He Said, She Said

  He Said, She Said. 

It's all about perspective.

When my granddaughter and I visited the library during COVID, my granddaughter, ten years old at the time, checked out The Dangerous Book for Girls. It is a fun book offering a range of how-to advice and information about growing up. There was a section in the book called “boys.” The author offered what boys think and why they act as they do. Interesting.

 

My granddaughter wanted to know what the authors told boys about girls. Smart.

 

So on our next visit to the library, she located The Dangerous Book for Boys and turned to the section labeled “girls.”

Doing Her Research

The authors of the book had little to say. They wrote an entire paragraph basically saying that girls like to talk. They also mentioned in a sentence or two that girls don’t find body noises as funny as boys do. 

I could have told her that!

 

Remember the Mel Gibson/ Helen Hunt movie What Women Want? It’s an “oldie” from back in 2000. Through an electrical accident Mel Gibson’s character can hear what women are thinking. It’s a romantic comedy but certainly captures the notion that men and women indeed think about things differently. 

 

I have come to appreciate the male perspective. After Tom died, I found myself asking what he would do in a particular situation. If I wasn't sure, I'd ask a male friend. 

Now I turn to Mike. He offers an honest view into the way men think. Sometimes he doesn't even know it! But having that perspective allows me to make an informed decision.

 

And because I seek that different perspective, I’ve learned a lot through the years.

 

This brings me to my writing. I know how women think. Most women. I have no problem showcasing a female perspective. I feel fairly comfortable portraying a male character as well. 

But like my granddaughter, I need to research a bit to figure out what goes on in the minds of men. I often ask Mike or one of my son's-in-law to read a section to make sure I am capturing the male point of view. Or their expertise. 

In fact, recently I asked my son-in-law, David, to review paragraph I wrote concerning one of my male character's work in technology. David was the one to turn to because that's his strength. And he's a man. I wanted the paragraph to reflect the male character's take on the issue.

 

What I’ve decided is this:

 

Men and women both like to talk.

Men and women both like someone to listen to them talk.

Men may laugh at body noises while women may not. Yet in truth, both are embarrassed at those noises in the company of the other gender.

 

As for what really counts? We’re the same. 

We all want to be loved, accepted, and appreciated. We are all capable of problem solving and creativity. We all have gifts and talents. We all have strengths and we all have weaknesses. 

 

I’m pretty sure we are more alike than we are different. 

 

But just for fun, what would you include in a book for boys that tells them about girls? And if you were writing a book for girls telling them about boys, what would you write? Please share in the comments below. It's easy.  This could be interesting... and fun. And if you like you can post your comment anonymously. 

Note: A form of this post first appeared in 2010.  Forgive me for updating and recycling, but I'm in the middle of crafting a novel and I have a deadline!

 

 

 

 

 

Morning Coffee

 Morning Coffee

         Mike is up before me every morning. He will venture into the kitchen and turn on the coffee pot. As is my habit, I’ve set it up the evening before, water in the holding tank and coffee in the filter. He turns it on and wakes me so I can shower and get the day started. I prepare breakfast while he showers.

Routines. Routines simplify our lives. They offer a rhythm to daily living. 

We pray. We eat. We talk about the day ahead as we drink our coffee and clear the dishes from the table. And then…

And then we have our second cup of coffee. 

Morning Coffee

The second up of coffee is often the space when Mike and I share memories of the past or dreams for the future. We talk about our travels here and abroad. We talk about our children and grandchildren. We share stories from our work lives. His as a supervisor at Tampa Electric Company and mine as a teacher…of both young children and young adults.

He shares stories of his work and ventures in Costa Rica and Guatemala. I share stories of my travels in other parts of the world and my life in Kosovo.

We are both widowed. Mike was widowed for nearly as long as I was married. Yet widowhood is a bond. It's a shared experience of grief and emptiness. We sometime share such stories, stories of both good times and bad over that second cup of coffee.

And we dream. We talk about the Dry Tortugas and Fort Jefferson, an adventure we both expect to experience this November. We talk about our desire to travel to Alaska. Neither of us have been there. 

We have a list of places we’d like to go and things we’d like to do. 

We’re not restless. We enjoy our home and life in Florida. We love our family and have good friends. We appreciate our church and often talk about the sermon…over a cup of coffee.

That second cup. It is both the signal of a pace of life that is not hurried and a desire to share time together.

And when the coffee pot is empty, we move into the spaces where we are needed. He will tend to the yard or boats or other chores he deems his to do. I will wash the dishes and settle into my desk to write.

Morning coffee sets the tone and rhythm of our daily lives. Do you have a morning routine that sets the tone of your day?

 

Football

 Tis the Season…For Football

Saturday, Mike and I watched the Florida Gators play the University of South Florida (USF) football team. 

I graduated from USF. Was I torn? No.

When I attended the University of South Florida, we did not have a football team. We had a great basketball team, but football? No.

Competitive swimming? Indeed. But football? No.

In fact, in my seven-year tenure as a student at USF we had no football.

 And yes, it took me seven years to complete that four-year program. Give me a break … I got married and gave birth to my first two children before I collected my first diploma. 

I digress. This is about football.

One of the Gators
Hanging in Mike's Office

In the 1970’s, USF had men’s and women’s basketball, men’s and women’s golf, and an outstanding men’s and women’s swim team program. There was talk of archery and badminton and bowling. BUT NO FOOTBALL.

Why? The answer I’ve heard was twofold.

Some professors and alumni argued that football brought the academic standards down, implying football players aren’t smart enough for college. That isn’t necessarily true.

The second answer cited the financial drain on the school. 

A football program is pricey to launch, but I’m told that if it’s done right, monies are easily recovered within five or six years and schools actually make money even if their school is not one of the Big Ten. It certainly makes recruiting new students easier.

I graduated from the University of South Florida with my Bachelor of Arts degree in Education. My advanced degrees were realized at the University of Cincinnati. I sent two daughters to Miami University in Ohio…and yes, Miami of Ohio was a University before Florida was a state. (Just Sayin’) And one daughter graduated from Ohio State. 

Excuse me, The Ohio State University.

Mike is a huge Gator fan. Huge. So when we married, it was easy for me to cheer for the Florida Gators…. and USF, MU, OSU, and UC…

Uh...I need not mention the outcome of the 

Gators vs. Bulls game. Let's just say, no matter what happened, 

"My team won."

 

Recipe for Joy

 Recipe for Joy

Recently, our church decided to put together a cookbook. It will feature favorite recipes from members of our congregation. I’ve had some experience with church cookbooks. They are filled with tried and true dishes.

Mike suggested I share picadillo. It’s one of his favorites. You may remember my blog post about my first experience making it. If you want to try this favorite Cuban staple, CLICK HERE.  

Then, this week when I talked about my blog, Mike said I should share a recipe or two. I appreciate he likes my cooking, but I wasn’t sure about filling the space with recipes. Still, I culled through my recipes and cookbooks, wondering if anyone would be interested.

I pulled out another church cookbook. One I’ve had since 1986. The cover is missing. Many of the pages are ragged. But as I turned the pages, remembering precious friends from those days, I came to a well-worn page, stained with chocolate fingerprints. It is the page featuring a family favorite: Brownies. 

I would often make the brownies and while they were still a bit warm, we would slice them apart, put vanilla ice cream in them and pour hot fudge on top. 

The chocolate treat was not only a favorite in our family, it was a favorite with their friends. So, those fingerprints on the pages? Not mine.

Sweet Memories.

Brownie Recipe
Well Loved & Used

 

So, in case you can’t read the recipe in the picture, here it is: 

Brownies

2 C sugar                                       6 T cocoa

1 ½ C flour                                     1 tsp salt

1 C Crisco                                    ½ tsp vanilla

4 eggs                                           ½ C milk

*opt: vanilla ice cream, *hot fudge topping

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, Grease a 9X12” rectangular cake pan. In large bowl, mix first eight ingredients until batter is smooth. Pour into cake pan. Bake at 350 degrees for thirty (30) minutes. Brownies are done if toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean. Cool and cut into squares. While still warm, split individual brownies horizontally and fill with a scoop of ice cream. Pour warmed hot fudge topping over brownies and serve.

And remember, it isn’t the chocolate or the ice cream. It is the love and memories and friends who make any recipe delicious. It’s the recipe of life.

 

First Date

 First Date

First dates are usually awkward. At least for me. This week Mike and I recognize our “first date.” Our first date wasn’t awkward at all. 

Mostly, because we didn’t realize we were on a date.

Our high school reunion from George D. Chamberlain High School in Tampa, Florida was to be held Saturday, August 27, 2022. It should have been in 2021, but COVID brought those plans to a halt. 

Long before I left Ohio, I planned a post reunion potluck picnic at the Waters’ lake house near Tampa for the Sunday afternoon after the main event. I knew it would be work, but I also knew there would be some friends attending the picnic who couldn’t attend the organized reunion event for one reason or another. I considered that a win.

I posted the idea on our high school class page. The response was encouraging. 

Mike, a man I knew as a neighbor and friend, lived right up the road from the lake house. He was in my graduating class and was a long-time friend of my late husband,Tom. I knew his sister, Cindy, from classes we had together and his dad was my dentist.

Mike turned out
 to be my Reunion Date.. 
And my Husband!

Noting the response to the picnic, Mike offered, via Facebook messenger, to help with the event. He told me he had put on boating events and had coolers, grills, canopies, and tables. I promised to evaluate what I had available at the house and what I needed once I made my way to Florida.

My mother and I drove from the suburbs of Cincinnati to the Tampa Bay area with an overnight stop to visit cousins in Kentucky. Once at the lake house, we cleaned, scrubbed, and tidied up everything. My brother-in-law mowed the lawn and I assessed my needs. 

The grill was broken, we had plenty of chairs but only the one large picnic table. And we could use an additional cooler. I texted Mike and he told me what all he could deliver, bringing his son with him to help with the set-up. 

I headed out to shop for table coverings and decorations. I saw some red polish and decided to buy it for my toenails since I was wearing “open strappy shoes.” I don’t generally use polish. 

I was standing in the checkout line when my phone rang. Mike had driven to the event center and called to tell me how to get there. It sounded complicated.

“Or you can ride with me if you want to,” he offered.

I looked at the polish in my hand. I was already being a bit adventurous, so I agreed. 

We set a time for him to pick me up. My mom wanted to take a picture of us by the lake.

 

“Mom, it’s not like prom or anything.”

She took the picture anyway.

The evening was wonderful. We were likely more relaxed being together because it wasn’t a date. We shared stories, laughed, sat together at the reunion, and danced. I flitted about chatting with old friends. And when we’d had enough, we left.

The reunion was wonderful and Sunday’s picnic was a huge success. The day ended with rain in the evening after most folks left. Mike came back to pick up his grills on Monday as my mother and I were packing up to leave.

And then he kissed me.

So…Mike and I consider that reunion our first date. 

But not our last. 

 

 

Journey of the Pen

 Journey of the Pen

I am in the throes of writing, revising, and editing multiple works.

I am crafting book three of a series, editing a novel, and outlining blog posts for the next two months. Uh…make that three months. And... I am getting ready for a writing conference.

I have two more novels drafted. Who knows if I’ll get to them before the conference? It’s a haul.

Sounding busy? I am. But it could be worse.

I kind of got into this tizzy…this barrage of half-written books in 2014. That was the year Tom died. My first novel, Breathing on Her Own, was released April 1 of that year. I had the second one, Libby's Cuppa Joe, ready. I was on a roll. 

I started a third book in late September. I was still researching and developing character sketches for my main characters. I had a plot and a plan. 

We were to leave Ohio for Florida November 1st. Tom would be driving the truck, pulling the camper, and I would follow in the car. We planned stops along the way.  I decided to work on my third book as part of National Novel Writing Month in November. 

My idea was to dictate thoughts as we traveled, entering the fifteen hundred to 2000 words in my computer each evening at our campsites along the way. 

Hmmm…that sounded much more doable in 2014.

Anyway, it wasn’t to be. Tom headed out on his daily bicycle ride on October 29^th. If you follow me, you know the story. His bike went off the pavement and threw him into a tree. Two hours later, he was gone. From this earth. He was a believer and follower of Jesus, so I know where he is now.

I have often described that time in my life as the day the ink ran out of my pen. The closest I came to writing anything was my weekly blog.  Even that was a struggle. 

I tried to write, but none of my ideas panned out. They all wound up in a file I called "Fits and Starts."

Writing is Building... 
Rewriting is  
Getting Rid of Useless Material

In 2022, I came back to Florida for my high school reunion. Some of my readers are familiar with that next chapter in my life.

Like a good novel, a neighbor, a man Tom and I both knew in our youth, offered to help me with the “Post Reunion Potluck Picnic” I was hosting the Sunday after the reunion. Mike and I graduated together. He offered to drive me to the reunion event on Saturday night as well. 

Mike and I have now been married over two years.

And… I’m writing again. Mike encourages me at every turn. Because of him I have joined a local writing group. I’ve finished one novel. My favorite so far. (My beta readers like it, so that’s a plus.)

The first two novels in a series are ready…until some editor tells me otherwise! The third one in the series is in the revision stage. Two other books I crafted in my “dark hours” need serious work, but I like the concept each offers so I’m willing to invest the time. 

And…I’m happy.

 

The Rain Dance

 The Makings of a Rain Dance

Supposedly, Native Americans thought they could persuade the heavens to rain on parched land by calling on the gods through music and dance. 

Not a unique thought. Nearly every continent on the face of the earth boasts of rainmaking rituals in times past. The rituals, a message to some sort of god they couldn’t see, is actually, in my view, a testimony that even in the most primitive times, people knew there was a God. Because they couldn’t see Him, they fashioned an image of Him.

God doesn’t cotton to that. (Sorry. My South slipped out there.) He said we’re not to worship “a graven image.” And you sure don’t want to be praying to one for rain. Or concocting some sort of dancing part to supposedly open the skies.

Where Mike and I live, the keepers of the water locks have been letting a lot of water from our chain of lakes out, lowering the water table significantly. We understand. Some. They are anticipating the hurricane season when torrential rains can more than fill the lakes and waterways. They can flood homes and destroy lives. 

Last year, the west coast of Florida suffered through several hurricanes. Some of them didn’t stop wreaking havoc at the state line, either. You watched. You know. 

But as I craft this week’s post, I’m looking out on dry (read dying) grass and citrus trees that need water to make the grapefruit, lemons, and oranges juicy. The water level is the lowest we’ve ever seen. 

A little dry...

We’ve prayed for rain. It comes…just not on us. A little here and there, but not much. I’m pretty sure there are people out there who are thinking we need a rain dance. Now I’m for dancing in the rain, but I have no expectation that God would cause the rain to fall because of some dance…or incantation…or putting some statue in the window. 

I trust Him. He will send the rain when He sees fit.  And it won’t be just for me. The Bible tells us “He causes it to rain on the just and the unjust alike.” That’s in the book of Matthew, chapter 5 in the New Testament.

So, I’m praying for that healing rain to fall on all of us…friends and enemies alike and leave the dancing to others.

Update: I wrote this post, put it in my blog queue, and then...? And then it rained. Not a drizzle. Not a sprinkle here and there. It rained what I would call a "thunder boomer" with the heavens opening and pouring massive amounts of rain on our parched land. 

Thanks, God. We needed that.

Loving the downpour!

 

living in a small town

 Living in a Small Town

You may remember the John Mellencamp song “Small Town.” Or not. It was popular in the eighties. Mike and I live in a small town. And we love it.

The traffic is manageable. The people are friendly. The atmosphere is relaxed. Laid back. We have great restaurants and everything we need in our little town. 

Everything. 

When Mike and I first renovated our kitchen, we had a minor issue with the faucet. We called a plumber. One of the men from the company happened to be in the neighborhood so he came over. He fixed the issue, which proved to be minor for a plumber. It took him ten or fifteen minutes. He didn’t charge us. NOT A DIME. We were amazed. He simply welcomed us to Inverness and left.

Recently, following a storm, we needed someone to come in and do a cleanup for us as well as cut some limbs from a tree. We called a local company. They arrived on time, did everything we needed done and in two hours they left, leaving our yard looking great. Their fee was more than reasonable. (If you want to read about the wind that brought those limbs down, CLICK HERE.)

Mike and I were impressed with their work as well as their work ethic, so we had them return to trim limbs from our hickory tree before another storm decides the hickory tree would look better on top of Mike’s shop. We also had a dead palm tree near the lake and a huge oak stump by the she-shed we wanted removed. Same thing…they came, they conquered, they cleaned up. 

Our Tree Trimmer Did Some Acrobatics on the Rope.
I ran to Get My Camera...and
I Missed some of the Fun Stuff,
So He Did a Little Flip at the End.

By the way...the she-shed is currently used to store a variety of items, but Mike is in the process of fixing it up for me to use for my arts and crafts. Getting rid of the tall stump of a tree…so tall it blocked the window in the she-shed…was a huge step forward. I digress.

A local plumber moved my mother’s old refrigerator out and fixed the waterline under her sink. He said he could use the old refrigerator so Mom let him have it. It turned out to be a great deal. He traded his work for the old refrigerator. 

When her air conditioner wasn’t cooling, a big name company from a big city nearby suggested she buy an entire new unit and replace everything. It was thousands of dollars. We called our small town air repair group. They came to her house, looked it over, and said the unit should still be under warranty. The warranty hadn’t been transferred to mom, but thanks to our youngest daughter getting on the phone with the company, by the end of the day, the warranty was transferred and the unit was repaired as soon as the part arrived. The charge? Quite reasonable.

We live in a small town. We shop here. We dine here. We have everything we need. Right here. I guess Mellencamp was right.

“Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town,

And people let me be just what I want to be.”

Note: If you are interested in the Citrus County businesses I mentioned, message me. I'll be happy to share their info with you.

 

Fruit From Our Yard

Fruit From Our Yard

Mike and I are blessed to live in Florida. We are doubly blessed to live on the Nature Coast, one of the most beautiful parts of Florida. 

We appreciate our home. We enjoy the lake where we live. And of course, the beautiful trees. Yes, the wind can wreak havoc on them, if you remember last week’s post. But our trees and bushes… the flora and fauna of the Nature Coast is a blessing. 

This past week I enjoyed a sweet treat from our yard. A pineapple. It was tiny but sweet. It was prickly on the outside, but yellow and juicy on the inside. I planted it shortly after we moved here and another one last year. 

It turns out, it is pretty easy to grow a pineapple. You basically cut off the green top, leaving an inch or so of the prickly fruit part and stick it in the ground.

One of our neighbors, Gerri, heard of my “harvest” and brought me a small bowl of the pineapple she picked from her yard. She has several of the plants and enjoys the sweet fruit. She also brought me a bigger top of a fruit I can plant in our flowerbed.

That will make three plants. For us. At this rate, I think in a few years I’ll have enough to make some pineapple upside down muffins. Four to six muffins. Maybe. I need more for a whole cake. These pineapples are small.

Still, since we’ve lived here, we’ve enjoyed grapefruit for breakfast from our yard. We made lemonade from lemons we picked from our tree and now? Now we are adding pineapples.

Well, a few. 

But that’s okay. We are having fun. 

How does your garden grow?

The Pruning of Trees

The Pruning of Trees 

You’ve heard the saying “You can’t see the forest for the trees.”

For us this past week we could literally say, “We can’t see the lake for the trees.”

We have beautiful large trees in our back yard. Big silver maple trees and magnolias reaching for the sky. We have large hickory trees and “live oak” trees as well. Trees and storms do not always play nicely together. If you read my post a few weeks ago about the large tree near the back of our property still bearing the scars of a lightning strike, you know what I mean. If you didn’t catch that one, you can read about that scarred silver maple HERE.

For Reference:
This is Our 
Normal View
 from the House.

The hurricane season is technically June through November. We are in July and yet to see a hurricane develop. We will. It is the way of things.

But even though we haven’t had to deal with a hurricane yet, we are in the midst of our rainy season. We’ve had some spectacular thunder-boomers and not-so-mamby-pamby rainstorms with the thunder, too.

Personally, I like the late afternoon rains. They cool the hot summer days. They slow the pace of life down a bit, and afterward, every blade of grass is a vibrant green.

Last week, late in the evening, Mike and I heard a loud noise. “More rain?”  I asked.

“Sounds like it.” Mike looked out into the darkness. Nothing indicated rain…yet.

The next morning, Mike headed out before dawn to South Carolina to pick up a boat. Later, I climbed out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. 

Something was amiss. I can generally see the lake from our window. It looked dark outside. I turned on the coffee and looked at the clock. Not that late. I figured we were in for another cloudy day. I got my shower before heading back to the kitchen to fix breakfast. As I passed by the window again, I looked a bit more closely. 

Our View
After the Storm

The lake was still there, but a mountain of limbs and branches seemingly stretched from one side of the yard to the other. The oak tree I call “the tool tree” (because Mike props his rake and shovel and such against it) was stripped of some of its limbs. Huge limbs from the hickory tree on the other side of the yard landed over the limbs of “the tool tree.”  Or knocked them down.

We had no damage to the outbuildings or our house. The swing was intact. The fence was not harmed. It was as if the trees simply put up their own gated entrance to the back of our yard and the lake.

Though I sent Mike pictures, he returned late at night so didn’t get to capture the enormity of what happened until the next morning after breakfast. 

Mike Surveying
the Damage

We called a tree service to cut up and remove the large limbs and branches. In the meantime, the squirrels and birds are playing in the brush. And me? I’m praising God no real harm was done to anything… except those beautiful trees.

 

Then again, it makes me think... we all need a little “pruning” from time-to time.

Family

Family

The word family evokes images of gathering around the table for a meal or heading off in the same vehicle for a vacation. Of course, family also means standing by each other in times of turmoil or standing up for each other when under attack. And it means celebrating a life together.

Having my mother living close by is a blessing. This week we had another blessing. Allison, the oldest daughter of our clan and her son, the oldest grandson of our clan came for a short visit. They had been vacationing in South Carolina. While Allison’s husband and younger son headed back to Ohio, Allison and Joshua headed our way. What a treat! 

They arrived on Saturday and left in the early hours Tuesday morning. Although their visit was short, it was a blessing to all of us. 

My mom, GG, Braided Allison's hair 
Just as she did when Allison was a Little Girl!

Mike took us on a long boat ride. We explored our lake and adjoining lakes. We took pictures and showed Allison and Joshua the route we take on the water to go to my mother’s house when we pick her up for dinner via boat.

Our Boat House

The weather was perfect for their visit.

One day, we drove to Rainbow River and poked around the crystal-clear tributary. Allison enjoyed sharing stories of her experiences there when she and her sisters would spend weeks during the summer with my mom and dad.

Oldest Grandson, Joshua,
Getting up the nerve to go "all in" 
Into the Ice cold water of 
Rainbow River

But the best parts of the visit were the sharing of meals, going to church together, and sweet conversations. Mike’s son, Shawn (I claim him, too!) stopped in for a visit. I had three girls so having a brother is pretty cool for all of them.

Family.

The make-up of our family may have changed since Mike and I married, but the essence of what a family means is still there. Together we celebrate the gift of life together and the gift of love God has given us to share with one another. 

I am one blessed woman. And I know it.

One last picture...The finished product: 

On Blogging...

 On Blogging…

When I began my journey as a writer, I attended a writing conference in Wheaton, Illinois. The advice coming from the podium and in nearly every workshop I attended was simple: “If you want to publish, you must blog.” 

That was in 2012. I didn’t even know what a “blog” was…I mean, seriously. To me it sounded like a swamp of words. Maybe it is.

The notion behind “blogging” was to practice writing as well as build an audience for your books. Some people are good at it. 

Some authors blog… Every. Single. Day. Not me. But I did leave that conference with a plan to blog. I have put my blog out every Wednesday since. I called it “A Novel Creation.” I wrote about …writing. I wrote about crafting my first novel. I started to get a following, but to be honest, those first posts weren’t for everybody. They were for writers only. No one else would be interested.

I AM a Novel Creation

When my first book, Breathing on Her Own, was published in 2014, I shared that news on my blog. Not only was it the natural thing to do…it was expected of me by my publisher. 

As I crafted my second novel, I shared recipes I would use in the coffee shop called Libby’s Cuppa Joe on my blog. It was fun. 

My husband, Tom, died in 2014, a few months after Breathing on Her Own was released. I was devastated. I managed to keep the blog afloat with the help of guest authors and such, but it was hard to write. 

I could barely breathe. 

The blog changed when I moved to Kosovo for a year. I wrote about my experiences there. It was a healing time for me. That was in the 2017-2018 academic year. 

Although the blog follows my life and changes as I change, it is still a piece of being an author. 

Since marrying Mike, I have been writing books again. He is good for me and encourages me. I am not only writing, I am  excited about it.

I am now writing a book I consider to be perhaps the most important story I know to tell. It is about a teacher. I spent  twenty years teaching elementary aged students and fourteen and a half years as a professor of teacher education at the university level. 

The best advice any author will give you is to write what you know.

So...If you were to write a story, what would be the focus? What do you know? And what would you put in YOUR blog?

 

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

 

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

This week has been a week of friends… A week of memories.

Mike’s oldest and closest friend, another Mike, and his wife, Sandee, came to our house for dinner. They live in Tampa. Though we have been able to connect a few times at other venues, this was the first time they have visited us since we moved to Inverness. 

My Mike chose the menu. Spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. Sandee brought dessert. 

Hey, entertaining “decision free” is pretty cool. 

I loved hearing the two Mikes talk about times gone by. 

·   There was the time Mike L. wrecked his motorbike on the gravel road and my Mike’s mom patched him up. 

·   Mike L. told me how he walked with my brother-in-law, Ronnie Waters from Adams Junior High to Bob and Ernie’s Bait and Tackle after school. (the Waters family business)

·   Mike L.’s profession was a horse trainer. Stories of training horses with my Mike’s assistance were fun to hear.

     It was a wonderful evening. That was on Thursday. 

If you read last Wednesday’s post, you know I painted a lake picture. If you missed that, you’ll find it HERE. 

The artist I studied under for that painting, offered to help me frame it at her studio this week. 

It turns out her studio is in Dunellon, Florida on Riverbend Road. Interesting. My parents once lived on Riverbend Road. I took Mom with me.

We stopped for a sandwich at The Front Porch, a longtime favorite restaurant started in 1986 by my mother’s oldest and dearest friends. They no longer run the business, but their fingerprints are all over it. The Front Porch remains a favorite among the locals. 

After lunch, we located Briget’s studio and in short order headed back down the road, my framed painting in hand. The area has grown. Changed. We slowed down as we came to Mom and Dad’s house. It has changed a bit, but the memories haven’t. 

“Do you think we could maybe drive down by the cabin?” Mom asked.

Many years ago, my parents and some friends built on adjacent properties. Mom and Dad’s was a cabin for weekends and such. Ed and Treva build a larger place. My daughters have wonderful memories of that property. They loved to feed the foxes and explore the land. And every afternoon, Mom and Dad took them swimming in the icy cold Rainbow River. 

As we drove, we spoke of old times. It was a wonderful afternoon with my mom.

Like I said…This has been a week to stroll down Memory Lane…well not exactly. 

Memory Lane was the name of the road I lived on during my teen years. Trust me...that would be an entirely different post!