The Plot Thickens

When I first began writing, I naively thought that devising an interesting idea for a story plot or to be able to see a special view for a poem was all that it took to become an author. That is the inspiration part of being a writer. It is the germ of a thought process that has only just begun. It is followed by hours of perspiration.

Many items begin to come into play. When you write about people, are the things they do and say consistent? Are conversations they have normal and not stinted? If they have an accent or dialect, is it true to their area? When I choose a location, does it reflect the nature and weather of the place? Time of day, time of year, and the time period and period clothing and customs must remain true to form. There must be an agreement of facts. There is always someone who is more of an expert and will find fault if you stray away any minute detail. All of these items still dealing with the plot and how you share it.

After this, a writer must read through the story time after time, looking for errors in punctuations, misspellings, or grammar. Sometimes the author will insert a word that is not actually there. The reader is confused and doesn’t understand what is missing.

The fun is just starting. Most writers have a friend or several friends to read the writings. Really good friends will tear it apart. They will pick out each and every mistake that you’ve made, everything from weak places in the plot or characters to errors in punctuation, typos, and incorrectly spelled words. It’s back to the drawing board, trying to correct anything that was not done well.

I’m not complaining. I love my eagle-eyed friends. I wanted to share what it takes to have a book ready for publication.

A Store of Store Stories

Wednesday in my blog, I mentioned the stores Gabriel’s and Gabriel Brothers. Last evening I saw a television advertisement saying that they remodeled and renaming their stores. We locals always shortened the name lovingly called the stores Gabe’s. That is now their new name, emblazoned across their bright blue remodeled store fronts.

Wednesday’s story jogged the memory of my daughter Amanda. She reminded me of another Gabe’s story. My mother-in-law, Retha Morrison was shopping with our family. We had a minivan and ferrying three adults and three children wasn’t a problem. It was a winter day. Retha was wearing slacks and black, just above the ankle winter boots. She found a dress that she liked and tried it on. When she came out of the dressing room and asked, “Well, what do you think?” I immediately responded, “You have chicken legs.”

The pale skin of her thin, full calved legs were intensified as they stuck out from beneath the dark colored dress and rose above the black boots. They did indeed look like chicken legs. When Retha looked in the mirror, she had to agree.

Shopping with kids can be exacerbating. This day at Gabe’s was no different. The kids were hiding in the racks of clothing, doing a slow game of hide and seek. It was the parents’ job to keep track of them so they didn’t get lost or weren’t abducted. A rack of stiff darkly dyed jeans was a perfect place for my son Andrew to disappear. It wasn’t long until he reappeared holding out his fist. He said, “Look what I found.”

Opening his hand, he showed his discovery. He’d found about $1.50 in quarters. They’d been in one of the pockets of a pair of jeans. Their darkened color told us that the coins had been in the pants while they were being dyed. Needless to say, it caused his two sisters to join him in an unsuccessful treasure hunt.

What’s Wrong

My kids love to hear the story that I tell about my wife and their mom Cindy. It happened while Cindy and I were still dating, but let me set the background before I start. Back then, Gabriel’s was an outlet for seconds of clothing, not the collection of stores that it is today. Many of these seconds would likely have been called thirds today. Each item of clothing had to be examined with an eagle’s eye for any flaws. Some were minute like a snag or may be like a dye problem or tear in the cloth. Zippers had to be worked up and down to be sure they functioned properly. There were a number of ways that the item would end up on the shelves or racks of the Gabriel’s store.

This incident occurred one summer afternoon between the time that Gabriel’s store only was two houses in Uniontown, Pennsylvania connected by a covered passageway and a time when they first expanded to be Gabriel Brothers’ chain. Cindy and I had been dating for probably a year and we were sitting on a porch swing at her home at Camp Christian in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. I noticed something and said, “Did you get that blouse at Gabe’s?”

She asked, “Why?”

“The sleeves don’t match.”

She started to look over the blouse trying to see what I’d seen. “The patterns are similar, but different.” I said.

The shape of the designs was about the size of a silver dollar. They had the same colors, in the same spots, and nearly the same pattern. The pale greens, lavenders, corals, and sandy yellows all had the same placement, but one sleeve matched the rest of the blouse with seashells, fish, a sea horse, a sand dollar, and seaweed while the nonconformist sleeve had dragon flies, butterflies, flowers, and grass.

Now let me say that the blouse had been worn for quite some time and no one else noticed. She may have worn it before when we were together, if she had, I didn’t notice the difference until that afternoon. I will finish the story by saying I never saw her wear that blouse again.

Beauty Around Us

Yesterday as I drove to church, I crossed the top of a hill only to see a thick patch of fog crossing the roadway ahead. This is not unusual for the area where I live, but what was unusual is the beauty that the sun, fog, and trees created. The fog’s pale, milky veil covered the newly emerging, wet and shiny, silver clad leaves of the trees. The leaves appeared to almost glow, reflecting back the diffused light of the sun as its rays slipped through curtain of fog. I slowed for an instant, but then the fog shifted, the light changed, and leaves were just wet green leaves.

Coincidences sometimes cause us to slow and to actually wonder if we actually saw something that beautiful. God will share the beauty around us, if we slow down and take the time to look. If we will allow our eyes to register what they see and not be consumed of rushing along, ignoring the feast placed before us.

Last evening, again I was driving to church for evening services and the sun again played in the clouds. It was impossible to miss. The sunlight glowed a silver-white from the edges of other clouds that surrounded the thin cloud it was hiding behind. I say the cloud was thin, because I could see the ball of sun, looking like a full moon. It was too light and too early to be the moon. Again I slowed, it was too beautiful to rush by without enjoying.

Flower Children

I have mentioned before that my grandmother Rebecca Miner’s favorite flower was the Pansy. She said they reminded her of little boys with dirty faces and a huckster would give her a flat of them every year for buying his leftover produce before he left for home. To keep the produce from spoiling, he gave her a good price and with eight kids she could serve or can it to feed them all.

I don’t know what my grandmother Anna Beck liked. I can’t remember any flowers inside her house, but my aunt Estella’s favorite were the plastic ones. She didn’t like anything that might cause dirt in her home.

My mother-in-law’s porch held baskets of dark pink bleeding hearts and honey suckle trumpets. I was blessed my wife’s favorite flowers were daisies. When I wanted to surprise her, I could pick them out of the fields all summer. Our sister-in-law, Susan Reyes Morrison loved black-eyed Susan.

My daughter Amanda Yoder liked calla lilies and had them in her wedding bouquet. One of her wedding gifts was a large picture of them which hangs in her living room. My other daughter, Anna Prinkey likes sunflowers. She carried them in her wedding bouquet and some strange person bought a commode seat as a gag gift one Christmas. I must apologize to my daughter-in-law Renee, I never asked what your favorite flower is, but with your birthday so near Christmas, I’ll give you a poinsettia or a Christmas cactus.

My aunt Cora Hyatt loved all types of flowers, but what I remember from her gardens were the tall swords of color, gladiolas. I can remember mums in my aunt Ina’s gardens. My mom’s favorites were roses, Many of which she would start from cuttings placed under a quart jar.

I had other aunts, but my brain either never noticed a specific flower or has forgotten and I apologize for that. My favorite, I think it might be the lily of the valley with the dark green leaves and the delicate white bells.

Lawn Mowing Memories

Monday I decided to mow my lawn, dodging the several showers. As I rode my along on my mower cutting the grass, I remembered having my son mow the widow neighbor’s lawn next door. I tried to share the Bible verse about taking care of widows and orphans. She has since passed away and her son lives there now. The rain held off and I did their yard as well. They’re older and have some difficulty mowing for themselves.

My uncle Ted would mow grass in the summer to make a bit of money. Because of a head injury early in life, his mental capacity was that of perhaps a fourth grader. It was one of the things he was able to do to earn some cash. He was odd at times and set in his ways. Ted would only buy a “Lawn Boy” mower and would sometimes walk several miles between customers pushing the mower and carrying his gas can.

My dad loved the color red. His mowers had to be red because red one ran better. He once said, the red ones ran like a son-of-a-gun and we’d often kid him about it. He’d just smile and continued to buy red machines.

My son Andrew wanted a four wheeler because several of his friends had one, but keeping him and his two sisters in a private school wasn’t cheap. My wife Cindy and I decided to buy a riding mower instead. It took too much time to use a push mower to cut our acre of yard. While Andrew was at school, I bought and had delivered a riding mower. I hid it in the back of the house. When he came home from school, I told him we bought a four wheeler and gave him strict rules about riding it around the property only. Handing him the key, we told him that it was parked behind the house. A smile spread across his face and he ran outside. I must say, he hopped on it without complaint, turned the key, and immediately sped off trailing clippings behind him. Thank you Son, it is just one of the many memories I have of you. Look out Daughters; you will have memories shared on my BlogSpot too.

Paradise

On Friday, Evangelist Thomas Engle asked how many have heard sermons on Hell. Then he said he was going to share thoughts about Paradise or Heaven. Every religion from Islam to Hinduism, to Buddhism, all have a higher plane to which their followers aspire or work toward. Mankind’s hearts and souls are hardwired to seek that place. They instinctively seek a place that is better than the world as it is in their lives.

In Christianity, it is called Heaven and is described in great detail, Revelation 21 as described by the Apostle John. He was given a special insight and a “private tour” so those who accept Christ as Savior will have knowledge of what waits for them beyond the veil of death.

We were fortunate to have the music director Doyle Robertson work with our Church’s choir for special music each night of the services. He and his wife also taught special classes for the younger children while we enjoyed the messages.

Because his schedule allowed, he and his wife stayed through Sunday evening, directing the choir. A special bonus was Doyle shared a message Sunday evening on how to praise God and what types of music was actually worshipping God.

God didn’t accept every sacrifice that was offered. Look at Cain and Abel. God rejected Cain’s gift of grain, because it was not the offering to God demanded. There was also Nadab and Abihu who were the sons of Aaron in the priestly lineage. They chose to offer incense on a “strange” fire and God rejected their offering by consuming them in fire.