Reflections on a President

by Joyce DiPastena

Weeks of intensive research. Two days of high powered organizing, color coding, weaving together of information, and perhaps most painfully of all, chiseling out beloved passages and anecdotes to come up with a 15 (okay, okay, 17) minute talk on George Washington for Sacrament Meeting on Sunday morning. By bedtime Saturday night, my brain felt totally fried. Sunday morning everything, including the talk, went by in a whirl.

Now, as relief and relaxation at last set in, my thoughts still linger on the Father of our Country. I honor and appreciate the examples and precedents he set, and the sacrifices he made so that our free country could be born. But these are not the things that float in a pleasant glow in the aftermath of my talk on his “Importance”. No. The images of the man that continue with me this restful Sabbath evening—many of which I was forced to excise from my talk for “time”—are as follows (in quite random order):

Washington at Mount Vernon, enjoying a slice of pineapple, one of his favorite foods.

Washington the General, breaking another tooth on the battlefield while cracking a Brazil nut between his jaws.

Washington the husband, sitting across the breakfast table, reading the newspaper to his wife, Martha.

Washington the friend, relaxing at Mount Vernon with houseguests beside the warmth of a crackling fire.

Washington the step-father, taking Martha’s children, or perhaps his step-grandchildren, to see a passing circus and forgetting his cares just long enough to “oooo”, and “ahhh”, and laugh along with them.

Washington the farmer, inventing his own plow.

Washington the builder, erecting a four-story gristmill, not only to process his own wheat, but that of his neighbors.

Hot blooded Washington who, as President, once so lost his usually tightly controlled temper, that he threw his hat on the floor and stomped on it right in front of Thomas Jefferson.

Reserved, supremely self-confident Washington who yet possessed sensitive feelings that could be easily hurt. When criticized for his presidential bows (in lieu of a more informal handshake), he responded, “Would it not have been better to throw the veil of charity over them [the bows], ascribing their stiffness to the effects of age or to the unskillfulness of my teacher, than to pride and dignity of office, which God knows has no charms for me?"

Washington the insecure, so self-conscious about his lack of formal education that after retiring as commander-in-chief at the end of the war, he dug out the letter books he had kept in his youth and diligently corrected misspellings and grammatical errors before he would allow them to be copied for posterity.

Washington the aging commander, digging a pair of spectacles from his coat pocket to read a congressional message to his officers, and bringing them to tears when he said, “I have already grown gray in the service of my country. I am now going blind.”

Washington the weary President, who at the end of a long, stressful day, found comfort and joy in watching children at play.

The Soldier I admire, the President I honor . . . but it is Washington the Man that I have come to love.

ANWA Fun

By Liz Adair and Round Tuit Writers

For my blog contribution today, I want to share some of the fun we have each ANWA meeting. It has become a habit for us to take the last fifteen minutes and do a writing exercise in notebooks we keep for just this purpose. Each member draws a slip of paper on which is written a word that has been chosen at random from a dictionary. I set the timer for 5 minutes, and we scribble furiously with the aim of weaving that word into a coherent paragraph. Then we share what we’ve written.

Here is a sampling from different members’ books. Bear in mind, this is just five minutes’ work. We are allowed to finish the sentence we were writing when the buzzer goes off, but that’s all.

Random word: clarinet By Katie Watters

This Christmas, my sister gave my ten-year-old son, Andy, a clarinet. When she came to see me yesterday for Postum and cookies, he began to play for Aunt Peggy. The shrieks, squeals and gasps lasted for fifteen minutes. My neck hairs curled, and it drew my spinal cord inward. He left to practice in his room after tremendous applause and, “Wow was that good!” Peggy’s and my eyes met. She gave me that Mona Lisa smile.

Random word: autoharp By Melisse Lee

Jessie was afeerd to ask that sweet young thang that looked at him from crost the barn. What if she said no? Why, it would just about break his heart. The music started again—Ole Ben a strummin’ his guitar and Billy Bob beating a tune on his autoharp. He could see her tapping her foot and giving him that come-to-me look. He steeled himself, took courage, and made his way to stand before her. She lowered her eyes and, well, he just up and asked her, “Would you like to stomp with me?”

Random word: garden By Liz Adair

“Get out of my garden, you runny-nosed little twerp!”

Sister Rinderknek came puffing out of her house waving a fly swatter as I ducked under the fence with my pockets stuffed full of early snow peas.

“If I see you inside my fence again, I’m going to call Robert Burford!” The loose skin under Sister Rinderknek’s chin wobbled as she shook her arm in the air.

Random word: horseback By Carol Addington

Jenny was dressed in her new hunting tunic that her grandfather had given her for her tenth birthday. She was very excited. Today she was old enough to ride horseback in the fox hunt. She loved horses and had looked forward to today for it seemed forever. Of course her dreams of riding astride in the hunt never included the fox. Later that day, after the hunt, she would sit in her room on the bed and fill several hankies with her tears. She had never expected that they would kill the beautiful creature. She vowed never to ride horseback again.

Random word: hypoxia By Terry Deighton

The fireworks exploded above the crowd. The resultant boom resounded deep in my breastbone. I held my breath and watched as the next series of brilliant stars burst into view. “You’ll give yourself hypoxia if you don’t breathe.” My daughter laughed at seeing her old mom mesmerized by the lights and the noise. Do we ever outgrow the marvel of such things? I hope not. Fireworks, babies, a bird in flight, even fire, still amaze me and transfix me. Somewhere, deep in these experiences, are truths too deep to be told.

Random word: painstaking By Marilynn Hughes

Her life was painstaking. Everything was hard, much harder than it needed to be. It had been a year since her baby had died, that horrible night in July. It had been hot, humid. The air was full of smoke from fireworks in the aftermath of the celebration of the Fourth. She had not heard her baby cry or even whimper….she just was gone. Her little angel had put on her little wings and gone home to heaven.

Random word: bomb By Kari Acton

“Girly, girly, come here to Daddy.” She gives a sly look with her big blue eyes and darts to the kitchen. Her wobbly, chubby legs get hung up on one another, and Dad snatches her up in his protecting arms. The door to the kitchen swings open and the kids dash in. “Holy Moly! What is that smell?” Dad replies that the baby dropped a bomb.

Random word: fleece By Ann Acton

Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard;
We’ve heard these same rhymes before,
But I want to know what comes next in the tale.
Did she get up and head to the store?

Did Little Bo Peep’s dear little sheep
Really heed the advice of her friend?
Or did she go out with some grain and a shout
And bring their fleece back to the pen?

As you can guess, everyone is delighted with the creativity and inventiveness that has bubbled up in those few minutes when we put pencil to paper with a purpose. It’s a “Little Engine” moment. We each leave smiling, with “I think I can, I think I can” in our hearts.

Good-Deed-Doers

by Betsy Love

Good deeds. They are the little things that brighten someone’s day, the simple moments when we give up our selfishness in behalf of someone else. In the last few months I’ve spent way too much time thinking about the person who cut me off on the freeway, the fellow student who offended me, the friend who was thoughtless, the rude family that took cuts in front of me at the movie concession line, and other such things that bring my spirit down. All it’s gotten me is a bit of misery.

Today I spent a few minutes thinking about good deeds and feeling guilty that I don’t do enough good deeds. Sarah, my youngest daughter is such an example to me. Yesterday she spent the morning caring for two young children in our ward whose mother broke her foot and is in a wheel chair. All of the young women were asked to sign up for a day to help out. My daughter, being an amazingly sweet good-deed-doer, signed up for four days. She said it would go along with one of her young women’s values. When I went to pick up Sarah I asked Sister Rose who was coming in for the afternoon shift. “No one,” she replied. So I had Sarah grab some things and we took the older of the two home with us and left the nursing 4-month old home with her mother. Sarah fixed Lizzie lunch and played with her. It made me feel good to be a good-deed-doer, even though all I did was bring her home. (I did clean up the lunch mess).

My husband left yesterday to go fishing with the boys. Before they left, I ran around town getting a backpack, fishing license, and other camping supplies. I’ve usually let them pack their own things allowing them to learn the intricate strategies of backpacking. (Actually, I really hate packing if I don’t get to go!) This time, however I helped. I made sure everything in their packs was lightweight (taking paper towels off the rolls, not slipping in the end of a roll of tin foil, but rather pulling it off as well, copying the cardboard instructions for the water filter, rather than throwing in the whole cardboard packaging). I felt good knowing I had been the good-deed-doer.

While at Costco this morning, several things happened that made me think of good deeds. Two women, completely engrossed in conversation didn’t notice that they were blocking an entire aisle, especially in front of the onions I needed to get to. I waited a few minutes (okay, it was probably seconds) and then realized I didn’t have to be irritated, so I went around another way. They have no idea that I did a good deed by not getting huffy and saying something rude. They don’t have to know. What is important is that I know that I did it and that made my day. When I blocked someone’s way at the book section, the women sweetly asked, “Will you hand me that book?” It was so easy to be understanding and apologetic. I’m not saying if I hadn’t had the other encounter I would have done something irrational like tip the woman’s cart over and yell at her to wait her turn, but I did feel good, all the way home, rather than the usual grumpy attitude I come home with when I go shopping on a Saturday morning at Costco.

Last night I listened to a young man tell me about a death he tried to prevent. It might not have been a big deal to an EMT; it happens; people are going to die. But this was his first experience with losing a “patient”. I’m glad I took the time to listen, it was a simple good-deed, but one that was important to him.

That’s just my two cents worth today. Good deeds, feel good, mostly for the do-gooder.

My Big News . . .

by Donna Hatch

My big news is that my first novel, a Regency called The Stranger She Married, has officially gone into contract with The Wild Rose Press. All of their books are published first in electronic form, and then about six months later, they come out in paperback. I already love my editor. She’s been incredibly supportive and encouraging, but she assures me she’ll be ruthless with her edits. That’s great with me. I know I have a lot to learn and I consider this my apprenticeship, or on-the-job training. I figure, hey, she liked my book enough to buy it, regardless of what else she says during her edits, it’s only to improve it and show it to it’s best possible advantage. She wants me to turn this and my next few books into a series, so we are busy brainstorming on series titles and book titles. It’s all very exciting. I look forward to the journey.

I wrote the back cover blurb with the valuable input of my wonderful critique partners. I can’t believe how difficult that was. It took me two days to write three paragraphs. If the rest of the book had been that slow, it would take years to write it! Trying to get the gist of a 300 page book condensed into a few sentences, without giving away any surprises, and tease the reader into wanting to read it enough to spend their hard-earned money on it, about drove me out of my mind!

Oh, and there’s another book out there with almost the same title; The Stranger I Married was released a couple of months ago, also a regency romance, so now I might have to change my title. Booo. That’s in the hands of the higher powers now.

Anyway, here’s my blurb:

When her parents and only brother die within weeks of each other, Alicia and her younger sister are left in the hands of an uncle who has brought them all to financial and social ruin. Desperate to save her family from debtor's prison, Alicia vows to marry the first wealthy man to propose. She meets the dashing Lord Amesbury, and her heart whispers that this is the man she is destined to love, but his tainted past may forever stand in their way. Her choices in potential husbands narrow to either a scarred cripple with the heart of a poet, or a handsome rake with a deadly secret.

Cole Amesbury is tormented by his own ghosts, and believes he is beyond redemption, yet he cannot deny his attraction for the girl whose genuine goodness touches the heart he'd thought long dead. He fears the scars in his soul cut so deeply that he may never be able to offer Alicia a love that is true.

When yet another bizarre mishap threatens her life, Alicia suspects the seemingly unrelated accidents that have plagued her loved ones are actually a killer's attempt to exterminate every member of her family. Despite the threat looming over her, learning to love the stranger she married may pose the greatest danger to her heart.

Donna Hatch
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Believe in Happy Endings