe she misses white Christmasses more than I do–especially since I’ve never had one and she has. So if I want to visit them and finish out my research on horse rescue and training, I need to get my queen-sized butt over there before they move!

Here are the pictures they sent me:

Jenn says: ”This picture is from when we lived in Las Vegas, Nevada. We had a big snow storm out of nowhere that day. We had to get the kids out of school and all. The star in the picture is our pot belly pig Foxxy! She was a year old at the time. We had adopted her for $5 at the animal shelter in town. We still own her as she made the trip to Texas with us. She is six years old now.  [I missed meeting her, but I would've gotten a kick out of it!]

 ”The second pic is the Grand Canyon at winter time. [awesome, isn't it?!]

“Hopefully by this time next year we will have some snowy pics from Colorado! We are currently looking for ranches within two hours of Denver.”

So if anyone knows of a good-lookin’ ranch for sale at a price affordable for a young couple with kids and hearts for the horses, let us know. I want some snow pictures from Colorado!!!

Meantime, you can get to know more about Chris and Jenn Micek at their website, 4M Horse Training.

(Flickr photo by allerleirau)

We bought the last of the presents today, wrapped them, and got them to the post office to be delivered (fingers crossed) in time for Christmas. Mom’s presents are wrapped and ready for delivery, her cards and ours are addressed and long gone. Everything’s done that needs to be done.

Yes! I can breathe!!!

This year was a little less stressful than last year–and far less stressful than the year before, when I had ordered everything over the internet only to have it returned because the new UPS guy couldn’t find our house. Let me tell ya: that was serious stress!

All that’s left are the dual As–anticipation and anxiety.

Anticipation: I can’t wait to see the family and my grandkids! I understand our oldest has a boyfriend now. Can’t wait to meet him.

Anxiety: Will everyone like what we got for them? I know some of them will. Money suits everyone! But the special gifts we got, thinking specifically of them when we made the purchases–will they like them?

I wonder how God felt when he revealed his Gift to us at the first Christmas. Did he deal with the dual As? I can’t wait for the world to see what I’ve given them! Will they accept this Gift?

When I picture God as Father, I can see him being excited, like a daddy giving his kids things he knows they want or need. But God, being God, knew his Gift would be rejected by many. Yet, what a celebration there must be in Heaven when another accepts!

I hope you love every gift you receive for Christmas this year, and if you haven’t yet, I hope you take a moment to accept the first Gift ever given.

It’s sunny today and the temperature is climbing toward fifty-five, but it’s a north-wind day so it’s chilly–at least to cold-weather wimps like most of us here in Texas. MSB and I have a low fire glowing in the fireplace.

Monday, though, I ran my errands in south-wind weather. Gray, cloudy, light rain. Still, the fifty-five degrees from Monday was warmer than the same temperature today. So warm, in fact, far too many people were out in shorts and t-shirts. That has a way of wrecking the atmosphere of Christmas.

A friend of my mother’s, and of mine, took pity on me after my last I want snow! post and sent me a picture of her backyard in Wisconsin (thanks, Joan!):

Getting a picture like this one was such a pleasant surprise that I’m craving more. Anyone want to send me a shot of their white Christmas? I’d love to feature more wintery scenes for my next few posts, which is all the prize I could offer–having your picture featured in Peppermint Place. If you’d like to contribute to the cause, send your photo(s) to me at pprmint155@yahoo [dot] com.

Meanwhile, let me know:

(Flickr photo by practicalowl)

The earth is round and revolves around the sun. That’s a fact. It is as true now as it was in Gallileo’s time. Just because people back then believed the world to be flat and the center of the universe didn’t change the fact. Eventually, the world learned the truth–and learned why the design of the solar system was necessary to sustain life on Earth.

Atoms exist. Even though they’re invisible to the human eye, they exist. It’s a fact. It is as true now as it was at the beginning of time. Their invisibility didn’t affect their existence or their function. Does the world believe in things they can’t see? Of course they do. Just ask the WWII Japanese or any sailor on a nuclear sub. The most powerful object can be used for both evil and good, and yet it is utterly invisible.

Plants take in CO2 and release Oxygen, a function unknown by prehistoric man but recognized as a fact now. Has anyone ever actually seen the process? Not that I know of–but they’ve seen evidence of it, and believe in the evidence so much that organizations have formed to preserve the function.

DNA determines everything about living beings. Although it can now be manipulated to eliminate disease or determine eye color, it was totally unknown before the 20th century. Does that mean it didn’t exist?

 And yet, the idea of a living God who created all these scientific revelations, designed them, engineered their functions, is too difficult to accept. Disbelief comes in various forms–indifference, vehement denial, preference for empirical evidence, human enlightenment.

Many atheists think a belief in God is reverting to belief in myths. Belief in God equates to belief in Zeus. They don’t recognize that their zealous defense of Mother Earth equates to belief in Gaea, a Greek goddess. Then there are those atheists who believe only in science and empirical evidence–those who would not have believed in the existence of molecules had they been born in another century. As for the vehement, militant denial of God’s existence–if their claims that He doesn’t exist are true, why waste all that energy? Why the hatred? Why the furious war against a non-entity?

The truth is, God exists. He is. And His existence doesn’t rely on our belief. Denying Him won’t make Him go away. His invisibility doesn’t make His being any less true. He has provided empirical evidence that He lives, but his existence doesn’t rely on the recognition of that evidence. Can you imagine? It would be like the potter proving himself to the clay.

But when people don’t recognize the simple fact that God is, they miss the beauty of what He did for us just over 2000 years ago. They won’t feel the awe inspired by a tiny baby on whose head lay the sins of the world. They’ll never realize they should be on their knees in desperate thanksgiving for a salvation freely offered.

They’ll never understand how very special it is to say, “Merry Christmas.”

(Flickr photo by brianjmatis)

The weather has been on everyone’s mind lately–are we having a snow day? are the roads too icy for travel? do I really have to leave my bed? The love/hate relationship with winter is in full bloom.

While some parts of America are already white-blinded, I’m still wishing for snow.  Recently, we got flurries that inspired hope and childlike excitement for a full three minutes, then stopped as quietly as they started, leaving nothing behind to mark the event. Today, our weatherman, sporting a tie with snowflakes and Frosty himself, had the nerve to tell us to expect seventy degree temperatures by Sunday. Seventy!

I’ve heard “be careful what you wish for” all my life, but to my northern and snowbound friends, I’d like to tell you: It goes both ways. Can you really imagine spending the holiday season looking out the window at trees adorned in neither the colored leaves of fall nor the snow-covered boughs of winter? Just dark gnarled fingers scratching a sad gray sky.

Can you imagine passing up all the wonderful winter fare–eggnog, apple cider, hot chocolate–because it is simply too hot? No chestnuts would be roasting over open fires because a fire would only add to the heat.

What about your favorite Christmas garb? Interested in cutting the sleeves out? Really. Keep in mind, decorating sleeveless blouses and muscle shirts with a snowball motif just hasn’t happened yet. The closest you’ll come is a cowboy-boot clad Santa shouting, “Merry Christmas, Y’all!” from behind a cactus appliquéd on a snuggly warm sweatshirt.

Do you love to ice skate on a frozen pond? Do you love to ski? Or do you just love to see the sunbeams sparkling on your white lawn? Oops. Too bad! You’ll have to settle for muddy yellow patches of dead and dormant grass.

Sigh.

Okay, so we don’t have the roof damage from icicles or run the risk of our power going out. We don’t need to sand our driveways or shovel our walks. There are some perks to the warmer climate here. And it isn’t really as bad as all that. Even if it doesn’t snow often, it does occasionally get cold enough for soups, stews and chilis, fires in the fireplace, blankets shared on loveseats, old holiday movies.

But just once, I’d really love to have a white Christmas.

Novelist Nina Hansen liked my winter memory post (“Let it Snow!”) so much, she sent me a gift.

I love flowers! Thanks, Nina!

As with many things like this, it comes with a list of rules, one of which is to tell my readers seven things about myself. Since this blog tends to be entirely about me, I figure everyone knows more than they ever cared to anyway. Besides, I’d like to talk about Nina.

Nina Hansen is “Cowgirl Poet” on Christianwriters.com, where I met her. At the time, she was posting bits of her WWII novel Through a Rain of Fire. Let me tell you, this young lady can write! She’s a historical and speculative fiction novelist, a cowgirl, a swordswoman wannabe, and an “absent-minded extrovert in disguise.” I just feel honored to call her “friend.” She has three completed works, Through a Rain of Fire, SS-5, a young adult action novel, and The Hanging Tree, a western set in Texas. Now all we need is a publisher’s name on the binders!

She announced in her blog, Notes from the Front, recently that she’s trying her hand at a fantasy, A Forbidden Homeland, which she started during the 2009 National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo, or NaNo for short). Nina seems to start all her novels during the NaNo contests, and that’s not a bad thing. During the contest, you’re not allowed to edit–just write. So many of us have problems with that. We want to edit, to get it right the first time, to the extent that sometimes we never get the book written at all. And here she is, pluggin’ them out year after year. (I’ve never succeeded at NaNo, but in my defense, we spend a lot of time out of town in November, NaNo month).

I’m excited about Nina’s work, so I can promise you I’ll be promoting her once she gets published. Keep an eye out!

The rumble of horses, the clash of swords, the high-pitched cries of fighting and dying men in the mud-splattered color-whirl of jousting.  What a way to open a book. Katie starts her novel with powerful action and ends it with a gentle sigh that leaves you scrambling through Amazon.com in search of the sequel.

Marcus Annan, famous in the 12th Century for his many conquests on the jousting fields, has scars, secrets and pain (and a young sidekick/indentured servant named Marek, valuable for, among other things, providing a light heart to this dark story of revenge).

Annan’s past is tied inextricably to a vengeful monk and a powerful Bishop, and running from that past only brings him closer to the inevitable conflict with both in the future. But the stakes are raised when the Lady Mairead is thrown into the mix. Before Annan meets her, he’s ready for death and assured of hell, but her tender love and prayers give him hope for absolution and salvation. Keeping her alive and safe in the melee becomes his primary goal–a goal hampered by the manipulations of the monk, the threats from the Bishop, and the evil possessiveness of a Templar.

Katie is an incredible writer with the ability to tell a spell-binding tale. In Behold the Dawn, she sweeps us from Italy to the Holy Land, from jousting matches in Bari to King Richard’s Third Crusade, from tense action to tender moments, and she does it all seamlessly.

Find her book on her website, Wordplay (where she’s running a Christmas special!), or on Amazon.com.