One of my favorite resources in life is humor. I especially like to use it to cope with  frustrating events that sometimes appear out of nowhere . As a nurse for forty years I was occasionally called upon to deal with an egotistical doctor. Now, this can be very frustrating when you are trying to be an advocate for the patient and the doctor doesn’t seem to be on the same page. One of these events happened to me many years ago, but I can recall it quite clearly today. I handled that situation by stewing for the rest of the shift, then going home and pulling out my pen and paper. I dropped the poem in the mail to a magazine called  “Journal of Nursing Jocularity.” They accepted it and I felt tons better. I even came to think of it like this: the doc was gracious enough to give me some material so I could make a few extra bucks. The name of the doc in the following poem has been changed to protect the innocent. 🙂 (FYI – the “Journal of Nursing Jocularity” was disbanded a few years after this article was printed when the entire staff (all nurses) were traveling together to a nursing conference and was involved in a fatal car wreck.)

Next time you have a frustrating day, try a little humor.

Until next week…if you’ll keep on readin,’ I’ll keep on writin.’

 

We can all use some inspiration from time to time. As a writer I often tire of letters that start out, “After careful review of the material you sent us, I am writing to inform you that it does not meet our editorial needs at this time.” I have yet to see a rejection letter that precedes the “happy dance.”

For those times when I know a rejection is a possibility, it helps me to think of someone that had their share of rejections, but didn’t give up. And because I am a writer, my inspiration comes from Dr. Seuss. It’s easy to think that someone that was so successful in his career, was always successful. Not so.  And to Think I Saw it on Mulberry Street, was rejected 27 times before a friend at Vanguard Press agreed to publish this first work by Dr. Seuss.

It’s not hard for me to understand how Theodore Seuss Geisel might have felt after each of those rejections letters. It must have been easy for him to think, maybe this isn’t as good as I thought it was. I’ve thought that after three rejections of the same work.  With great admiration, I applaud the fact that he  kept on keeping on. He didn’t quit until it had been accepted.

At the time of his death in 1991, Theodore had written and illustrated 44 children’s books. The one I personally owned was One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. I loved that book with its bright yellow cover and personality rich fish. Maybe you had a favorite as well. Was it Green Eggs and Ham, The Cat in the Hat, Fox in Socks, or How the Grinch Stole Christmas? Or maybe it was one of the other 30 some books.

The Dr. Seuss books have been translated into over 15 languages. More than 200 million copies have found their way into the homes and hearts of children (and I’m betting adults too) around the world. Eleven children’s television specials have been produced from his work, not to mention a Broadway musical, and a feature length motion picture.

Two Academy awards, 2 Emmy awards, 1 Peabody award, and a Pulitzer prize sit atop Theodore Geisel’s mantle.

Maybe you’re not a writer, but there is no doubt there is someone out there that can be an inspiring example to you when you need it. I bet Dr. Seuss would allow you to claim him for your inspirations as well. The message would likely be the same from whomever you chose – don’t give up – keep on keeping on.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

 

 

This is a year of politics. Instead of hashing over the present, I would like to present you some very interesting facts of the past. I ran across an especially interesting clipping in some of my folks’ saved articles. Because it is just a 2×8 inch cut out piece of newspaper, I do not know what paper it was published in. I do know that my folks at different times in their lives received the Omaha World Herald and the Norfolk Daily News (Norfolk, NE) I assume this article was published by one or the other.

The article talks of the similarities between President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination and President John F. Kennedy’s assassination. Here are the details in the article:

1. Lincoln was elected in 1860, Kennedy in 1960
2. Both men were slain on a Friday, each time their wife was with them.
3. John Wilkes Booth who killed Lincoln was born in 1839, Lee Harvey Oswald who killed Kennedy was born in 1939.
4. Booth and Oswald, both Southerners, favored unpopular ideas. Both were murdered before they could be brought to trial.
5. Booth shot Lincoln in a theater, and ran to a warehouse. Oswald shot Kennedy from a warehouse, and ran to a theater.
6. Lincoln’s secretary, who was named Kennedy, urged Lincoln not to go to the theater where he was killed. Kennedy’s secretary, named Lincoln, urged Kennedy not to go to Dallas.
7. Both slain presidents were succeeded by men named Johnson, both Southerners. Andrew Johnson was born in 1808; Lyndon Johnson was born in 1908. Both the Johnsons served in the U.S. Senate before becoming vice-president.

This is a rather eerie example of history repeating itself, don’t you think? It is also a story that makes history interesting. These are the kind of stories that would have made history class come alive for me. Unfortunately, what I remember of history class is a lot of memorizing dates and places the night before the exam, only to be forgotten soon afterwards.

Maybe history has  become more important to me in my sixth decade because I see myself as part of history now. I have lived some of the United States history. I remember sitting at my desk in my 4th grade classroom in Osmond, Nebraska when the announcement came over the PA system. “President Kennedy has been shot.” (I also remember that President Lyndon Johnson who succeeded him had two beagle dogs – one named Him and the other Her.) As a 9 year old beagle owner myself, at the time, I thought this was rather cool.

Even though this has been a somewhat sullen blog I encourage you to keep smiling this week. And as always, “keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin.’

 

 

Some of you have read my recent published book, Bound by Secrecy. Those that have, know it was set in the Sandhills of Nebraska. The sequel, which I am working on, is also set in the Sandhills – this time revolving more around the small town of Hooper and less on the Reever’s ranch.

The Sandhills are a unique ground formation. They  compose the largest sand dunes in the Western Hemisphere. The Sandhills cover more than 20% of Nebraska. If you’ve never been there, you might picture in your mind hill after hill of white sand. But, although the ground below is sand, this sand is held in place and stabilized by a thick vegetation of grasses. Of the 720 different species of plants found in this region, 670 of them are native. (This gives me a whole new appreciation for those 4-H and FFA kids that study, know, and have judging contests on these hundreds of plant species.)

These luscious grasses make the Sandhills prime country for raising beef cattle. Nebraska is second, only to Texas, in the number of beef cattle that roam their states. There are over three times as many cattle in Nebraska as people. That figures to around 1.88 million head of beef cows and 20,000 beef cow operations in the state. Nebraska is the only state that is a national leader in every aspect of beef production, from cow/calf operations, corn growing, cattle feeding and then processing. A wide variety of products come from the processed cow. It’s not just meat, but leather, fishing line, biodegradable outboard motor oil, pet chew toys, and yes…even gummy candies.

Growing up on a ranch in the Sandhills, I didn’t give most of these facts and statistics a thought. I left the cattle business to Dad. What I was absorbed with were the wide open spaces where I could ride my horse. Ginger and I traveled up and over hills, in and out of plum thickets, and back and forth through river bottoms. We snuck up on imaginary Indians and conquered battles no one else could.  There were also those days when I didn’t need to pretend – when Dad needed real help to round up real cattle for branding or moving to other pastures. It was a life I wish everyone had the chance of experiencing.

I can read all of these statistics today and realize I grew up in a very special place. But, I knew that before I read the facts.

Keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin.’

 

What treasures do you find in a house that’s been occupied by the same couple for fifty years and who did not readily throw things away? And who determines what’s a treasure and what’s not? We found out this last week while engaged in Round 2 of emptying the folks’ house that us three siblings all have different ideas of what are treasures. We laughed  at our youngest sibling that went back through the trash bags and thrift boxes that us older two had filled.

When it came to picking out a few memorabilia items that each of us wanted to take home it seemed  easy enough because we all had different interests and memories. For one of his treasures, my brother Dave chose a very heavy antique tool box belonging to my great grandfather that neither Connie or I would have been able to lift had we wanted it. Dave knew the history of it and that it had sat under Dad’s work bench for fifty years; Connie and I had no idea.

I was mostly interested in some of the colorful, pretty dishes that Mom kept in her china closet. Many of these pieces belonged to my grandmothers and great grandmothers.  I could picture each piece stately sitting in the curio cabinet I don’t yet have.  My favorite piece of glassware however, was not fancy, but something we used every day. The “ears of corn” salt and pepper shakers that Mom and Dad received  for a wedding gift  now sit on top of my kitchen stove.

Connie had her eye on a beautiful flowered antique lamp that belonged to the great grandparents. With a creative eye, she also latched onto her great grandma’s rocking chair; broken and sitting askew. I don’t see it, but she is sure it will make a memorable quilt rack. She gave Dave and me explicit instructions not to throw away the one foot square mirror hanging by the sink in the basement. She recognized it as the same one in the childhood picture of Dad.

I took a stroll one afternoon out behind the shop. I lugged back two cream cans that brought back memories of Dad milking cows, Mom running the separator and  filling the cream cans to take to town to sell. The folks have told us since, that the money they got from the cream is what bought our gas money to make it the 30 miles to church on Sundays.  I thought about the radio that Dad always had going while he milked and of the cats that were always underfoot – hoping for a squirt of warm milk right from the teat.

Mom didn’t come out to the ranch house while we did our housecleaning, but she was involved no less. She would call us from “The Cottonwood” almost every night, asking if we had found this or that. And yes, Mom…we did find your doll you played with as a girl. (See below.)

As exhausting as the week was it also brought with it blessings. Many memories were hashed through – bringing smiles, laughs, and a gladness for the wonderful childhoods the three of us had.