Fay Risner's Blog, page 12

The Chance Of A Sparrow in Large Print Book 4 of Amazing Gracie Mystery Series

My forth book in my Amazing Gracie Mystery series is titled A Chance Of A Sparrow by Fay Risner. The book is now in Large Print and sold on Amazon and Barnes and Noble in paperback and ebooks and https://www.smashwords.com/

The following is the back of the book and the first Chapter. Enjoy Gracie attempt to go back to her farm and relive the way her life was before retirement only to have mysterious events shake her up.

An American version of Miss Marple, Gracie Evans is homesick and tired of retirement. She’s bored with living in the Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women in Locked Rock, Iowa. Spring brings back pleasant memories so she prays to God to give her a chance to go back to her farm for a little while. No one is more surprised than Gracie when her prayer comes true. The renter asks her to stay at her farm for a month while he goes on vacation. Soon she decides she should be more careful what she prays for. Her thrill at finding wild strawberries to pick dulls when she sees an Indian swimming naked in her pond. After he leaves, she finds a missing neighbor’s clothes on her pond bank. Gracie goes for a walk through her timber to mushroom hunt and gets shot at. That’s just the beginning of bad luck for her while she’s at Three Oaks to farm sit. Once the widower neighbor, Gracie’s former beau, finds out her problem, he keeps coming over to check on her. At least that’s his excuse for showing up unexpectedly. What he really wants is to take back up with Gracie where they left off years ago. None of this farm sitting experience was what Gracie meant when she asked God for The Chance Of A Sparrow.

Chapter 1

Aoooga! Aoooga! The times she heard that sound in the distance, it brought all sorts of speculation to Gracie Evans’s imagination. Such as a beast captured in the African jungle that had been allowed to escape into the timbers of Iowa. Wandering out of the wilderness, the creature surely had found itself on the streets of Locked Rock. Warning of its approach, the beast was prepared to fight its way back to the jungle. Probably some weird animal’s baby brought back years ago to the Moser Mansion along with other souvenirs from a safari by Molly Moser Lang’s parents.

The first time the beast bellowed right before her very eyes, Gracie discovered the noise belonged to a horn attached to an invention called a horseless carriage. Being a lover of horses, Gracie took one hard look and decided such an apparatus should be looked upon with disdain, but some interest.

She watched from the Moser Mansion Rest Home front porch as the automobile’s driver paraded his car toward her. Gracie willingly gave that horseless carriage credit for causing unlimited excitement which she was always ready for, seeing as how most days were incredibly dull in her neighborhood.

“Here comes that contraption Phillip Harris gets around in. He sure likes to announce his coming in that noisy machine. Look out! That’s what I was waiting for. That horseless carriage always makes that popping racket until it gets wound up,” Gracie claimed loudly in her coarse voice to her companion, Melinda Applegate. She flattened her hand on top her head as if to hold down her dark gray braids and sped her rocker up to match her enthusiasm.

The red, Vermont, touring car putted past the rest home and down Main Street. It slowed to a creep, jerked as if about to stall then proceeded smoothly again a few feet. Another jerk and a succession of small puffs of black smoke rolled out of the tailpipe in between a string of robust backfires. If that wasn’t enough noise, Harris honked his horn in greeting to a man standing on the boardwalk in front of the Locked Rock Mercantile. The loud aooga, aooga blasted the area and proved to be the catalyst for chaos.

Dancing about, every one of the horses tied to the hitch racks nearest the automobile screamed high pitched whinnies. Each horse contributed to the next one’s panic by rearing up, trying to break loose.

“There goes Windy Smith’s horse and buggy.” Looking more upbeat than she had in weeks, Gracie clapped her hands. She turned to Melinda. The gentle, little woman shook her head slowly with reproach in her soft, blue eyes. Gracie chose to ignore the look, turning back to watch what happened next.

Sensing freedom when the leather reins snapped, the horse, his head high, ran down Main Street, pulling the careening buggy. Fueled by the crowd on the boardwalks as women screamed and men shouted runaway, he sped faster. The commotion brought more people pouring out of stores. Several men surrounded the horse. They waved their arms wildly and yelled whoa.

“That horse is too headstrong. I doubt they get him to stop that easy,” surmised Gracie.

She weaved from side to side in her rocker as though she was in the crowd, dodging the frightened horse.

Straightening in her rocker, Melinda’s light gray curls bobbed as she put a hand over her mouth. “Oh dear, someone could have gotten hurt. That horse almost ran over those men.”

Gracie gripped her rocker arms. Her dark brown eyes glinted as she watched the horse snort and buck, clearing a path.

“The first time Windy came to town with that horse pulling his buggy, I told him that setup would never work. That horse is too spirited. Windy gave me a what’s a woman know look for my trouble. Wait until the next time I see him. I’ll remind him what I said about that horse,” declared Gracie, chuckling.

“Gracie, you should feel sorry for Mr. Smith what with …. . Well, you know.” With her voice softer than usual, Melinda started to admonish, but blushed, at a loss for words. Listening to the ruckus down the street, she gave up and turned her attention back to the excitement, afraid she would missed something.

“I’ve put up with that old man for years. He owns a farm next to mine. Windy’s used to that club foot if that’s what you mean,” grumped Gracie, bluntly. “He was born with that left foot turned in over 60 years ago. No use feeling sorry for him now.”

The horse’s mane flapped as he kicked his hooves high to scatter the men chasing him. Tail stretched out, he raced around the corner at the end of the block. The careening buggy leaned sideways on one wheel for a moment, tilted over and collided with the ground. It disappeared from sight, obscured by the dusty fog that billowed up. At first, the buggy upset spurred the horse to try harder to escape, but dragging his bouncing, overturned burden though the potholes proved too much. The lathered up horse slowed down. The men surrounded him again. Cautiously, they walked closer. The horse flinched when human hands came near his head. His sides heaved. He danced nervously sideways while the men unhitched him from what had become dead weight.

“There’s Windy. He knows when to show up, don’t he? After his horse has been caught,” snorted Gracie.

With his black, slouch hat cockeyed on his head, the slight, middle aged man, in faded blue overalls and a dirty, work shirt with a flash of red long handles at the neck, shuffled over to lead his skittish horse to a hitch rack.

A bunch of men surrounded the buggy, lifted and tugged on the frame until it landed on its wheels. It shuddered when it impacted with the hard earth. Some of the men grabbed the tongue and pulled. Others held the dilapidated buggy upright, because of its propensity to lean sideways. Once the lopsided, tattered buggy was out of the center of the street, the crowd disappeared back into the stores and the saloon, leaving Main Street deserted again.

“Thank goodness, no one was hurt,” breathed Melinda. Patting her curls as if they might be out of place, she relaxed back in her rocker.

Lacing her fingers together in her lap, Gracie sighed and slumped as if the very life was all of a sudden oozing out of her. “Sure. That’s a good thing.”

She stared at her work worn hands for a moment, thinking about the past when she lived on her farm. It had been her settling down an unruly horse like Windy’s, and she’d been smart enough not to hook a horse like that to her buggy. A restless, dejected feeling weld up in her. She vigorously rubbed the rocker arm with her finger tips, looking at nothing in particular while tintypes of better times slid though her mind.

“Gracie, what’s wrong with you? If you don’t stop that, you’ll wear a groove in the wood.” Melinda’s voice held concern.

It was a beautiful, spring, morning in June of 1904. The kind of day where everything comes alive, and people have a renewal of spirit. Gracie’s nose picked up the freshness on the breeze, the smell of fresh cut grass, and the scent of purple hyacinths. She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn’t know what to say. No matter how unhappy she felt, she just didn’t have it in her to express her feelings adequately to anyone not even Melinda.

Instead, she groused in a disagreeable tone, “I’m listening to the birds. Them sparrows ain’t happy.”

Melinda cocked her head to listen. “What makes you say that? That’s the way birds always sound.”

“Them birds sound plain snippy. That’s city birds for you. Best I remember, country birds don’t sound that sharp,” Gracie declared, frowning at her companion.

Melinda shook her head and smiled at Gracie tentatively, not sure how to answer without upsetting her friend.

Rocking back and forth gently for momentum, Gracie propelled herself to her feet. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

Worried that her friend shouldn’t be alone, Melinda asked, “Want me to go with you?”

Gracie paused then grumped, “No, I’m not fit company for myself let alone anyone else.”

Slowly, with her hands clasped behind her back, she ambled along side the rest home and through the backyard with no particular place in mind to go. She stopped by the alabaster, angel statue with the four feet wing spread that set near the gazebo. The pan in the angel’s hands did double duty. Full of water in warm weather and in the winter, the pan held corn for the birds. Gracie smiled slightly when she read a sign she’d never seen before that dangled over the angel’s arms. In shaky, black letters, the sign read, Bird Bath — 10 cheeps — No Refunds.

Her smile dried up. That sign had to be the doing of Orie Lang, Molly Moser Lang’s new husband, and Shana, the ten year old Irish girl that lived with them. The couple adopted the child two months ago. Shana came through the county seat on an orphan train. Now there were two mischief makers. What Orie didn’t think of Shana did. From the looks of the scribbling, Shana must have painted the letters on the sign, but the idea was probably Orie’s. With that young girl’s sense of making a dime, Gracie was surprised Shana hadn’t painted 10 cents instead of cheeps on the sign, turning the angel’s pan into a wishing well. She must have reasoned that it wouldn’t do her any good since the birds don’t have money, and the amount of pedestrians crossing the rest home’s backyard was next to nothing.

Gracie sighed. She didn’t like changes happening around her or to her. The fact that the Langs adopted a child that was talkative, lively and always underfoot was unsettling to her. The once peaceful house with only women residents changed for the first time nine months before when the owner, Molly Moser, married a farmer, Orie Lang. Now the residents not only had a man living with them but a child to coexist.

Restlessness, loneliness and uselessness welled up in Gracie all at the same time. She proceeded on her walk, not taking in anything around her. The wish was so strong in her at that moment to have the days back when she was fiercely independent. She reasoned that it must be the change in seasons that had something to do with the way she felt. Each time spring arrived, the same old upheaval happened to her feelings, but each year the morose she felt seemed more severe. Probably because to keep her mind off her present situation, she dwelled a lot on the past when she farmed the family farm. Going back in her mind gave her peace for a brief moment.

It seemed to her, the years when she lived those good memories had flown by way too fast. By the time Gracie reached her fifties, farming became too hard for her. As bad as she hated to do so, she finally made the decision to rent the farm and move to town to the rest home. It was the practical thing to do, and she had always been practical, along with being sharp as a tack. Gracie prided herself on that fact.

Rubbing an itchy mosquito bite on the back of her hand, she stared at the small, red bump nestled between the brown spots and blue veins. It reminded her the worse change of all was, she had grown old in body. Not old by everyone’s standards she supposed but past child bearing age. She knew she couldn’t do hard, farm work anymore, but she just plain flat out missed living in the country. When she came to the rest home, she convinced herself she had nothing to look forward to for the rest of her life. She hated feeling this miserable and didn’t have a clue what to do to make it better for herself.

Sparrows flitted in front of Gracie. Busily moving forward with the business of life, they dipped down in the yard to fill their beaks with grass clippings and flew back to build their nests. She watched them work and wondered why it had to be that birds had new families every year when humans only had one in a lifetime if they were lucky. Even then when children grew up and left the nest, people aged alone. It didn’t seem quite fair to folks that nasty, old sparrows had it better. Seemed them birds never had to be alone as long as they could build a nest and lay eggs that hatched. By grab, she couldn’t do much about the set up of nature, but she felt like complaining to someone anyway.

A horse nickered. Molly’s horse, Patches, had his head stuck out the top door of the carriage house. He wanted attention. Gracie always stroked his nose and talked to him. She didn’t have time now. On the far side of the carriage house, the outhouse door banged. Malachi hitched his pants higher and grabbed the hoe he’d propped against the wall. The fuzzy haired old caretaker, was on his way back to the garden, using his hoe as a walking stick.

Gracie came to the space in the hedge that bordered the Moser property on three sides. Perry Creek ran along the length of the property on the back side the bushes. She headed for that soothing, trickling sound that reminded her of the Iowa River that ran though her farm. That would be the place to be this morning. Sitting on the river bank in the shade of the old cottonwood, fishing for a mess of catfish.

She put her hand down gently on the footbridge’s splintered, weather worn railing and peered over. Perry Creek was bank full from the spring rains. Tiny, silver minnows shimmered just under the water, darting about. Even the fish have somewhere to go, she thought miserably.

Across the street set the church, a simple, white building with a large, white cross atop a tall steeple. Touched by the morning sun, the bronze bell in the belfry glinted like a beacon beckoning her. With her eyes on the church, Gracie started past Maudie Brown’s small, unpainted house. She tripped and staggered a few steps before she regained her balance. In the shaggy grass lay a small, wooden horse, three legged and nicked in places from the Brown brood’s rough play. Irritated, she kicked the toy. Crossing that yard was as bad as traversing an obstacle course at the Locked Rock’s Fourth of July games, but it was the shortcut to the church.

Tightening her grip on the railing, Gracie climbed the church steps. In the quiet, her black, high topped shoes caused a loud, hollow tap. She opened one of the double doors. The hinges groaned, echoing through the empty building and reinforcing her despair. Persistent irritation with everyone and everything that she had no power to change welled up in her. She felt as if she was drowning in a bottomless pit of depression, and she was helpless. She couldn’t stop sinking to the bottom.

Gracie shut the door behind her as easy as she could. Before she proceeded up the aisle she looked around at this sacred building where continuous rituals of birth, life and death were celebrated. Normally, she stayed toward the back during Sunday service, but today, she had the whole church to herself. Best time to come when she didn’t have to worry about the greeters and hand shakers getting in her way. Gracie marched down the aisle past the slick, dark pews and plopped down in the front row. That was as close as she could get. She intended to have a serious talk with God now that she had made up her mind to do so. Since he hadn’t been paying much attention to her concerns lately, she wondered if it was because he had become hard of hearing over the years. She sympathized with him. If she felt old, think how old God must feel.

Gracie twisted to face the simple, unadorned cross above the pulpit. She smoothed her braids, then clasped her hands together and licked her lips. Inhaling deeply, she began, “God, I’ve had plenty of time to give some thought to how things work in life. Don’t mean to complain, mind you.” She paused a minute. It occurred to her she should be truthful. After all, this was God she was talking to, and she figured he pretty much knew what she had on her mind before she did even.

“Well, that’s not exactly right. I do mean to complain. That’s why I’m here. In the short time it took you, I think you did a wham bang job creating the world and all the creatures, but seems to me, you might have gotten in something of a hurry when you made them all in seven days. For instance, maybe you should have taken just a little more time to think about some way to improve on humans. Take sparrows. Lord, did you ever stop to think sparrows get a chance to have two families a year? That’s ever year, mind you, but humans only get one chance in their life time. Take me. All my family’s gone now. I didn’t choose to marry and have younguns. Now that’s not your fault. I made the choice to say no when Millard Sokal ask me all those years ago, but now I’m sitting in a rest home with no family, wasting away the last of my days. Oh, I know there’s not much you can do about it now that you have everything created, but I just wish you’d have thought to give us lonesome human beings the chance of the sparrows. Well, that’s all I got to say on the subject. Just wanted to get what I was thinking off my chest. Thank you for listening God. Amen.”

Open A Window Alzheimer’s Caregiver Book In Large Print

To help with Alzheimer’s disease awareness I have reprinted my Caregiver Handbook Open A Window in large print. Below is the list of caregivers that would benefit from reading my book and the…

Source: Open A Window Alzheimer’s Caregiver Book In Large Print

Open A Window Alzheimer’s Caregiver Book In Large Print

To help with Alzheimer’s disease awareness I have reprinted my Caregiver Handbook Open A Window in large print. Below is the list of caregivers that would benefit from reading my book and the first two chapters of the book.

This book is designed to help all caregivers understand what Alzheimer’s disease or dementia does to people. From reading my book, I hope to give you some idea about how to help people with this dreadful disease.

The list is as follows

To use for education at training sessions and inservices for caregivers taking care of residents in long term care or on an individual basis in Home Health Care.

For family members who need education about Alzheimer’s so they understand why a person acts the way they do. Once they understand, they will be better caregivers.

For use at Alzheimer’s support groups to help educate caregivers. This book works as a wonderful ice breaker which gets caregivers to share their experiences.

As training in high school health classes so they are able to be more comfortable in a Nursing Home setting when they’re doing their clinical.

Useful in hospice situations while the caregiver is taking care of someone in the home. Educational for hospice personal that visits the homes.

Chapter 1.

The Key Is Understanding

Because I chose to be a certified nurse aide (CNA) that makes her living in a care center, I’ve always thought of myself as a caring person. I believed I was good at my job. It took helping my mother care for my father, who had Alzheimer’s disease, to make me realize I had much more to learn. After my father’s death, I returned to work at the care center and began to see the residents in a new way. I felt the need to dig deeper into my grab bag full of skills and emotions I carried inside me to put the emphasis on care in caregiving.

Times have changed. We care for and treat the physical ailments of frail, elderly people as we always have, but now we’re caring for people with Alzheimer’s disease and other dementia from ailments like strokes or Parkinson Disease.

With the increase of Alzheimer’s, we’ve had to learn new skills and terminology. It takes practice to perfect skills CNAs learn for the most part through on the job experience. Just when we think we have it down pat, the procedure that worked once on a person won’t work anymore, because of the changes in that person’s brain.

Since Alzheimer’s disease affects each person differently as the disease damages the brain the procedure the caregiver practiced on someone else might not work at all on the next person.

We need to be fast thinking and flexible enough to switch to another approach. Above all, we need to be patient, calm, soft spoken and act like we really care. A variety of tried examples that have worked for other caregivers doesn’t hurt either. That’s why it’s important for the caregiver at home or in long term care to research all the approaches to find the reason why something works for someone with Alzheimer’s disease.

An important part of taking care of someone is knowing that person’s likes, dislikes, hobbies and life stories. A relative taking care of that person has it made in that regard. Long term caregivers have to play a guessing game which may lead the person to frustration, anger, and a bad day. Find out from relatives what you need to know to keep the person from going home or trying to find their children. Help that person enjoy a conversation about a subject she or he likes. Memories may have faded, but you bring up something that was a pleasant memory for her or him. See how fast she or he begins to take interest and add their thoughts to the conversation.

Contact your local Alzheimer’s office and ask for educational materials, books and videos from their lending library that are loaned out free for a month and get the free pamphlets to give family and friends to educate them. The Association mails the material to caregivers that aren’t able to come to the office.

Caregivers feel the need to be clinical as we rush to make it through each day whether it be at home or working an eight hour shift in a facility. There’s no time to spare when we have a schedule to keep. Let something slow us down and it has a snowball effect to screw up our schedule for the rest of the day. So we watch the clock, try to keep on schedule, and at the same time do a good job of caring for the loved one at home, or the residents in a nursing home. That rush – rush attitude only creates a frustrating atmosphere for the person with AD. Their brain doesn’t process fast anymore. They need much more time to digest what’s going on around them or what is said to them. They need time to think about their response to us. We need to slow down for the person with AD.

That fast moving caregiver was me until I helped Mom take care of my father in his home. Now I see images of Dad as he was through the long, ten years he suffered with Alzheimer’s from an open window in my healthy brain’s memory room.

Comparing my experience with my father to the people I have cared for since has changed how I view my job. Five million people have Alzheimer’s disease. In the next few years that number will triple as the baby boomers become retirement age. That means health care workers may very soon have the experience of caring for someone in their family who has Alzheimer’s disease as well as being flooded with a rising number of residents with dementia in long term care. We need to get our caregiving techniques down pat. Time for that is running out.

However, caregivers don’t have to have someone close to them afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease for them to develop an empathy for people who have the disease. As professional caregivers, take the time to get to know the people you’re caring for. Think about the dreadful, terminal road ahead of them. As the saying goes, “Walk a mile in their shoes. See how it feels”.

The key to caring is getting to know and understand what a person with Alzheimer’s is all about. Not just what you see on the surface, but the person behind the curtain of Alzheimer’s disease. — Fay Risner

Chapter 2.

Windows In The Brain

This is my description of what happens to a person’s brain when they have Alzheimer’s disease.

When we are born, our brain is full of well lit, airy, vacant rooms with an open window in each one. Knowledge and experiences flow through the open windows to fill the rooms as we grow, and flow back out as we mentally call on them to create the type of human being we become. Imagine if by the time you are in your sixties, you were to find yourself searching for a thought in the memory room. You find that the room had become dark, the drapes are drawn. You strain to see the familiar object you are searching for in your mind, trying to remember what it looked like the last time you saw it, but you can’t find that object in the dark.

That’s what happens to a person who is afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease. One such person was a large framed, boisterous farmer who spoke with a loud voiced, salty vocabulary. First, the memory room in his brain became dark, then other rooms darkened as they were covered with a black shroud called plaque that continued slowly to spread from room to room.

As it entered the open windows, the plaque closed them, and the drapes drew shut to put out the light. As this happened to the farmer, he became a shell of the man his family and friends once knew and was admitted to a care center. In time, he forgot how to feed himself, had trouble swallowing, couldn’t do his activities of daily living skills, and could barely stand long enough to transfer from the bed to the wheelchair. The only vocabulary he had left was loud, frustrated profanity unless he chose to parrot short sentences he heard from the aides such as “It’s time to eat.”, or “It’s bedtime.”.

There came a time when the farmer quit repeating what he heard. His face became expressionless, and his eyes stared vacantly. I was sure that most of the windows in his brain had shut, became locked, and would never reopen again. I was wrong!

Since the farmer was in his room most of the day, I had taken to sitting him in the living room with the other residents after the evening meal. I hoped people talking, and Vanna White flashing across the television screen would stimulate his mind. As time went by, I gave up hope that what I was doing would trigger anything in the farmer that I would see outwardly, but I consoled myself with the idea that I didn’t know what was happening inside those dark rooms in his brain. You know how the window frames in an old house doesn’t fit quite tight, and a small amount of air seeps between the sills and the frames? I thought maybe that might be how the windows in the farmer’s mind were working so I felt I shouldn’t give up trying to stimulate him even if I couldn’t see I was helping him.

One evening at bedtime, I pushed the farmer’s wheelchair across the living room. As we neared a visitor, sitting by his wife, the visitor reached out his hand and patted the farmer’s knee.

“Hello,” the visitor greeted.

“Hello,” the farmer returned in his booming voice, and he called the man by name. The blank expression on the farmer’s face changed to one of joy at seeing an old friend.

“He knows you!” I exclaimed in surprise as I realized the farmer recognized the visitor, and he actually spoke without repeating another person’s sentence. The farmer’s eyes remained focused on the visitor.

“He should,” the visitor replied. “We’ve been friends for years, and we were both on the board of a business in town for a long time, weren’t we?”

“Yes,” the farmer answered with gusto.

I could see a calm look of contentment on his face as the memory room’s window crept open to let out the memories I had been so sure were trapped forever in darkness.

“We went to a lot of those board meetings together,” the visitor continued. He patted the farmer’s knee again as he said, “This is the man who made a lot of the important decision at the meetings, didn’t you?”

Tears welled up in the farmer’s eyes as he struggled to grasp memories long forgotten. I hated to see him so sad, and I didn’t want this to be an uncomfortable situation for him or the visitor so I tried to add a little humor to the conversation.

“Oh, sure! Were those important decisions what time to go get the beer after the meetings were over?”

Both men laughed at my teasing as the farmer slowly boomed out, “Yes!”

Then I explained to the visitor that it was the farmer’s bedtime so he had to leave. By the time I had wheeled the farmer the short distance down the hall into his room and closed the door, his face was expressionless again. His eyes stared vacantly, focused on the drapes behind his bed which were closed across the window just like the pair that darkened the window that had shut again in his mind.

For all my trying, I hadn’t been the one to open a window for the farmer, but that’s all right because I was there to see it happen, and that was enough incentive to make me keep trying.

One inspiring source to read for caregivers is Jolene Brackey’s book titled Creating Moments Of Joy. Her website is another place to check out for helpful information which is http://www.enhancedmoments.com. She always has helpful articles designed to make pleasant days for people with Alzheimer’s. I was thrilled when Jolene used my Open A Window story in the third edition of her Creating Moments Of Joy. She even autographed her book for me. That for me was a moment of joy I hope I never forget.

When one door closes, another opens — Alexander Graham Bell

How do I know this book works. The examples I’ve provided for helping someone with dementia are ones I used many times.

I was a CNA for over fifteen years at the Keystone Nursing Care Center and facilitated an Alzheimer’s support group. I helped my mother take care of my father. He suffered for ten years with Alzheimer’s disease, and we took care of him at home except for the last month of his life. I wrote a book about my family’s experiences during that ten years if you want to read Hello Alzheimer’s Good Bye Dad – A Daughter’s Journal. Both books can be found on Amazon and Barnes and Noble in paper back and ebooks and on https://www.smashwords.com/

I’ve been be recognized over the years for my efforts to help people with Alzheimer’s disease. I was awarded the 2004 Nurse Aide award from the Iowa Health Care Association and the 2006 Professional Caregiver Award from the North Central Iowa Alzheimer’s Association. I’ve was a volunteer speaker for the Alzheimer’s Association for many years.

Moser Mansion Ghosts Book 5 in Amazing Gracie Mystery Series Lg Print

Just in time for Halloween, my Amazing Gracie Mystery book 5 is in Large Print. It will be on the market in three days in Amazon and Barnes and Noble paperback and kindle and nook as well as on Smashwords.com



Synopsis for back of book.

Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women in Locked Rock, Iowa has become a spooky place. One of the residents, Libby Hook, sees ghosts in the middle of the night, roaming around the house with her after the Mansion’s Halloween party. She has everyone living in the mansion awake and on edge with her screaming. Always practical, Gracie Evans is sure the hauntings is a plot of a crooked contractor who wants to buy the mansion and turn it into a hotel. He would like to see the residents move out so

Miss Molly has a reason to sell the mansion and make all of them homeless. Seems the only one who really has the answers to what’s going on is Moxie’s pet, talking parrot Turkeyneck. He lives in the library where he hears all. Will he tell? Not as long as he’s mad at Gracie for not liking him. He calls her a dog, because she barks. So are all the residents getting senile or are the residents surrounded by The Moser Mansion Ghosts?

Chapter One

Gracie Evans woke up that October morning in 1904 with a down right awful feeling of despair coursing through her veins. She often had premonitions of some eminent disaster about to happen, but not to the degree she just woke up with. The imaginary, black thunder cloud hanging over her head didn’t leave as quickly as it usually arrived, either. That made her mood as dark as that invisible life’s storm she felt coming toward her. She braided her thin, dark gray hair and crowned her head with the braids. This premonition gave her the impression she should grab hold and hang on for dear life to a solid object. A heck of an ill wind was about to blow over Locked Rock, Iowa’s Rest Home For Women. Her premonitions were never wrong.

After breakfast, Gracie, still in a bad mood, limped down the Moser mansion entry hall, grumbling to herself. If that hall got any longer, she would have to forget about walking any farther than the parlor because of her bum knee. Although now that fall had arrived, it wouldn’t be long before she would be stuck indoors anyway, sitting as close to the parlor fireplace as she could get. So what would it matter how long the entry hall was then?

The outside temperature was still tolerable for a little while if a body dressed warm enough. She had on a long sleeve, tan blouse and brown skirt with a heavy, cotton slip under it. With the tops rolled over garters just above her knees, her thick, tan stockings kept her legs warm. She hoped her dark brown shawl warded off the chill that would try to creep into her shoulders. Her nine patch, lap quilt was already on the porch, folded and ready for her in her rocker. Given that she felt prepared for the cool of autumn, Gracie was determined to rock away the morning in the frosty air.

Actually, she felt she had no choice. She best keep out of everyone’s way for her own sake. At breakfast, Pearlbee, the grumpy cook, batted the air with her cane in a threatening manner as often as she used it to walk around with. Gracie couldn’t figure out what had gotten into that cranky, old woman. She didn’t bother to ask. She wasn’t dumb enough to aggravate Pearlbee into a greater frenzy than she already was. The rambunctious youngun Orie and Molly Lang adopted, Shana Shanasey, got on Gracie’s nerves more all the time since the child had warmed up to the place. She raced around the house non stop, giving Gracie the feeling at any time the little girl would run over her if she wasn’t fast enough to dodge out of the way. That was a real worry, because the older Gracie became the slower her pace. She figured one of these days, she wouldn’t be quick enough to avoid colliding with that child. When Shana did stand still for a brief moment, the youngun asked more questions than any other human being Gracie ever knew.

One of the residents, Libby Hook, always irritating and uppity in Gracie’s book, had been acting more unusual of late. Her actions were even stranger then the time she was scared by a former neighbor, Mavis Jordan. Mavis stalked the residents of Moser mansion, Gracie, Melinda and Libby, because they knew she killed Rachel Simpson, the prostitute, who lived across the street. After all that, Libby’s actions being stranger now was saying some in Gracie estimation. If she noticed something wrong with Libby surely Melinda Applegate, another resident and Gracie’s friend, had seen Libby acting peculiar. As soon as she had a chance, Gracie intended to bring the subject of Libby up to Melinda.

The front porch, where Gracie headed, was as far away as she could get in the over populated mansion. She hadn’t seen Melinda since breakfast. More than likely she had the same notion and beat Gracie to the Amish, handcrafted, porch rockers. As different as the two of them were, Gracie figured Melinda and her thought were alike more times than not. How they handled a problem was as different as night and day, but since they became friends, Gracie usually talked Melinda into seeing the solution her way.

A wild, piercing squawk echoed down the quiet hall. Gracie jumped. Flattening her hand over her fast beating heart, she froze in her tracks and stared at the naked man, plant statue. The noise sounded like it came from that ugly statue. Glaring at the pint sized pygmy, she silently vowed she had never liked that nasty, little African man, and she never would. Every time she walked by him, he leered obscenely at her through the large Boston fern’s fronds that dangled down around his face.

Another sharp squawk rent the air. Now Gracie’s hearing was more tuned in. That didn’t come from the naked man statue. She edged toward the library door. Repeated session of loud hisses reminded her of an startled snake. The sounds ushered her back to an autumn on the farm. One cool evening, a king snake, looking for a warm place, slithered under the screen door at her farm house. The varmint wound up under the kitchen table. Didn’t take her long to back out the door and run for her garden hoe. She make short work of that snake. Up until now she hadn’t seen many snakes around the mansion. Except for those grass snakes that lived in the back yard like the one who managed to get stuck in Mavis Jordan’s shoe at the garden party that time. That one ended up dead for his trouble. Certainly a snake had never made it under the mansion’s tight doors. Gracie peeked cautiously around the library door frame, surveying the hardwood floor. She didn’t see a snake.

At the next long hiss and shrill squawk, Gracie focused her attention over in the corner by the wall of book shelves. Irish lass, Moxie McEntire, the Langs permanent house guest, had a finger placed to her lips. She leaned her short frame over a large, wicker birdcage on stilted legs. Her bushy, red hair hid her face as she hissed another drawn out shush. Inside the cage, a cobalt blue parrot flapped his wings in a speedy fashion, hurling himself from one side of the cage to the other. Obviously, he wanted to escape before Moxie struck at him like he expected any food hunting snake from his native country would do.

Gracie slipped across the room to stand behind Moxie. In her brassy voice, she snapped, “What’s going on in here?”

Moxie straightened fast and whirled around to face Gracie. “Saint preserve us, what are ye doin’ scaring me out of a week’s worth of growth like that by sneakin’ up on me?”

“You would have heard me come in if you hadn’t been hissing like a locomotive letting off steam at that – that…,” Gracie hesitated to inspect the parrot.

“Sure and it tis a parrot, Miss Gracie.” Moxie’s Irish, blue eyes took on excited brightness.

“I know that,” scoffed Gracie, glaring into the cage. “I also see plain as day, you’re scaring the noisy thing.”

“I was just trying to quiet him down. He’s a wee bit nervous from the move to a strange place,” Moxie defended.

Eying the two women distrustfully from the far side of his perch, the parrot shook himself. He puffed his feathers up to twice his size. Giving one last shutter, he settled down his fluffed up feathers. Now that Moxie quit hissing at him, the parrot calmed down. Picking up his foot, the bird busied himself, scratching the side of his bright, yellow beak.

“What’s it doing in here?” Gracie demanded. Pointing at the cage, she gave Moxie her full attention.

“Tis me new pet. Jeffrey, me love, heard the poor thing was goin’ to be put to death.” At the mention of Jeffrey, Moxie’s face took on a dreamy look.

“I might have known that man would have been involved in this scheme somehow,” Gracie sighed. “No offense since he’s Melinda’s nephew, but he don’t have a lick of sense.”

‘Now hear me out, Miss Gracie. The man who owned this lovely bird died. No one else wanted him. He would have been killed if I hadn’t said yes. Isn’t he the prettiest bird ye ever saw? Smart besides,” Moxie boasted, trying to win Gracie over to her way of thinking.

As if on cue, the parrot screamed at Gracie, “Awk! I’m Turkeyneck. Who are you?”

Startled, Gracie flinched.

“See isn’t that smart of him?” Moxie bragged proudly. “Tell him your name, Miss Gracie.”

“I’m not talking to that critter like he’s human. For one thing, I rarely speak to strangers. I don’t know this bird well enough to talk to him. For another, I have no intention of getting acquainted with him. Besides you’re wrong. That bird don’t seem one bit smart to me. He just said he thinks he’s a turkey,” barked Gracie, eying the bird disdainfully.

“Oh no! Sure and he doesn’t. Turkeyneck really is his name,” Moxie defended, blinking her eyes lids furiously.

Gracie’s head jerked back. “Why?”

Moxie shrugged her shoulders. “Sure and I don’t have the slightest notion. That’s what his owner named him.”

Gracie stepped up beside Moxie and gave the bird a good once over. The parrot craned his neck as far up as he could and tilted his head, inspecting the elderly woman right back. She twisted her head to the side just like the parrot and speculated, “Might be cause his neck is twice as long when he stretches.” Pointing an arthritic finger at the cage again, she got her thoughts back on track. She centered her attention on Moxie. “Does Miss Molly know this thing is in the library?”

“No, but me thinks she won’t mind,” Moxie said casually.

“I see, but you don’t know that for sure,” persisted Grace.

Moxie clasped her fingers and laid her hands on her waist. She said calmly, “Not yet. I just got him. I’ll tell Molly soon as I see her.”

Gracie narrowed her eyes and warned, “Best yet, does Libby know this bird’s in the library? You know how snippy Libby is about being around any kind of critter. I’ll bet she’s going to have a hissy fit.”

“Oh, maybe not.” Moxie tried to sound sure of herself, but her forehead suddenly furrowed in worry wrinkles at the thought.

Sidestepping across the wooden perch to get closer to the women, the parrot flapped his wings and let out a squawk as loud as he could.

“What on earth is that poultry doing in here?” snapped Libby, peevishly from the doorway. She had her hands clamped over her ears.

“The bird ain’t poultry.” said Gracie in disdain.

“Top of the morning to ye, Miss Libby. Come see me new pet.” Moxie motioned to her to come over.

“No thank you,” Libby said, staying in the doorway.

“Awk! Awk! I’m Turkeyneck. How do Snippy Libby.” Then the parrot ducked his head low and squalled, “Look out for Snippy Libby. She’s has hissy fits.”

Moxie’s complexion reddened to match her flighty hair. She looked helplessly from the parrot to Gracie. When she saw Libby’s face contort, Moxie looked at her with a mortified expression. In the doorway, the woman’s long, thin face twisted and flushed with anger. Putting a hand over her mouth, Gracie turned her back to Libby, trying her best to contain the laughter welling up inside her. To begin with, Libby had abhorrence of the parrot written all over her face. That bird sure didn’t help his cause when he tried name calling on Libby. Now she was down right mad.

Insulted at being spoken to like that, Libby grew huffy. “Well, I never.” It crossed through Gracie’s mind Libby puffed up just like the parrot. The insulted woman accused Moxie in a caustic tone, “Why would you teach that creature to say such a thing about me?”

Wringing her hands, Moxie crossed the room to stand by Libby. “Horse feathers, Miss Libby, I didn’t teach him anything. I don’t know what has possessed me parrot. I am so sorry,” She apologized.

Libby screeched, “That talking chicken is the devil in disguise. Get it out of this house before it insults me again.”

“The bird isn’t a chicken,” explained Moxie quietly.

“Well, I know a turkey when I see one. She’s certainly not a turkey. You’re not going to convince me she is,” Libby’s voice kept rising up as she spoke. Her breath came short and fast.

“Awk. Look out! Libby’s having a hissy fit,” the parrot declared.

“If you don’t get rid of her, I shall never use the library again,” huffed Libby, her head high in the air. She moved her hands in a rolling grip. “Miss Moxie, I shall never speak to you again if that bird stays here. On top of that, I shall tell Miss Molly about this awful chicken.” Her nose aimed at the ceiling when she backed away from the door.

“Well, maybe that bird’s good for amusing us after all. Look on the bright side. Libby not talking to you might be a good thing.” Gracie whispered to Moxie behind her hand.

Distraught, Moxie peeked out the door after Libby to make sure she was out of earshot. She came back to the cage and spoke softly to keep Libby from hearing. “Sure and that’s not funny. This predicament all be your fault. Me parrot picks up words real easy. I told ye he’s a smart one, he tis. All he had to do was hear ye call Miss Libby —-.” The parrot cocked his head to one side. His beady, black eyes, set in circles of white feathers, eyed Moxie. He listened to her every word. “Sure and ye know. Now he thinks that tis Miss Libby’s name. I told ye he’s a smart one. Ye have to be more careful what ye say.”

“Tell you right now, I’m not waiting to hear the next words out of that bird’s mouth. He’s nothing but pure trouble.” Gracie snatched the Locked Rock Weekly Newspaper off the writing table. “I’m going out on the porch where it’s quiet. You best be talking to Miss Molly right quick before Libby gets to her. You shouldn’t disrupt the household any more than you already have. Miss Molly sure don’t need any excitement or worries these days feeling like she does.”

Enjoy this light hearted ghost story,

Fay Risner

Back To School Time

I don’t mean children. I’m going back to school. This spring I took an eight week beginner’s writing course for fun at an online college called Future Learn. My younger brother alerted me to the course and said he had signed up for it. The course is free. What costs is the diploma when the course is over if I’d wanted it. I didn’t. It was enough to be able to say I took the course and challenged myself. After having written 48 books, some of which are in foreign languages and large print, I really don’t think I’m a beginner anymore. I did enjoy the classes and the interaction of the other students from other countries. Where I could I added excerpts from some of my books as examples of the way I write. We students had to critique each other’s works. I was very surprised at the response my writing a portion from of one of my Amazing Gracie Mystery books got from others. Actually, they had insight about my background just from reading my writing.

The questions and answers are as followed.

Which method of character creation was being used?

The description seems to be autobiographical or biographical, perhaps either from the writer’s own experience with older family members, or from observation of people around her or characters she’s read about.

Were you able to see the character clearly? Did you want to know more about the character?

The character of Gracie is vividly built up from the first sentence, when we suspect, from the two rocking chairs, that she is an old lady who doesn’t live alone. The details which follow then allow us to imagine her as she dozes and drifts between the present and the past, between reality and her memories. I wanted to know what her story was – what her life was like before she went to live in the retirement home, and of course the tantalizing final sentence holds lots of possibilities!

What approaches to portrayal, such as depicting appearance, occupation, voice, and so forth, did the writer successfully use?

Gracie’s character is developed through small details which give a lot of information. I loved the way the narrative of the rocking, the heat and Gracie’s thoughts lull the reader into a similar state, even though she tries to wake herself out of her stupor. The end is particularly effective at creating that contradiction which adds an unexpected dimension to the character and to the rest of the story.

I was surprised and please that both ladies assumed that I had taken care of or observed family members or older people. They are very right. I was a CNA for many years in a nursing home, taking care of residents and took care of my parents in their home until they died.

Book one in Amazing Gracie Mystery series titled Neighbor Watchers. Found at Amazon, B & N and Smashwords.

In fact the characters in the Amazing Gracie Mystery series were real people in the nursing home that I enjoyed being with. I used their characteristics to embellish my Gracie Evans, Melinda Applegate, Libby Hook and even the neighbors across the street, the Bullocks. They were patterned after my parents. I responded with this information so the students could see how right they were.

Now I’m getting ready to do a two weeks course on How to Read a Character’s mind. From my writing, the critiquers could tell as much about me as they could my characters. So let’s see if I can do as well starting Monday October 3rd.

The two series I write Nurse Hal Among The Amish and Amazing Gracie Mysteries are continuations of life for the same characters with a few new ones added in. These characters are so familiar to me I know what each will say at any given moment and how they will react. I didn’t think about that as being able to read my characters minds, but it is. Now let’s see if I can do as well at reading others works. Wish me luck. I’ll let you know how I came out.

The following email letter is from the instructor of the course if anyone else wants to join tomorrow.

Hello Fay,

Our short course How to Read a Mind: an Introduction to Understanding Literary Characters begins in a few weeks’ time. I’m looking forward to welcoming you on Monday 3 October.

As you know, the course will take place online and will run for two weeks. There are short units of explanation, consisting of text, images, and several short video sequences. Each unit ends by inviting you to share your own thinking and experience with other learners.

We expect this course will take you about three hours each week. However, we have also included further reading and suggestions that you can follow if you are particularly interested in certain ideas. The level of engagement is entirely up to you.

The area of study that we will be following is quite new, and many of even the key ideas are not yet fully settled. It is an exciting time to be involved, and – as you will see – the journey from new student to advanced study is really very short. Over two weeks, you will become fairly expert in cognitive poetics. You will understand in quite a profound way what it is to read and model the minds of other people, both real and fictional. You don’t need any preparation other than your curiosity and your own experience of reading literary fiction or viewing film and television drama.

How to Read a Mind is proving to be very popular, and we already have many thousands of people from all over the world ready to study with us.

There is still time to invite friends and colleagues to enrol on the course and take part alongside you. The course page where they can enrol can be found at https://www.futurelearn.com/courses/how-to-read-a-mind

Feel free to pass this on through your own emails, tweets, Facebook pages, and so on: you can use the tag #FLread if you like. Or link to my Twitter account: @PeterJStockwell

I will contact you again a week or so before the course begins, and of course I’ll also send a welcome note as soon as we have got started.

If you have any queries or feedback, I won’t personally be able to respond to them, but please take a look at FutureLearn’s extensive FAQs: https://about.futurelearn.com/faq/

I’m looking forward to it!

With all best wishes,

Peter Stockwell

Prof Peter Stockwell

University of Nottingham

Amish book Doubting Thomas In Large Print

I’m excited to be able to blog about my latest Amish book in Large Print. Doubting Thomas-Nurse Hal Among The Amish series-Book 7 will be available online from Amazon and Barnes and Noble in …

Source: Amish book Doubting Thomas In Large Print

Amish book Doubting Thomas In Large Print

I’m excited to be able to blog about my latest Amish book in Large Print. Doubting Thomas-Nurse Hal Among The Amish series-Book 7 will be available online from Amazon and Barnes and Noble in a few days.

Enjoy reading the book in a font that reader friendly.

Author Fay Risner

Book Synopsis

Emma Lapp is marrying Adam Keim. Excitement prevails as Emma and her step-mother, Hallie, discuss details for the wedding. Soon Emma’s excitement turns to dread. Nothing is going right. She planned on the former teacher to substitute teach for a month. She didn’t plan on Ellen Miller being eight months pregnant with twins. Who else could Emma trust to teach her students? The Weber sisters are in a family upheaval over their cooking and garden methods. She wants them to bake her wedding cake. What if they get so upset with each other the cake doesn’t get made? Emma would like to discuss her worries with Adam, but he hasn’t been to see her for days. She is consumed by worries about the missing husband-to-be. What if he wants to back out of marrying her? She asks everyone what is Adam doing? The answer is always he is very busy. When Emma found out Adam hired pretty, man magnet, Priscilla Tefertiller to clerk in his furniture store, she suspects Adam has developed a fondness for Priscilla. Is he going to wait until the last minute to tell Emma he changed his mind about marrying her? A talk with Bishop Bontrager didn’t help. He sided with Adam, telling Emma she should trust the man she’s going to marry with blind faith. She said she couldn’t do that. The bishop told Emma if she couldn’t trust Adam now, she might never trust him. Perhaps, they shouldn’t get married. The bishop called Emma a Doubting Thomas. Will her worries get so bad she’ll call off the wedding before the wedding is published at the next worship service? If she does, she fears she will forever be a maidel who is know by others as the Doubting Thomas.

Doubting Thomas – Nurse Hal Among The Amish-Book 7- Large Print

Chapter 1

That Sunday morning’s worship service was at Elmo Zook’s house. Bishop Elton Bontrager read resolution seven of The Dordrecht Confession of Faith to Emma Lapp and twelve others joining the church. “Concerning holy baptism, we confess that penitent believers, who, through faith, regeneration, and the renewing of the Holy Ghost, are made one with God, and are written in heaven, must, upon such Scriptural confession of faith, and renewing of life, be baptized with water. In the most worthy name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, according to the command of Christ, and the teaching, example, and practice of the apostles, to the burying of their sins. Thus be incorporated into the communion of the saints; henceforth to learn to observe all things which the Son of God has taught, left, and commanded His disciples.”

Emma sighed, thinking about how happy she felt now. She’d finally committed herself to be a member of the Amish faith for the rest of her life. This June day was a momentous one for her. She’d made it through her conversion ceremony. Now another big life changing moment was coming, her wedding. Adam Keim and she could make plans now that she was truly Amish forever.

The day’s heated breeze hadn’t cooled off much after dark. Emma leaned against the buggy seat and pushed a few sweaty, light brown curls back under her prayer cap. Before her glowed the buggy headlights, Behind her, red lights reflected on the road from the tail lights. She fanned her face with her hand as she tried to relax. Sophie’s soft hoof beats and the crunch of rock under the wheels filled the moonlit silence.

She was dying to discuss their wedding with Adam, but she hadn’t worked up the nerve yet. This change in her life would be as serious as joining the church. She’d move from her family home with a familiar routine. Until she got used to her new life living with Adam was the unknown. She’d dreamed of making a home with this man for several years, but now that the time was closing in on her, she was uneasy.

Her gray-green eyes warmed as she studied her husband-to-be. He was only an inch or two taller than her, strong as an ox, with a round, pleasant face, a stocky body and work worn hands. An industrious man, Adam had his own carpentry business complete with a shop. He made a good enough income to support a family.

She considered it a blessing that her father, John Lapp, and Adam were very much alike. Nothing ruffled either man for long since they were filled with a God given calmness she’d never have.

Emma admired Adam’s steely resolve when he quietly took what life threw at him and found his way through the problems. Perhaps, that purpose filled demeanor came from the fact he was born with what was considered a big set back for most people. Adam couldn’t talk.

Emma hadn’t seen his speechlessness as a problem between them while she was growing up around him. He communicated volumes with a look or hand gesture. If that didn’t work, he always had a writing pad and pen in his shirt pocket.

She smiled and put her hand on Adam’s arm. “Did you hear how off key Freda Manwiller was tonight at the singing?”

Emma was glad for the full moon. The glow helped her see Adam’s responses. He shook his head no.

Emma giggled. “Take it from me. Freda could not carry a tune in an empty milk pail. Gute thing the rest of us sang loud enough to cover her voice.”

Adam focused on her with narrowed eyes.

Emma sobered up quickly. “What is it?” They had been together so long she usually read what was on his mind. “Ach, you are thinking I am making fun of Freda.”

Adam gave a slight nod.

Emma turned serious. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be hurtful. If you do not want me to, I will not bring Freda’s singing up again.”

Adam’s brown eyes held a flicker of amusement before he nodded yes.

Emma took a deep breath and folded her hands together. She might as well take the plunge. No better time than this while they were alone to get the subject she really needed to discuss out in the open. “Gute! We do have more important things to discuss than the singing. Since I am a member of the church now, we can plan our wedding if you are ready.”

Adam gave her a loving glance and an emphatic yes shake of his head.

What a relief this was. Adam made talking about the wedding easier for Emma. She laughed as she slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Gute! I am glad I finally picked a conversation you liked.”

Adam pulled back on the lines to slow Sophie and turned off on Bender Creek Road. He stopped around the bend in the dirt road and flipped off the headlights. With his attention on Emma, he waited.

“Well, I have given this much thought already. The first thing is tell our families we are ready to marry. My parents need to be told so they can start planning the wedding for September.”

Adam stared straight ahead, bunching and unbunching the lines in his hands.

“Why are you suddenly so nervous already? Will that be too soon to marry? It is only a little over three months away. Is setting the wedding in September too soon for you?”

This time Adam didn’t look at her when he nodded no.

“All recht. Is it that you are scared of the details that have to be worked out?”

Adam smiled at her weakly as he held out his hand with an exaggerated tremor.

“And do you think I am not nervous? This is a big step we are taking, but we have been ready for a long time. Talking to our families will be easy. They are eager for us to announce our marriage,” Emma said.

Adam nodded in agreement.

“Gute! We can talk to my parents tonight when we get to my house,” Emma suggested.

Adam’s face scrunched up like a dried prune.

“There you go again, looking like you are in pain. Relax. This will be the easiest part of the next few months,” Emma warned.

Adam wavered his hand as a question.

“You know it will be.”

Adam pulled the pad and pen out of his shirt pocket. He held them close to him so he could see in the dark as he wrote, “We do not have to say anything tonight. I will get Deacon Yutzy to be my Schteckliman. He can go talk to your parents.”

“Nah, alls you are doing is getting out of facing my daed and Hallie. We are not a shy young couple. You do not need a go-between for this like most couples use.

Maybe we could marry on September fifteenth. That is my twentieth birthday. Hallie and I should have the details done by then. But we should wait until you and I talk to Daed and Hallie. If that date does not work for them, any day close to it will be all recht. Ain’t so?”

Adam nodded, giving her a wide smile.

Emma scooted close and wrapped her arm around his. “I know. The sooner the better as long as you do not have to do the planning. That way you might just barely manage to make it through the next few months and through the wedding ceremony.”

He nodded emphatically, hugged Emma and turned on the buggy lights. Emma laid her head on his shoulder. Sophie poked along the back road beside Bender Creek to the intersection with the main road.

As Adam turned Sophie into the Lapp driveway, Emma teased, “Gute thing you decided the sooner we get the talk to my parents over with the better for our nerves. We will be standing before my parents in two minutes.”

Adam’s shoulders sagged as he turned a dispirited, puppy face on Emma. After he climbed out of the buggy, he stared toward the house and gave a deep, silent sigh. Giggling as nervously as a school girl, Emma grabbed Adam’s hand and pulled him toward the house. “You will live through this moment. I promise.”

The Lapp farm was dark and sleepy. Milk cows were silhouetted mounds bedded down in the pen by the milk room. The horses, black blobs, slept on their feet. The only bright spot was the living room window’s warm, welcoming glow.

Emma opened the screen door, stepped in and glanced around the quiet room. Daed sat in his rocker, reading his bible. It occurred to Emma that her father’s dark hair had a few streaks of gray in it these days. Hallie’s head was bent over her sewing. Her red hair showed through the black prayer cap she wore, making for a bright combination. Hallie was putting a patch on a trouser knee for sixteen years old Daniel. That was a never ending job. No sight of her brothers, but they couldn’t be too far behind. Her little sisters, Redbird and Beth, must be in bed. This was a good time to talk to her parents while they were by themselves.

“You’re back already. My, the night has passed fast. Where are Noah and Daniel?” Hal laid the trousers in the wicker basket on top the other clothes to be mended.

“Close behind us, ain’t so?” Emma glanced over her shoulder at Adam.

He nodded an agreement.

“You have a gute evening?” Hal stuck her needle in the black thread spool and nestled the spool beside the scissors in the basket.

“We did,” Emma said, clasping her hands in front of her.

Hal patted the couch beside her. “For goodness sakes, don’t just stand there. Come over here and sit by me. I want to hear how the singing went tonight. Many kids there?”

They sat down, but Emma didn’t answer. She was too busy biting her lower lip as she looked at Adam.

Hal leaned forward and smiled at Adam. He gave her a trembling, return smile. Something definitely was amiss. Hal could sense it. She studied Emma’s usually tan face. Her complexion paled enough that the freckles popped out around her nose. Adam held his midsection tightly like he had a queasy stomach.

Hal gave John a concerned look. He frowned as he nodded in agreement. He felt it, too. Hal twisted toward the quiet couple. “You are worrying me. Something must be wrong. Was ist letz?”

Emma licked her lips and turned to Adam for support. “Nothing is wrong. We had a talk on the way home, Adam and me.”

Adam put his finger to her lips to stop her. He took the notepad and pen out of his pocket. They waited while he wrote on it. Adam turned the pad to Emma and raised an eyebrow for approval. Then he pointed at John.

Emma smiled sheepishly as she nodded agreement.

Adam got up from the couch, tore off the paper and handed it to John. After reading the note, John gave Adam a wide grin. “Jah, Adam.”

Now that the moment was over, a huge weight lifted off his sagging shoulders. Adam stood taller and straighter.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Hal barked, looking from the men to Emma and back.

“Daed, read Hallie Adam’s note,” Emma instructed.

“John Lapp, I, Adam Keim, want to ask you for permission to marry your daughter, Emma Lapp.” He smiled at Emma. “You have Hal and my permission to marry. We very much want this man as our son-in-law.” John held out his hand to shake hands with Adam.

Hal brought her hands up to the sides of her face. “Oh my! Emma, it seemed to me this day was slow in coming. And again, I figured it would be soon after you joined the church. Not the very day though. That I didn’t see coming.” Hal laughed as she hugged Emma. She went to Adam and give him a sturdy hug.

When she stepped back, she looked at him earnestly. “You’re like a member of this family already. It will be great to finally make you officially part of the Lapp family, sealed with a wedding.”

Adam gave a silent laugh and wrote, “You do understand I am not becoming a Lapp. Emma is becoming a Keim.”

Hal laughed as she read the note to John. With a teasing warning in her voice, she said, “Silly, I know that, but you once said we hadn’t adopted you. Seems to me, marrying into this family is just as gute. Take my word for it, we will have plans for you, Adam Keim.”

Adam gave Emma a nonplussed glance.

“Ach, Adam, Hallie is teasing, ain’t so, Hallie?” Emma asked tentatively.

Hal clasped her hands together and winked at Adam. “Well, maybe to start with. Adam is safe for now, because we’ll be busy with far too many plans for this wedding. Have you picked a date yet?”

Emma said, “September fifteenth is my twentieth birthday. I wondered if we could get married on that day, but if that is not possible, we can pick another date that works for you.”

“John, what do you think?” Hal asked.

“What Emma and Adam wants is all recht with me,” John said agreeably.

“Gute, then the date is agreed on if it works for the bishop. You should talk to him soon so another couple doesn’t get that date.” Hal went silent and stared off into space.

Emma imagined wheels turning in her stepmother’s mind, like those in the alarm clock. “Hallie, what are you thinking?”

“I’m counting up the days in my head. This is the first of June. Lots of details to work out by mid September. Oh dear, I hope I’m up to this task.”

“I will help you, Hallie. We will do this together,” Emma encouraged.

“We need to make a list so we can mark the details off as we finish them,” Hal said, starting for the kitchen. “I’ll get a pad and pen.”

Emma grabbed her arm. “We will do that but not until tomorrow. It is too late tonight to think about wedding details. We need to be rested so we have clear heads.”

Hal’s parents, Jim and Nora Lindstrom, received a letter a few days later about Emma and Adam’s fall wedding. They were eager to drive from Titonka to the Lapp farm as soon as possible.

Nora asked her sister, Tootie, if she wanted to go with them again. Tootie hesitated while she gave traveling south into Amish country some thought. She had sad memories from the last time she visited the Lapps.

For some reason, these days she didn’t always have a lot of energy. She knew the stay at the Lapp farm would be a long one. All summer from the sounds of things, and that would be tiring. Then again, she liked Emma and Adam an awful lot. She felt as if she should be at their wedding, and she’d like to be there. So in the end, Tootie talked herself into going with Jim and Nora.

As soon as they finished packing, Jim headed Nora and Tootie to the car, and they were on the road. They stopped for lunch at a roadside diner. Jim stopped twice to gas the car at Casey Stores where they could use the restroom and get a bottle of pop. By late afternoon, they were near Wickenburg.

“Tootie, you’ve been quiet for miles. Are you asleep back there?” Nora Lindstrom twisted in the seat to look over her shoulder at her sister.

Tootie’s curly, short hair had less gray in it than her straight, feathered cut. Nora suspected Tootie colored her hair, but Tootie wouldn’t tell. Most people commented they looked a lot alike, but Nora couldn’t see it. Tootie was shorter than her by a head.

“I’m not asleep. Just don’t have a reason to talk. Haven’t seen anything interesting out my window to mention that I didn’t see when we made the trip the last time,” groused Tootie. “How much longer until we get to the Lapp Farm?”

“Maybe an hour,” Jim Lindstrom said, pressing his aching, broad shoulders against the seat and massaging the back of his neck just below his white hair with his left hand.

“Tootie, you better relax while you can. Hallie’s letter says she’s going to need a lot of help, preparing for Emma’s wedding. She intends to put us to work as soon as we get there,” Nora forewarned.

“You said you’d read her letter to me. You never did,” Tootie said in a pouting tone.

“Sorry, I forgot. I brought the letter with me.” Nora rifled through her purse. “Ah, here it is.” She unfolded the letter and underscored each line with a fingertip as she read out loud.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Greeting to you on this lovely summer day.

We want to share our wonderful news from the Lapp farm. Emma and Adam are getting married. You know how delighted we are. Finally, this young man is going to be part of our family. Of course, he has seemed like family for a long time already. That’s the good news.

Not so good news is, Emma and I have so much to do to prepare for the wedding we don’t know where to start. I can’t remember when I’ve been so nervous about the success of any one event. I’m afraid we’re going to need lots of help if you two are willing to come lend a hand. We will be expecting two hundred plus guests.

If the wedding preparations weren’t enough to keep me busy, taking care of Redbird and Beth is a challenge. They’re quite a pair of mischievous, energetic three year olds but better than when they were in their terrible twos.

What a difference six months makes. One afternoon, Emma set the egg basket too close to the edge of the table and went back outside to water the chickens. She was gone longer than she meant to be. She had to break up a squabble between Tom Turkey and the dog. They were both after the same cold biscuit.

While we weren’t looking, the girls pulled the basket off the table onto the floor. What eggs didn’t break, I’m sure the girls helped crack by playing ball with them.

It took Emma and me both to clean up the mess and the girls. By the time I bathed the girls, Emma had the kitchen floor spotless again. You know how particular Emma is about her clean floors. It took her a little while to get her sense of humor back about the mess and the loss of all those good eggs. We’re very glad to see Redbird and Beth are passed that stage.

John plans to butcher the fattened hog just before the wedding day. Pulled pork sandwiches are on the menu for the wedding lunch. That’s a big project and mean hours of cooking pork. Emma will pick women in the community to help cook the other food, including fried chicken. I understand that’s the way it works. We will be glad for all their help.

Now that I’ve shared our news, I must get busy. We want you to be here for the wedding and please pass our invitation on to Aunt Tootie. We want her to share this special day with us, the Lord willing and if she is up to it.

Keep Emma and me in your prayers that all goes well as we plan this wonderful event. Emma and I agree there isn’t a need for us or you to worry about praying for John and Adam. As with most men, Emma says the men are mistakenly going on the premise what will be will be. That means they assume Emma and I will handle everything important so that lets them off the hook. Ha!

With All Our Love and Christ’s Blessing On Both Of You,

Hallie and the Lapp family

Nora grinned at Jim. “Isn’t that a funny story about Redbird and Beth getting into the eggs?”

Jim chuckled. “Sounds like the little girls are starting out just like Hallie did at that age. Remember what a handful she was?”

“Indeed I do, and I’ll remind her when I get a chance. Help me think of some of the mischievous things she did. I’m sure I won’t remember them all,” Nora said.

Tootie huffed. “Are we going to hear a bunch more of these cute baby stories while we’re at the farm?”

“Ah, Tootie! Don’t you like cute baby stories?” Nora asked.

“Well, maybe one now and then is okay, but too many of them aren’t cute anymore. After awhile, they’re just plain tiresome,” Tootie complained.

“You shouldn’t be that way. Those girls are your great nieces,” scolded Nora.

“All I’m saying is cute baby stories should be short and told very infrequently as far as I’m concerned,” Tootie declared.

“Don’t worry about it. Hal will be too busy to tell many stories. She’s going to be planning the wedding,” Jim said.

“That’s very true. That’s why I want to get to the farm as quickly as we can so we can help,” Nora said.

“If John figures on butchering a hog for the meal, he and the boys will need help. I haven’t helped butcher since I was a young man. I sure want to get in on that,” Jim said eagerly.

The Possum That Didn’t Get Away

Now I live 800 miles away from my school years in Schell City, Missouri. That’s in Vernon County in the southwestern part of the state. My parents sold our eighty acre farm in the summer of 1…

Source: The Possum That Didn’t Get Away

The Possum That Didn’t Get Away

Now I live 800 miles away from my school years in Schell City, Missouri. That’s in Vernon County in the southwestern part of the state. My parents sold our eighty acre farm in the summer of 1961 and moved the family to Iowa. I was subjected to a whole different kind of life after that. No more running with my brother like wild Indians around our farm. I missed that freedom.

Remembering a special school bus driver in Vernon Co. Mo.

Once in a while my memory is jogged by something I read, and a moment from the past comes back to me. That’s what happened when I saw Mr. Corbin’s story on Facebook about a dedicated bus driver at Schell City that had a real fondness for children. Mr. Corbin remembered the bus driver, Roy Vogt so well he wrote a song about him that has become popular by all who hears it. The story he tells that prompted the song surely can be echoed by many of the students that rode Roy’s bus between the 1950’s and the 1980’s.

My older brother, Bill, graduated from Schell City in 1954. I was eleven years younger, and when my brother started riding the bus to go to high school four years earlier, I’d follow him out in the yard to wait for the bus. We’d play catch with a softball. My brother, Bill, saw the bus coming. He’d throw the ball high in the air in the opposite direction from the road. I’d run after the ball and by the time I found it, Bill boarded the bus and headed for school. I’m guessing now that my brother’s plan was to keep me away from the road until the bus left.

I finished fourth grade at the one room school house in seeing distance of our farm. My younger brother, John, finished second before the school closed. After that we rode Roy Vogt’s bus to the elementary school in Schell City.

East side of Main Street in Schell City. Blue and white building was Dickbreder’s grocery store and cafe.

Mr. Corbin was right about Roy taking us downtown to Dickbreder’s cafe for candy or an ice cream cone. What a treat, and I expect for a while we did stay quiet while we concentrated on eating.

It was the spring of my freshman year of 1961 that I remember most about the man at the helm of that bus. One morning, we’d just picked up a student not too far from the end of the route and were on our way to school. Roy stopped the bus and looked at the students in his rear view mirror. “There’s a possum in the road, acting funny.”

We all rushed up front to look out the windshield to see what Roy saw. Sure enough the possum was moving slowly around in a circle. I thought our kind, soft hearted bus driver just didn’t want to hit the opossum and kill it. Later it occurred to me, he might not want the children to see him run over an animal. It might upset some or all of them.

As I watched the possum out the windshield, I thought about my missing Science project. The assignment was for each student to bring some sort of animal to school to be dissected. Not all of us would be able to find and catch a specimen for this purpose. At least that is what I told myself until I watched that slow moving possum.

A light blub went off in my head. I said out loud, “I sure wish I could catch that possum for my Science class today.”

The bus driver said, “I have a box under the seat if you want to go get that possum.”

Maybe he didn’t expect a fourteen year old girl to have the guts to mess with a weird possum. He probably thought I’d say no way am I going to touch that animal. If that was what he thought, Roy was wrong. I didn’t stop to think the possum was probably sick. Maybe he had distemper or rabies? What ever was wrong with the possum, he didn’t make any of the students sick for which I’m thankful.

The bus driver was probably thinking he couldn’t waste much time, or we’d be late getting to school. Which would have probably been the one and only time that bus driver was ever late which would have been hard to explain. No matter what Roy thought, he kept it to himself.

I looked where he pointed under the front seat opposite him. Sure enough there was the cardboard box. Just what I needed. I grabbed the box. Roy opened the bus doors. He followed me to the middle of the road. As I remember we’d had a shower the night before. The tree lined slightly graveled road was tacky.

I opened the box and turned it on its side. Roy helped me scoot that possum into the box and sit it upright. We bent the lids under each other to keep the box shut, and Roy carried the box back to the bus. He placed the box next to the front of the bus where he could watch it. I sat in the front seat and kept my eyes on that box, too, until Roy stopped the bus at school. I kept worry about what if that possum livened up. That box wouldn’t hold him, and he’d get loose in the bus. Not once did the top of the box move as if the possum was trying to get out. Stuck in that dark box that animal lived up to his name. He played possum.

I suppose Roy thought this was sort of a show and tell project I needed the possum for. It was later that I decided I was glad I hadn’t told the soft hearted bus driver what was going to happen to that possum. He might not have helped me. That cardboard box was heavy and awkward, but I managed to carry it down the sidewalk and across the street to the house where we had Science and Biology. No way did I want to drop that box and let that possum get away from me after I went to all that trouble.

Science and Biology classes held in a house south across the street from the school.

The Science teacher was delighted to see my specimen for that day’s class. I can’t remember what the others in the class brought. That possum was the center of attention. Mrs. Edmondson produced a bottle of ether and warned us not to breath deep while we were around the bottle. She even had us open up all the windows to let fresh air in.

Students took turns holding the possum still and shoving cotton under the possum’s nose to put him under for surgery. We took turns cutting that possum into parts and identified each piece of him. It sounds gross now to think about what we did, but like I said, I had lived on a farm all my fourteen years. Like many of the students, my father was a hunter, and we ate the game he brought home. I’d held squirrel legs and rabbit legs while Dad skinned them. I’d helped Mom butcher chickens and watched while a steer was strung up to be butchered. Animals dying was just a part of my farm life.

My Award Card to prove my story was true. I’ve kept it all these years.

That project got me an award for special honors in General Science Achievement in the class and an A+ on May 11, 1961. I’ve kept that index card all these years just to prove this story is true for non believers. Science and Biology were never subjects that I enjoyed. Heck, I just barely passed the classes except for that one year thanks to my bus driver Roy Vogt.

Why Do Critters Like Living Under Our Front Porch

Over the last few years, I have been friended on Facebook by people that buy my books. They comment on my posts and seem to enjoy what I write. Some of the posts are experiences that wind up in my …

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