Cindy A. Christiansen's Blog, page 2

Life is Not Like the TV Show—The Good Doctor

Life is not like the TV show, The Good Doctor , at least not for my two autistic boys.

For those of you who haven’t seen the show, The Good Doctor is about Shaun Murphy, a young autistic surgeon, played by Freddie Highmore, who has savant syndrome, relocates from a quiet country life to join the surgical unit at the prestigious San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital -- a move strongly supported by his mentor, Dr. Aaron Glassman. Having survived a troubled childhood, Shaun is alone in the world and unable to personally connect with those around him, but he finds his niche using his extraordinary medical skill and intuition to save lives and challenge the skepticism of his colleagues.
Yeah, right! I truly hope that life is like that for other autistic kids, but it isn’t our world. My oldest son has an almost savant-like mechanical, electronic ability. He has been obsessed with cars since he was two. He sees things in 3-D and can figure out how most things work easily. In elementary school, he was doing math that his teachers couldn’t do, but in middle school they decided he was dumb and would only give him picture math (one apple + one apple = ?).

That same philosophy has continued on through school and now to his work. Too intelligent for a day program gluing macaroni and paper, they have tried to place him in an automotive setting in the community. After volunteering for a number of years, he was hired at an automotive repair garage…as a janitor with the promise that they would hire him to change oil. Finally, his job coach company hired a job coach with mechanic abilities and certification. He was supposed to work with my son one-on-one to make sure nothing went wrong. After months of employment, the job coach said to the owner of the shop, “Look, when are you going to let him change oil?”

The answer was, “Never.”

At the time, I wasn’t told any more than that and so my son changed jobs. (With not much more success.) He still hasn’t been given an opportunity to demonstrate what he can actually do.

So, then comes along my other son, also autistic. His school experience was much the same—negative. He has a love of animals, particularly dogs. He wanted to go into the Animal Science program at Salt Lake Community College his senior year. His autism cluster teacher told him he wasn’t smart enough. He couldn’t learn the anatomy. He couldn’t do the math. He couldn’t do it. Period. I spoke with the doctor teaching the program, and he told me kids of all abilities are welcome in his class. I got the district involved, but even the vice principal was negative about my son taking the course. He also told us his cluster teacher refused to help him if he did it anyway. Seriously? What kind of teacher doesn't want their students to succeed?

What you must understand is that people with autism may have difficulties focusing on things, but when they are interested, they are extremely capable. They tend to hyper-focus and are almost obsessed with the subject.

Without special treatment in the Animal Science course, my youngest son passed with straight As and special certifications.

He has been working for an animal hospital for five years as a boarding technician for minimum wage. He has worked there longer than any other employee except one. Recently, we met with his Vocational Rehabilitation counselor to ask again that he be allowed to take on new tasks. We were told that the hospital was a business and are there to make money. They will not risk their business on someone with autism. (At least that’s what their office manager told Voc Rehab.)

I realized at that moment, neither of my children were going to be given the opportunity to prove themselves. I cried for a week. I laughed and scoffed at The Good Doctor . I considered life cruel and wondered why I worked so hard for my boys. Then, I got angry.

I refuse to give up. We have fought so many battles. This is just one more. There has to be companies out there that consider their employees more important than their bottom line; not that I’m asking them to let my son repair a car on his own or my other son to perform surgery on someone’s dog without the proper training, but they are both more capable than the world as defined them.

Life may not be like The Good Doctor for us, but nothing is stopping us from changing our little corner of the world.

Cindy A. Christiansen

Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!

Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Halloween Free Chapter Read!

Sharing this wonderful Halloween chapter from my book, "Love on Laird Avenue." I hope you enjoy!
Tatum pulled up the black fishnet stocking and clipped it to the belt. Her costume was perfect. A nineteen-forties gangster costume complete with a black tie and black hat with a white hat band. She had to admit the skirt was a bit short and the double-breasted jacket was cut a little low, but she didn’t have time to worry about that now. She wondered why there was no shirt to wear under the jacket with the tie. It was cute, she had to admit, but more daring than she had ever worn. The point was to get to the party and find out if Archibald Simmons was the man trying to break into her house.What was taking Ryan so long? She hoped he would come. The thought of going alone was too frightening. Besides, she was looking forward to seeing him. His irritating brother hadn’t left her alone with Ryan once, so she hadn’t been able to talk to him about Attention Deficit Disorder.Ding-dong-ding.Bugsy beat her to the door. She threw it open with a swarm of excitement twirling inside her. Despite the gloomy mask of gray drizzle, Ryan warmed her heart. He stepped on her rug making sure not to drip on her oak floor. His outfit looked more like the real thing than a costume. He looked debonair in the gunmetal gray, pinstriped, double-breasted suit with a midnight black satin collar. His white tie stood out against his matching black shirt, and a black fedora topped his sexy, slicked-back hair.Her mouth gaped open, and she couldn’t hold herself back from staring. She fiddled with the strap on her purse and forced herself to look away.“Wow. Would I be over-stepping my bounds if I said you look…?” Ryan started to say as he took off his hat.Me? You’re drop-dead gorgeous. “Looked what?”He continued to stare. She self-consciously smoothed her hair.“I know. It’s the hair. I haven’t been able to afford a decent haircut, and then—”“No. You look—”Her stomach hit the floor. The prolonged anticipation was unbearable.His eyes roved over her entire body slowly as if he were photographing her. She could see a heart-rending tenderness in his gaze. The moment seemed to stoke an ever-growing fire within her.“You look…absolutely beautiful.”She ached for him to pull her into his arms. Instead they continued to assess each other. At that moment he was so potent to her, all she could do was stare at the fire in his eyes, take in his manly scent and feel her heart fluttering wildly.He started to reach toward her. Her pulse quickened at the speculation. Caught in a euphoric state brought on by his nearness, she froze. She waited. Her mind whirled. The party could wait. Had she left her bedroom tidy? No.Bugsy jumped up on his chest.“Hello, boy.” Ryan slipped his hat back on and gave the dog a big rub behind the ears. “Wish you were coming along?”Bugsy broke the connection. Ryan gently pushed him off and then bent down to give him a pat.Tatum gave a big, big sigh. Bad dog. Next time I’ll lock you upstairs.“Are you ready to go?” Ryan asked.“What?”“Are you ready to go?”“Uh, sure,” she said, grabbing her keys off the end table.She took an umbrella from the stand, pulled the door closed and headed for her car parked on the drive. Ryan headed for his car parked on the street. She hurried and rushed to catch up with him. She wasn’t going to insult him about his driving when he was willing to go with her in the first place. If he was having trouble driving, it might be a good time to point out the ADD.He opened the car door and took her umbrella while she slid into the seat. She watched him go around and slide into the driver’s seat. How would he do driving on a foggy night in the rain clear to Bountiful?“What a night! It’s really coming down out there.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb.She braced herself for the drive. “I got the sandwich shop account all cleaned up. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how a virus got in there and did so much damage. I had several other programmers look at it, and they said the same thing.”“Well, it’s good you got it taken care of.”“He fired me anyway.”“What? That’s not right.”“Well, he did. I officially have no clients. My father will be furious when he gets back. I don’t know what more I could have done, though.” She frowned.“I see you haven’t stopped worrying about what your father thinks.”“Well, he did co-sign on both my loans, and Austin Hawkins was his friend. He’s going to have an opinion. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I’ll probably have a pretty bad reputation after this gets out. Who knows if I’ll be able to get another job?”“Maybe something else will come up.”She looked at him through the dim-lit car. She saw the crooked smile on his face. “Like what?”“Oh, I don’t know.”Something told her he knew far more than he was divulging. “You’re being very mysterious. Do you know someone who needs some programming done?”“Hardly. I’m just saying you never know what will happen.”She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to speak to him before they reached the party. How could she broach the subject? How could she not disturb his driving? So far, he was doing pretty well.“I happened to be watching TV in bed the other morning—”“That image does not help my driving, Tatum. Could we talk about something else? I’m trying not to look over at you as it is.”“Sorry. About this program…they were talking about something called Attention Deficit Disorder. Have you heard of it?”“No, I don’t think so,” he answered, gripping and re-gripping the steering wheel. “Maybe I better put on some music.” He turned on the radio, the news blaring.She wasn’t about to let this stop her. “They say Attention Deficit is a chemical problem in the brain that causes a person to have trouble staying focused, managing time, being organized, or remembering the little things we do in life.”With a big sigh, his hand shot over to change the channel. He accidentally touched her fishnet covered knee. The car wildly swerved off the road, but he managed to bring it back into the lane. A horn honked. Ryan began chanting obscure words.“Lacunar, balustrade, boutant, chalcidicum…”“What on earth are you saying? Are you crazy?”“Yes! Yes! The whole population has determined that now. I’m crazy. I’m an idiot. I’m stupid. I’m—”“Stop that. You’re not crazy, or an idiot. I didn’t mean it like that.”He flipped on the interior light and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Right. That’s why a beautiful woman is sitting here telling me my brain is dysfunctional while I can’t even drive us to this party.” He looked at the address, then at the street sign and then back at the paper.“Ryan, I think there might be a logical explanation for some of your difficulties. There are medications—”“Oh, great. A real loony bin. You’ll have me in an asylum drooling into a cup. You and Adam both.”She smacked the dash. “You’re so talented. How can you even say that? Adam is a…a jerk.”“Then why can’t I even find this address?” He tossed the paper at her as his shoulders slumped.She grabbed it and read it. “We just need to go west three streets and north two. You’re not that far off.”“Then why can’t I figure that out?” He turned the wrong way.“Uh, west is the other way.”“See? See? What did I tell you? I’m an idiot!”“Well, you’re certainly good with building designs, renovations, cars, plumbing, wiring, roofing and all sorts of things. Don’t sell yourself so short. I think we need to look into—”“We?” Ryan found the correct street and turned down it.Tatum’s hand shot up to her mouth. “Well, I mean, well, that was very presumptuous of me. I just want you to know that I care about you and consider you a friend.”Ryan missed the correct driveway and entered the circular drive of the next house. “Well, thanks. I care about you too.” He pulled back onto the road and re-entered the same drive.“I think you need to go one more driveway over,” she said.“Yes, I can see that.” He pulled back out and turned into the drive again.“I think we’re caught in some sort of loop here. The people are looking out their window and getting suspicious.” She gripped her fists and tried not to sound too frustrated. “Do you want me to help somehow?”“Are you sure I’m not an idiot?”“Don’t turn.” She reached over for the steering wheel as he automatically started to turn for the driveway again. She pulled hard on the wheel, forcing the car to go straight. “There, we did it. See, that wasn’t so bad. Turn here. Here!” she said, trying to get him to turn into the correct driveway.He stopped, shut off the ignition, and they both let out a huge sigh.“Let’s face it, I’m an idiot. A-a-a stupid, id—”“So you think you’ve cornered the market on stupid? When I was in college I was showing off for all my friends, imitating this guy who had one of those backpacks on rollers. When I got to the stairs, I picked up my imaginary backpack and, clowning around, started hefting it down the steps. I tripped and rolled.”“Ouch.”“Oh no, you haven’t heard anything. I rolled down that flight, rounded the corner and continued to roll down the next flight, all the while being careful not to drop my imaginary backpack in front of my friends. I got up victoriously holding the bag in the air, then let out the handle and slid it behind me. Everyone was staring. I felt incredibly foolish, and I sprained my ankle. I went to the rest of my classes trying not to limp. I finally went to a clinic later and got it wrapped.”Ryan chuckled. “That was pretty crazy.”“See? I told you we all do embarrassing things.”His smile quickly turned into a frown. “Your one time in college doesn’t equal my whole lifetime of daily humiliations.”He opened the door handle and started to get out.She grabbed him by the back of the shirt, pulled him to her and kissed him hard. His hands slowly came around her. The kiss softened. The touch of his hand on her back sent tingles through her. His lips were gentle yet demanding. The headlights from an approaching car spotlighted them through the rear window. The car pulled in the massive driveway behind them and stopped. Ryan quickly pulled away. Tatum moaned.“Are you ready to go inside?” he asked.“I need a minute.” Tatum drank in the cool, damp evening air. She listened to the patter of rain on the car while she tried to refocus.He slipped on his hat. “Do we have a plan?”“Most definitely. Don’t get caught.”“Besides that?”“I think our best target would probably be his office or den if we can get in there,” she said. “Wherever the photo was taken.”“Thanks, Tatum.”“For what?”“For trying to help.” He stepped out of the car.She grimaced. Great. He thought her kiss was a sympathy kiss. If he only knew how much more she was feeling. If she could just explain.He went around, opened her door and held the umbrella for her. “Your hair is…hmmm.”She reached up to smooth it. “It’s fine. I have a hat.” She slammed the fedora down on her head.Other people trickled into the house with them. It was easy to go undetected with the number of people already gathered and the size of the home. It was a massive, multi-million dollar house decorated in mostly 1800s European-style antique décor. Mr. Simmons liked spending his money lavishly, she decided as she headed for an English, tufted-back chaise lounge.“Where do you think the office is?” Ryan asked.“Not a clue,” she said, trying to get off her stiletto heels.“We don’t have time to sit. Come on.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.“Oh, fine.”They headed down the west marble-tiled hall, checking each room.“Here it is.” He slipped inside, pulling her behind him.“See the hammers in the display case?” she pointed.“They are like yours.”An antique Persian rug lay in the center of the floor and a beautiful English Queen Anne burl walnut desk took command of the room. It was worn but well cared-for with a leather writing surface and three frieze drawers above the knee hole as well as two other drawers. It rested on wonderful cabriole legs. It was an exquisite piece. Tatum estimated it to have been built around the 1880s.“Are you going to admire it all day, or are you going to search it?” Ryan asked, standing with his hands on his hips.“Do you think it would fit in your car?”He smiled back and started to open an antique oak cabinet. “We had better hurry.”She shuffled through the papers and files in the drawers, but nothing caught her eye. She was about to move to another cabinet when she heard a loud boisterous laugh.“Holey moley.” Ryan grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his arms, burying her face into his chest.She reached for her smashed hat.“What in the world are you doing here?” growled a voice, a voice she was certain she’d heard before.“We were just admiring Mr. Simmons’ exquisite antiques, Adam. You have a beautiful home here, sir. This is a marvelous party. We have really enjoyed ourselves. Haven’t we, Tatum?”She took the opportunity to quickly unbury herself and straighten her hat. She nodded politely. She kept her teeth clenched, hoping she wouldn’t yell out and ask him if he’d been digging in her basement lately.“Well, thank you. Is this a friend of yours, Adam?” Mr. Simmons asked, fussing with the sleeve of his Dracula costume.“My little brother, in fact.” Adam glowered at Ryan.“Oh, the one you said works for you?” Mr. Simmons questioned.Tatum bit her lip, trying not to speak. She had a strong aversion for Adam, the conceited oaf. She held back the urge to deck him. He was dressed in a Frankenstein costume. He had obtained an additional black medical boot for his other leg, which matched his costume perfectly. She only wished she could have used a real wrench to screw the bolts into his neck.“The party is out here, everyone. Let’s dance,” Mr. Simmons said as he turned to leave. “Oh, and be sure to put your name in for the drawing. We’re trying to raise money for the children’s hospital.”Adam lingered behind. “What are you doing here?” he said under his breath.“What are you doing here? You said you were going home to watch TV,” Ryan replied.“I changed my mind. I’m trying to do some major networking for the business.”“And you just happened to have a costume lying around?”“Well…so…what are you doing with her? We’re not supposed to mix business with pleasure.”“And just where did you meet Gina?”Adam started toward Ryan. Ryan held his ground. Tatum stepped between the two of them. “Okay you two, let’s not cause a scene.” She pulled on Ryan’s sleeve.He felt as grounded as Mount Everest. The two men scowled at each other.“I said the party is out here,” Mr. Simmons said, sticking his head back in the doorway. “Care to dance?” he asked.Tatum didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. “Why, of course,” she returned.She felt Ryan’s muscles relax as hers tightened. She wasn’t sure she was going to enjoy this dance, especially in these shoes. Thankfully, Ryan followed and cut in about halfway through the dance. Mr. Simmons may have been collecting money for the children’s hospital, but he still took the opportunity to look down her jacket when they were dancing. Men!Finally the song was over. As they tried to leave the dance floor, Adam marched toward them with a young woman dressed as Cat Woman.“Giving up so soon, brother? You always did have two left feet,” Adam said, trying to goad Ryan into a fight.“And what do you think you’re going to do in those medical boots?” Ryan returned.Monster Mashby Bobby "Boris" Pickett began to play, the party clamorous and the dance floor over-crowded. The lights flashed, and Ryan grabbed Tatum’s arm to dance.“Are you kidding? My feet are totally killing me. You don’t have to compete with him,” she reasoned.“He’s been doing this to me my whole life, making me feel like I’m less of a person.”“But you’re not. Ryan, you can stop competing with him.”Ryan stopped dancing and looked at her. “On a lot of levels he’s right. I proved that tonight.”She forced him to look into her eyes. “Not on the levels that matter.”Adam did a spin. “Whoaaa.” He shoved Ryan in the arm. “Top that.”She could see the uncertainty in Ryan’s expression as he half-attempted to continue to dance.Adam twirled on the heel of his boot and fell flat on his back. There were several gasps from the crowd. Ryan reached down to help him to his feet.Adam shoved his hand away. “I meant to do that.” He rolled around a couple of times on the floor and then awkwardly got to his feet.“Come on, Tatum.” Ryan took her arm and escorted her off the dance floor and out into the hall. “You’re a very kind person, Tatum.” He leaned in close.Her body tingled. The noise level was frantic, people surrounded them, but she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her. She wanted him to know that their earlier kiss was no sympathy kiss, and…“The competition too much for you?” Adam quipped, giving Ryan a push.“I’m not competing with you on or off the dance floor.”“Good. It’s never been much of a contest anyway. It’s just since I was in the hospital you started acting all high and mighty.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Yes, you do, and little Miss Socialite has everything to do with it.” Adam wagged his finger at her.“Watch yourself, Adam.”“Let’s just go,” Tatum whispered to Ryan.“Don’t pretend you haven’t used my brother’s limited mental capabilities, hoping to get a break on your bill.”Tatum wanted to reach down his throat and rip out his heart. But, as she attempted to move toward him, Ryan threw an uppercut to Adam’s jaw. His eyes rolled back, and he dropped to the floor. The crowd continued to enjoy the party and walked around him.Ryan turned to her. “Should we try to do some more checking?”“What about your brother?”“Let someone else take care of him. We came here about the hammers,” he said.She hesitated. “It isn’t Simmons, and my feet are killing me.”“What makes you think it isn’t him?”She led him out the door and into the rain. “He’s trying to raise money for the children’s hospital.”

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!Frankenstein Dog Photo: https://fabupaws.com/products/pet-frankenstein-costume?variant=29539367354420&currency=USD&utm_campaign=gs-2019-09-05&utm_source=google&utm_medium=smart_campaign&gclid=Cj0KCQjw6eTtBRDdARIsANZWjYalKt0xZBxKIyvVqwR5c1RxUNymY1Xr3Ovqsb1ZhrwI1W8fLXl8bAoaAmmHEALw_wcB



Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

A Spooky Real-Life Story!

A winter chill filled the night air. I couldn’t sleep. I jumped from the bed around one a.m. and headed to my computer email to see if I had received a message from my brother. He’d been on my mind constantly since his heart stress test. He’d told me he didn’t feel right after the test.

My inbox was empty. I quickly typed him a message that I was thinking of him. He responded immediately. He was up, not feeling well and couldn’t sleep, too. We chatted back and forth a few times, not as easily as you can on instant chat now, but at least I felt close to him.

The next morning, he was supposed to go the Veteran’s Hospital to get the results of his tests. I was busy with little kids and house cleaning. I started calling him around noon. Maybe he decided to do something fun after his appointment. Maybe he had errands he hadn’t told me about.

By late afternoon, my head hammered and my stomach permanently clenched with stress. He knew I was waiting to hear the results. Angry and worried, I called a friend and neighbor to go up to the farm and check on him. Within an hour, I got a call from the friend’s daughter. My brother was dead. He’d never made it through the night or to his appointment.

Our family descended on the farm, shocked and horrified. He was only 49. A police officer stood guard over his body and wouldn’t let us in the room with his body. It appeared my brother had stood up from the computer and then collapsed on the floor. Because he was alone, the police considered it a crime scene.

After much talk and contacting his physician, we finally got the police to leave. The mortuary personnel came to collect his body and then we took care of the animals. Heading back into the house, we began looking around.
What were we looking for?
When my mother died, she left a letter by her bedside table to tell us how she had felt about her life and each of us children. It was very heart-warming. Four of us searched, especially the bedroom, over and over again. We couldn’t find anything he’d written. Disappointed, we finally headed home.
I knew my brother had been ill for some time and had even been surprised by his last words to me in person. I think he knew he wouldn’t live long. Why didn’t he write something? He knew our mother’s letter meant so much to us. I tried to push the thought from my mind. It is what it is.
Still, when we went over to the house again, I found myself searching for something he wrote to us. Several days passed without finding anything. Many decisions had to be made, especially about the animals and the farm. A letter from him was forgotten.
Then about a week later, I was walking through the bedroom and spotted a red notebook in the headboard of his bed. RED? SERIOUSLY? We had all searched by his bed multiple times. I opened it and in my brother’s handwriting he had written the start of a message to us. It hadn’t been completed, but it was a note to us, expressing his feelings. I was astounded and still am after all these years!
We knew it hadn’t been there when we searched. How did it get there? By who? We were the only ones with keys to the house. We tried to pass it off as we were all too upset at his death to notice it before. Yeah, I don't think so.
What do you think?



Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Dog Copyright: innocent / 123RF Stock Photo


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

A True Halloween Tale

Halloween night found the sky as dark as a stack of black cats. My dad flipped on the yard light, illuminating the stock pens. What a night to be butchering hogs. But to my family, Halloween was just like any other night. We were way off the beaten track for city kids to be out trick-or-treating, and nothing stopped farm work from needing to be done.
The air felt as brisk as a honey crisp apple. I yanked my hood up and tied it snug. I pulled the hose from the well house and filled the huge metal barrel while other family members gathered wood to heat the water.
Soon the fire blazed, and steam rose off the boiling water like dancing witches. The tractor roared in the background. Dad checked his rifle and picked up the long knife. Time to shoot the first hog and then slit the throat to drain the blood.
Dad straddled the tractor seat and headed down into the stock yard. The rifle fired. The hog squealed. Into the beam of light, I watched as the carcass came swinging on a chain tied to its hoof from the bucket of the rambling tractor. The bucket went high into the air, carrying the hog with it. Dad moved the tractor forward until he reached the barrel of boiling water. The snot of the hog barely cleared the barrel, and then it went down, down, down into the water, scalding the stiff, bristle hair of the hog.  Water sloshed over the sides and sizzled in the fire.
A stench hung in the air like burning flesh from a branding iron. The tractor bucket rose up until the hog cleared the rim, and then Dad lowered the carcass so we could reach it. Each of us grabbing a special tool called a bell, we frantically scraped as much hair from the hide before it cooled from the frigid air. The dipping and scraping repeated until the shape resembled a naked zombie.
My dad picked up the knife used to cut down the belly of the hog and remove the innards. He plunged the knife in and cut down the soft belly. My brother reached for the bowels as they burst out of the carcass like an exploding pumpkin. The knife slipped and dropped to the ground. Blood spurted from my dad’s left hand. He’d severed his thumb almost off.
Three high-pitched screams came from the edge of the lighted yard. I turned to see three small kids dressed as a ghost, a witch and a princess, clutching their trick-or-treat sacks and running in place. They tripped over each other as they raced away down our dirt road.
“Get your mother,” Dad said, wincing.
I rushed to the house yelling for Mom, but she was already on her way with towels. She quickly wrapped his hand and pulled the car keys from her purse.
Dad picked up the knife and handed it to my brother. “Be careful, son,” he said, his eyes wild from the dancing fire. “It was like someone took the knife and cut me.”
We helped him into the old, blue Lincoln and Mom headed toward the hospital. Except for the crackle of the fire, the night had become eerily quiet. My brother’s wide-eyed gaze shifted slowly to each of us.
Then he smiled. “You think Dad was pulling our leg? Ya know, Halloween and all.”
Everyone let out a sigh of relief. That had to be the answer. My brother picked up the knife and slowly placed it where Dad had left off.
He gasped and dropped the knife.
Blood sprayed from a severed artery. I stared in horror as his thumb lay splayed away from the rest of his hand—identical to my dad’s cut.
Other family members must have rushed to the house for towels and keys, and then we all piled into the old pickup truck and headed into town. I’ll never forget my parents’ frightened expressions as we walked into the emergency room.
My brother, looking white as a ghost, stared straight at Dad. “It was like someone took the knife and cut me.” 
We never butchered hogs on Halloween night ever again. Spooky!


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense…and Dogs!Fly into a good romance at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.comCopyright: Cole123RF / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Blind as a Bat!

First crop hay is always the thickest, best crop for cutting.  Timing is critical.  Bale too late, the flakes fall off.  Bale too soon, it molds.  Dad was always antsy and a nervous wreck.  What if it rained?  What is the wind blew too hard?  Farming is an emotional rollercoaster.
Dad started that spring by cutting the back pasture near the corrals and house and working toward the bottom field.  I took him a quart bottle of ice water and climbed on the tractor with him.  I noticed my eyes itched and I let out a sneeze.  The scent of hay was especially strong this year with the thick stand and my allergies had kicked in.
Every time we made a round, I waved to my mom who was washing clothes with the old wringer washer.  She had just hung one of Dad’s blue work shirts on the clothesline when I began to really itch.  I gave a wave and then rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands.  My vision blurred.
I waited for Dad to make another round.  “I think I had better go to the house now,” I said trying to blink my vision clear.
Dad swallowed the last of the water and asked me to bring more when he got down to the middle section.  He stopped the tractor, and I hopped off.  I felt peculiar but didn’t say anything.  I headed for the house, my sight getting blurrier with every step.  I tried to wipe my eyes again, but nothing happened.  I was completely blind.  I didn’t realize my eyelids had swollen shut.  Darkness surrounded me.  I didn’t understand what had happened.  I called to Mom, but she didn’t answer.  Dad couldn’t hear me with the tractor running.
I knew a barbed-wire fence was on my left.  I didn’t want to get entangled with it, but I needed to work my way up the fence in order to get to the house.  I had dealt with allergies before but nothing like this.  I felt alone, lost and frightened.  I wanted to curl up in a fetal position and cry, but I continued to stumble my way toward the house.

Suddenly, hands touched me.  “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.  “I saw you stumbling around.”  She gasped.  “Your eyes!”
Tears stung my already burning eyes.  I clung to Mom, sagging against her in the beautiful comfort of her touch.  I just wanted to stand there with her arms around me, feeling comforted and safe.  She took my arm and guided me toward the house.  Once inside, she sat me down on the couch and retrieved a cold ice pack for my eyes.
I heard the back screen door slam and pounding boots across the floor. 
“What's happened?” Dad yelled.  “I saw you both from the field.”
I could hear the concern in his voice.  I smiled and sighed, feeling loved, cared for, protected…and as blind as a bat.
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright Dog with Bat Wings: / 123RF Stock Photo Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Terror of the Missing Roo

We’ve all experienced that moment of sheer fear in our lives.  One of those times for me was during a very difficult, stressful period when my brother unexpectedly died at the age of forty-nine and left me in charge to handle my family’s estate, including a twenty acre farm. (A momentous, disastrous obligation that lasted five years.)
My boys were only two and six at the time.  The minute we would get to the farm on the weekends, some sort of beacon went up letting everyone know that we had arrived.  We were there to sort through things and make decisions, but people poured in trying to snap up what they could. I was elected to deal with them.
On one particular day, rain drizzled down and reflected my gray, dark, cold, gloomy mood.  I didn’t want to do this.  I didn’t want my brother gone.  I asked my two nieces (ages nine and ten) to keep an eye on my boys while I handled the buyers.  I didn’t know what I was doing.  What did I know about the price of farm equipment?  But these men were after what they wanted, badgering me and prodding me to sell and arguing amongst themselves over who got what.  My heart ached.  I wanted to be responsible, but I felt like curling up in the fetal position and weeping.
Every decision was difficult, but finding homes for my brother’s animals, and especially his three dogs, weighed heaviest on my mind.  As much as I wanted to and loved them, we already had three dogs and just couldn’t take on more, especially work dogs—a Blue Heeler and an Australian Cattle dog. His third dog was a sweet Schnauzer named Smokey.  Everyone wanted to adopt him.
As I passed by my nieces, I noticed my youngest wasn’t with them.
“Where’s Roo?” I asked.
The girl’s looked at each other and shrugged.
My heart dropped into the boiling acid suddenly spurting in the pit of my stomach.  I frantically scanned the area to no avail.  Racing to the house, I informed everyone to begin searching.  We combed the house, the barns, the sheds, the shops, the milk barn, the stockyard, the pens and the fields.  No Roo.
How far could a two-year-old get?  Him in his little cowboy hat, boots and leather vest.  Him who adored his uncle, emulated him, and would only take off his cowboy hat when my brother did. The rain soaked through my clothes and skin and chilled my bones.  What was the cold rain doing to my baby?  Was he calling for me and I wasn’t there? A gut-wrenching moment ensued. Tears pooled in the corner of my eyes, and I shook uncontrollably. Images of what could have happened flashed in my mind, and I could barely hold back the scream trying to escape my lips.   Where could he be?
And then my husband noticed that one of our dogs was also missing—Asta, our Wire-haired Fox Terrier.  I raced down the quarter-mile muddy road leading to the farm and eventually found a visible paw print.  Farther along, I found a tiny cowboy boot print meandering behind the paw prints.  They continued down the road and up the hill to a wooden bridge covering a canal.  My heart nearly exploded in my chest.  No, there wasn’t water in the canal at this time of year, but with all the rain, there were fairly deep puddles in the bottom.  The fall alone could have left him…dead. Bile rose to my throat.
I crossed the bridge, looking down both ways as far as I could see.  No dog. No precious little boy.  I picked up their trail farther down the dirt road.  The tracks continued toward the city street and houses.  Despite the chill in my bones, sweat poured from my head, and I had to keep wiping my eyes.  I held my breath as I looked up and down the street with busy cars moving in both directions. No dog. No Roo.
All that I had been burdened with and felt so responsible for meant nothing compared to the thought of losing my son. I wanted those minutes back.  I wanted him in my arms.
A woman approached me.  “Are you looking for something?”
“Yes, yes, our son, our dog.  Our two-year-old must have followed our dog off the farm.  Have you seen them?”
“I’ve called the police,” she said, glaring at me like I was the worst mother on the planet.
“Fine.  Are they all right? Where are they?”  My mind whirled with all the implications, but I didn’t care.  I just wanted them to be safe.
A police car rolled up and the woman rushed over to him, frowning and pointing at my husband and me.  The woman headed up the street, but the police officer detained us, asking all kinds of questions.  Who can remember what he asked?  I wanted to scream, “Give me my son.”  But, I didn’t want the police officer to think I was unstable.
Yes, I admitted to myself, I am a horrible, awful mother.  Just please let me see my son and dog alive.
And then there came our tri-colored dog, trotting out of one of the box houses up the street.  Behind him came a little boy in a cowboy hat, vest and boots.  He ran toward me with his arms out, calling, “Assa, walk.”
I dropped to my knees, sobbing, grateful and exhausted. The woman told us she had seen them wandering down the middle of the street with cars coming and had taken them home. I’m so thankful that Heavenly Father watched over them and were taken in by someone who took good care of them until they were found.Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense…and Dogs!
Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Being Stalked

I’m no celebrity.  And at this time, I wasn’t even an author.
My mother was one of those firm believers that you should be nice to everyone because everyone is fighting their own battles.  I still believe this, but these days, I’m a lot more cautious.  I met Jon Dahl in high school.  He was a year older than me and dressed like your average nerd, safety-pinned glasses, plastic pencil holder in his shirt pocket, and all.
He didn’t have friends so I befriended him.  He became too friendly.  I managed to avoid him through high school, but college turned out differently.  He took every class that I did.  Instead of facing the teacher, he turned his chair around and stared at me the entire class. He followed me down the halls, yelling my name.  If I tried to comment in class, Jon was there making some flippant remark in return.  I became a bundle of nerves. I even had other male students I didn’t even know threaten him to leave me alone.
Even my professors had become uncomfortable with the situation and couldn’t help but question me whether I was all right.  What could I say?  I feared every corner I rounded.  I’d become a chin-trembling, pigeon-toed, stumbling wreck of a person with thoughts of dropping out of college rather than face the humiliation and uncertainness of what Jon Dahl would do next.
It didn’t end. Jon continued to stalk me.
One day, I arrived at campus and noticed my classmates glancing up at me from the school newspaper, whispering, grinning, pointing, and even a few embarrassed looks.  I had no idea what was going on but continued on to class, wondering with my stomach in knots as usual. I immediately noticed Jon’s absence and gave a sigh of relief.  Could the paper have said he’d dropped out?
I wish.
With timid hands and a red face, one of my classmates slid the school paper in my direction.  There on page two the headline read, “My Wife, Cindy” by Jon Dahl.  I sunk in my seat, my heart hitching in my chest and sobs trapping in my throat.  I peeked beyond the paper to everyone staring at me.  I might as well have been naked standing before the class.  I shriveled in my seat but my body wanted to flee out the door.
I can’t begin to remember, nor do I want to remember, all of the horrible statements Jon made about me in the paper.  The day continued with everyone staring at me because they knew Jon meant me.  I couldn’t believe a college newspaper would print such…such garbage.  Yes, there’s such a thing as freedom of the press, but what did someone’s misguided fantasies have to do with life on campus, world events, or the truth?
I couldn’t take it any longer.  I’d been beaten down and wanted the emotional pain to end.  I would drop out.  I didn’t care what my future held.  My friends begged me not to leave and for several days, Jon didn’t come to class, giving me a much needed reprieve.  When he did reappear, he had a black eye.  He didn’t turn around and face me in class.  Someone had physically threatened him.  I felt a sense of pride that someone had stood up for me, but also guilt that it had come to such a level.
Not long after, Jon was expelled for hacking the college computer.  Life became easier, and I continued my education.  I didn’t become a total introvert, and I still have a tendency to befriend everyone.  I guess my mother’s teachings will never leave me.  Sometimes, I’m lucky and make a good friend and sometimes I get used.  In fact, John wasn’t my last experience with a stalker.  But, that’s another story.


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! 
Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright: Novic / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The Stabbing

A number of years ago, a friend of mine got diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction (CFIDS) and his liver was severely attacked. Since I had ended up in the hospital with an enlarged liver and spleen and CFIDS as well, Tom suggested I have a liver biopsy.
I scheduled an appointment with his doctor, and the doctor scheduled the test. The staff clarified the procedure, explained the liver has no feeling and therefore we could just use a local anesthetic, and then they showed me the instrument used to take out a small core of the liver. It was similar to an apple corer, but only 2-3 cm in diameter and much longer.
I laid on the cold surgical table, anxious but not too concerned. After all, it was a procedure, not surgery.
“Are we ready?” the doctor asked.
The nurse nodded and handed him the tool. He raised it in his fist and plunged it hard into my chest just below the breast bone. With a quick intake of breath, my eyes flew open and so did my mouth. I couldn’t speak. My body stiffened, and I clutched the sheet in both hands at my sides. Choking out a sob, I stared at the doctor.
For a moment, I was transformed to a dark alley with a mugger thrusting a knife into my chest. So this is what it is like to be stabbed. Blood must be gushing from the wound. Pain radiated from my chest outward. The violence of the stabbing left me paralyzed.
“You…you…stabbed me,” I said, letting out a strained whimper.
“Doctor, she’s gone into shock,” the nurse stated.
Ya think? My heart hammered uncontrollably in my chest. I felt about to fall off the table with dizziness. I couldn’t catch my breath. Of course, I knew I wasn’t in that alley, and I couldn’t see any blood pouring from my body. But, the shock of the doctor thrusting that instrument into my chest, threw me into shock, not to mention, agony. Who said organs have no pain sensors?
The doctor looked at me in confusion. “That didn’t hurt.”
I wanted to belt him right in the mouth. “Yes, it did.”
“The liver has no nervous system.”
“Give me a knife and I’ll prove it,” I said.
I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I’m assuming the nurse gave me something through my I.V. to calm me down. To this day, you’ll never convince me that organs can’t feel pain…joy…or any other emotion. If you’ve lived long at all, you know the heart can definitely feel pain. Believe me, so can your other organs.
Symptoms, then are in reality nothing but the cry from suffering organs. ~Jean-Martin Charcot, translated from French

No man is a good doctor who has never been sick himself. ~Chinese Proverb


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.comCopyright: andresr / 123RF Stock Photo

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

I’m Not Superstitious! (Knock on Wood.)

We were at an antique mall in West Valley City when this sterling silver dragonfly brooch with an amber stone caught my eye. The reason happened to be my love of dragonflies because I hardly ever wear jewelry and especially not a brooch.
I commented on how beautiful it was and the clerk told me the price. Way too much for me to spend on something I would never wear. My friend and I left, and I had this funny feeling I was forgetting something. We stood by the car as I checked all my paraphernalia. Suddenly, the brooch came to mind.
I laughed. “I’m thinking about that dragonfly.”  I hesitantly opened the car door. “Let’s go.”
“Why don’t you get it?” my friend said.
“What would I do with it?” I wet my lips.
“You don’t have to wear it.”
“If I buy it, I’m wearing it.”
If I buy it… What a ridiculous thought. We climbed in the car and started to leave the parking lot. I had this horrible feeling I was making a huge mistake in leaving the dragonfly behind.
“Wait!” I cried, my hand fluttering to my lips.
My friend pulled up to the door. “Buy it. You haven’t bought anything all day.”
I rushed back in the store, terrified that someone might have bought it before I could get back to it. The dragonfly sat pleasantly in the center of the locked display case. I swallowed hard and pulled out my credit card. Wrapped in tissue, I carried the brooch out to the car and got it. I felt such relief. It belonged to me.
We headed to the next antique mall on our outing. I couldn’t stop thinking about the dragonfly. I carefully unwrapped and admired it until we got to our next destination.
“Put it on,” my friend suggested.
“Where else I am going to wear something like this?”  I fastened the pin securely and we headed inside.
As my friend bought some antique cookie cutters, the owner stared at the dragonfly.
“Isn’t that lovely,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said, beaming. “I just bought it.” Yet, I felt a tightening in my chest as a reached up to check on it fastened to my coat.
We continued to talk about it until my friend’s purchase was final and then we left for the next antique mall. It had been a wonderful day. I felt giddy as we were finally headed home. I looked down and the brooch had flown the coop!
 My friend pulled over and we ripped the car a part looking for it. We headed back to every mall, looked down every aisle, checked with every clerk. Nothing! It was gone! In just a few short hours, I had fallen in love with a brooch and lost it. This was so unlike me. I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t calm my beating heart. I left my name and number with everyone in hopes of getting it back. I spent each day in agony.
One month went by…
Two months went by...
I gave up hope.
One day, I headed for the door to run a few errands and the phone rang. Reluctantly, I came back to the desk to answer. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Cindy?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“I think I’ve found your dragonfly brooch. I work at Vine Street Antiques.”
“Where did you find it?” I asked in amazement.
“In the parking lot.”
After two months? Freaky! I immediately drove to the shop, not believing it could possibly be my brooch. She handed me my dirty dragonfly with a flattened pin on the back. Yeah, it had been driven over a few times, but it was alive. Extraordinary! I thanked her profusely and ended up taking it to a jeweler for repair. With a sigh of relief, I brought it home.
Since “fly into a good book” is my tagline, I decided to wear the brooch to an annual writers’ conference. I clipped the new pin securely in place and headed out of my room to the elevator to head down for the first day of meetings and fun. Low and behold, the dragonfly flew off my jacket and right down the narrow space between the floor and the elevator. I swear it flew! It didn’t drop down as I walked over the opening. It flew off about two feet in front of me to reach the narrow opening between floors.
Shakily, I rode the elevator down to the main floor and told the desk clerk what had happened. I knew there was little chance of getting the brooch back. I was beginning to wonder why it kept calling to me that first day when it didn’t really want to stay with me. About two hours later, a maintenance worker brought me the dragonfly. He had found it on a ledge between floors! It was dinged and bent up but still intact. Totally amazing!
The maintenance worker pinned it on me and all of the people at the conference cheered. I nervously wore it for the rest of the day, checking it constantly to see if it was still there. When I got back to my room I packed it away in my luggage for the rest of the conference.
The next time I wore it was for a book signing. It managed not to fly away this time. I came home, put my clothes in the laundry, and started the wash. The next time I saw my dragonfly, it was flying around the clothes dryer…in two pieces!
I’ve never had this much frustration with any piece of jewelry in my life!
I took it to the jeweler…again…and had it repaired. It has remained in my jewelry box ever since. I can’t get rid of it. I can’t wear it. I feel completely attached to the brooch but also frightened of it.
You can’t tell me there isn’t history behind this antique dragonfly brooch. I am not superstitious but, if only dragonflies could talk…
Sometimes I wonder if I should keep it trapped in my jewelry door or whether I should let it fly.
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com  Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

A Rare Thanksgiving

It was a rare moment, a divine day.  With two boys who have autism and mood disorders, our household is rarely calm.  And, with my health problems and high pain level, I seldom feel at peace.  On one particular Thanksgiving a couple of years ago, all the stars must have aligned and Heavenly Father joined us for the day.
We all got up early to get the turkey ready.  My youngest son was extremely excited and loved pulling the missed pin feathers from the bird.  We slathered a generous amount of butter on the turkey, bagged it, and placed it in our largest roasting pan.  Into the oven it went.
Time for hot chocolate for all in various flavors and topped with whipped cream.  We settled in to watch the sun come up on a beautiful, warm, sunny day with plenty of autumn colors to feast our eyes upon.  The boys were unusually content and happy.  They didn’t quarrel or yell or get moody and instead played contentedly.  Peace filled our home like no other time I can remember and also a blissful silence that no one wanted to break.
I reveled in the moment, stretched out on the couch, my fingers intertwined behind my head, and soaked up the serenity.  The house was filled with the wonderful aroma of Thanksgiving.  It was a rare and precious moment given to us by Heavenly Father, and I said a prayer of gratitude for this special time and all of our blessings.  I watched the boys playing together in peace with love in my heart.  The day continued that way, and, for once, we had a peaceful meal.
The next day returned to pandemonium and my pain level soared, but I continued to feel that peace and joy for days. Take the time to enjoy all those special moments in your life and give thanks for all your blessings, even those days of chaos. 

“Stop seeking out the storms and enjoy more fully the sunlight.” ― Gordon B. Hinckley


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Copyright: serjedi1 / 123RF Stock Photo
Copyright: Jiri Vaclavek / 123RF Stock Photo Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author