[BOUTIQUE] Christmas Wishes

'Tis the season to seek out the perfect gift for everyone on your list. For some, only chocolate will do while others just want a hug or a visit. For those who seek the truly unique, these are the creative offerings of a few of my friends. I provide a brief description for each, but I suggest you go ahead and click the links to see what each has to offer.

*Journals, Jewelry, and More by yours truly
*Cute Visual Aids for Teaching Gospel Topics This is a new project, so she will be adding more items as she develops them.
*T-shirts for Geeks, Nerds, and Sports Fans The friend who runs this page has interests from Doctor Who to Star Trek to vintage video games to Nascar, so click to see if he has created something for the nerd on your list.
*Photographic Prints of Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and other unique views of the world. Click on the 365 project to look at the photographs.
*Healing Crystal Jewelry made by a friend who practices Reikie and teaches belly dance. These are truly unique items.
*Paintings (in the style of Bob Ross) Click on the arrows above the slideshow to advance the pictures. This artist is based in the Pittsburgh area, but travels to Alquippa, Ohio (December 13, 2014) and Morgantown, WV (December 6, 2014) to teach classes, so call her before the date she will be in those places if they are convenient for you and she can bring the painting of your choice.
*Knit Caps, Baby Outfits, Quilts and More Serious cuteness overload on this page. If you have a baby or know someone expecting a baby or  who takes photographs for a living, you have to check out this page.

I hope I didn't leave anyone out. It has been a long day on the road. Also, I hope to hear from you soon. Time is of the essence for receiving those gifts in time to wrap them and tuck them under the tree.

[???] The Night Of Turkey Day

'Twas the night before turkey day, when all through the house

not a creature was stirring, not even the fat mouse.

The stuffing was stuffed in the turkey with care

In the hopes that the hungry family would soon be there.

The children raced all around the full halls

Forcing the adults to cling to the walls

And Mama in her apron, and I with my spoon

Prepared to be eating ever so soon.

When out in the kitchen arose such a clatter

We sprang from the table to see what was the matter

Away to the fridge we flew like a flash

To find the children eating the pie stash.

Chocolate on their lips, a little on each nose

and yet each struck an innocent pose 

As mama looked down with adoring eyes

And papa released the saddest of sighs 

But momma winked, so slow, so quick

As the littlest child took one more lick

And papa realized more pie was to be had

He couldn't punish the children or be mad

"Eat Pumpkin! Eat Chocolate!

Eat, Apple and Blueberry!

Then, coconut! Then, mincemeat!

Then, Pecan and Cherry!

We baked them all night!

We baked them all day!

And now in our tummies we put them away!

We'll eat them all!"

But first we eat turkey, juicy and sweet

And mashed potatoes that can't be beat

Though green beans will follow with corn

And stuffing comes out, nice and warm

And then, in a twinkling, the food disappears

and we stumble away as in past years.

We rub our big tummies, plump and round

And settle down so a nap can be found. 

And papa settles down in his comfy chair

Our voices become muffled by warm air

And some of us watch as his eyes gently close

Awaiting the chorus he plays with his nose.

All wrapped in a blanket with a tummy full of food

Papa becomes such a musical dude

But he doesn't know, for he is fast asleep

And only children a wakeful rhythm keep

With eyelids closed tight and lips slightly open

Papa is dreaming that he's eating again

Behind his eyes, a turkey leg disappears

Amidst the charming children's cheers

But in the waking world, his snores wreck the peace

And the children's wild antics cease

As they turn in amazement to watch his round belly

Bouncing a happy tune since it is full of jelly

He wakes with a start to see so many eyes

Staring and marveling at one so wise

And he smiles such a smile they jump to give hugs

Even the little girl who only gives shrugs

He spoke not a word, just hugged everyone

and rose so slowly to renew the fun

For one piece of chilled pumpkin pie

Couldn't fail to catch his eye

And mama watches with a smile on her face

To have her whole family in one place

But now she is weary from winning the feast fight,

"Happy turkey day to all and now a good night!"

Props to Clement Clark Moore who wrote A Visit From St. Nicholas a.k.a. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, with which we should all be familiar. If you are not, 'tis the season to educate yourself on all things Christmas from tales of childish wonder to the deeper wonder found in the scriptures.

[RANTINGS] The Happy Homemaker or The Witty Writer

Recent events bring me cause to remind people once again that their definitions of certain words need work. After having two weeks of my time wasted by one entity, I received a phone from a friend who figured I wouldn't be too busy to do them time-consuming favors. One of those favors was for a third party who I keep getting told to call and call again though I left them a message and they never bothered to call me back. I have since called again to no avail. What's the definition of insanity again? (Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?)

People hear homemaker and assume that means "one who has nothing going on in there life or one who waits beside the phone for you to tell them what to do today." The daily life of every homemaker is different, so keep in mind that I speak to my own unique situation. Whether you have children or not, the size of your house, the needs of all the members of the household, and a million other factors can affect what being a homemaker means to an individual. So what do I mean when I say homemaker?

1. Organizer. I am the reigning influence for order in my household. I choose where to put tools for everything from cooking to woodworking. So when my husband or I find exactly what we want with minimum effort, it is because I make sure items always find their way back to their designated location.
2. Personal shopper. Whether we need stamps, food, or small household items, I make a list and check it twice. Then I go fight the teeming hoards in the aisle of the local supermarket to acquire life-sustaining goodness.
3. Cleaning crew. No matter how cleanly you are, the house always needs cleaned. From dishes to clothes to floors, I always have plenty to keep the maid inside happy.
4. Craft specialist. This could be a job of its own. You've seen the posts about some of my creations. I make everything from coasters to journals to necklaces to quilts to whatnots. I have even sold a couple of my creations, so I claim to be an artist of sorts.
5. Chef. While my husband would love to live off of mac-n-cheese, burgers, cheese pizza, and chicken nuggets, I take the opportunity to introduce him to new foods on a regular basis. My job doesn't stop when I bring home produce and other delectables from the store, I still have to assemble them into something my husband will eat. Oddly enough, this takes time...and yet people give me strange looks when I inform them I need to be home by a certain time.
6. Social director. From time to time, my husband and I invite people over or send out cards and letters. Anyone who has ever visited my house can verify that no one starves in my house. The potato chips may come out of a bag, but generally I try out one or two other recipes when people come to visit.
7. Writer. When people aren't wasting my time, I write some entertaining pieces. Some people have even expressed appreciation for my poetry.

So the next time you want to ask someone for a favor, do so respectfully, and don't try to minimize the importance of what they do every day.

(Stray question: Should I elaborate more when I rant?)

[REVIEW] American Taliban by Pearl Abraham

Reading American Taliban by Pearl Abraham confirmed suspicions that entered my mind as I grabbed it from the shelf. While her writing style was engaging, the content of this novel left me disappointed. Spoilers probably follow in the rest of my review, so be wary should you choose to read further.

The main character, John Jude Parish rides waves, skateboards, and lives off of his parents, who he refers to as Barbara and Bill. This last characteristic makes it hard for me to connect or sympathize with him. After an injury, he devotes himself to the studies had put off for his boarding interests. Almost instantly, he feels pulled toward the beliefs of some Muslims who befriend him. From there, he launches into a different world from the one in which he was raised, even traveling to Pakistan to immerse himself in the culture.

That's when the book took a couple turns that made me even less interested. Some characters in the book rationalized certain physical actions by saying that they are not forbidden by religious texts. While I have not studied the Muslim culture or read the Qu'ran, the events in question seemed out of context with everything I was ever told by Muslim friends. (I should point out that those who share my values about premarital romance may not want to read this book. I skimmed past the paragraphs that went into more detail--at least three that I recall. Was that cryptic enough? *blushes*)

Toward the end of the book, the author managed to lure me back into the story. She focused more on the heartache of Barbara and Bill. A mother's love can almost make you like an unlikable character but not quite. I did feel for Barbara though as she struggled with questions about who her son had become and where that had led him.

As far as structure of the book goes, I found the lack of quotes around pieces of dialogue a little off-putting. I am sure she meant to make a statement about how we train ourselves to expect certain things, but I do find dialogue easier to follow when each speaker's words are accented for me.

(This is where I should end it before I mistake myself for a guest lecturer on writing.)

[RANTINGS] Put It Down

When I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, people stare at me like I just offered to perform surgery with the aid of a rusty knife and a bottle of grain alcohol. Its clamshell design and extra large buttons scream that I am someone's grandmother who fears technology. Maybe, I do, but my ipad would disagree as I rub my greasy fingers on its face. I do fear that we spend too much time looking at screens and not enough time looking at the faces of real people.

As I ate dinner at a restaurant with my husband one day, I noticed a couple of grandparents with their grandkids. Both kids occupied their time with staring at the screens of tablets while the adults talked. My mind wandered, reviewing the little bit I remember about the time I spent with my grandparents. I wouldn't have those memories if I spent my time with them playing games or watching videos. I felt bad for those children. Someday, they'll regret that lost time, but they were happy and quiet in the moment, so why should anyone care?

Adults also follow the glowing leader. We pull out our phones during work meetings and church services to make sure we didn't miss an email, post, tweet, or comment. I have sat behind people checking their email on their smart phones, who looked annoyed when they had to bow their heads to pray. Then as someone else shared a message that they had spent a week perfecting, this person just kept scrolling. They looked up once, when the next speaker started speaking, but quickly refocused on the glowing screen in their hand. Are we getting the benefits of being in a place if we don't even listen to the material presented there?

Don't fret. I recognize the benefits of smart phones and tablets. I love being able to carry my scriptures wherever I go without throwing my shoulder out of whack. (Keep in mind that my scriptures include The Bible, The Book of Mormon, The Pearl of Great Price, and The Doctrine and Covenants, as well as copious footnotes, maps, a dictionary, and other informative appendices.) I also have a hymn book, which includes sound files for most of the hymns, and as many resources as I care to download. I even have talks from General Conference dating back to 1971 at my fingertips (by my estimate, about 3,612 talks). That's amazing. Of course, I also have games and other apps to distract my mind and help me unwind.

The issue? How we choose to use these resources. We choose to distract our children rather than talk to them. We choose to worry about what our friends post on facebook rather than what the friend sharing a meal with us has to say. We even interrupt people to answer a phone call, when we could let it go to voicemail. Usually, these aren't important enough to be rude to the people around us. If you aren't expecting a call and it isn't from someone who only calls in the case of an emergency, you can let them wait or keep it brief. Try it and see.

I am planning a more in depth post to detail some changes I plan to make in my own life, so don't consider this subject closed. Just ask yourself, what do you want to remember about today? Nothing because you just scrolled through your junk mail or something amazing because you spent time with the person next to you.

[CRAFTS] A Very Fishy Halloween

A while back I told some friends with a fishy last name that they should have a baby so I could make a tiny salmon costume. When they announced a little bundle of joy arriving at the end of September, the gears started whirring faster than the speed of sound. I let my overactive imagination roll for quite a few months. During that time, I picked up a onesie and some pants (to ensure a better chance of the costume fitting appropriately) and recalled some super shimmery fabric in my private stash that would prove perfect for creating a fin and a hat with huge fish eyes.

I wanted to present the costume in a unique way, so I lured an innocent koala to my home. I offered her some cough drops, the only eucalyptus in my house, to bribe her to suit up. I also reassured her that she would go to a good home where she would be loved and adored by a sweet baby fish. She may have been high on the eucalyptus because she agreed to hop into the bag for a photo shoot. Of course, one of the other guests at the baby shower didn't understand that Kayla the Koala was just being a model for the costume. She thought maybe my friends and I loved some obscure show with a koala-fish in it. I think I may just have to write that one. Should I? Would you watch it? Would you read a story about such a creature on this very blog? (So many questions.)

If you are impressed by the photos and suddenly want me to help you become something other than yourself for Halloween, that can be arranged for the cost of materials and a small fee for my genius and potentially bleeding fingers. I'd talk to me quick because such an order would have to be in the works before the end of September. I like to have some time in case something needs tweaked or embellished.

Also, this cute stuffed animal was a special promotion to support a charity called Chapters of Hope. They seem to have sold out of adorable stuffed friends, but they have offered different animals around the holidays for the past couple of years, so don't give up hope.

Kayla's earring displays enthusiasm for marking your possessions with your name.

Kayla reinvents the concept of "four eyes".

[REVIEW] Ship of Theseus

Initially, I pulled this book from the shelf because it was shelved with books written by authors with last names starting with A, but the name on the spine read V. M. Straka.  I flipped through the pages and a pile of bonus features that had been tucked into a plastic pocket in the back of the book. Then, I put it down and started reading another book that I checked out at the same time...and another book...and another book....and another book. You get the idea.

I did a little research and found out that J.J. Abrams (sounds familiar) and Doug Dorst authored this novel. Those notes in the margins which horrified my book-loving heart are actually part of the book, giving the ADHD reader multiple plot lines to follow.

After reading all the way to the end, I feel like the book should have a guide for possible ways to read it. This may lead to SPOILERs, so you can stop reading now if you want (and pick up when the numbers stop but I fear spoilers live there as well):

1. I read each page as it came, including all the notes in the margin. If you want to try to read it chronologically, I suggest starting with the novel including the footnotes, then reading the black all capitals with blue cursive (first meetings on the page), then the orange and green (growing trust of the margin critiques), then the red and black (this seems to be after they meet in person), and black and black (they are sharing the same pen).
2. Since the book was borrowed from the library, I have no idea where the extra reading material which included some letters, many postcards, and a newspaper originally resided. I can't help but wonder if they were inserted in particular parts of the book. As I mentioned before, I read through them a while before I read the book. They made more sense after reading the book.
3. If I didn't have a huge backlog of books to be read, I would probably read through it again because I am sure I missed some nuances, but not the monkey. You can never miss the monkey. (See, I warned you about spoilers.)

My favorite plot clearly involves the monkey. A rough drawing of him even made its way into the margins. He adds a bit of whimsy at times and even creates some havoc along the way.

Of course, the main character of the novel is a mysterious man, who goes by "S" because he doesn't know anything about himself. As he pursues more knowledge about who he is, a mysterious woman appears time and again to haunt him. He continues to be torn by his desire to be reunited with her and a seemingly unrelated need to obey some unknown force or organization that sends him out on missions at each port. Even when it seems that he has escaped, some force always draws him back to the Ship of Theseus, which features a crew that offers him little comfort. In fact, due to a shared physical features, they probably just gave him nightmares.

Another struggle unfolds in the margins where two readers/scholars bond over the trials and tribulations faced by the mysterious "S", as well as other characters created by the equally mysterious Straka. Their own story takes a few thrilling twists and turns that they hint at in their margin conversations.

If my somewhat cryptic review has you asking questions, remember to look for this book under the name J. J. Abrams not V. M. Straka.

[CRAFT] 9 Square Quilts

When my mother passed away, she left a box full of colorful swatches of fabric. Consistently cut into rectangles, they represented most of the hues of the color family. I decided to cut them down into four inch squares and sew them into a couple of quilts for my niece and nephew to snuggle under when they visit me. At first, I thought I'd whip them out swiftly with the help of my sewing machine, but my  inability to practice patience while sewing stretchy fabrics led me to sew them all by hand. Almost two years later, my hard work finally yielded three quilts for all the snuggling needs of myself and my sweet little niece and nephew.

The first quilt is a lovely mix of blues and greens. I accented with some blue fabric featuring silver moons and stars that my mother had in her stash. I tied it with green string to hold all the layers together. This is the final product:

I didn't have quite enough pink and purple, so I added some blue to the mix. Of course, I used pink thread to mesh the layers together. Take a look:

The final quilt blends the leftover squares to the best of my ability. To ensure the right size, I added some accents from one of the many jelly rolls I keep lying around in case I have a desperate need for more fabric and some long strips of white to bring it all together. I believe it turned out well.

Now all I need is a familial visit to assure my labor of love can be appreciated by the intended receivers.

[RANTINGS] Private Pain

I've been struggling with this post for a number of months now. I'm never quite sure I have used the right words, but I decided to put it out there for the world to see and critique. Feel free to let me know if I need to clarify. My thoughts jump around too much for me to trust that I have said everything I meant to say.

Some mornings, I scroll through the posts my friends have left on social networking sites and cringe. They spill out their most private and personal pain for everyone to see. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with sadness for them and sometimes I am weary from reading posts like this from the same people every day. I know many people just seek friends to lend the courage to keep going when life kicks them in the teeth. Friends can then offer anything from physical assistance to words of comfort or reassurance. Not everyone is brave or open enough to reveal their private lives to so many eyes, but that doesn't negate their pain or their trials.

Sadly, some of my friends break down at every small trial that they face. They require so much attention that they tell everyone about hangnails, breakups, and other personal disasters with so much regularity that I've become immune to their woes. Maybe I don't understand because I  ride the opposite end of the spectrum. I tend not to share much of what happens in my world. From new cars to rejection letters, I question how interested people are in my daily activities. And for those pains that may hit more deeply, deep enough to break my heart, I hold those even closer. I don't need a dozen people trying to make my pain about them in some way or telling me to just get over it because it happens to everyone. I'd rather share my joys than my sadness, but that doesn't mean I don't understand private pain.

People receive rejection letters, get waylaid by heartbreak, catch the flu, lose loved ones, and suffer more critical medical emergencies every day. I don't want a play by play of someone else's stomach flu, complete with details of what came out when they coughed. I do appreciate updates if their condition improves or worsens, but sometimes I feel like the extremely detailed accounts are meant to inspire me to throw money or service at their problems. If you need help, please ask. We should be brave enough to ask people outright if we want someone to  check on us, remind us that we are loved, bring us a meal, or help in some other way. Too often, people inundate us with details that leave their friends confused and then get mad when no one rushes to offer help.

I actually like to be left alone when I am sick. Whether I am trying to wrap my heart and head around a loss or revealing my stomach contents to the porcelain throne, I firmly believe the world doesn't need to be subjected to the unpleasantness that comes with my illnesses. I appreciate friends that love me and worry about me, but making the trek from the bed to the door doesn't make me feel better. I have also found that even when I give more information than a simple "I'm sick," people fail to pay attention to my outright statements of need. When I had a stomach flu that made eating solid foods, let alone keeping them down, impossible, three people brought me enough meals to feed a healthy person for a week. That food sat in my fridge for a week without me being able to force down a single bite. I appreciated the thought but felt bad about the wasted food.

In order to avoid awkward conversations when my mother passed, I made a blanket announcement on facebook. Despite informing people that I wouldn't be responding to phone calls, emails, and posts on social media, well-wishers inundated me with well-meaning lectures on my wall, phone calls that led to people being offended when I politely answered in case it was an emergency and then didn't bawl for them, and unnecessarily long comments on how they felt about my pain. I really didn't care for any of that. I may have been more receptive a week later, but at the time, I decided to ignore the uninvited guests to my private pity party. And, of course, some people haven't talked to me since I didn't validate their existence by thanking them for canned platitudes. (Am I terrible for not missing them?)

Lately, my mind turned toward the private pain of others. I keep my thoughts to myself because I know I can't say anything to make it better. I've also resisted the urge to just grab them and hug them until the pain goes away because that would be a super long, not to mention awkward.

So maybe some of the things I wish I could say to those friends will help someone else who stumbles upon this page:

1) You are not alone. Someone is here for you. If you are my friend, I am here for you. I may not always understand, and I will probably try to fix it with baked goods and bad jokes, but I am here for you and I love you. And even if I don't know you, you have your own Bella who loves you very much (and a Heavenly Father who loves you more than our human hearts can understand).

2) I know that people offer you lots of advice or tell you their story. They know you don't want advice. They know your story probably won't turn out exactly like theirs did. What you should hear when their story starts out something like, "In my experience..." or "When I was in a similar situation..." is "I love you. I don't completely understand everything you are going through, but I still wish I could help, even if it is just by wiping away those tears, so I am telling you how things turned out better than I thought  they would for me to offer you hope. Not to tell you that you are living your life wrong or making the wrong choices, but to let you know I love you and am here for you."

3) Please try to stop us before we make you angry or make you cry. I would sincerely hope that is never someone's intent when they bring up whatever subject brings such pain to your heart. Sometimes people just keep talking to fill that empty awkward silence or ask questions because they want to understand.

4) Let people help you. I touched on this before. If people aren't quick to offer help, don't assume they don't care. All people aren't graced with the ability to just know what is needed. Don't be ashamed or afraid to ask if you truly need help. Your friends will be happy to help as best they can. (I should point out that wanting someone to be at your beck and call every day of the week may be taking things too far. Sadly, this has happened to me in the past, and most people will stop answering when you cry wolf too often. To be clear, I know people who have recurring health problems and could use daily help. I refer to those who just want daily reassurance that they are the most important person in their friend's life.)

5) I must offer my unsolicited feelings somewhere, so consider yourself warned about this one. When life doesn't go the way we planned, it leads us to where we need to be. Look back a little, those of you have some years behind you. Think about all the things you ever wanted. Now focus on the ones you didn't get. How many of them were such a big loss that you didn't live without them? (I lived without having to clean up after that pony, without dating or marrying those boys I once found so charming who still haven't grown into men, without getting that super sexy car that I would have just parked in a garage and buffed with a diaper for fear of it getting scratched or dented, and without joining the circus--though this last one is still a possibility).

As for the rest of us:

1) Be more aware of how your friends are responding to your advice and sympathies. If they are getting noticeably annoyed, stop talking or change the subject. Offer to take them out for ice cream. Let them lead the conversation. If they want to talk about it they will. Sometimes we just want the companionship of someone who loves us.

2) When you hear that someone you don't really know has lost a loved one, got rejected by the college of their choice, or still hasn't attained their next life goal (graduation, marriage, baby, a promotion, retirement), don't assume they need you to guide them through it. Please leave that up to people that are closer to them unless they come to you for help. Unsolicited advice from casual acquaintances rarely helps a situation or makes the intended recipient feel better.

3) Make sure friends who struggle know you are there for them. Use your best judgment as to how to tell them and how often to remind them. Sometimes just knowing that someone is there to talk, want to help distract with activities you both enjoy, or just bake cookies and let you eat them in peace, can offer the greatest comfort.

4) Sometimes, a small act of service can say more than our words. One of my friends spends more than her fair share of time in the hospital. I find myself wishing I lived closer than two thousand miles away, so I convince her husband to let me clean and a tidy their house a little in her absence.

5) Remember that not everyone is just like you. Tailor your behavior to the person you want to comfort. (I find that prayer helps with that, but my thoughts on that might push this post into the preachy category.)

[REVIEW] [RECIPE] Esrever Doom

For those who love puns and humor, Piers Anthony delivers the giggles and wit that you seek. When I discovered one of his books at a yard sale over a decade ago, it entertained me completely, so when I saw Esrever Doom on display at the library, I grabbed it and raced to borrow it. (This insistence despite the two books I already had waiting for me at home.)

This novel features a mundane, much like you or me, who enters Xanth through a coma. Due to his dream qualities, he proves the perfect candidate for a quest. He must save Xanth from a strange curse that makes all the denizens of that unique realm see each other as the opposite of what they are. (In other words, I would be a tall, skinny elf who looks like she has never eaten to a cookie in her entire life.) An interesting assortment of characters get drawn into his quest, adding both color and intrigue. A zombie with renewed humanity, a couple interesting monster crossbreeds, and even a ghost join him for his adventures.

These interesting creatures also provide sexual innuendos that I don't remember from my previous delving into his writing. While he avoids graphic descriptions, I admit it takes me out of the story a little. Luckily, bad puns bring me back into a childlike state of mirth. I have to wonder how much time Mr. Anthony spends writing down puns and then figuring out how to insert them into the narrative. Every little pun adds to the story by providing supplies or tools for the questers while giving me a good laugh.

I aspire to develop such devotion to telling a good story. I need to make time in my schedule to read more novels that show me how to be a better writer...not to mention time to write. I know some of you are anxious for more [FICTION] and less [RANTING].

Cheery Pie

I shall make my own pun with a pie so delicious that it can cheer you up. Unfortunately, it doesn't grow on trees like the pies in the novel, so you have to put forth a little effort to get the benefit of its delightful flavor. You may want to add a little more sugar since I like tart pie to complement the scoop of eye scream I plop on top.

-2 pie crusts (enough crust to make one 2 crust pie)
-8 1/2 cups cherries, pitted and halved (or smaller if you prefer)
-1/3 cup cornstarch
-3/4 cup sugar
-1/4 cup lemon juice
-1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
-1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
-1 tbsp butter

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
2. Place one pie crust in pie pan and gently press into place.
3. Stir together cherries, cornstarch, sugar, lemon juice, nutmeg, and cinnamon over low heat in a thick-bottomed pan.
4. Allow cherry mixture to heat until it bubbles and juices begin to thicken. (You can skip steps 3 and 4, but I think the flavors mingle better this way.)
5. Pour into pie shell.
6. Cut butter into a few smaller pieces and place on filling.
7. Cover with second pie shell and gently press the two shells together. (You could also make a lattice work top crust if you have the time and patience.) Remember to make a few slits in the top crust to allow steam to escape and wrap the edges of the crust with aluminum foil or use a pie shield to keep them from burning.
8. Place on cookie sheet and bake at 425 degrees for 20 minutes.
9. Reduce heat to 375 degrees and bake an additional 40 minutes.
10. Allow to cool or you'll end up burning your tongue, which wouldn't cheer up any of the normal people.
11. Enjoy!

[RANTINGS] Why You Should Edit

I've been reading a book that contains terrible things: typos. Every time I come across one, it pulls me out of the story and makes my face squish up in a most unpleasant way. In light of this, I thought I'd post a few suggestions for prospective published authors before they choose to self-publish their latest masterpiece. (If you wish to refer me back to it when I finally finish a manuscript of my own, I will probably need the reminder.)

As a writer, you commit to reading and rereading your manuscript over and over so many times that you may think that it is ready for publication regardless of all the rejection letters piling up on your desk. You may be right. You may have just offered up your hard work at the wrong time or to the wrong publisher. You may be wrong. Glaring errors may be keeping others from taking the risk. Either way put in a few more bits of work before you upload that file to your online publisher.

1) Run that spell checker one more time. Carefully look at each word that it highlights, even if you are certain you typed the unique name of your character correctly every time. (Of course, if you add that name to your dictionary, only the misspelled ones will show up.) A couple of the typos that jumped out at me would have been caught by even the most rudimentary spellcheck program, so don't disregard the beautiful tool that comes free with every text editor I have ever used.

2)  Pick a trusted friend to be your first reader. Fresh eyes pick up on little things that your mind overlooks like small grammatical errors or areas where one scene does not follow the next as well as you thought. Another benefit? A trusted friend will be gentle, but, hopefully, truthful.

3)  Find a good writer's group or critique partner. Another writer can give you input your friend might be afraid to offer. Also, a good critique partner won't be afraid to tell you the harsh truth. They may needle you forever about that worthless, boring chapter you never should have slipped into your early draft, but that will remind you be more selective with what techniques you use to move your novel forward from now on. (2 and 3 can be interchangeable but letting someone else peruse your manuscript can be very helpful.)

4) Look to a professional for help. Shelling out a few dollars for a professional editor could mean the difference between a book only read by your closest friends and a book that gets recommended to people who have never heard your name before. Professional editors tend to have a knack for suggesting better words, finding those sections that need tightened up, and offering other advice you don't know you need until you get it (like "start over" or "the last 6 chapters aren't as good as the first 20, maybe you should rewrite them, or you lost me in the middle, fix it.)

[REVIEW] Murder Suicide

Murder Suicide by Keith Ablow offers more mystery than the title implies. These words also made a little shudder of horror run through the little heart every time I read them. Usually, this combination of words implies the horrible act of killing innocents before one takes ones own life. In a way, this title could hint at that, but the underlying story reveals so much more.

Dr. Frank Clevenger, a forensic psychiatrist, tries to unravel the twisted threads of what happened to renowned inventor named John Snow. He wished to commit a strange form of suicide (I suggest reading the book to discover what I mean), but his plans get superseded by someone else's desire to take his life. Dr. Clevenger sets out to discover who killed Snow and finds that every important person in the dead man's life could make a case for taking the troubled inventor's life.

As he follows the pointing fingers of each person he interviews, he discovers a connection to his newest patient, Grace Baxter. When she turns up dead by an apparent suicide, guilt over not keeping her from taking her own life sends Dr. Clevenger chasing after clues about how the the two deaths may be connected. The deeper he delves into the secrets kept by Snow's family and friends as well as Baxter's husband, the closer he gets to being the victim of a third death.

Obviously, I found the story intriguing. However, his writing style sometimes left me wanting a little more finesse or description but overall I found this to be a good read. I was a little disappointed that the next book on the shelf will introduce me to another new author.

Hopefully all this reading brings my inner muse back out to play, so you can read some more entertaining prose...

[BOUTIQUE] Yes, You May Purchase a Journal

I decided to try to improve my photography skills. Hopefully, these photos do justice to my latest pieces of art.

The journals measure 5 by 7 inches, leaving  about 4.75 by 7 inches of writing or drawing space for you. Each journal contains 100 unlined pages that long to hear your thoughts or see your visions of the world.

Charges:

1 journal shipped-$15

2 journals shipped-$25

1 journal in person delivery-$10

2 journals in person delivery-$18

(You must have a reasonable expectation of seeing me for the in person delivery price.)

To reserve an item or obtain more information, please post a comment, e-mail me at fanklubz at meowmail dot com, message me on facebook, or just mail me money (if you already have my address ;) ) If a journal is sold or pending sale, I will mark it as such.

As always, if you'd like a journal in another color family, please ask. I have a backlog of my creative genius but I didn't want to cause this page to explode. I can also make special orders, but I may have to charge extra depending on the fabric/pattern/size desired.)

#43-Two available-This fabric is vintage from the 70s, I believe. A dear friend gifted me a stash she found in the attic of a house she bought.

#44-Three available-Not vintage fabric, but I thought it looked pretty poppy.

#45-Three available-Delicate white flowers sprawl across soft pink.

#46-Four available-Lavendar doodles make a nice contrast with the dark purple background of these journals.

#47-One available-Let your dreams take flight by recording them in this journal. The fabric is a soft fleece.

#48-Three available-This fabric reminds me of watercolors.

#49-Three available-Soft grey flowers grow on a bed of black on this fabric.

#50-Two available-Red white and black make a stunning combination on this journal.

#51-Two available-This is more vintage fabric, accented with bright flowers.

#52-Two available-Tiny red and yellow butterflies take flight into the blue on this vintage fabric.

#53-Two available-Light brown spots liven up this creamy notebook.

#54-Three available-I don't think these purple roses need my descriptive powers to draw your attention.

#55-Three available-This is another watercoloresque prints.

View other available journals:

Here and Here and There and There

[REVIEW] Time Weaver by Shana Abe

I meant to post this in April, but my husband whisked me away to the high seas for a week and it threw off my groove. I can't complain though. Doesn't every woman want to be married to a pirate?

Or a dragon (drakon)?

Time Weaver by Shana Abe

Imagine if the hope of being able to fly lingered inside you, the ability to take the form of a winged serpent and conquer the skies. Imagine if that seed was not realized in you but in others of your kind. Then imagine that instead of flight you received a gift that can send you hurtling through time. This gift bestowed upon Honor Carlisle proves her blessing and her curse. This talent drew her back time and again to the same man, a prince among the enemies her people.

The story splits, twists, and turns to give the reader a peek into her psyche at every stage of her life. We see innocence driven away by love and loss, leaping through time to get hints of the end before the beginning has fully coalesced before us. The confusion that these leaps in time leave send us racing through to the next chapter, hoping to find answers. Shana Abe did wrap up the story in a way that made sense, but I feel there is much more to be told. Sadly, the local library only had this book in the series, so I shall have to move onto another book for next month. (But if you want to buy me other books in the series for Christmas in July, I won't be angry at you.)

Of course, one of the drawbacks to this book involved a song popping into my head every time I saw the cover. Guess which one.

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That's right: Gary Wright's "Dream Weaver". I can write a whole post connecting the two if I get ten requests (or even three), but I won't bore you with unsolicited insanity from my mind...not yet anyway.

[FICTION] Grandma's Greatest Gift

I bury my head in my lap, cupping my hands loosely over my ears to muffle the shrill voices that wash over me.

“Grandma loved me the best. I should get it.” My cousin Stacie’s sharp voice cuts through the thin layers of flesh, bone, and tendon curled around my ears.

“You’re delusional. I’m her favorite.” My sister Kirsten’s equally sharp voice grates on my nerves enough to make me leap from my perch on the edge of the bed.

The movement turns both sets of sharp, greedy eyes to me. I freeze, realizing my mistake as they exchange looks and turn back to me grinning.

“We’ll let Bella decide.” Kirsten offers, stepping toward me.

I shake my head and slide along the edge of the bed toward the door.

“That’s a great idea.” Stacie blocks my egress.

I glance back at the bed, which rests against the wall. No exit there. I sigh and cross my arms, sinking back onto the soft mattress.

“I’m not involved in this. Our mom’s can sort it out.”

“No way!” They exclaim as one.

I sigh again. “Why should I decide?”

The girls glance toward the locked jewelry box that holds the object of their desire, an antique gold chain from which dangles a ball formed of tiny diamonds set in a golden framework.

“Because we all know you don’t want it.”

I frown and stand up. “Why not?”

“Well, you’re not exactly a girl.” Kirsten says and they both snicker.

My lips form a tight line as I push my way through the weak wall of shrill, selfish girls. “I’m going to talk to mom about it.” I fire over my shoulder as I step into the hall.

“Oh come on, Bella.” Kirsten tries to take my arm, offering me a conspiratorial smile.

I shake off her slender fingers. “No. I don’t want to hear it.” I pick up speed as I reach the door. The other girls continue to plead with me as I bound down the steps.

“Girls, stop that. This instant!” My mother and aunt Flora round the corner of the stairwell, glaring up at me.

“Bella, I should have known.” Flora’s thin lips sneer as she glares up at me and shakes her head.

I slow down, taking composed, calculated strides to the bottom of the stairs as my sister and cousin push each other toward the top of the stairwell. Seeing our mothers observing them from below, they step away from each other and hurriedly smooth black skirts with boney hands. They smile angelically and slowly join me. We patiently wait while our mothers survey us, struggling to keep from twitching with the excitement and frustration coursing through us.

My mother is the first to break the silence. “What is this all about?”

“Grandma’s diamond globe necklace.” I blurt out.

Sharp fingers stab into my back on both sides. I glance at my sister who narrows her eyes at me. Her nose flares with suppressed annoyance. I don’t bother to glance at Stacie. I’m sure her face reflects my sister’s unkind emotions.

My mother and aunt exchange looks. My aunt nods as if agreeing with a question asked during their locked gaze. My mother turns her attention back to us, clearing her throat. “Your aunt and I have decided that Kirsten, as the oldest, will get that necklace. We have also already decided who gets each piece of jewelry, so stop fighting.”

My aunt nods agreement, surveying us one more time. “Now go find something constructive to do. There is plenty to clean.”

As they turn away, Stacie gives me a hard jab in the stomach with her elbow. Kirsten pats me on the back.

“Thanks, sis.”

I frown and turn away, making a beeline for the back door. As the door closes behind me, I take in a deep breath and glance over my shoulder. My cousin and sister have disappeared, searching for something else to argue over. Assured that I am alone, I slowly lower myself to the cold concrete stair and let the tears I’ve been holding back cascade over my cheeks.

*

I’m back in my grandmother’s house. She’s not really dead. She can’t be. The rich sweetness of cinnamon crumble coffee cake turns the air to sweet bliss. Only my grandmother knew how to make that particular ambrosia. I inhale again and step forward to offer her a hug. She turns toward me and puts up her hands. Blood runs down them, dripping on the floor.

I scream and turn away.

“Don’t worry. You can help me clean it up.” Her voice cracks bust her smile remains as gentle and sweet as ever.

She reaches for me. Even before she touches me, streaks of blood spread across my skin. I stare down at them as my flesh seems to melt away, revealing black ooze undulating along my bones. As unbearable pain sinks into the core of my being, I scream. My grandmother laughs and I scream again. Her laughter turns to a cackle and I look up to see the same viscous darkness consuming her features.

I scream again. Silently.

*

I sit up and open my eyes. One hand reaches up to touch my moist cheek, but I keep the other where I can see that pale flesh still stretches gently to cover bone, sinew, and muscle. After a few seconds, I lower both hands. I take a few deep breaths as my eyes adjust to the gentle glow coming through the thin curtains of my bedroom.

“You’re alone. Everything is okay.” I whisper softly.

I open my eyes wider, filling them with the reassuring images of my room. “It was just a dream.”

“Yes. It was.” My grandmother’s voice reassures me and I swear my heart stops beating.

I close my eyes and open them again, turning toward the voice. Standing at the side of my bed, my grandmother smiles down at me.

“You’re not real.” I tell her.

“Of course, I am.” She continues to smile.

“That can’t be.”

She nods slowly, understandingly. “It can only be because I need your help.”

“My help?” My jaw tightens as I force out the words.

“The globe necklace that you girls all loved so much has to go to my best friend. She’ll know why.”

“But my mother said…”

“I know who has it, but she shouldn’t have it. It was meant for Jeannie.

“If Jeannie doesn’t get that necklace, I can’t pass over. I’ll have to be with you forever, for everything you ever do.” She smiles that all-knowing smile that could turn even the most hardened criminal to moldable clay.

I nod my head. “I’ll do my best.”

“Her name is Jeannie Lemmin.”

I nod again but can’t find the strength to speak again.

“Thank you.” She disappears.

I continue to watch the place where she stood as I slowly lower myself to the pillow. I think sleep will elude me after that, but I wake up to find my mother shaking me roughly.

“Bella, what is wrong with you? Wake up.”

“What?” I ask groggily.

“It’s almost noon. Why are you still in bed.”

I force my eyes open and find her worried face inches from my own. A million thoughts dance through my head. Should I tell her? My heart leaps inside me, overladen with the loss of my grandmother and last night’s dreams. I decide to tell her if only to hear her tell me that it was just a dream.

“Mom, did grandma ever talk about someone named Jeannie Lemmin?”

My mother freezes. Her nails dig into my arms. She scans my face questioningly.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“From Grandma…”

“She would never tell you about Jeannie. She only told me about her once.”

As my mother pauses, I ask. “Who is she?”

“She used to be your grandmother’s best friend.” My mother whispers as she loosens her grip on my arms and settles back on the foot of my bed.

I slowly push myself into a sitting position. I lean toward my mother and whisper. “Then why have I never heard of her?”

My mother purses her lips. “They had a falling out about the man your grandmother loved before your grandfather.”

“Oh.” My breath rushes out of me. Maybe, I hadn’t really known my grandmother.

My mother nods as if agreeing with my thoughts. “Even after your grandmother and grandfather were married, she never spoke to Jeannie again. I think Jeannie must have tried once. That’s when I hear about it, but why are you asking about her?”

I tried to explain. The more I spoke, the paler my mother’s face got. When I ran out of words, we sat in silence.

Finally, my mother took my hand. “I’ll handle your sister, but you’ll have to go alone to speak to Jeannie.”

I nodded my assent, not daring to speak for fear of releasing the tears I saw pooling in my mother’s eyes.

*

“Jeannie Lemmin?”

She smiles at me. “That’s me, dear.” She places a finger gently to her lips as she contemplates my face. “Have we met? You do look familiar.”

“No, ma’am. We’ve never met.” My voice gets soft. “You knew my grandmother, Dotty Lynch.”

The smile fades from her face as she looks at me more closely. She doesn’t speak. She slowly lowers her hand and clutches it tightly with the other as we stand in silence.

I clear my throat and reach into my pocket. “She wanted you to have this.”

She slowly raises her hand and I lower the globe gently, watching the chain gently coil into her wrinkled palms as she gazes down at it.

“She forgave me.” Tears flood her cheeks, sending rivers down the deep laughter lines along her thin cheeks. “She really forgave me?”

I shrug. “She said you would understand.”

She nods, tears pouring more profusely down her cheeks. “I do. I do. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” As the words leave my lips, warmth suffuses my body.

My grandmother’s voice seems to echo her friend. I look around expecting to see her, but I stand alone on the porch.

Jeannie smiles at me. “Would you like to come in?”

I shake my head but my feet lead me forward into the cozy living room.

“Let me tell you about your grandmother when she was young. You have her eyes…”