The Sad Fate of Hollywood Has-Beens & Dollar Store Hardbacks

Some people give it all to get from the gritty sidewalk to the glittering screen.  To make themselves a Hollywood actor or entertainer.

They spend every penny, sacrifice every moment, forgo loved ones and give the best years of their lives for this goal.

Then, after all the trouble to get there, at the twilight of their life they find themselves demoted to nightly shows in Vegas.

Really? That's what the end of a celebrity life looks like? It's as fleeting as the strobe lights that flood a Vegas boulevard. It's as meaningless as the neon flashes that seek to grab the attention of the tourist's wallet.

If that were me, I'd feel disappointed and cheated to have given so much just to end up on the desert hotel stage entertaining a gaggle of senior gamblers. Such a sad fate!


------------------------------------------------


An equally unfortunate fact of life is that good books end up in dollar stores.

That's right. I have found some great reads at the Family Dollar that break my heart to think they missed the NY Times best seller list. It's like finding a diamond in a pig sty. The location doesn't match the quality of the item.

The dollar store is where I stock up on my piano students' incentive gifts. I have a treasure box to reward their practicing. Other than that, there's not much to find. And it's really scary that some super dollar stores sell food!

But if you wander down the coloring book aisle and rifle through the shelves you're likely to find a very good hardback for 100 measly pennies.

Sometimes they make great gifts, too.


Here are a few gems that I've found recently:

The Best Loved Poems of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis
by Caroline Kennedy.


I adore Caroline Kennedy, one of the last of that famous family to live on, and a contemporary of us baby-boomers.

She wrote a book about the poems her mother loved. These stories of how Jacqueline Kennedy introduced great literature to her children are poignant and to be imitated by every good mom. And the poetry is rich.


I feel so sad for Caroline; that her book ended up in the dollar store. And truly, if a book about Jackie O, the wife of one of the most prominent Presidents, JFK, written by his daughter doesn't sell much, 

what hope do we bloggers have of ever attaining any commercial success?

http://www.amazon.com/Loved-Poems-Jacqueline-Kennedy-Onassis/dp/1401302483



                                                         

 Life of the Skies by Jonathan Rosen.

Anything birds grabs my attention. This is full of notes on Audubon and great birding stories and analogies.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Life-Skies-Birding-Nature/dp/0312428197


Never heard of the writer before, but  he had so many intriguing points about bird watching. While I didn't agree with a couple of chapters, it is a wonderful book on birding. I bought extra copies and gave my brother and daughter one along with a pair of binoculars.

My brother loved the book.

Wander no more. Sit and read this book called

When Wanderers Cease to Roam - A Traveler's Journal of Staying Put by Vivian Swift

I was struck by the clever title and whimsical illustrations and have enjoyed getting to know Vivian Swift through her

lovely sketches,

watercolors

and wit of this memoir of traveling and nesting.

I think you will, too.

http://www.amazon.com/When-Wanderers-Cease-Roam-Travelers/dp/B002VPE81O

http://www.vivianswift.net/ 


So pick up one of these books on Amazon.


 I doubt you'll get them for a dollar, though.


And that's a little sad, too.






 

When you need to pop a Psalm!

The end of daylight savings signaling less sunshine and shortening the days sends some people into seasonal depression. Especially, those who live up north or work in windowless offices.

I fall into the latter category and found myself clamoring like a lunatic for natural light today. It was too blustery to work out by the pond and the warmth of the sun in the courtyard coupled with the time change cast a spell of mid-day drowsiness against which I was rendered powerless.  Lunch time turned into power nap time under my desk. (Oops! My secret is out!).

This was me before I crawled under my desk.

What do you do when lethargy descends? When a bad case of the blues hit? When loneliness lurks like a dull ache and when shadows fall long and foreboding?

Rather than running to the medicine cabinet or wheeling over to the wet-bar, try to pop a Psalm. There is one for nearly every emotional ailment. Most have heard of the first one, though I don't know who to credit it to.

In an emergency dial Psalm 91:1. 

"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty." 

When you are burdened by something,  read Psalm 55:22


"Cast your burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved."

When you are afraid because of the actions of another, pray Psalm 56:3


"Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God (I will praise His word), in God I have put my trust. I will not fear. What can flesh do to me?"

Or Psalm 34:4

"I sought the Lord and He heard me and delivered me from all my fears." 

When the future seems uncertain, meditate on this Psalm 23:6

"Sure goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

When there seems to be no good around, try Psalm 34:8

"Oh Taste and see that the the Lord is good; 

When you need to get happy, read further

"Happy (Blessed) is the man who trusts in Him."

There is no other shelter, no escape, no pick me up, no well of living (flowing) water other than Him. And David, the Psalm writer seemed to know that better than anyone else. So run straight to Him, the Light of the World to brighten your day, renew your strength and lift your spirit.

Fall is Fallin'

I missed this by a week. My Virginia visit in mid-October was too early to see the firey fall colorfest lead by this tree.

I had tidied the brick steps and front sidewalk of my daughter's house, sweeping these same leaves from this same tree. But they were brittle, dry leaves of mousy brown; dirty, dusty, before-the-streetsweeper-came-brown, when I left.

Now they're forest fire orange. Almost electric. A sight my eyes never saw in California, temperature too mild to cause a leafy stir such as this. It was all evergreen palms and pines, mulberry and silver eucalyptus against an ever-blue sky. And now in Florida, the only orange is in the lobster blossoms of the palm shrub in my front yard.

Nothing as massive as this pulsating  blind-your-eyes shade of  ripe tomato to greet you on a brisk morning, cheeks pink with chilled air. Leaves drop and the ground is a  bed of red-hot coals.

Next year I'll visit Virginia in November and gorge myself on the visual  feast of the tangerine, golden blaze of a real Fall.

How I avoid the g-word and other profanities

 

50 is by no means too young to be a g-ma. It's just the word that bothers me. It reeks of that nursing home smell and conjures pictures of shriveled, droopy-jowled faces, crocheted shawls and rocking chairs with tatted doilies on them. I prefer not to say the g-word.

But, while I refuse to call myself by the name, I am not stupid enough to refuse its benefits.

The excuse to shop is one of them. As is the need for travel.

I now check 2 bags when visiting the g-children. One for my things and one chock full of wrapped toys: Disney character toys, size 3-months ruffled jean skirts and polka dot leggings with matching   peter pan tops, Golden books from the thrift shop, newly printed photos, 90% finished baby quilts, and various and sundry items for the mom, my daughter.

There is a down side to g-mothering. I often wake in the wee hours and worry like a crazy woman about my 5 kids. Now I have my g-kids to add to the mix.

To offset the age stigma I still wear the peach colored v-neck fitted t-shirt embroidered with "World's Sexiest G-ma" that my daughter gave me to announce the arrival of the 1st grandchild. It's pretty stretched out by now, but offers comfort and a big self-esteem boost.

But my name is Bella. 

The name was suggested by my daughter. I loved it because it was also the name of my privileged mother's nurse maid. It was short for Isabel and there were too many Isabel's in her family already. Bella raised my mom in a big house, while her mother and grandmother (oops, I said it and will say it for other people) chain-smoked their morning cigarettes over black coffee. They spent half a day lounging on those overstuffed, one-armed chaises my great-grandfather dubbed "wench benches,"  while Bella bathed, fed and entertained my mother and her brothers.

A short survey revealed that there are others out there like me who adamantly shun the g-word as well. They go by:

Nana,
Mimi,
Pooh
Pappy

Ma,

Mima,

Pau,

Pop E
Cee Cee

Abuela

Abuelita

It's affirming that I am not alone in avoiding the g-word, a by-word to many.

Though I am a g-ma 5 times over,  I go by Bella. My less vain husband has no problem being called 'grandpa.' I Shudder!!

A second profane word I refuse to say is what I call 'the other f-word'. And I do apologize if it makes you think of that obscenity that the Federal Communications Commission just lifted the ban on for the air waves. You'll be hearing a lot more of it on TV whether you like it or not.

Big mistake and another huge dive in the culture's downward spiral  that has completely lost their sense of decency and annihilated any shred of politeness that may have previously existed. What's become of our sensibilities and simple manners?

When asked my age, I simply cannot say the other f-word.  My lips trip and spudder as they try to form that fizzy consonant. My brow sweats, cheeks flush and facial muscles contort. The number following forty-nine is practically unpronounceable.

When the fifth decade rolled around, the same year I became the g-word, (double whammy), I adopted the age terminology the ever clever Anne Lomott coined as the year forty-ten. What a genius that author is! https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott 

The next birthday I called myself forty-eleven.  And so on. It's the perfect verbal weapon for those waging war on middle age. 

When both bad words, the g-word and the other f-word approached me the same year, I had to do something! And I found a way of not saying either.

My name is Bella to my g-children and I am fortyfive-eleven.

My Baby Girl Had a Baby Girl

It's a strange thing, you know, when your baby girl has a baby girl.

Flashback 31 years to our early days of married life.

We lived in a 400 square foot abode on the Balboa peninsula  in Newport Beach, California when our baby girl, April arrived to a blue and white wallpapered nursery. Ultrasounds informed us we were having a girl, but decorating with more than two colors would have overwhelmed the tiny apartment. Thus a blue room for our girl. (Which perhaps was predictive of the 4 boys that followed?)

  The wall paper was both decorative and functional. And thank goodness it was in vogue then because it covered the many flaws of peeling plaster 50 yrs of damp salty air inflicted on that 1920's triplex. A mini flowered pattern of blue and yellow covered the living room walls with white Priscilla curtains on its 2 vertical sashed windows providing little privacy from the public sidewalk just outside its panes. I endured the sight of passing strangers for the sake of sunlight.

Weekends sent a trail of beach goers by our windows as they headed out to play in the sand and surf, 100 feet from our front door.

Despite the dream beach location, the place had its problems, such as a broken window sash cable that was propped up by a wood scrap. An antiquated electrical system that  blew a circuit if the blow dryer and the iron were run at the same time. A broken heater. A leaky ceiling in the kitchen that no roofer could seem to fix. Rent at $165 a month kept our complaints to a minimum. Wouldn't you have?

But it was home to us newlyweds and the little girl soon to come.

She came quietly in that Tustin hospital. Didn't make a peep till the nurse placed her warm skin on the icy stainless scale. From cozy womb to steely world. Then she let out a wail that did her virgin lungs good. Tawny skinned and wide-eyed, we welcomed

April Marbury Shaw

We were married for 5 years before we had her. As a funny card said, "A new baby is the realization that you were getting entirely too much sleep."

Following April, we bore four sons. And suffered broken sleep for many years to come.

My Four Sons: Jesse, Brandon, Elliot and Carlin

  

And then April married and started a family, only to have two more active sons.

Dad, Neal getting his ear chainsawed off by son Walker with Carter standing by.

Finally April became pregnant with her first baby girl.

So it's been a long time waiting for pink. Although pink is not in style for baby girls these days. Unless it's hot pink.  Nor are girl names for girls. Nowadays baby-chicks are named Quinn, Rikki, Finley, Spencer, Chase, Lyken, Skylar and Sydney. I thought for certain when my son-in-law and daughter arrived at Charlotte for a name, she would be called Charlie, which I think is kind of cute.

Charlotte Marbury McCullohs and mom, April Marbury McCullohs

But so far it fits the very petite 7 pound Charlotte whose precious face exudes all the femininity and softness the name conjures up.

As you can see there is no pink in the room. Not light pink, rose, mauve or ballet pink. Aqua walls are set behind bright yellow large florals and coral chevron patterns.

When I happily took the job to sew the crib bedding because nothing in the store was satisfactory to mom, I learned that crib bumpers are frowned upon due to safety hazards.

"What?" My good friend exclaimed. "So the baby just hits her head on the crib slats?"


 
I answered that new studies show that
suffocation caused by the bumper is more
probable than head bruising.

After having 5 babies who slept in cribs fitted with the cushioned sides,

I did not buy that anti-bumper propaganda.

But I agreed quietly, secretly resisting the temptation to cut out the bumper pattern and sew it up in the middle of the night... accidentally.

A bumper balances out the nursery dressing so nicely!

But this one will have to do without.

------

My husband believes it was a divine plan, rather than a coincidence that Charlotte was born October 3rd, 2013, the day that Chuck Smith, our beloved pastor died.

And also that they share names: Charlotte being the feminine form of Charles. Names that have meanings like church and warrior. I pray she will have the depth of faith he did and grow the Kingdom well in her own Charlotte sort of way.

Finally, we got another girl after 31 years.

My baby girl had a baby girl!

And we are tickled pink!

Goodbye Papa Chuck

Chuck with his One Way - Jesus gesture

It was 1974 and I was not exactly following Jesus. I had in fact spent most of my high school days running away from all that I had known to be good.

But my parents started attending this hippie church forty-five minutes from our home. "Everyone is so full of love there," my father gushed. And he was not the gushing type.  We attended every Saturday night and Sunday. Scruffy young people and distinguished grown-ups sang arm-in-arm together.

My dad would drive a car full of my teenage friends to the Saturday night concerts where we heard  Jesus bands like Love Song, Children of the Day, Parable, Joy  and Mustard Seed Faith. Artists, like Bob Carlyle, Keith Green,  Malcom and Alwin, Richie Furay.

Then, there were the tent days. After the little chapel had grown too small for the crowds, a temporary tent was erected until the larger sanctuary was built. My husband, Tim attended and lived just behind this little country church immortalized by Love Song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bAlE3Y2MAk

Sometimes my husband (whom I'd yet to meet) used to sleep over in the tent during Santa Ana wind conditions to make sure the thing didn't blow over. 

I surrendered my heart to Jesus after a personal crisis. The solid Bible teaching of Chuck Smith taught my newborn legs to walk with Him and set my course straight. I was later baptized in Pirate's Cove, Corona del Mar along with hundreds like myself.

Tonight, we attended a memorial for Chuck that was streamed from the Anaheim Pond. Four full hours of speakers, bands, video clips and memories dedicated to a man who grew the kingdom of God worldwide and whose beaming smile and bear hugs nurtured the hearts of millions.

A military official spoke, showing the faith movement's support of our troops and the Israeli consulate presented eloquently. Chuck was an ardent advocate of Israel and had visited the country 60 times.

One speaker quoted Paul from I Corinthians 4:15.

"For though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers. For I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel." In this Internet age, we have many teachers, but not many fathers in the faith.

Chuck was a father to so many. The kind of dad that makes you feel safe, valued and uniquely loved.

That was Papa Chuck.

Papa to four biological children, sixteen grandchildren and thirty-three great-grandchildren and thousands of spiritual children,.

His daughter, Sheryl, spoke of how Chuck never lost the thrill of life, nature, new grandchildren, a soul saved, a good musician, competition sports, vintage cars, a parking lot full of church-goers, another believer baptized. He was exuberant to the end. 

Chuck's church building strategy was very anti-establishment and countered church planting trends of the day.  Tom Stype, one of the early pastors and musicians summed up Chuck Smith's hippie-welcoming ministry best:

"Pastor Chuck let sinners and rejects into the House of God.

And here we all are."

It's unbelievable that at 86, weakened from battling lung cancer, Chuck preached from a stool four days before his earthly departure on October 3rd of this year.

My favorite message from the memorial was given by Florida's own,  Bob Coy,  pastor of Calvary Chapel, Fort Lauderdale. He held up a cassette tape and told how this was the medium from which he heard Chuck teach as he grew and founded his church in the late 80s, 3000 miles away from the mother church in Costa Mesa, California.

Bob spoke of how Chuck was a sloooowww talker. From time to time on the tape, he would make pauses. Long ones so that you would think the tape was over; that he was done teaching. Then after a lengthy space of silence,  Chuck would continue with a, "Now..." and teach on. "Now"? Bob exclaimed. "I thought you were done!!!" But Chuck had just paused.

In that same way, we see that with his death, Chuck is silent, but not done.

He has just paused...

"God has just pushed the pause button on what we know of Chuck. And we will hear him speak again."

Well-said, Pastor Bob.

The memorial reached down deep in my heart and revived the foundations of my faith that were laid over 3 decades ago. So grateful for all that God has done through the years and expectant for the journey ahead.

It was healing to see personal friends I had played worship with: John Wickham, Lisa Wickham. Friends like Donny Kobayashi. My husband knew so many more than I.  Tom Stype, Mike MacIntosh, Don McClure, Bill Batstone, Freddie Fields (he looks good, Tim said), Tommy Coombs, Chuck Butler, Johnny Mehler. So many musicians and pastors who had been inspired and touched by Chuck.

But with all the looking back, all the reminiscing, the evening ended with a look forward.

In closing, Evan Wickham sang a beautiful song. His brother Phil Wickham http://www.philwickham.com/ played the final piece with the finesse and artistry of a well-seasoned musician. Tim said he could see his father, John's mastery of the guitar and hear his mother Lisa's strong and versatile voice embodied in Phil.

Sing on Phil and Evan! http://evanwickham.com/. Be vehicles of the next revival for this generation, following  Chuck's example. A revival greater than the Jesus Movement we all were blessed to experience. One such that we have never seen.

And, goodbye, Papa Chuck.

You left a legacy broad and swathing as your 10,000 watt smile.

When You Grow Up - A song for my daughter

The setting sun sent a gentle glow through our tiny beach apartment's windows.

I was a first-time mom. While cooking dinner, I began to ponder my newborn daughter's future. Safely napping in her crib, still I feared for her. The uncertainty of life and it's dangers seemed so inescapable. I'd do anything to prevent her from making the same mistakes I had made. Was there a way to shelter her from life's hazards that lay before her; this tiny newborn, so unaware and vulnerable?

But there was also great hope that she might avoid the foolishness many fall into. She had a clean slate and the potential to do things right, to make good choices.

Bouncing back and forth between the stove and the piano, a tune and lyrics started to materialize. By the time dinner was done, a song had emerged. You can take a listen here....


https://soundcloud.com/a-marbury-shaw/when-you-grow-up

What are you going to do when you grow up

April Marbury?

What will life bring when you're adult?

What will you be?

I took a long time to come around

Wasted a lot of years being down

Followed all the dead-end roads I could find

But Jesus was the one who could change my mind

I see your life stretch out into the years

Displaying all you are

I can see all the unshed tears

And potential scars

Please don't take a long time to come around

Don't waste your years being down

Follow the road that never ends

And Jesus is the one who will be your Friend

The world will try to offer you the good life

at best it's only heartache in disguise

One day you will awaken to the choices

Purpose in your hear to be wise

After your hopes and dreams have come of age

And you're standing at that Day

When you've penned this earthly life's last page

I hope you hear Him say:

"I've waited a long time to take you home

Happy to have you here as My own

You've run very well on that narrow road"

Yes, Jesus is the One who'll be your reward.

April Marbury McCullohs

31 years later I see much of what I'd written for her has come true. She's followed Jesus hard since a little girl. She is a writer, blogger,   http://aprilmccullohs.com/ , a songstress,  a speaker and a great wife and mother.

Though she has not been spared all the hurt I'd hoped against.

This broken world still finds our blind side.

But she is so blessed as a result of loving Him.

Tonight, April Marbury had a baby girl of her own: 

Charlotte Marbury.

As her newborn sleeps near her, I wonder if she's thinking the same thing....

--------------------------------------------------

I am  joining Emily Freeman's link-up for making art. My art is the song in the link above in my blog.

I am honored to be a part.

Do You Vine?

I don't twitter or tweet.

Even though a little bird told me I should. 

But I do Vine.

It's really fun to watch the 6 second videos play

and replay

and replay

and replay.

Especially if they are the mega - funny sort that my sons' friends, Cody and Marcus Johns produce and post. Each has their own individual profile and following.

Their followers grew in a few short months from 0 to -  get this - 3 million followers between the two of them!!

How did they rise so quickly to celebrity Vine status? That is the question that The Huffington Post asked in their 16 minute interview of the 2 brothers.

http://live.huffingtonpost.com/r/segment/vine-stars-marcus-cody-johns/523cb8252b8c2a6dcf000463

Little did I know my son Jesse was putting Marcus up in his Brooklyn fourth floor apartment before and after the interviews. So fun. So unglamorous. After all, when the interviewer asked Marcus what he disliked most in people he answered, "Ego."

Before the interview they were treated to a shopping spree at the Gap. Nice.

And after the show they met fans in Washington Square park.

Then Cody flew back to LA to his NowThis internet news position.  http://www.fastcompany.com/3018059/fast-feed/nowthis-news-hires-its-first-vine-vj

 Marcus went back to work on his film degree in Tallahassee.

Feet

firmly

planted.

Grounded by the great upbringing of their godly parents (mom Holly, my BFF), who also make guest appearances in their super short,  shimmering comedies.

In between their day-to-day working and studying Cody and Marcus will be back to posting

very funny 6-second Vine videos.

So if you don't vine yet, perhaps you should.

Just say you heard about it through the grapevine.

Ode To a Beauty Queen

Cancer took her life too early at the age of 52. Many celebrated Sandra at her memorial. Though it's been 3 years, the service and dear Sandra are hard to forget.

In 1998 we met the Shiraz family after moving from California to Florida. Our boys shared a third grade class together and have been friends ever since.

Sandra was both beautiful and funny. Recounting a decision by her husband Ben she disagreed with, she blurted out, "Oh men! They're all camels!"

With his middle eastern heritage, the comment was all the more humorous. I quickly assured Ben we didn't make a habit of husband bashing. Still, I'll never forget her insightful, irreverent parallel to the other sex's obstinate nature, not to mention their difficulty in kneeling.

Sandra was a second mom to my son, Brandon, a much nicer one than I. She spoiled him when he spent the night by letting him sleep in, giving him the best bed, extra toothbrushes and contact lens solution when he'd forget to bring his own. I would have kicked him out of bed to do Saturday chores.

Then there were the fabulous trips that the Shiraz' invited Brandon to accompany them on. Trips to amusement parks and wonderful vacations; the ultimate destination being Norway. The Shiraz' heart is large and generous. Sandra held the truest embodiment of that generosity.

One evening in West Palm while waiting for our sons, Elliot and Shamir to perform at Respectables,
a club on Clematis Street,
Ben, Sandra, my husband and I went to the Hibiscus House, a cute Bed and Breakfast where they were featuring a garden terrace with drinks and food. Ben presented Sandra with a beautiful hibiscus flower he had picked from surrounding bushes which resulted in a gooey exchange of affection between the two.

'Hibiscus is her favorite flower', Ben said, beaming.

In the language of flowers, Hibiscus means 'Delicate Beauty'. Sandra was very much like that hibiscus blossom - vibrant, colorful, open, cheery and beautiful.

We are sad and brokenhearted that her flower has faded prematurely. But her memory and attributes can remain in full bloom in our hearts and beings.

Though we mourn now, I don't think Sandra would have wanted us to shrivel and dry up under that weight of her loss.

We can wear the bloom and beauty of her life. We can perpetuate her passions. Rather than wilt and fade in sadness, we can carry on her openness, her pursuit of beauty, her devotion to Jesus, her love of travel, new friends and adventure.

Can we who live on, resurrect and revive those uplifting qualities that so defined her? Not only can we try, but it may be the saving grace of those devastated most by her passing. It may be the breath of life that sustains them.



May Sandra's fragrance linger long. And those who love her most breathe it deeply.

I think the song her son, Shawn wrote about her called Beauty Queen says it best.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qga0AShtViI

 

2 Things that hold it all together.

1. Coffee and 
2. Prayer.

These are what held me together today following a slam-packed 12 hour Wednesday of filling back-to-back requests at work. I was a bit spent as I stumbled into work again today.

Coffee and Prayer. Two Essentials got me through the day. 

"In that order of importance?" my husband quipped. 

Geez, I hope not.

It's pretty hard to pit a little brown bean against the One who thought the bean up and spoke it into existence.

There's a huge disparity in power between the two.



Sometimes we need a little miracle in our mundane. A pick me up off the floor before we doze off after lunch.


Here's what  Shauna Niequist says about prayer in her book, Cold Tangerines:

"When I pray, something freaked-out and dazed inside me finds a place to lay down and rest. When I pray, I don't feel so alone in the universe. " 


A little prayer can change a rotten mood set-off by lack of rest. I restrain from raising my voice, but let the car door slam a little too hard. Pray some more for forgiveness and to fix the sour situation.

A phone call. Conversation. Somehow things are mended; love extended. God hears and restores.

Then there's Kathleen Stockett, author of The Help. Her

character Aibeleen says,

"Prayer is like electricity. It keeps things goin..."


Yes, it kept me going, today, and does many days.



Then home to another cup of java my sweet husband

fixes me as I teach piano lessons. Dinner and the pillow my head so dearly longs for.

Tomorrow is another day.

Less coffee,

but never

less

prayer.