Happy March!

Day 60 of 2022. In like a lion.

Okay, not a lion. But floofy!  

  
We've had winds the last two weeks that have been wild. My mother always used to say, "In like a lion, out like a lamb." I'm hoping. 

Yet, happy, I say. 

How can I say that, knowing what's happening in Ukraine? Aware of the fear some folks are experiencing in Texas because of certain new laws. I am praying and doing what I can. But I have hope. Why? Because I believe God is good. I am thankful that, like many people before them in many places around the world, the Ukrainians are fighting their Russian invaders. I feel for the people of both countries. What governments want, people rarely do. 

For me, March is happy because it is the month of the birthday of my 2nd born child. My beautiful boy, my angel baby. He will be 29 this year. Later this year, I'll be 60. But for a little while, after his birthday, we'll be 39 years apart. I like that. Our ages will both end in 9. I adore him and he is a blessing to me every day of my life. 

So, no thanks to our current administration (I am not a fan), restrictions regarding masking mandates are being lifted around the country. People finally realized that while dangerous, like the flu, COVID will be with us for the long haul. It is weakening itself because viruses that kill their hosts can't last and that is the understated goal of any virus, to live, to continue. It isn't a conscious goal, but in the words of Ian Malcolm, "... there it is... Life finds a way." 

This, in part, stopped me from not posting for two years. Sorry about that, if anyone is out there reading. I hope you are. I've been working hard, harder even, on my "Sons" WIP. The story of Mikkayl and Rykko Arrayn's beginnings will come your way soon. 

Like many of you, I suspect, this time of pandemic, untrustworthy media, war and looming war, of confusion and disheartenment, has been very difficult. Understatement, I know. I hope that you have found comfort. For myself, I've found comfort in the words of my lord, "I'll never leave you nor forsake you." That doesn't mean my life will be perfect, or even good, all the time. It means that when I'm afraid, or stressed, or depressed, as I often have been over these last four years, he is there with me. I hope you've found that comfort. 

The reason for this post is that Facebook reminded me of a memory and I wanted to save it here.

When I was a child, my father worked as a firefighter. A first responder, he became Fire Chief. But this memory is about a little gadget that sat on one of the four dividers in our front hall. The dividers separated the two rooms and hall from one another in an open floor plan. One was the "good" living room (reserved for guests, bible studies, and hymn sings), the other was the "comfortable" living room. We weren't to play in the fireplace side, but in the comfy side where we had built-in toy boxes and, of course, a TV. 

The gadget was called a Plectron. It produced a stream of voices and noises and it was right there, so close to where I played, to where mom ironed clothes. Important on its elevated height. Firefighters communicating, letting one another know the state of things, and letting us in the household know that they were there, ready and able, standing by to help.

Whenever the tones would sound, we'd hear the siren outside too and my mother taught us to gasp, "Huh!" And then say, "A fire!" I believe she did that to distract us, making certain the loud tones did not scare us. Clever, my mother. 

As soon as those tones sounded, we knew my father was on his way to help those in need. I didn't know of a better man to have on his way to help than my dad! That was also the cue for mom and me to pause and pray for the safety of the firefighters and the folks they went to help. I know now that it comforted her, too, maybe more than me. I was safe! I didn't know the potential danger my father was in. 

It looked a lot like this!

 What a clever idea this little machine! To let the firefighters know where they needed to be and when as quickly as possible. 

It is an excellent memory for me. I am thankful for learning from my mother that scary times are times to ask for God's blessing on those ready to go into harm's way to help. 

I'm especially thankful that my father lived his life as the sort of man who would help when needed, anytime, day or night. It is a characteristic and a heartfelt need he passed on to me. I don't know if that's genetics, but I do know that life finds a way, that God is in control, and that good people will always do what they know is right. 

As spring comes on, may the heart of the Lamb not only guide us out of a roaring start to March, but dwell in us richly, according to his good purposes. 

So, COVID-19, eh?

Harvest PCA

HAPPY EASTER!!

((This is what I meant to post then, and for some reason did not wind up actually posting. I'm going to go ahead and do it now, even though things are going on in the country that require speaking out. I say something at the end of this that I still believe. I hope to let you know why, if you're reading, in a subsequent post. Thanks for being here.))

It was a tremendous blessing to go to get together with God's people online this morning (thanks to the Harvest PCA of Medina, Ohio). We are the family of God, no matter the building we are in, no matter the distance between us. Whether we are in Ohio, Pennsylvania, or Timbuktu, our souls are united in worship of the One who made us, died for us to save us, loves us, and with whom we long to be.

Are you finding it hard to be celebratory in this confusing, even life-threatening time? Here at our house, we are remembering that we're not in control. We do have a ham tucked into the oven. Someone will be making mac and cheese. I'll churn out some deviled eggs, a corn souffle, and there will be a veggie and some apple sauce with it, probably. That's the plan anyway. I got to talk to my sister and that was really good.

Are you using Zoom to connect with family on this holy day? Are you having virtual egg hunts, or sharing stories, or just calling up a loved one? Are you afraid? It can be especially hard on days when we are used to getting together to celebrate, eat, talk, chill...

Just Plain Yogurt

As the Yogurt (and the Wicked Witch) said, "What a world, what a world!"

My tongue is firmly in my cheek, of course. But honestly, my dear friends, where else can it be during this? Thank God for doctors, emergency workers, store clerks, and food service people. I will let the media take the serious side. I will let others dispense information. You get to sort all that out on your own, my friends, listening to the voices you trust.

I... I am going to use this space to unload how I feel. This is what writers do, yeah? Maybe not all of us. Some continue to dispense advice about the hows and whys and wherefores of writing. The process, the structure, what they're working on now--and all of that is truly wonderful. I applaud them for continuing to work the brand, make the magic, write the words. I'm trying to finish Sons of the Dead. Sometimes, motivation is very hard to come by.

Writing is what I do, but this ... this thing came along and honestly, it was one Really Big Thing More in a string of really big things in my personal/emotional life. For months, I've had no words to talk about it. Other than: "wash your hands!" "Stand apart at least six feet if you must go out!" And the ever-popular: "Stay the heck home!" These are truths that save lives. Good truths, but, in the words of a friend, great googly moogly!

Just a few, short months ago, I was wishing you all a happy new year. Little did any of us know something so forking frightening was on all our horizons.

(Let me interrupt myself with this Aside about available entertainment: yes, I've seen The Good Place. Binged the whole thing. Loved it. Now my brother is watching it and it has become a wonderful point of levity around here. I might say "forking" far too much, but it cracks me up every single time.

The Good Place

We've been binging a lot of shows here at the Kiessling household where five of us are sheltering in place. Locke and Key is really good, too, so far. A little unsettling, but I like it.

As for movies, Ad Astra is far too deep-thought for my liking without the humor of Kristen Bell to lighten up the philosophical introspection. Too much talk, not enough action, though it was rather artsy, to a point. Left too many questions and besides, deep thought is not what I want in my science fiction entertainment.

If you want me to be introspective, give me A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, which was AMAZING and made me examine everything I say or do through the lens of kindness.

Pepper as "Rescue" is so much more satisfying a character arc
in the movie to me than Cpt. MarVel's tale will ever be.
Fight me if you must, but Pepper is awesome.

We re-watched "End Game" from the Avengers series and I cried like a baby. Again.)

We are a global community whether we want to be, or not. Our faith, our concern for one another, our thoughtfulness in the light of COVID-19 illustrates this.

And, as an introvert, reading myself into worlds a-plenty since 1966, being at home is exactly where I like to be. A pandemic is just an excuse, amirite? A terrible one or a thumpin' good one, depending on your point of view. Terrible because people have died. A good one because it gives an introvert like me a reason to stay at home. Let me unpack that a bit. I don't think there's anything good about the illness itself, please do not mistake me. But I'm not actually afraid of getting sick. That doesn't mean I'm foolish enough not to take precautions. Online shopping at our local food store is available, so I do that and let them deliver it to the hatch of my van. I don't touch them, they've already touched most of the products available in-store, so we're good. They've been very nice and I don't mind even when they're out of things. So many are muddling through with so much less than I have.

Thing is, I was sick. Very sick. My doctor's fridge broke and they couldn't give me a flu shot (or my tetanus shot for which I was also due). I'm not young. I'm diabetic now with high blood pressure and a bunch of other stuff. So I'm at risk. I didn't get the shot and about a week after that appointment, I got the flu. And that was right about the time this thing was coming out in the news. I had a low-grade fever, runny nose, felt like my head weighed a thousand pounds, felt weak as water, coughing like a mad thing from post-nasal drip (but not the dry cough). Got into my chest and I hacked up what felt like bits of lung, but I could always breathe (with Afrin. I love Afrin). I was sure I didn't have "that virus" and I stayed home because I was so miserable and tired. I'm completely recovered, no problems but seasonal allergies now that Spring is here, and I was never scared. Salty. Whiny, maybe. Irritated. But not afraid.

We have only just recently had confirmed cases in our county, and sad to say, our first loss of life due to the virus. There are other cases and there is absolutely nothing I can do for those with the virus. I am doing all I know to do.

Why am I not scared? Well, not being afraid comes, in my life, from my personal relationship with Christ. And today we brothers and sisters in Christ celebrate the Ressurection of the Lord which is a day of rejoicing for what He has done for us. I'm excited because of what He's done and I know that unless he wants me home with Him (which, to me, is absolutely an upgrade), then I am here for the duration. Whatever I go through, or endure, whatever help I can give, I'm here for that. I'm not scared.

2020!?

Okay, yeah, I missed it. Missed *posting* about it, that is. At least it is still January! In any case, here I am, wishing everyone and anyone who wanders in here a happy, happy New Year. Pull up a seat, have a cup of something, and hang out.

But seriously, 2020, where's my flying car, dang it?

I was promised a flying car. I'm looking at you, Jetsons. 

It's okay, though. I fly in my dreams. I soar. Very soon, I hope you will know the stories which are near and dear to my heart. The Sons of the Dead twins: Mik and Ryk, their world, and their friends.

Cheers!

Regarding Wookies

If like me, you are a fan of Science Fiction, then you probably already know that Peter Mayhew passed away on April 30, 2019. He was an actor and best known for his role as Chewbacca in Star Wars.

Like many my age, I first saw Star Wars in 1977. Not "Episode IV" mind you. When I saw it, it was just "Star Wars." We didn't know it was the middle of a tale when we felt those first notes of John Williams' brilliance strike our hearts and race up our spines. 

I sat in awe of the ship--so huge on-screen that Mel Brooks felt compelled to parody it later in Space Balls with a nod to Jaws tossed in. The sounds of a space battle immediately struck a familiar chord. I grew up with Star Trek (huge fan, wanted to be Captain Kirk) and Star Wars laser fire fit right in with my preconceived notion of spacey things. 

Luke Skywalker gazed longingly into the horizon and I felt a kinship. Luke was me, wishing for adventure. Wishing to at last be old enough to be out in the world where things were happening. To be part of something greater. While the idea of being Captain Kirk, in charge of my own ship, enthralled me as a child, I didn't want that kind of responsibility and seeing Luke get off the farm and into space, that, well, that was it. Luke was a kid, like me. Nearly 15 (nevermind that my birthday wasn't until November), it was Summertime, and excitement lay ahead. 

Yeah, I was born a girl, but no one ever said I couldn't be an adventurer. If anything, I was encouraged in that direction by a mom who introduced me to Tarzan. I wasn't told I had to be Jane, so I assumed I could be the one swinging on vines, fighting Nazis, rescuing people. Though my childhood was the 60's and 70's, I never once thought a girl couldn't be anything or do anything she wanted to do. I hated dresses, make-up, fancy shoes. Didn't want that stuff. My sisters wore mini-skirts, ironed their hair, got pierced ears. Not me. Pants all the way. Dresses were the handcuffs to my freedom. Brushed and braided hair anathema. I wanted to be in the dirt, playing with cars and dolls. Yes, I liked dolls because I could act out stories with them, just as I did with the pieces of a chess set when anyone brought out the board. I learned to play, and do well, but that wasn't my focus. After all, I'd read Asimov, Burroughs, Tolkien, and McCaffrey.

I robot. I Tarzan. I dragon.

These stories captured me, held me, and have all my life. When I read, I am those things. Which is why I write.

While I felt like Luke, felt that kinship, wanted to be adventurous like Frodo, what I really wanted to be was like Han Solo. In that Cantina on Tatooine, I met the greatest pirate ever. 

What made Han Solo so great? 

It wasn't his snappy comebacks or his snark. It wasn't his ease with his cool blaster with which he absolutely shot Greedo first. It was the loyalty of his companion. His friend. Chewbacca.

How I wanted a wookie to be by my side, to be my buddy, to have my back! I mean WOW. Huge, hairy and frightening, Chewbacca was nevertheless the best friend Han could have had. They understood one another. They flew together. They were equals through and through. Tarzan led the apes. Frodo was set apart from the other hobbits by the burden he carried. Dragons were awesome but they were either terrifying enemies or knew every thought in their riders' heads. Han and Chewie? The best kind of friends. The best of friends. 

After I saw Star Wars, my brother instantly became my wookie. He could make the noise! I think he still can. Of course, this meant I was Han 'cause baby, I weren't no princess.

Don't mistake me, Leia was kick-ass. She wasn't in awe of Chewie, like I was. She was all, "Get this walking carpet outta my way." That's admirable courage. She saw the bigger picture and knew the stakes long before Han sent Vader tumbling to clear the way for Luke to make the perfect shot.

She saw that there was value in the pirate. She saw Chewie's loyalty and knew it. 

And the pirate was me.

My brother and I got those toys. Look, back then we didn't have computers in our pockets. We had a rotary phone in the kitchen. We didn't have computers in our homes. No desktops or laptops. No internet. I was 16 before I met someone with a personal computer in his house. WHAT?? COOL! Those things? They were Science Fiction, see? So my brother, four years my senior, was willing to play with me. He was the Empire. He was Vader. Heck, we built him a suit with all the buttons and whistles. He bought the helmet. People took pictures of him with their kids at Halloween. I'm serious here. It was a gentler time. A more civilized age--or so I remember. 

It was freaking awesome.

He played with his immature at 14 kid sister and he LET ME BE HAN.

There is nothing like that. 

That's love. We don't play like that anymore, though we do play some video games together. It is often unspeakably sad when things end. But he's still the Chewie to my Han.

So, thank you George Lucas. Thank you, Peter, for bringing such an amazing character to life. Thank you for filling us with heart and hope through words and images that maybe we simple mortals can recognize when we, too, have such timeless, loyal friendships.

Happy January!

~2019~ 

Can you believe it??

If I weren't living it, I wouldn't. I remember when I was young in the 1960's thinking that the 2000's would never come, let alone almost 20 years in. And, I remember believing that if they did, they'd be marvelously science-fictiony. Flying cars, the Jetsons, Star Trek, Moonbase Alpha--all of that.

And here we are and here we aren't, as it happens. No Star Trek. No replicators.

But what we do have are the blessings God has given us to enjoy: the earth and all that's in it. Rain and snow, sun and wind. And with wonderful authors like my friends over at the Drift of Quills, new things to read.

Go read, enjoy, and have a blessed New Year!

Here we are again!

It's September. And it's about time I got back to blog writing. I've had a busy year. I published a novella (which you can peek at over in the side bar). It's been a while since I've been here, but this is a good time to come back. Since it is the start of another school year, you might find you need some new reading material. Well, you're in luck! 

September 4th has the honor to be the day on which my amazing friend, author Robin Lythgoe publishes yet another novel! 

My review of Part 2 is just below, but seriously, you can read that later. You need to go get this right now:

Flesh & Bone The Mage's Gift: Part 2 by Robin Lythgoe

In Flesh & Bone, part 2 of The Mage's Gift, Robin Lythgoe continues the gritty and powerful story of Sherakai dan Tameko. Lythgoe takes us back to the world of Tairenth, a place not so unlike our own history where wars are fought for land and power. A world in which, despite the efforts of many good people, evil gains a foothold and causes misery. Yet there, portals open to an eerie, time-altering plane at the behest of Bairith Mindar, the bewitching half-elf with his ever-so-tempting lessons in the aro. Arrogant in ability and ambition, he chooses Kai to regain for him that which he has lost, proving, in that very act of using a youth-turned-weapon for what he can't do, that he is a coward.

But cowards can be very, very dangerous.

In the gravest of circumstances, Sherakai is reminded to "guard his great heart." Save it, protect it. There is heart in this narrative. Heart, tears, and pain. A lot of pain. But there is triumph, too.

Though Kai is molded into the very thing he wants least to be by a madman with an impossible agenda, he fights to preserve the best in himself. He struggles, amid a painstakingly crafted, marvelous world of beings and ideas foreign to him, to guard that which is most precious.

If you haven’t read Blood & Shadow: The Mage’s Gift part 1, do. Get them both. Today. Sherakai’s story is mind-bending, heart-rending, and heart-warming. I love his family. I love his spirit. I want to see what he will become. The characters are as real as you and I. Pushed beyond faith, grasping to hold to hope through extraordinary measures in a place so marvelously believable, that I'd very much like to see again.

And if Kai can just hold on to his great heart--so close to breaking--I may just get my chance.

Thanks for reading! Now, go buy her book.

Buy them both. Get them for yourself and for a friend! Make an author happy. Swiftly now, go here and get them all:Robin's Books

Have a great month, everyone! Love you all! 

The Dog Days

Summertime is winding down. Around our house, the trees are already dropping leaves. There is a nip of fall in the air. While I'm not blogging much since I stepped back from being part of Quills, I wanted to recommend that feature, which can still be found here: A Drift of Quills. Good authors, good words.

Just for fun, I thought I'd leave an excerpt here from my rough, in progress, novelette Dragon Draught.

I hope you enjoy.

     He noticed her thoughtful expression as he bit into the toast and creamy butter that topped it. Creamy, nutty flavor spread across his tongue and he reveled in it until he heard her through the crunch.“What was that?” he asked around the mouthful.
     “I said I don’t think your mother has ever spoken my name before. I hope she’s doing well?”
     “She ate as she’s not done for months. Sometimes the sick rally before the end.”
     “Melmuch! How can you speak in so dire a fashion? And of your mother.” Francine, who rarely ate much at all, finished off her tiny portion of eggs and single strip of bacon.
     “I am a healer. I must face these realities.”
     “I am not looking forward to the reality of going through all the things in that dusty old house of hers. I have more soup to make for the orphans for which I must shop and then I’m invited to tea at Messalina’s.” She rose from the table.
     “I won’t see you until evening then. I’ve many rounds to make and some work to do on my presentation for the Steward’s Award.”
     “Do you think you should try again this year?” Francine said, her hand upon his shoulder. “There isn’t much new in the healer’s arts, is there? Poultices and wraps and oils and rubs…”
     Toast nearly gone, the last bite at his lips, Melmuch paused. His eyes wide with the sting of her question, he asked, “Do you doubt me?”
     Francine kissed his forehead, but didn't answer. Instead, she said, “I don’t want to see you disappointed, my dear.”
     “Hmm,” he contemplated the bit of toast, shoveled more eggs into his mouth before he finished it off and then he drank down his just-cool-enough tea. After several moments of silence, he said, “I know how much you want to move to a bigger city.”
     Francine wrapped a flowered scarf over her air and gazed out the window that faced the morning sun. As she tied it off, she whispered, “I want to move, that’s true.

To travel, aye,
view mountain high,
alight as on a jaybird’s wing
would be indeed a glorious thing.” 

She opened the door and said over her shoulder, “I’ll see you at dinner.”