Grieving

Grieving doesn't happen all at once, like a fit of crying that lasts for days and then doesn't return.  It comes and goes, sometimes stronger, sometimes as just a dull ache.  Sometimes it overwhelms you, and sometimes it just burns a little.  Sometimes you know it's coming, like when you're driving down the road and you know you're going to pass that street where you used to turn, but there's no reason to turn there now.  Other times, you have no idea when it's coming, like when your five-year-old pulls a picture book off the shelf and starts to read aloud, "My grandpa is the greatest," and you want to sit down with him and make sure he remembers his grandpa, and that he really understands the words he's reading, because you want them burned on his brain.

Sometimes grief is a little bit sweet, because you know you have something worth mourning, and you feel blessed that you had something precious to lose.  Sometimes it makes you feel angry, because you question why you had to lose it. Sometimes it makes you grateful that you recognize the value of the thing you had, and that you cherished it before it was too late.  Other times, it makes you feel ungrateful, as if you didn't do enough to show your appreciation for it, and you wonder if you could have done more, been more, said it more often, showed it in more ways - you wonder if they knew.

Grief can come in the day or the night.  It doesn't hide when it's sunny, just to come out in the rain.  It can follow you to the grocery store, sit with you in the theater, watch while you wash the dishes.  It doesn't have a schedule.  It's not watching a clock, waiting for your time to be up before slipping off to bother someone else.  It's patient.  It can sit there for hours without getting bored.

What grief does most is remind you.  Remind you that you were loved, or that you wanted to be loved, and make you want to be loved again.  It binds you, it ties you, it creates a chain from this side to the next that can't be broken.  The chain pulls a little, tugs you, brings you back when you walk too far away.  Little by little, it reels you in until you can feel the thinness of the veil between this life and the next, like you can reach out and touch it, like the person you lost is standing just on the other side and if you could open your eyes a little wider, you could see them, holding on to the other end of that chain.

Grief is a constant reminder that we have an appointment with someone on the other side, and that we don't want to do anything to spoil that grand reunion that awaits us when it's our turn to pass.  Grief keeps us from forgetting that we have a job to do.

I miss you, Dad.

In memory of Joel W. Norton, 1939-2010.

The Story of the Scout Shirt

It would soon be my son's turn to enter the 11-year-old Scouts in our area, and I had given some thought to purchasing a brown shirt, but with some trepidation.  Those things are expensive, brand new.  But then his Webelos leader showed up on our doorstep and gave us a shirt her own son had outgrown.  Yes, this same leader.  She's awesome, what can I say.  Anyway, our shirt woes were over.

My son happily wore his shirt for a few months, and then it went missing.  We looked high.  We looked low.  We looked in between.  We ripped apart the house.  We looked behind furniture.  I even posted the dilemma on my Facebook status, and took all the suggestions that were posted in reply.  It wasn't in the freezer.  It wasn't hanging on the back of his door.  The thing was simply gone.


I began to wonder if perhaps we'd been targeted by Scout-shirt-hating criminals who break into people's houses and steal their shirts.  But when no ransom was demanded, I gave up on that idea.

Board of Reviews came around.  He couldn't attend in street clothes, so he wore his church shirt and pants.  (It took several minutes to find his pants, but I'm really not feeling emotionally strong enough to go into that.)  He passed the requirements to achieve his second class ranking (woohoo) and then it was time for Court of Honor.

You absolutely must have a Scout shirt for Court of Honor.  And, since he was part of the color guard, it was even more important than ever.  I decided that the house was going down.  I was going to peel back wallpaper to find that shirt, if that's what it took.  I mobilized my entire family.  We started at one end and began to demolish the place.

"I found it!" came the cry.  My son had shoved it back behind an old TV he'd been hoarding for parts.  My heart rejoiced. 

"We have an hour until Court of Honor," I said.  "Go throw your shirt in the wash.  It's dusty, but we have time to get it ready."

With much pomp and circumstance, the shirt was placed in the washer, and then the dryer.  The relief was great.  I was overjoyed.

"Mom!" came the wail.

Did you know that a dark green crayon, when left in the pocket of a light brown Scout shirt, and then sent through the dryer, leaves dark green ink streaks all over said brown shirt, in such vast quantity that one would need an abacus to number them all?

I saw red.  I also saw green, which caused me to see red.

There was nothing that could be done.

I grabbed the telephone and called a ward member, who has several sons, and begged and pleaded to borrow a shirt.  Bless her heart (and her son's heart) they lent us a shirt. 

"Go put on your church pants," I said to son.  "We're going to be fine - we're borrowing a shirt.  But we need to get your lower half ready."

"But I don't know where my church pants are," son said.

Oh, let us not even get started ...

We found the pants.  We wore the borrowed shirt.  He participated in the color guard and he received his second class. And now we're obtaining another Scout shirt.  Which I'm going to staple to his forehead, right next to his church pants.

Book Review: Trapped by Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen

Awakened one night to a strange sound in the next room, Emi Warren is terrified to realize that there's an intruder in the house. She's even more terrified to discover that he left a shrine to her and seems to know things about her past that even she doesn't know. The answers to her questions lie in the Austrian Alps, the birthplace of her deceased father. Taking a chance, she flies there, along with Daniel, the man she has secretly loved for years. Seeking out her father's ancestral home, she hopes to resolve the dark mystery surrounding her family, but then it takes a turn she never expected.

"Trapped" is the second novel by Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen. I enjoyed the suspense and found the twists and turns engaging and unique. There were some moments in the action that could have been more clearly described - I wasn't always sure exactly what was going on - and I did have a few issues with some of the minor plot points, but putting that to the side, it was an enjoyable read and I look foward to seeing more from this author.

A word from the publisher:

A Forged Letter, A Golden Vial, An Ancient
Curse...

Filled with family secrets, intrigue, and romance
the blog tour
(August 9-August 24) for Trapped by Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen will
have it all.

Her expression remained somber, but excitement crept into her voice. You are the Firstborn She...You must go to them. You want me to act as bait? Not bait, Emi. A spy. Our Trojan horse.

When Emi Warrin wakes one night to find a thief in her mother's house, she has no idea the intruder
has planted a trap - a mysterious letter that will change her life forever. Lured to the Austrian Alps with Daniel, the man she loves, Emi is thrown into a perilous, mafia-like world of feuding families and a devastating curse that spans generations. As the Firstborn She - the only firstborn female in hundreds of years - only Emi can free her family from the curse that will soon afflict her as well. But for Emi to break the curse, she must delve into evil designs. As Emi struggles to understand her destiny as the Firstborn She, she learns that everything isn't as it seems and that all choices have consequences. Can Emi break the curse before it's too late?

We will be giving away THREE autographed copies!

All you
have to do is leave a comment (along with your email address if it isn't
on your blog profile) and answer the following question.

Which Austrian city would you most like to visit?

The more blogs you comment on the more entries
you'll receive.
All comments must be left by midnight MST
on August 27 to be eligible.

August 9
Heather Gardner

August 10
Jewel Adams

August 11
Mary Greathouse
Teri Rodeman

August 12
Lynn Fowlstone
Christine Bryant

August 13
Valerie Ipson
Sheila Stayley

August 16
Deanne Blackhurst

August 17
Connie Hall
C.S. Bezas

August 18
Kimberly Job
Tristi Pinkston

August 19
Karen Hoover
Nichole Giles

August 20
Alison Palmer
Jessica Williams

August 23
Joyce DiPastena
Laurie Lewis

I received a copy of this book in exchange for my review. This did not influence my review in any way.

It Was Almost Beautiful ...

Over the course of the last month, we've had a problem with doorbell ditchers. They like to come around midnight, which doesn't wake me up because I'm up anyway, but it's annoying and rude.

Sunday night, I was looking around my kitchen and noticed a distinct lack of food. My mom was visiting, and I asked her if she wanted to go for a midnight grocery run with me. (See, it's not breaking the Sabbath if you wait until midnight to go.) She agreed, and went home with the plan that she would come back at midnight to pick me up.

My son was sitting on the couch, unable to sleep, as 12:00 approached. Suddenly I got a wild-hair idea.

"I have the feeling someone's going to knock on our door tonight," I said.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I've just got this feeling. Now, when they come, I want you to fling open the door and catch them."

He squatted by the door, ready to help bring down the nefarious ditchers. After about a minute, he said, "Are you sure they're coming?"

"Yes, I really, really feel that they are. Just keep waiting."

About thirty seconds later, a knock sounded at the door. He jumped up and opened it. "Oh, hi, Grandma," he said, letting her in.

Now, that was amusing. But this is how I envisioned it:

Son throws open the door with a loud cry of "Gotcha!"

Grandma jumps and screams.

Son jumps and screams, realizing it's his grandma.

I collapse into hysterical laughter, having gotten both son and mother with one practical joke.

Oh, well. It was almost beautiful.

Book Review: Hometown Girl by Michele Ashman Bell

"Hometown Girl" is the second installment in Michele Ashman Bell's series, "The Butterfly Box," which features a group of women who were friends in high school. They were brought together by the tragic death of one of their friends, and every year they meet together to discuss what they learned from that death and what things are going on in their lives now. They collect memorabilia in a box with a butterfly on it, and each year, a different woman takes the box home with her to be her good luck charm until the next reunion. In the first book, "A Modest Proposal," the box went home with Lauryn, and we saw her create a new career for herself while staying true to her standards. In "Hometown Girl," we get a closer look into the mind and heart of Jocelyn.

Jocelyn's grandmother passed away a few years before, and she left her house to Jocelyn. A nice little home in Milford Falls, it has sat vacant ever since. Jocelyn knows she should do something with it, but she's not sure what. Selling it seems like getting rid of a piece of her grandmother. Maybe if she waits a little while to make the decision, she'll know what to do.

But the mayor of Milford Falls is a neat freak, and he can't stand the fact that the house is going to ruin. He calls Jocelyn and demands that she come and clean up the place. Her work has been a little unsatisfactory, and she has some time on her hands, so she decides that she's going to head up and take care of her grandmother's house. The Butterfly Girls even suggest that she might consider moving to stay there, and she thinks about it, but she's not sure. She spent one summer there in the past, and while she appreciated her time there, she's not sure she wants to relive it.

When she arrives in town, she discovers that the house is in need of serious repairs. She does what she can on her own, but hires Jack, the town handyman, to finish up the rest. She feels a connection to him, but her past keeps her from fully exploring her feelings.

My Review:

Michele Ashman Bell has a way of creating characters you'd like to get to know personally. It was easy to cheer Jocelyn on as she made needed changes in her life, stepped out of her comfort zone, and began her journey toward healing. I would have liked a little more foreshadowing when it came time for her to reveal the truth about her past - that seemed a little out of the blue to me. I did also want a little more emotion from Jocelyn. That said, I enjoyed the read very much. It was fun to watch her renovate her house and to "see" what she planned to do with the place, and to watch the growing chemistry between her and Jack. You could really root for their relationship, and I did.

In conjunction with this blog tour, you can win a $50 gift certificate! Click here to visit Michele's blog and learn more about it.

I received a copy of this book free in exchange for the review, and this gift did not influence my thoughts.