Reflections & Thoughts – 2017 & 2018

I was so glad to wake up this morning to end a very frustrating dream where I just couldn’t solve the problem. I had the answer in a folder, but I simply could not find the material in the folder. All of the research was there, all of the facts that I needed to present, but I couldn’t find it. It was exhausting, so I was very relieved to awaken to reality even though it was -9 degrees (yes, a negative nine degrees Fahrenheit without a windchill factor) in my Kansas City suburb.

What was my subconscious or God trying to tell me?

Perhaps I am a problem solver, but sometimes I cannot solve life’s problems, no matter how hard I try. I think there are some things I just need to let go, let it be. Maybe this is what my dream was about. And so I reflect on the difficult year of 2017. Oh, I know it wasn’t all difficult. In fact, I took the advice of someone on Facebook and wrote down on a strip of paper every time something good happened in 2017 and slipped the strip of paper in a large container sealed with a lid. There are several strips of paper in the jar which is in my office downtown. I will look at those tomorrow and smile, I am sure. But right now, my general summation is that it was another year of unexpected happenings, changes, and challenges. Some of them still linger. Maybe my dream was an epiphany – let it be – instead of a revelation on how to fix or solve an issue as I do receive in many of my dreams.

So this I will ponder as I look to things I need to let be and things I would like to accomplish in 2018, both on a personal level and as a writer. I have to say that it will be much harder for me to “let it go and let it be.”


Here are two things I would like to accomplish as a writer in 2018, God willing.

Thought #1:

I need a new author picture. Yes, as I say frequently: “… and I’m getting older too …”. The picture at the top of this page is seven years old! So this year, I will make time to pose for some new photos, professional ones. For better or for worse, there will be a new me. And one of those will be used on the back cover of my third book!

Thought #2:

My third book will be published:  Someday I will Write, Someday when I have the Time. I’ve had the concept and the title for seven years, since my first book, Reflections, was published. Most of the content has been written as well. So why not just do it?

There is no time like now. Watch for it.  #Someday


Whether you let it go and let it be or whether you accomplish your goals and thoughts, I wish you the best in 2018! It’s all good as life continues on.


Holiday Readers Festival

I am excited to kickoff the Christmas season by  participating, along with other authors, in the Holiday Readers Festival at the Plaza Library in Kansas City on Tuesday, November 28. The event is 5:30-8:00 p.m. You can find all of the details by clicking here.

I will have copies of Helen’s Heritage and Reflections to purchase for your holiday gifting. And the best part is that Helen herself will be there with me. You will have a chance to meet her, ask questions, and receive your personalized autographed copy of her stories.

So if you are in the area, please consider stopping by. Bring a friend, and pass this along to others who might be interested.

See you soon!

Kansas City Public Library – Plaza Branch, 4801 Main St. – Nov. 28, 20107


Between The Lines ~ America’s History Told Through Letters ~

I am excited about this. Author Kristin Horvath has announced her new project. Do you have letters tucked away from another era? She would love for you to send her copies.

Between The Lines ~ America’s History Told Through Letters ~

As the author of “From Heart to Hand, The Lost Art of A Written Letter” not only has the revitalization of a written letter turned into a passion project for me, but the preservation of old letters has as well. I believe letters are a big part of America’s History, with all the information contained in them. I would love to tell their stories, bring to life and learn more about America’s History through the intimate accounts of letters.

If you have any letters tucked away in a box, in your closet or attic, or a drawer collecting dust not really knowing what you are going to do with them, I would love to have copies of them and bring these stories back to life.

Please send copies (originals will not be able to be returned) of letters to:  Kristin Horvath, PO Box 210081, Nashville TN 37221-9998

From My Heart and Hand to Yours,


Write On

I call myself a writer of real-life adventures and everyday life. I’ve also called myself a female John-Boy. For those of you too young to remember The Waltons, John-Boy was the main character in the popular television show that aired for ten years beginning in 1971. Each episode began with an older John-Boy narrating, setting the stage for the episode reflecting back on a time in his life growing up on Walton’s Mountain in the 1930s. I absolutely loved the show and cried many times while watching.


So why do I write, or cathart, as someone recently accused me? (Well, cathart didn’t pass spellcheck; but I knew what the person meant, so we’ll go with it.)

I don’t want to give away the preface of my next book so will avoid explaining all of the details of when I first realized I wanted to write, but it was about twenty-five years ago. After attending a festival, an unction – a turning in my belly – surfaced and never went away. I wanted to write a book. I daydreamed about it for almost twenty years before I held my first book, Reflections. I did not have the concept for Reflections during those twenty years. I wasn’t sure what my first book would be about, but the compulsion never went away.

Then after a life-changing event, the concept came. And one weekend while driving out of town with my friend Cindy to attend a Mom’s weekend with our sons in college, I confided in her that my first book would be about people in my life, that each chapter would be titled with the person’s name. It would be a time to remember the good things in people. It was a couple of more years before I was able to finish the small book of vignettes; but at that moment, I had the concept and knew someday my dream would be a reality.


I said I would NEVER blog, but after attending a writing seminar in 2010, I started a blog as encouraged by the sponsor and other attendees of the writing workshop. They advised, “Just write about what’s going on in your life.” The thought of exposing my thoughts and feelings on a regular basis seemed way out there for someone who is much more an introvert than an extrovert. However, it got easier over time and I doubted too many people would find or read my material, so I wrote on.

I didn’t (and don’t) always write perfectly. I tend to write in a passive voice and sometimes I misspell words that I have to correct later (or not) even though I reread over and over again. That’s why we have editors. Although I dreamed (and still do) of being able to write as an occupation, to make a living at it, in reality it is more of a hobby and a passion of writing from my heart. But the dream still lives.


People who have read my books and blogs have been kind with their comments, family members and friends are encouraging, and my mother says everything I write is beautiful. 🙂

Soon after Reflections was published in 2011, I was invited to participate in a local writers’ group. We shared pieces of our work and received feedback from each other. Although the critiques were not always pleasant, I learned to listen to what the other writers said and implemented some of their suggestions. We each had different styles and strengths, and I thank Marty and Erika for their time and encouragement in pushing me to be a better writer. It was during these years that I had a few stories published in national magazines, and I give much of that credit to them. I am grateful to still see these ladies from time to time.

Last month, author Kristin Horvath came across one of my magazine stories and sent me a word of encouragement which came at a much-needed time. And then, within a week’s time, I was caught off guard by a negative email. I have never received a negative comment on a blog or in a book review, neither have I ever received a scathing message in my author email account. Well, I guess there’s a first for everything. The individual pointed out what was perceived as errors in my writing, was condescending throughout the message, attacked the very core purpose of Reflections, and then focused in on a few personal threats if I wrote “such and such.”

I had to deal with it, not by responding but by accepting that not everyone is going to like what I have to say. It has not been an easy task. Everyone is entitled to an opinion and to express that opinion if so inclined. I was inclined to defend but chose not to retaliate, not because I’m a better person. I simply decided to leave the person with their opinion and thoughts. But I had to make a decision for me as a writer.

Do I stop writing because of someone’s negativity?

Do I stop doing the thing I have been compelled to do for twenty-five years just when I see a bit of success?

Do I let someone squelch my dream?

Do I let one negative email trump or stay all of the positive, encouraging remarks?

I think not.

As my cousin Jeanne might say: “WRITE ON!!”

I think I will, and I think I just wrote the last chapter in my next book.


Reflection on Life

A couple of months ago, life, God, the universe, or maybe fate threw up a stop sign; and life changed. During this pause, I have cried, prayed, and pondered. That other word that has become a core word the past seven years as a writer has been pronounced even more – reflection. I have reflected on my entire life. I have relived moments in time, reheard and rehearsed words spoken many years ago, looked at pictures of years gone by, and reread journal entries of long ago. One entry in particular caught my attention. I was not the author. I had read another author’s meditation; and on January 1, 2000 – the beginning of a new year, a new decade, a new century, and a new millennium – I wrote her words in my journal on this historic new day.

Fate keeps happening. Our lives are not set in stone. Lives, like flowers, continue to unfold. We have options and we have choices all along the way … Yet we do have the ability to alter our present and our future. Fate is a process that continues to emerge … The process of life keeps happening.

“Meditations For Women Who Do Too Much” – Anne Wilson Schaef

Now, for a person of faith, I really have to ponder these words because I believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing God who sets everything in place. And, yet, He gave us free will. I thought about how many times since the year 2000 I changed my course which altered my future – switched jobs twice, walked through a divorce, moved twice – to name a few. Sometimes drastic things happened that forced my decision. And so recently, that was the case again – my life and those of ones closest to me changed forever in July 2017. Fate happened and now there are new and different choices again. I want to make the correct choices for me and the ones I love.

In the middle of my self-absorbtion (I might have invented a new word) the past couple of months, I received an unexpected message from a stranger, another author, who had come across my publication in “Country Extra” magazine, Handwritten Treasures. The author then followed up by reading some of my blogs. She said we were cut from the same cloth. Her words to me were kind and lifted my spirit that day. I read her book over Labor Day weekend which reminded me in many ways of my first book, Reflections. You might want to add From Heart to Hand to your list. I love the cover too!

(Click here to preview and purchase.)

Thank you, Kristin Horvath, for interrupting my thoughts and bringing a breath of fresh air in the midst of a heavy time. She called it a “God wink.” And I believe it was.


What’s Happening?

Although you have not seen or read a blog from me for a couple of months, I want to assure you that much is going on in my world. I’m working on the text for my first children’s book so that I can push the concept to an illustrator. I’m not sure how long it will take to bring to fruition, and this project will certainly be unique and different. Once the draft is completed, it will be time to work on Someday I will Write – Someday when I have the Time. More on that another day (when I have the time). 🙂

This past month, I wrote two guest blogs for my publisher’s website about my writing journey. It was fun to reflect on Reflections, my very first book and first writing project, and to look at Helen’s Heritage today. It’s been a remarkable year, and God is good.

You can navigate over to the first of two blogs on the WestBow Press site by clicking on this link: A Dream and a Miracle Part I.

Click on this link for the second part: A Dream and a Miracle Part II.

This journey certainly has been a dream and a miracle.

And last, but not least by any means, yesterday I received a complimentary copy of the July issue of Country Extra magazine. Why was it complimentary?

Country Extra featured parts of my blog, The Tablet, along with Helen’s Heritage and called it Handwritten Treasures. How cool is that? Here’s a little peek.

Country Extra is a subscription magazine; but if you care to read this one story, a single copy can be purchased (while in stock) by selecting the July 2017 issue after clicking here: Handwritten Treasures. (Remember to select July 2017.)

As always, thank you for staying tuned and reading my stories!


The Tablet

It wasn’t an IPad, Galaxy, Nexus, or ZenPad.

In between household chores and taking care of four daughters, occasionally she took a break. She walked into the narrow galley kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, grabbed the tablet out of a drawer, and carried everything into the small dining room. She pulled out a chair and with pen in hand began her epistle. She dated them at the top – various months and years in the early 1960s. And then it was Dear Lizzie, Delta, Eunice, Wanda, Mildred, or Lorraine – some of her sisters and sisters-in-law in the faraway land of Missouri. Oh, I had been there to visit when I was a baby. There were pictures of us – Mother, Sister Vickie, and me – at Uncle Marve and Aunt Wanda’s Civil War-era farmhouse, but I simply could not remember meeting these relatives.

She wrote for fifteen or twenty minutes about what we were doing, how we were feeling, how other family members were nearby in case they had not had time to write – Elnora, Geneva, Clara, and Louise – five or six pages on the 6″ x 9″ ruled paper. Sometimes she finalized the letter, and sometimes she finished in the next day or two then placed the folded pages in a small envelope with a four-cent stamp and entrusted these precious words to the mailman to ensure they were delivered 1,700 miles away. In a few weeks, she received an envelope in return. Many times she – my mother – read the replies to me which were written on the same type of tablet paper by her sisters.

Mother says my writing reminds her of Aunt Lizzie, and that makes me smile. She says Aunt Lizzie had a beautiful penmanship and was very detailed in her writing. She painted pictures with words of her rural life – like what flowers and shrubs were in bloom in her yard at the time (pink peonies, red roses, yellow tulips and daffodils, or lilac bushes) – or maybe she described the abundance from her garden that year and how big Uncle Hike’s watermelons were. In other seasons, it might have been how deep the snow was. And, like Mother, she reported in on the entire family.

Aunt Lizzie & Uncle Hike

The first time that I can remember meeting her was when she came to California to visit her daughter who owned a restaurant in town. I was at the restaurant waiting for my mother’s shift to end sitting at the snack bar. She walked in with several others, sat at a large round table, and called me over.

She gently squeezed me at the waist and said, “Honey, do you know who I am?”

I shook my head no.

“I’m your Aunt Lizzie. Your mother’s oldest sister.”

I was awestruck. This lady was no longer words on a tablet but a real live person!

The tablet was useful for other things too – grocery lists, reminders, figuring a budget, and writing down recipes – like Aunt Clara’s cobbler, which was famously renamed Clara’s Clabbler because of the spelling error when Clara wrote it down for Mother on the tablet. More than thirty years later, when I wanted the family apple butter recipe – you guessed it – I wrote it down on a tablet. So I had a tablet, too, and needed the ruled pad to write straight. Even with the lines, I still managed to write crooked! 🙂

Mother had to re-write Clara’s Clabbler when the original deteriorated with age and use. I opted to type the faded apple butter recipe smudged with various ingredients a few years ago but have placed both of these handwritten recipes in a protective sleeve for future generations to appreciate. (I sure hope they do.)

We weren’t the only ones who used a tablet. This past year, I came across a little treasure written in 1992 by my lifelong friend who died way too young at the age of 48, twelve years after penning the letter. I was so excited to find it – her very own words in her very own handwriting. It’s like she was right there with me after all these years. I will keep it forever.

The art of handwriting a personal note seems to be a thing of the past. So it pleases me when I receive one. The notes tell many stories beyond the words on the paper if you just have a bit of imagination. Last summer, I lost another close friend, Cathy, unexpectedly. When visiting her condo the week after she passed, I came across this note from my sweet, new daughter-in-law and thought Cathy must have been drinking her morning coffee when she read it. I then realized the art of a personal, handwritten note is not totally lost. My faith was restored.

What another treasure I had found. But how guilty I felt. Last Christmas, I had every intention of writing a note in a card to all of the generous people who came to the book signings for Helen’s Heritage. I just couldn’t find the time. I had every excuse under the sun – too busy, too stressed, overworked, no one really cares. Truth was, I just didn’t make the time. And so, this one who calls herself a writer will do better. I promise.

I haven’t seen the tablet for a few years. I looked for one at the grocery store today. It took some digging, but I actually found one for $1.59 – so little money but, oh, so much potential for brightening someone’s day.

Maybe, just maybe, someone will find a treasure from me someday.


Family Ties

As a little girl for as far back as I can remember, I loved looking at our family photos. Some of them were in small paper albums, some were protected in envelopes, and all were stored in a large box. I could spend hours looking at years past seeing relatives I knew as well as many I had never met. We lived in southern California, but half of our family on both sides was in Missouri. One of my very favorite pictures was a black and white glossy wedding photo in a large manila envelope. Oh that dress … it stirred the princess inside of me. I imagined someday I would wear a dress like that. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen, and the bride wore it well. She was tiny and beautiful too. Mama told me the groom was my cousin – Daddy’s nephew – and that someday I would get to meet them – Dale and Linda.

June 20, 1959

The first time that I remember meeting them was the summer of 1962 when we visited family in Missouri. By that time, they had two little boys. My grandpa (Daddy’s dad) raised Shetland ponies and loved to let his grandchildren and great grandchildren ride these little guys. We loved it – well most of us did. 🙂 I love this picture of my Aunt Fran trying to convince her grandsons this was a fun thing to do.


We moved from California to the Midwest in 1965 and visited family more often even though we weren’t all living in the same town. Although we eventually moved closer to my mother’s family, we managed to see my dad’s family a couple of times a year; and Thanksgiving lunch was a tradition with Daddy’s family. Even after rural life with the ponies ended as Grandpa and Grandma aged and moved into the nearby town, we still made the two-hour trip every Thanksgiving morning to Grandma and Grandpa’s.

My grandpa died in 1974, but Grandma still insisted on hosting Thanksgiving even though she was nearly blind. I remember that Linda was such a practical person and was concerned that this was too much work for our aging grandma. Everyone was getting older, growing up, and moving on with their individual lives. When Aunt Maxine traveled from California for a visit in 1981, Grandma wanted us all to gather again. I was busy in Kansas City with work and my life and decided it simply was not going to work for me to make the three-hour drive that day. So early that morning, I called to tell her. I can hear her voice as clearly today as I did then in her Midwestern drawl: “Debbie, are you comin’?”

“No, I’m sorry. I just can’t make it. Please tell everyone hello for me.”

I wish I had made the time.

The following year, on a cold day in January of 1982, Grandma died. We all gathered again – one final time in Grandma’s home. There have been a few reunions over the past thirty years – not enough, but we’re still family.

Earlier this month, we received news that Linda had passed away. Sister and I traveled south a couple of hours for the funeral and wondered what other family members might be there. It just so happened that the day of her funeral would have been my dad’s 93rd birthday, but he had been gone over 25 years. I remembered that Linda and Dale were at the hospital when Daddy died. Sister and I talked as we traveled about how life might have been different had he not died at the age of 67. What if he had lived another 20 years? All of our lives would be, at the least, a little different. It seems like just yesterday we were living in California.

Me and Daddy – 1962

But here we were in 2017 on another cold January day saying goodbye to another family member, and we understand how fleeting life is – a breath one day and a breath the next – then it’s gone. Tick tick tick.

It was good to see family members we had not seen for a while – an uncle, an aunt, and five cousins among many others.

Those closest to Linda lost a wife, mother, and grandmother. I am so sorry for this loss – an earthly loss that is sometimes hard for us to comprehend as a heavenly gain.

And so we are told to “occupy.” But as I “occupy,” I also choose to remember. Tick tick tick.

Someday all of us will understand this completely – Rest in peace.

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” (I Corinthians 13:12, NIV)


Christmas Gift & a Giveaway!

For the past few months, I have focused on book signings and presentations for Helen’s Heritage. I want to thank everyone who has purchased a copy of this very special book. We plan on resuming the book signings after the holidays; but in the meantime, I want to remind everyone what a wonderful gift Helen’s Heritage would be to many people in your life. I happen to think that it is a perfect gift for your senior loved ones. They will relate to the times and the seasons (1934-2016), and the font is easy to read.

Christmas 1965

Christmas 1965

But hold on if you think it’s just for the senior community. A reader gave this wonderful review:

My 11 year old son and I read the book together. We laughed, cried and felt the special love that families bring! Helen’s Heritage is a high interest American history lesson that will benefit younger generations by sharing themes of growing up, hard work, faith, and forgiveness! Loved it!

Please consider this as you are drafting your gift list this Christmas. As an added bonus to the first 50 purchasers between now and Christmas (November 29-December 25, 2016), I have set aside a paperback copy of Reflections for you.  Reflections is a perfect companion to Helen’s Heritage. You will find many of the people in Helen’s Heritage woven throughout the pages of Reflections.

So how do we accomplish this? You can purchase Helen’s Heritage through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or the publisher (click here). Also, you can buy directly from me; and I can ship both to you at one time ($3 shipping fee will be added to the cost of Helen’s Heritage). Leave a comment on this post if you would like to purchase from me, and I will be in touch via e-mail. (No need to enter your e-mail address within your comment; I will see that privately). If you choose to purchase from one of the other sources, leave a comment as well. I will contact you about sending me a purchase confirmation dated between November 29-December 25, 2016, and will then mail you a copy of Reflections.



The Journey Home

It was your birthday week, and I can’t believe you were not here. I remembered your birthday week last year. After living your dream of moving to Ketchikan, Alaska, and living there almost three years, you felt you needed to move back to Kansas City. I helped you drive to your new home in 2012 (what a dream trip that was), and now it was time to help bring you home. I had two connecting flights and would travel all day, but it was a spectacular clear day in August; and I captured this shot of Mt. Rainier approaching Seattle.

Mt. Ranier

I thought back on our trip to Seattle the year after you moved to Ketchikan. We gathered together in Seattle in 2013. We had a wonderful extended weekend visit. The three of us had been friends for about thirty-five years.

Bathing Beauties 2

“Way Back When??”



You once told me it was after that trip that you felt a little homesick. And then your health declined, so you decided to move back to Kansas City to be closer to family and doctors. But your emotions were split. You loved Ketchikan too. You made sure that I saw the amazing beauty of Ketchikan when I arrived the second time.

11899911_792788300819569_351074358359201324_n 11220919_792788364152896_629846189762260585_n waterfall

In a couple of days, it was time to begin the long journey home – two days on the ferry and then a three-day road trip traveling in the same little red car we drove on our first adventure.

ferry as we leave

We had a pleasant and uneventful drive from Washington to Kansas City – unlike the deer-hitting adventure of three years earlier. We did have one hazard on our last day on the road, but you dodged it beautifully. I’m still trying to figure out how a pig was sitting smack-dab in the middle of the interstate in South Dakota. We laughed till we cried and couldn’t believe our eyes. Imagine that – a pack of deer in 2012 and a pig in 2015, both in South Dakota.

You settled into your condo in Kansas City on your birthday. It was good to have you home – spur-of-the-moment visits, Royals baseball games, shopping, and helping me prepare for the wedding the next summer.

Finally, it was wedding day. Then the following day, you were gone. We were called to the hospital, but you really weren’t there. A machine kept you breathing for another day, but you had already found peace.

Now, your birthday has passed again. As the weeks turn into months, I miss you more. I thought we would have more time for those Sunday afternoon visits. I went on one this past Sunday without you. I would like to hear your comments and review of “Helen’s Heritage,” but your voice is absent. I still look for you on the couch when I reach the bottom of the stairs, but you are never there.

I am beginning to understand that on this side of heaven, the chair will forever be empty. So I have this one request, please save one for me there.

wedding chair