Lisa R. Howeler's Blog, page 106

Houses (a short story for Christmas)

I wanted to share this lovely short story from Lisa today. Enjoy.

If you want to know a person, ask them about their houses. The house they grew up in. The first house they bought. The house they’ve always wanted. …

Houses (a short story for Christmas)

Sunday Bookends: preparing books for 2022, movies about singing fishermen, and slow progress but it’s progress!

Welcome to my week in review blog post where I ramble about what I’ve been reading, watching, writing, doing and sometimes what I’ve been listening to.

 

What I’ve Been Reading

 

My goal this week is to read a lot more but this week I read Saving Mrs. Roosevelt and started The Mistletoe Countess by Pepper Basham.

 

I have a Cat Who mystery I started the day I went into the hospital with Covid but I couldn’t get my brain to settle for obvious reasons so I never continued it. I’d like to make some progress on that these next couple of weeks the kids and I are on holiday break.

 

Other books I am looking forward to reading in the new year include:

 

The Rhise of Hope by Max Sternberg

 

A couple of Hercules Poirot books

 

Maggie’s Strength by Pegg Thomas

 

Relative Silence by Carrie Parks

 

Crooked House by Agatha Christie

 

Thunder and Rain by Charles Martin

 

The Dark Horse by Craig Johnson (more of the Longmire Mysteries. I have about 12 more books to read in the series)

 And many more I haven’t even listed.

 

 

I am also not one of those people who talks about how many books I read in a year. It is hard for me to keep track because my mom and I share a kindle account and she reads some 200 books a year. I have to go through and figure mine out compared to hers and it is very time consuming.

 

 

What I’ve Been Watching

 

Last week I watched a movie called Fisherman Friends, which I found on Amazon. It was exactly what I needed right now. It is the story of a group of fishermen in England who sang what are called sea shanties in their small town and were overheard by a music executive who decided he wanted to sign them to a deal.

 

The movie is based on a true story and follows the journeys of the men and the beginning of their careers.

Other than that I have been watching mainly comedians and my husband and I watched a couple of episodes I’d Lovejoy.

 

What I’ve Been Writing

 

Last week I shared two chapters of A New Chapter and shared a blog post about my roommate in the Covid wing  at the hospital and her positive outcome.

 

What I’ve been listening to

 

I have gotten a bit hooked on Matthew West of late so I have been listening to him at night or other times. He is a Christian musician and he also has a podcast.

 

 

What’s Been Occurring

I am slowly recovering from Covid and was encouraged this week to find many others dealing with the internal vibrating as a left over side effect. Some of these people have had this happen with other viruses like I did and we are wondering if this could be autoimmune or neurological or reactivating past infections. It has been a relief to read that while anxiety can make it worse it isn’t only anxiety or in our heads. Even those who do not have a history of anxiety are dealing with it.

 

Either way we are all sharing things (supplements, medicine, exercise, etc.) that are helping, even if only to take the edge off a little bit. For me CBD oil helps immensely so I am anxiously waiting for a delivery of some high quality oil this week.

 

I still have not ventured from the house on my own since my doctor appointment at the beginning of the month, mainly because the vibrating often gets worse the more I move and I don’t want to have a spell of them when I am out with the kids or even when alone.

 

I truly do believe things will even out soon with the odd symptoms and I will be able to do things on my own. I am discouraged but not desolate or hopeless, which reminds me of 2 Corinthians 4:8-12: “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.”

 

We are all excited for Christmas this weekend. The kids have a couple days of homeschool and then a week and a half off. We will spend Christmas Day with my parents and maybe see other family (my brother and his wife) in the beginning of January depending on work schedules.

 

So that is my week in review. How about you? How  did last week go for you? What are you reading and watching etc? Let me know in the comments.

 

 

 

 

 

Book Review with CelebrateLit: Saving Mrs. Roosevelt

About the Book

Book: Saving Mrs. Roosevelt

Author: Candice Sue Patterson

Genre: Christian Fiction/Historical/Adventure

Release date: December 2021

Shirley Davenport is as much a patriot as her four brothers. She, too, wants to aid her country in the war efforts, but opportunities for women are limited. When her best friend Joan informs her that the Coast Guard has opened a new branch for single women, they both enlist in the SPARs, ready to help protect the home front.

Training is rigorous, and Shirley is disappointed that she and Joan are sent to separate training camps. At the end of basic training, Captain Webber commends her efforts and commissions her home to Maine under the ruse of a dishonorable discharge to help uncover a plot against the First Lady.

Shirley soon discovers nothing is as it seems. Who can she trust? Why do the people she loves want to harm the First Lady? With the help of Captain Webber, it’s a race against time to save Mrs. Roosevelt and remain alive.Click here to buy your copy (Celebrate Lit Affiliate Link)

My Review

Saving Mrs. Roosevelt is a great book to get yourself lost in. The story carries you along easily, so easily don’t notice it’s 1 in the morning and you should have been asleep hours ago. It had me biting my nails until the very end.

The characters are intriguing, captivating and people I, for one, would be honored to get to know.

Patterson does a great job of dropping breadcrumbs of information related to the mystery of the book, keeping readers guessing throughout as to who might be involved in a plot to harm Mrs. Roosevelt. Just when you think you’ve figured it out, she sends you down another path full of questions that you know you need the answers to

There is romantic tension in the book, but it isn’t overdone or makes you want to roll your eyes and gag at all. It is subtle and sweet.

If you like historical fiction, light and sweet romance, and intrigue, then this is the book for you.

About the Author

Candice Sue Patterson studied at the Institute of Children’s Literature and is an active member of American Christian Fiction Writers. She lives in Indiana with her husband and three sons in a restored farmhouse overtaken by books. When she’s not tending to her chickens, splitting wood, or decorating cakes, she’s working on a new story. Candice writes Modern Vintage Romance—where the past and present collide with faith. Her debut novel How to Charm a Beekeeper’s Heart was a 2012 ACFW First Impressions finalist and made INSPYs Longlist for 2016.

More from Candice …

The idea for Saving Mrs. Roosevelt literally came overnight. I had just finished writing a contemporary romance set in Maine, centered around a harbor town where lobstering is prevalent. My agent called me and told me about the Heroines of WWII series and asked if I’d be interested in writing a WWII novel. If so, I needed to come up with a story and proposal fast because spots were limited and filling quickly. My mind was so consumed with research of the lobster industry that I felt I couldn’t clear my brain fast enough to come up with another story on such short notice. That’s when I started wondering how I could take the knowledge I already had and make it work for a WWII novel. I googled Maine during WWII, came across an article that mentioned the SPARs, and the idea for Saving Mrs. Roosevelt was born.

I don’t want to give too much away, but the Nancy Drew deep inside me figured out a unique way to merge lobstering with espionage.

Though the plot is purely fiction, there are some characters and events that are historically accurate that were fun to include as well. I love Maine, but I’m Hoosier born and raised, and in my SPAR research, I discovered that Dorothy C. Stratton–the woman the Coast Guard asked to direct the SPARs–was the Dean of Women at Purdue University in Indiana. She was a woman of true character, grace, and strength. I knew right away she needed a cameo in my story.

Within twenty-four hours of receiving my agent’s call, I had plotted the entire story and sent a proposal. Weeks went by, and as fall ushered in its beautiful colors, my husband surprised me with a trip to Monhegan Island, Maine. We walked the trails, ate amazing seafood, and took in the gorgeous view. While on the island, my agent called again, this time to let me know that Barbour had contracted Saving Mrs. Roosevelt. What a special moment it was to be standing on the very shoreline where the book is set when I received the good news.

Since the book is set in Maine where the heroine works on a lobster boat with her father, I wanted to share my favorite recipe for Maine blueberry pie.

Maine Blueberry Pie

Ingredients:

2 Pie crusts

1 quart of fresh Maine blueberries

1 ½ tbsp lemon juice

Freshly grated nutmeg

¼ c light brown sugar

¼ c white sugar

¼ c flour

2 tbsp tapioca for thickening (if the berries are juicy)

 Directions:

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Place the berries into a large bowl, add lemon juice, and toss. Add the remaining ingredients and toss until the berries are well coated with the flour and sugars mixture. Line the pie plate with one crust. Put the berries into the pie plate and top with a solid or lattice-top crust. Bake for 35-40 minutes until the berries are bubbly and the crust is golden brown.

Giveaway To celebrate her tour, Candace is giving away the grand prize package of a $25 Amazon gift card and a copy of the book!!

Be sure to comment on the blog stops for nine extra entries into the giveaway! Click the link below to enter.Click here to enter the giveaway

Fiction Friday: A New Chapter Chapter 13

I shared Chapter 12 yesterday.

Chapter 13

Cold nipped at Matt’s nose and slipped down the back of his throat, tickling it, and leaving him coughing into his hand.

Jason nudged him in the ribs on his way past. “You sick? I don’t like hunting with sick people.”

In front of them, their breath mingled in white wisps, reminding them both that they were well into autumn and winter would be here soon.

Matt shot Jason a look. “I’m not sick. My body’s just not ready for it to be this cold yet.”

Jason paused at the top of the hill and looked down into the leaf-covered gully, catching his breath. “Have faith, we live in Pennsylvania. It will be warm again by next week and then cold again and then warm and then finally we will be plunged into a frozen hell for the next three months.”

Matt laughed. “True.”

Leaves crunched under their feet and Matt dodged a fall tree limb, peering into the trees, searching for the deer he’d shot but had taken off 15 minutes earlier.

“Hey, Matt, been meaning to ask you about something,” Jason shifted his gun on his shoulder.

“The birth announcement?”

Jason nodded. “Yep.”

“You want to know if I’m really the father.”

“I know you’re not. Gabe’s the father. Everyone knows that.”

Matt shrugged. “Not everyone. Just everyone close to the situation.”

“So . . . did she or you tell them you were the father?”

Matt paused and opened his thermos, sipping the coffee he’d made a few hours earlier. “I did. She wasn’t very happy about it. She told me to tell the nurse not to put it in the newspaper and I did but I guess there was some sort of miscommunication.”

Jason whistled. “Wow. That was quite a bold move on your part. What were you thinking?”

“That I didn’t want Liz and Bella connected to Gabe anymore than they already were,” Matt said with a sigh, screwing the lid back on the thermos.

“What did your mom say?

“She’s supportive. Luckily, I caught her before she saw the paper or anyone told her. Thank God for her being so busy with baking that week. I didn’t totally think it through, of course. Pastor Taylor asked me to step down from leading the teen boys, but the timing worked since I’ll be gone in a few more weeks.”

Jason cocked an eyebrow as he zipped his coat up under his neck. “He seriously asked you to step down?”

Matt started walking again. “He didn’t want to, but the parents were a little bothered by their boys being taught the Bible by a man who fathered a child out of wedlock.”

Jason nodded as she followed him. “I guess I can understand that but if they knew the situation —”

“If they knew the situation then they’d know more than they have any business knowing.”

They walked a few more feet in silence.

“What does that mean legally?” Jason asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re legally listed as her dad does that mean you are financially responsible for her?”

“I don’t think so, but if Liz ever needed help, I would. She’s pretty independent, though. I doubt she’d let me.”

Jason pointed down into a gully in front of them. “There it is. Looks like you got it after all.”

The men made their way down the embankment to the carcass of an eight-point buck. There had been a moment when it disappeared from sight that Matt had thought maybe he hadn’t killed it after all, and it was staggering through the woods injured.

He enjoyed hunting, but he was less of a fan if he injured an animal and then had to shoot it again to put it out of its misery. If he did hunt, he didn’t do it for sport. He’d clean and dress the animal and take him to the local butcher and use the meat for the rest of the winter, maybe even into the spring. The one benefit of living as a bachelor was that he could cook the same meal over and over again.

Matt knelt next to the animal and drew his knife. “Too bad he rolled down here. It won’t be fun carrying him out.”

Jason lifted his arms and flexed his arm. “Leave that to me, puny man,” he said in a thick European accent. “I can carry your haul for you. When you’re done, you go on ahead and get the ATV and I’ll meet you at the access road.”

Matt leaned back on his heels and quirked an eyebrow. “Puny man? Really? Just because your muscles are as big as my head doesn’t mean I am a puny man, Tanner. I’m perfectly capable of carrying my deer to the access road. Plus, let me point out that I got a deer today and you didn’t, remember?”

Jason laughed.  “Hey, come on. It’s barely nine in the morning. I don’t have to be back at the farm for a couple more hours. I still have time.” He leaned over and poked Matt’s bicep. “But you, little man, don’t have time to build up muscle before we need to carry this deer out.” He laughed again as he swung his gun onto his shoulder. “Seriously, I’ll head down for the ATV. It will take me a while to hike down and by then you should have this dressed and carried down.”

Jason was right, of course. He was more muscular. Having played football in high school and college, plus lugging heavy hay bales and farm equipment around every day, Jason did have a lot more upper body strength than Matt and almost anyone Matt knew.

And, well, Matt hadn’t exactly been trying to build bulk while training for the academy. Yes, he had been trying to get into better shape by running down the dirt road circle that led him three miles from the cabin and then back again, but, no, he hadn’t been working out at a gym almost daily like Jason did.

Jason had even convinced Alex to go with him to the gym at least three times a week.

Alex. The man who for years had scoffed at his friends at the mere mention of an exercise routine. Matt would guess that his dating Jason’s sister had changed his mind about working out, especially after Molly’s ex-boyfriend had shown up in town looking well-toned and charming.

“Before I go, I’m just curious,” Jason said. “Are you doing all this because you love Liz?”

Matt worked on the deer as he looked up at his friend. “Liz and I are —”

Jason scoffed. “Don’t tell me you and Liz are just friends, McGee. I see the way you look at her. You’ve been there for her every step of the way through this pregnancy, even though the baby wasn’t yours, and let’s be honest. Very honest. You’ve liked Liz since high school. You might be friends but I have a feeling at least one of you wants there to be more.”

Matt looked back at the deer, grinning. “Don’t you have an ATV to go get?”

Jason laughed as he turned to walk back up the hill. “Looks like someone can’t handle the truth today.”

Matt stood with the deer across his shoulders 20-minutes after Jason left, hooking his arms over the deer to hold it in place. He’d thought about what Jason had said the entire time he’d been dressing the deer and he knew Jason was right. Matt did want something more with Liz, but he was also content to be her friend right now. It was what she needed most of all.

Holding it in this position with a gun strapped to his back, he laughed at the thought of how ridiculous he probably looked, despite feeling slightly manly walking through the woods with his catch for the day sprawled across his shoulders. Now to remember which direction the access road was. Jason was more familiar with this section of the woods. His family had owned part of it for years and while Matt had hunted here with him off and on for the past 15 years, he still got turned around more often than not.

Walking up the gully to the hilltop opposite of how he’d come down, he looked through what felt like miles and miles of maple and ash trees but nothing else. He was fairly certain the access road was due east so he headed that way. When his phone rang ten minutes later he ignored it at first, but then when it stopped and then started again, stopped and started again, he worried it might be an emergency.

Laying the deer down wasn’t an easy feat but once the carcass was lying in the leaves, he zipped his camouflage jacket open and reached for his phone in the inside pocket of his coveralls.

“Matt. Where are you?” The voice sounded far away.

“Liz? Anything wrong?”

“McGee, I wanted to ask you the other  . .  didn’t you tell me . . .*static*”

He plugged a finger in his ear as if that would help improve the service on a wooded hill in the middle of nowhere. “Tell you what?”

Static. “. . .apartment . . .”

“Liz, you’re breaking up. Is something going on at the apartment?”

“No! We’re fine. I’m talking about . . .” Static. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The line went dead, and he looked at his phone screen, bewildered. Call lost.

Tell her what?

He walked a few feet forward and tried to call her back. No service. He moved a few steps back. Still no service. Great.

What was that all about? Should he go back down the hill and try to call her again? He shrugged.

She said everything was fine. He’d call her when he got back to the cabin. He needed to get this deer out and hung before the meat went bad.

Sliding the phone back into his inside pocket, he looked through the rows of trees and squinted. A rooftop peeked through the tree line, something he’d never seen before walking up here. He looked around and then leaned forward on his knees, looking lower. He saw what looked like junk cars scattered among the leaves. He leaned back up and after a few minutes of thinking realized he’d walked a little more south than east because he was looking at Bunky Taylor’s abandoned junkyard. Bunky had died a year ago and no one had been up to clean the site up, mainly because no one in his family knew exactly how to dispose of all the junk cars Bunky had collected in the 40 years he’d owned the junkyard and mechanic business.

The access road was a little further up more to the east. It wouldn’t hurt to take a shortcut through the junkyard, see how much it had grown over since it had been abandoned. He slung the deer back over his shoulder and headed down through the wooded area where he was able to get a better view of the junkyard and Bunky’s old house, a ranch home built on top of stilts with a makeshift carport built with two-by-fours and metal sheeting. The roof of the house was sagging in some places, red shutters askew on some of the windows, dark brown staining the gray siding.

A puff of smoke from the chimney drew his attention and he paused before walking down the hill through the vehicles, noting tools laying in the leaves next to one or two of them. It looked like someone might be living here after all.

He dropped the deer in a grassy area next to the dirt parking lot, located in front of the house. A swing set installed next to the house and a tricycle and other children’s toys scattered across the front lawn alerted him to the realization that a family must be living in the home, despite its dilapidated appearance.

“Can I help you?”

He turned to his right abruptly, startled by the voice. He was even more startled at the sight of a man walking from a crude shed practically hidden from view by two vintage rusted Chevy trucks and the limbs of a large oak tree that rose up from the middle of the junkyard and cast shadows like the spindly fingers of a wisped specter. The man wore a pair of gray coveralls smudged with oil and dirt, dark brown work boots obviously well worn, and was unshaven with black grease smeared on his cheek and forehead.

Although his hair was short in the back, strands of dirty blond hair hung down across his forehead and eyes. His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed when he saw Matt and Matt didn’t have to guess why.

“Bernie. Hey. I didn’t know you were living here.”

Bernie kept his eyes on Matt while he continued to wipe his hands on the rag. He chewed on the inside of his lower lip for a few minutes, as if trying to decide how he wanted to answer.

“Moved in about six months ago. Rentin’ it from Bunky’s son.”

The tension in his response was evident, but why wouldn’t it be? Bernie had been released from jail about eight months ago and Matt was the cop who put him there. It wasn’t as if Matt expected the man to walk up and shake his hand.

Bernie tipped his head up slightly, jerking his chin toward the deer carcass laying in his yard. “Out huntin’?”

Matt nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yep. Bagged an eight-point. Supposed to meet Jason Tanner at the access road to the Shaffer’s property up the road away but got off course.”

Bernie smirked. “Guess you didn’t learn how to read a compass at that police academy.”

Matt didn’t hear the contempt in the comment that he expected he would. He laughed and Bernie smiled, revealing a few missing teeth on the bottom front row. Matt was about to excuse himself when he heard the squeak of the front door of the house and saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A small girl, maybe 7 or 8, darted down the paint-chipped steps with a boy of about 5 following behind. The pair ran to Bernie and tossed their arms around him the girl holding on to his waist, the boy to his leg, just above the knee.

“Hey, there.” Bernie ruffled the girl’s hair. “What you out here for?”

“Mom said to tell you breakfast is ready,” the girl answered, looking first at her father and then turning her attention to Matt, wide blue eyes boring into him.

“Did you come to take my daddy back to jail?”

The words hit Matt full force in the chest. She said them without emotion, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone found more often in an adult than such a young child. He wondered how she knew who he was and if he should be worried Bernie’s young daughter knew he was the man who had arrested her father.

Matt decided to be just as blunt. “No, ma’am. I was just hunting in the woods today and came here by accident. What’s your name?”

“Marlie and this is my brother Jerry.” Her direct tone and gaze unnerved him, but he had a feeling she’d had to learn to be tough in her short life and that thought unnerved him even more.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

He looked back at Bernie thought about how Reggie had asked about keeping an eye on him and hoped he wouldn’t have to. He hoped Bernie had turned his life around if not for his own sake, then for the sake of his children.

As if reading his mind Bernie laid a hand on the top of his son’s head and cleared his throat. “I’ve kept myself clean, McGee. If you’re here to try to get dirt on me, you’re going to be disappointed.”

Matt held a hand up and shook his head. “Bernie, I assure you that I had no idea you were living here. What I told you about hunting and getting off track is the truth.”

Bernie nodded, frowned, and looked at the ground. “Okay then. I believe you. You’re not one for lying. Never were.” He chuckled, revealing his missing teeth again. “If you had been then I might not have been in jail for those six months.” He spit at the ground, shrugged a shoulder. “But, I deserved it. I know that. I got myself messed up with the wrong crowd. I have a talent for doing that, I guess.”

Matt knew it also didn’t help he’d been raised in the wrong crowd.

“I didn’t like arresting you, Bern. I hope you know that. There are very few people police actually enjoy arresting.”

Bernie ran a hand gently down his daughter’s, white-blond hair and tipped his head toward the yard, and looked down at her. “Why don’t you and Jerry go play a while, k?”

After the kids darted across the yard and back into the house, Bernie looked at Matt. “Sure did suck when you busted me, but maybe it was what I needed, you know? A wake-up call. Gotta hit rock bottom to come back up, right? I’m starting a junkyard and car business, turning over a new leaf, starting over. For the sake of Chrissy and the kids.”

Chrissy. That’s right. Matt remembered Bernie had married Chrissy Trenton from high school, another person who’d had a hard life.

“Glad to hear that, Bern. I wish you luck. I really do.”

Bernie nodded. “Thanks, McGee. I appreciate that.” He nodded toward the deer. “You better go meet Tanner. Don’t want that meat tainted.”

Matt turned and head back toward the dirt road next to the junkyard. He hoped Bernie was telling the truth and that he’d really turned his life around. Maybe the state police were wrong about Bernie. Maybe he wasn’t running a meth ring. From the quick glances he’d given around the property while walking into and out of it, Matt hadn’t seen anything that would toss a red flag up for him in relation to drugs, but he knew that the shed could have been one place to hide it.

Lord, please don’t let there be anything there. I don’t like the idea of taking a father away from his children.

Fiction Thursday: A New Chapter Chapter 12

Just a couple of notes: I wrote this chapter and several others after it before I got sick with Covid so if it doesn’t make sense, it was simply my normal brain fog. I also tentatively changed the name of the book from The Next Chapter to A New Chapter. We will see if I stick with that. What do all of you think? Don’t care? I wouldn’t blame you. Let me know in the comments.

For anyone new, these chapters are part of a book in progress so there are typos and errors and plot holes that I fix before I self-publish the book later down the road. Or hopefully, I fix them and don’t upload the wrong file like I did for a couple previous books. Argh! Anyhow, moving right along to chapter 12.

Chapter 12

Ginny looked at the dress and blouse Liz had lain on the bed and pondered it for a few moments. She turned to her closet and pulled out a blue dress and then a maroon one. The blue dress was sleeveless, like the black one. The maroon one featured short, puffed sleeves, which had never looked good on her. She eliminated it from her selection and looked between the black and blue dress.

Liz was probably right about the black dress. It would look nice with the white blouse pulled over it.

The problem was, Stan had seen her in all of these dresses. She worn the black one for last year’s banquet. She shouldn’t wear it two years in a row, should she? She could wear the white blouse with that blue skirt with all those funky swirling patterns on it. It had been a gift from Olivia. She hadn’t been brave enough to wear it yet.

She bit her lower lip and studied the skirt then slipped it on. It fell down to her shins, perfect to wear with those brown suede boots she’d picked up at the consignment shop at the beginning of summer.

She tried the boots on and pulled on the blouse then stood in front of the full length mirror on the back of the door.

Huh. Not too shabby.

She turned to the side and her gaze fell on her belly. It was slightly less pronounced than the last time she looked, but she would still need another few bike sessions before it went all the way away.

She thought about what Liz had said earlier. “Just wait until Stan sees you. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

Ginny’s chest tightened. Wouldn’t he, though? He was certainly able to keep his hands off her a lot these days. She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d hugged her, let alone held her in his arms.

The engine of Stan’s car rumbled in the driveway and she took a deep breath and reached for the necklace she’d laid out on the dresser. She needed to hurry. Stan loved to be early to these banquets.

She had already pulled out the suit he like to wear, along with the white shirt, blue tie and matching cuff links.

She looked at her earrings in the mirror, leaned back and took a deep breath. The outfit wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. She was out of time.

She descended the stairs and found Stan loosening his tie in the living room, looking down at an opened newspaper on the coffee table. “Hey, hon. I’ve only got a few minutes. I’ve got to head up and get dressed.”

“I set everything out for you,” she said, stepping off the bottom step.

He slid the tie he’d been wearing all the way off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Thanks.” He turned and started to walk toward the stairs then stopped. His brow furrowed and he frowned. “What are you all dressed up for? You have another night out with Liz? It isn’t time for the fundraiser yet is it? I thought that was in a couple of weeks.”

Her chest constricted. Was he joking? If so then that would be a departure from his recent demeanor. “What do you mean why am I dressed up. Your banquet is tonight, right.”

Stan was still frowning. He shrugged a shoulder. “Well, yeah, but you told me a few weeks ago you hate these things. I gave your ticket to Frank. He had a date he wanted to bring.”

She tossed the small black purse she’d planned to take on the recliner next to the couch and turned away from him, her hands on her hips. Her lower lip quivered, and tears stung her eyes but she wasn’t going to let him see she was upset. It wouldn’t matter anyhow. He’d probably call her too sensitive or remind her she was “going through the change and that makes everything seem worse than it is.”

“You don’t mind, right?” He walked toward the stairs.

She drew in a shaky breath and tried to keep her tone calm. “No. I guess not. It’s just that I go with you every year and —.”

He was half way up the stairs. “Yeah, but you’ve been so busy this year with the library and the fall fund raiser and now helping Liz. I talked about it with you the other day, remember?

“No,” she mumbled as the bedroom door closed upstairs. “No. I do not remember.”

She sat on the couch, smoothing the skirt down over her knees. Maybe he had talked to her about it. Maybe she’d been texting Sarah about the fund raiser at the same time. Maybe Olivia had called with another California Crisis while he was talking or maybe it was the day Clint had called to say they’d be moving back out in about a month now instead of the two months he’d thought it would be.

She bit her bottom lip and swiped at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. It was just a banquet and she did hate them. They went on for every with every real estate agent who every walked and breathed in a three-county area taking the podium to update the attendees about every single accomplishment they’d had that year. Then there was Stan, accepting his award, thanking her and while he’d once meant it and they’d once been like a team, that wasn’t true anymore.

His appreciation of her wouldn’t be sincere this time. They barely knew each other these days. He’d be putting on an act at that podium, just like she was putting on an act now. She pulled her shoulders back, straightened her back as she heard the bedroom door open. Time to pretend she was fine with this. Time to pretend she didn’t care. Time to be a grown up and realize her life was changing.

She and Stan weren’t the people they used to be. Not every marriage was like Robert and Annie Tanner’s, close and romantic even 30-years later.

Some people just slowly grew apart and that’s what was happening with her and Stan. She’d never consider divorce, of course, but it was time to accept that their future years would most likely be lived mainly apart.y apart.

Their romantic moments had happened, and been wonderful, but that part of their life was over.

She barely noticed as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Hey. You’re okay, right?”

She nodded and stood quickly, heading toward the kitchen, and tightening her jaw with resolve. “Of course I am.”

“Good and listen don’t worry about me. I know you support me. I appreciate that.” He pulled on his suit coat and reached for his keys. “Plus, don’t you have stuff you wanted to do before Tiffany and Clint come back? And what about Olivia, did she ever make up her mind about coming home?”

Ginny pulled a mug for her tea out of the cupboard by the fridge. “Hmm? Oh yes. She said she’s going to stay out there until Christmas break.”

He reached for his jacket and slid the keys into his pocket, walking toward the front door. “Good. That’s settled then. Okay, I’ve got to head out. There’s an abandoned warehouse out on highway 10 that Jake Landsdale wants me to look and I’m going to check it out before the banquet. We’re trying to track down the owners because there’s a huge commercial firm that is interested in the property. I’ve heard they might build a distribution center there. It would mean a lot of jobs for the area. I’ll call you on my way home and let you know how I did, okay?”

“Yeah,” she said at the already closed door. “Okay.”

She sat at the table and swallowed her emotion with a sip of tea. He hadn’t even noticed her hair, she realized as she propped her chin in her hand and her elbow on the table. She laughed softly, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Her prediction had come true. She had told herself he wouldn’t even notice, and he didn’t.

***

Stan turned his car toward Paskey Road at the bidding of his GPS, Ginny’s expression when he’d left the house still in his mind.

Well, that was weird.

Ginny hated these real estate banquets. Why had she seemed so annoyed that he had given her ticket away? He thought she’d be happy. Now she could stay home and read a book or bake or whatever else she did when he wasn’t home.

“Turn left onto Anderson Road.” The woman’s voice on the GPS was warm, soothing.

Ginny’s voice had once been warm and soothing. Now she just rambled about night sweats, the library, art classes, every single crisis their kids had going on, and most recently about Liz Cranmer. He scoffed, shook his head as he turned the car left. There was a development he hadn’t expected — her forming some kind of connection with their daughter-in-law’s younger, somewhat troubled sister.

He felt guilty calling Liz troubled. Just because she’d tried to kill herself last year didn’t mean he should be placing a label on her. Still, she was a bit, well, troubled. She’d lived a full year with that physical therapist who had made a scene a couple of years ago at a restaurant he and Ginny had been at. Obviously the man couldn’t hold his liquor very well.

“In half a mile, turn left on Henderson Road.”

A twinge of guilt tugged at him. He wasn’t supposed to even know about Liz’s suicide attempt, and he wouldn’t have if Matt hadn’t asked for prayer for her during the men’s meeting last year. Matt hadn’t said at the meeting what had happened or even named Liz. Stan had overheard him talking to Jason Tanner when he’d gone to get his coat. Matt had sworn Jason to secrecy but was deeply worried about Liz, not only her physical health but her spiritual health. Jason had promised to pray and to assuage his guilt, Stan had promised himself to pray for Liz too. He had prayed that night but knew he should have prayed for her more over the last year.

He couldn’t figure out what had drawn Ginny to the woman.

Maybe his wife felt like she needed some kind of project to occupy her time when she wasn’t at work.

He squinted into the setting sun, then reached for his sunglasses hooked in the sun visor.

Where was this building anyhow? He needed to check it out before he brought the representatives of that firm from the city here to show them the land. He also needed to find the owner to see if they would sell. This could be a big deal for the area. More jobs would be a definite boon to this area hard hit by recessions and crashing milk prices.

“Three-twenty-eight Henderson Road. There it is.”

The two-story brick structure was barely visible behind a veil of vines and overgrown trees and bushes. Sliding the car into park, Stan reflected again on his wife’s demeanor when he’d told her she didn’t have to go with him to the banquet. The way she’d flopped onto the couch, kicked off her boots. Brown boots he’d never seen her wear before.

There was something different about her too. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe her make-up. Was her lipstick a different color?

He shrugged a shoulder as he stepped into the chilly autumn air and headed toward the building. He didn’t see any signs posted, nothing to indicate who the building belonged to or when it had been built. It was clear, though, it wasn’t in use and hadn’t been for a long time. The windows were broken out, the shingled roof was breaking apart, large metal doors rusted at the top of a flight of stone stairs.

The metal doors were slightly open, and Stan wondered if he should investigate, but decided against it and walked around to the back of the building instead. Maybe he could find a clue to who owned the building there. From what he could remember, this building had once been a factory warehouse of some kind. Despite living in this area his entire life, other than the four years he’d spent away at college, he’d never heard definitively what the building had been.  

When he reached the back parking lot, overgrown with grass poking up through the cement and asphalt, he noticed there was another door around the back. It was cracked open like the front, a chain and bolt hanging down from the metal door handle as if it had been cut open.

It was probably someone living in the building, squatting as it was called when the person hadn’t been given permission to live there. Stan would report it to the building owner, if he knew who it was. He walked up the steps toward the door and reached for the handle, then hesitated. This was probably a job for the police, not a real estate agent used to sitting at a desk and on his way to a banquet in one of his best suits.

This building was in the state police’s jurisdiction and Stan doubted they’d come out and investigate a possible squatter. Matt might come with him on his day off, though, if the kid ever had a day off. It seemed like he was always working or volunteering somewhere, which is why it had surprised Stan when he’d read in the paper he’d had a baby with Liz.

When had he had any time for a dating life? Stan turned to walk back toward his car and laughed softly. Not like a man had to have a dating life to father a baby. Still, Matt didn’t seem the type to simply sleep with a woman and walk away. There had to be more to that story. Unlike Ginny, though, he didn’t have any interest or time to take on a personal project. Not too mention Matt’s personal life was none of his business.

He rubbed his hands together to brush off the dirt and slid behind the steering wheel. Turning the car on he realized he didn’t feel the anticipation he should be feeling at the prospect of earning another Real Estate Agent of the Year Award. These banquets really were boring. Having Ginny with him had always broken up the monotony, given him someone to chat with while the other agents droned on and on about their triumphs over the last year. She’d never been too hard on the eyes those nights either.

Oh well. Couldn’t be helped now. She’d probably changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt by now. He’d have to make it up to her next year, if he was nominated again. If he wasn’t, then maybe he’d stay home too. There were only so many speeches about real estate he could listen to and give.

He turned the car back onto the main highway toward the sportsmen’s club, the annual site for the banquet. No more feeling guilty about giving Ginny’s ticket away.

She hadn’t wanted to go anyhow.

This would be a good night. He could go talk shop with his fellow agents without feeling like he needed to rush her home.  Besides, she liked quiet nights at home with a cup of tea and a book. She was always saying how much she looked forward to nights like that.

Why was he even thinking about all this? There was nothing to think about.

He flipped the radio station to the oldies channel and leaned back. Singing along to Fat Domino he tapped his hand on the steering wheel.

Yep. It was going to be a good night.

Faithfully Thinking: The miracle I needed and others need too

I didn’t want to be moved to a new room in the hospital. I had just got comfortable in my private room in the Covid wing. I had also just fallen asleep for more than a half-hour to an hour at a time which had been plaguing me for two days. People weren’t interrupting me. I just kept jerking out of a Covid induced coma sleep terrified and feeling completely like I was outside of my body. It was awful.

 I had actually been in my first three hour stretch in days when I was woken up by Phil, my six-foot something Teddy bear of a nurse, and told I had to be moved to another room because they needed my room for a man since he couldn’t be placed with the woman who had just been brought in.

I had to have a roommate. That meant I couldn’t pray or cry out loud to myself anymore.

I was being moved? I had to lose the emotional support of the nurses I had come to love?

Wait. What?

Covid brain fog is no joke but Covid brain fog when you were asleep for the longest stretch in two days and have been woken up is even worse.

Before I knew it, I was being pushed down a hall, weepy, looking warily into a room at a woman who didn’t necessarily look friendly from my quick glance.

“She’s sick, Lisa,” I reminded myself. “She’s not going to look friendly right now.”

She was curled on her side, no covers, hand under her head. She’d probably been woken up too and wasn’t real pleased about it. I guessed her age to be somewhere in her 60s.

I was wheeled to my bed and climbed quickly to the safety of it, always afraid I’d get shaky and fall. The bed was my safety net, as sad as it sounds.

It was a bed that actually hadn’t been ready for me. The nurses had to quickly set it up and move me in. Everything seemed so haphazard and unorganized on this floor. Where had I been brought to?

In the bed I waited to be hooked up to the 24/7 pulse ox I’d had in the previous room. The nurses took my state-of-the-art pulse ox hook up off my finger and let me know that didn’t have a 24/7 setup in this room because the other patient had it. She was hooked up to monitors and IVs and I started to wonder if the hospital was cutting corners because of shortages and what would that mean to me? What if my oxygen dropped but they didn’t have me hooked up where they could see my numbers at the nurse’s station like they had in the previous wing?

I would realize later, when I was less panicked about it all, that I didn’t need to be monitored as well as my roommate because my oxygen numbers were doing well on the very low flow of oxygen I was on. I was monitored every few hours and if I was nervous at all I could call the nurse or an aide to check. My roommate, who I will call Betty for this post, was in much worse shape.  The machine was beeping every half an hour or so, letting the nurses know her oxygen was at dangerous levels, even on the higher flow of oxygen she was on. This was normally when she was trying to get to the bathroom or just rollover.

I spent a lot of time in the hospital praying for myself.

“Lord, save me.”

“Lord, don’t let me die.”

“Lord, don’t leave my kids without a mom.”

When I was put in with Betty, I found myself praying for her too.

I’m not someone special, some amazing Christian. I still prayed for myself. I’m human. I’m selfish. But praying for Betty gave me something else to focus on and, more importantly, someone else to focus on.

On Saturday night, a day after I’d been placed with her, an aide was begging Betty to put on a bipap to force air into her lungs. Her oxygen had dropped to 63 or 68 percent.

This young man, probably about 24 years old, who spent much of his time joking around, kneeled next to her bed and he said, in the sweetest, most pleading voice, “Betty, I need you to do this for me, okay? I need you to fight for me and this is one way to fight. Your family needs you, Betty. Please try this for me. I don’t want to lose you tonight, okay?”

Another nurse came in and together she and this young man convinced Betty to put on this Bipap (similar to a CPAP used for sleep apnea) so she could breathe. Watching that aid and that nurse was like watching a scene from a television show. He especially was like a real-life angel, not to sound too dramatic.

Betty was unable to keep the mask and device on for more than am hour before she said it was making her feel like she was suffocating. When the nurses were out of the room, I told her she was suffocating without it. I told her I would hold her hand while she fell asleep on it. She shook her head, thanked me, but said she just couldn’t do it.

“Betty, do you have a family at home?”

“Yes. I have grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

“Fight for them, Betty.”

I walked around the curtain, shaky and tired, and laid my hand on her leg as she tried to rest, still trying her best to wear the Bipap mask. I asked God to help her keep the Bipap on so she could breathe. At that moment her oxygen rose from 85 to 98, well in normal range. She was not able to keep the Bipap on for very long, but it did help while it was on. A couple of hours later, her oxygen was dropping again, and nurses came in to raise the flow on her oxygen, which can cause damage in the long run. She sat up on the bed while they tried to figure out how to get the oxygen in her without ventilating her and her oxygen dropped into the 70s. I was pacing on the other side of the curtain, praying, in between begging Betty to try the Bipap mask again.

The high flow began to work, and Betty was able to lay down again and I worked on getting some sleep. Somehow both of us slept for four hours or so that night.

Betty and I didn’t have a lot of time to talk, in between her throwing up and trying to breathe well and sleeping, but I did learn she had a husband, grandchildren and also COPD and heart failure. I learned that she was okay with my praying for her, even out loud, and she said she appreciated it. She said she didn’t go to church, but believed in God. She also gave me her jello and some crackers, probably after she heard me telling my mom how I am hungry all the time and felt like the meals weren’t filling me. I didn’t understand why I was so hungry and wondered if it was the steroids I was on, even though they were a low dosage.

Two nights after I thought I was going to listen to Betty die, I was being discharged. I had to have one last dose of the anti-viral medication and I was a nervous wreck, worried that I would be this close to going home to my family and I’d have some weird side effect from the medicine. I hadn’t so far, but I had this fear I would this time and that they would keep me from my children and husband again. (Note: if you are ever in the hospital, don’t read what others have to say about the medication you are being given, especially if the person says it is a conspiracy and now you are going to have kidney failure.)

In the end, all that worrying about what the medicine might do, raised my blood pressure and the nurse hinted I was going to be unable to go home with my family who was downstairs in the parking lot waiting for me. My family had driven 45-minutes, I desperately needed them for my healing, and I couldn’t take the stress of waiting for Betty to die, while praying she wouldn’t.  

“I have to get out of this hospital,” I told the nurse. “I have to go home. You don’t understand.”

I couldn’t calm down. Watching a Christian comedian wasn’t even helping. The nurse said that after talking to the doctor, she was going to give me medication to lower my blood pressure and if it came down, I could go home.

The nurse was at the end of her shift, stressed, wanted to send me home but was worried if she did and something happened to me at home, she would one, feel horrible and two, lose her job. She’d had to report the high blood pressure to the doctor. She had no choice, but she knew I was upset. She started my discharge paperwork, in case my blood pressure came down, rushing in and out of the room to check my blood pressure in between trying to also discharge four other people. I closed my eyes and prayed, terrified I would not get home that night after being told I would.

My eyes popped open.

My dad had been encouraging me to talk to Betty about becoming a Christian, but “Daaaad, hello? Betty is just trying to feel better and breathe normally. I can’t be over there proselytizing.”

 So I had prayed silently for Betty, asking God to touch her and heal her. I’d also already told her she could call on Jesus anytime she needed him, silently or out loud.

Laying there, waiting for my blood pressure to come down, though, a thought popped into my head. “Pray with Betty one more time. Tell her how to ask Jesus into her life.”

I felt a little like maybe God was making me jump through a hoop, or maybe that I was looking too much into this delay, or like I was being a bit dramatic. I mean, come on. Was God really delaying my discharge so I would pray with Betty one more time? This was silly.

Silly or not, I prayed out loud with Betty, who I couldn’t see behind the curtain between our two beds, and who was waiting for a nurse to come help her to the bathroom. I told her that if she ever wanted to ask Jesus into her heart she could do so, and it could be as simple as asking him to come and be a part of her life. Or something like that. I’ll be honest here; I don’t remember exactly what I said. I was nervous, felt like I was being one of those Christians who looks for signs in everything, and wanted to go home. But I also wanted Betty to have some comfort while I was gone and wasn’t there to pray with or over her anymore.

Betty said she understood what I was saying, thanked me for praying for her and said she appreciated everything I had done. She wished me luck going home. She was exhausted but still wanted to thank me.

Fifteen minutes later my blood pressure had dropped a small amount, not really enough for the nurse’s liking, but enough that she worked out a deal with the doctor to send me home if I agreed to monitor my blood pressure with my cuff at home, to increase my blood pressure medication (which I hadn’t yet started at that point), and see my doctor in six days.

I was going home, and I was so excited and nervous all at the same time. I was also worried about Betty. I didn’t want to leave her alone in the hospital. Her doctor had said her family could visit her as long as they were masked and covered, and I hoped they would the next day. Still, who would be there to pray with her if her oxygen dropped again? Yes, of course I knew I could pray for her at home too.

After I was home, Betty was still on my mind even as I dealt with exhaustion and other symptoms. I knew the hospital couldn’t tell me how she was, since I wasn’t family. I called, though, and asked a nurse to tell Betty I was still praying. The nurse said she wasn’t supposed to tell me Betty was still there but that she was and that she would tell Betty I was praying.

Then I went to Facebook, did some sleuthing and found Betty’s account. From there I found a family member, or so I thought anyhow, and messaged them out of the blue, asking if they could give me an update on Betty.

To shorten the story, not only did this family member give me an update, but she also gave me Betty’s cellphone number at Betty’s request.

I texted her and she responded that she couldn’t talk right then.

I knew she was probably still fighting for her life so I texted back I understood and told her I would be praying.

Two days later Betty called me on my cellphone.

Her voice was clear, she wasn’t gasping for air, and she told me they had lowered her oxygen from 30 or 40 Liters to eight a couple of days earlier and that that day they had lowered it that day to 6 liters. At home she is on 4 liters at all times because of her COPD.

“My lung collapsed two days ago,” she said. “But I’m feeling better. I can eat, I’m coughing up a bunch of junk they wanted me to cough up and they say I might go home in two days.”

To say I was shocked by this exchange is an understatement.

This woman who was one step from being ventilated (something doctors try their hardest not to do anymore because of the damage it does, they told me) had just called me to tell me she was going home in two days.

Going home.

Not to ICU.

Home.

Wow.

Here I had been worried I would be reading her obituary and instead I was hearing the woman say to me, “I credit the good Lord above for this and I’m going to take better care of myself when I get out of here. Yes, I am.”

We agreed we would keep in touch, even after she left the hospital and I told her we will stop in and visit sometime when we are up in her area.

The next day she texted me and told me she was home.

The situation with Betty taught me a couple of things. It didn’t teach me that I’m some great Christian. Not at all. I prayed with Betty, but I wasn’t bold or confident about it. I was hopeful God would heal her, but I worried He wouldn’t.

However, meeting Betty taught me to be a little bolder in my faith at least. I think the fact I had brain fog from Covid probably made me a little braver too. I didn’t have the brain capacity to overthink like I usually do, which was a gift from God, even though I prayed for the brain fog to be taken away. He knew if I could think something like, “I look like some weird fanatical religious person doing this,” I wouldn’t actually pray out loud over Mary, asking Jesus for her healing. I couldn’t think that because my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Not even close.

The time in the hospital showed me that I need to hold on to Christ when I feel like I can’t hold on to anything or anyone else. I had faith that the nurses and doctors would try to help me, but I knew only God could really heal me and protect me and I had to keep reminding myself of that. I wasn’t some super, confident Christian in that area. I had to listen to my mom, a pastor’s wife, and friends tell me that. Over and over.

I worried after my diagnosis that I or my husband would be a statistic. Or the rest of my family. Then I worried Betty would. Or members of other families who had it at the same time would. There were many times that Christ’s peace settled over me and a few moments later I would worry again and wipe it all away. I’d have to pause, pray and ask again for Christ’s peace.

In addition to strengthening my reliance on God, meeting Betty also taught me that God is still in the business of miracles.

There is so much sadness in the world. There is heartache, bitterness, hatred, hurt, and there has been deep, deep loss because of this virus. But there are also miracles like mine and Betty’s happening.

When I looked at my oxygen levels on Thanksgiving Day and saw it was lower than I’d read it should be during COVID, I panicked. When my husband went to get the car and it dropped even lower while I walked, yet I still felt pretty good, I completely panicked. While we waited for the ambulance, I pondered why I felt okay, why I wasn’t gasping for air. On the way to the ER, I wondered if the trip was wasted. In the ER when they finally said my blood oxygen was showing lower in the blood gasses than on the pulse ox and hooked me up to oxygen, I still wondered if my being admitted was necessary. I still wonder if the oxygen would have come back up on its own or not. I know some others have while others have not

Maybe I overreacted or maybe it was all divine.

Maybe the ER doctor was over cautious and if he was then I am still thankful because he very well may have saved my life.

I am also thankful for his actions, not because his decision meant I spent five days away from my family, but because his decision led me to meet Betty and through Betty see a miracle.

It was a miracle that I, and many others, needed right now in our lives.

Sunday Bookends: World War II Espionage, still recovering, and getting back into writing a little

What’s Been Occurring

Yep, I’m still recovering from COVID. No, I’m not 100 percent yet.

Yes, I still have the trembling or vibrating, but some days it is a little better than others. It never goes away 100 percent. I also have vertigo but dealt with that before Covid.

This week I remembered something else about when this happened on a smaller scale in 2017. I also had a virus when the vibrating started too back then. Weird, I know. It’s almost like certain viruses trigger some sort of auto immune response in my body. I don’t know but for now I am taking CBD oil to try to at least reduce the issue and it does seem to help.

The brain fog and fatigue are at least getting a little better.

Because I am still recovering, we haven’t done much that requires me to leave the house, other than to visit my parents.

I stay in the house and write and do homeschool with the kids, so not that much different than before.

What I’ve Been Watching

I have been watching a lot of clean comedians on YouTube in the last two weeks. A lot.

I went on a Ken Davis binge for a few days and then it was Chonda Pierce.

I’m watching anything that will make me laugh right now.

Last night we watched Free Guy on the advice of my brother and really enjoyed it.

What I’m Reading

This week I am finishing Saving Mrs. Roosevelt by Candice Sue Patterson.

Here is a description to whet your appetite for my review next week:

The Safety of the First Lady Rests in Shirley’s Hands

Shirley Davenport is as much a patriot as her four brothers. She, too, wants to aid her country in the war efforts, but opportunities for women are limited. When her best friend Joan informs her that the Coast Guard has opened a new branch for single women, they both enlist in the SPARs, ready to help protect the home front.
 
Training is rigorous, and Shirley is disappointed that she and Joan are sent to separate training camps. At the end of basic training, Captain Webber commends her efforts and commissions her home to Maine under the ruse of a dishonorable discharge to help uncover a plot against the First Lady.

Shirley soon discovers nothing is as it seems. Who can she trust? Why do the people she loves want to harm the First Lady? With the help of Captain Webber, it’s a race against time to save Mrs. Roosevelt and remain alive.

I’m not sure yet what I will read after this one but I do have a preview of the sequel to The Rhise of Light by Max Sternberg, which I am excited to dig into, and another author sent their book to me to read too.

What I’m Writing

I’m working a little bit on my third book in the Spencer Valley Chronicles series, which I have renamed A New Chapter, I think. I’m not sure. Maybe.

I wrote about 900 words Friday, which is not a lot but considering all I’ve had gone on with my health this week, I’ll take it.

I’m also working on blog posts here and there and managed to share one post this past week:

Faithfully Thinking: Peace That Passes All Understanding

Tomorrow I plan to have an update post on my roommate at the hospital.

What I’m Listening To

I’m listening to a lot of Christian music still.

One artist that is on my radar this week is Matthew West.

My daughter loves this song and sent me a recording the other night of her singing it in the back of her dad’s car on the way back from Awana (a Christian program at my parent’s church). She sent it through Messenger Kids which she uses with her little friends.

So that is my week in review. What’s been going on in your world? Let me know in the comments.

Faithfully Thinking: Peace That Passes All Understanding

As many of you know I was in the hospital recently for Covid.

I mentioned in previous posts that it was a very traumatic experience. The whole might die thing was traumatic, of course, but being away from my family and thrown in the midst of the chaos of a hospital where they are treating very sick patients was also very traumatic.

I’ve been a Christian since I was five-years old. I’d like to say I’ve trusted God through every moment of my life and never doubted but that would be a lie. I am a human with human doubts.

Over the years I’ve tried to build my faith through saying familiar verses over and over or relying on God’s promises from the Bible. My mom has helped me do this more than anyone.

Sitting in the emergency room Thanksgiving night, hooked up to oxygen and an IV, I tried to remember the verses my mom had recited to me over the years:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your path straight. (Proverbs 3:5-6)

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:13)

You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. (Isaiah 26:3)

My husband played music and sermons while we waited to see what treatment they would give me. We both tried to stay calm even as my mind raced.

In the midst of it all, while I thought of the worst (imagined myself being intubated like they talk about on the news), there did seem to be an odd sense of peace settling over me. I wanted to scream and run away more than once but something in me said to stay in place and God was going to walk me through it if not deliver me from it. He wanted to give me peace even as the chaos was swirling around me.

Peace settled over me again and again throughout the next five days. That doesn’t mean that I was cool as a cucumber or never had a breakdown because I definitely did. I cried more than once, I begged God to send me home with my family, I wondered if I would get worse and never make it home. I had the incessant trembling in my body which still remains.

God sent me a roommate on my second day there. I was moved from a private room to a new room in another wing at 3 a.m. with a roommate and I was terrified. I had gotten used to my  cozy room and the nurses and aids on their 12 hour shifts. I had met Phil and Lisa and they were amazing and wonderful and reassuring. They were my safety nets, and they were being taken away. I was terrified again.

I wanted to be sure my oxygen was going with me too. That was my physical lifeline.  I needed to keep remembering that God was my real lifeline though. He had to keep reminding me and he did that when they began to turn the oxygen I was on down until they took it off me only a day and a half after they’d put me on it.

I needed to pray for even more peace when I was taken to a room with a roommate, but then I needed to pray for peace for her too. Her situation was much worse. Her oxygen was dropping every time she tried to sit up or use the bathroom. The staff was monitoring her blood oxygen 24/7. They had stopped doing that for me which was another source of fear I had to overcome. Every time they came into the room to check my pulse ox I tensed up. What if it was low again? What if I had a setback? Obviously they thought I didn’t need to be monitored constantly, so that should calm me, right?

And it did most of the time, but it also worried me because what if my oxygen dropped when they weren’t checking?

What if they didn’t get there fast enough and I couldn’t breathe?

What if was my favorite two words, as you can see.

Then a nurse said to me, “what if everything turns out fine? What if you are doing great, because you are? Sometimes we need to focus on the good what-ifs.”

I knew she was right and that I needed to be focused on the good what-if’s even as I struggled with the bad what-ifs.

My mom and others sent a ton of encouraging verses on to me over my five-day stay and even over this last week and I held on to one of them as my prayer: that God would give me the peace that passes all understanding throughout my ordeal.

Philippians 4:6-8

6Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

8 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

I did my best to focus on the good things each day. I focused on the times the trembling was better or the times my head was a little more clear than the day, or hour (ha), before. I focused on the meals I could eat and taste. I focused on how I could talk to my family even in the hospital. I would also focus on the good moments with my roommate, the times her breathing was better or she could rest.

There were many times during my ordeal that peace settled over me and there are many times that peace settles on me now as I recover. There are days, though, I have to pray for that peace, ask God again to give it to me as he did in the hospital. I will never stop asking for it and claiming it in his name.

I  will keep praying for it until it is manifest in my life.

I have a small book that a friend gave to me years ago and one thing it says in the book is to call upon the healing we want until that healing comes and that is what I am doing right now. I am declaring healing for my body but especially for my mind and my spirit. And I am declaring internal peace.

Sunday bookends: Just glad to be alive to post today

The fact I am able to write a blog post this week is exciting to me and feels a little like a miracle.

It’s just a silly blog post but I am alive to write it. And I apologize ahead of time if it makes no sense at all!

If you didn’t catch my blog post from last week, I spent five days in the COVID unit of our local hospital starting Thanksgiving night. I just looked back at that original post that I copied from Instagram and I don’t think it makes much sense but, then again, a lot of my blog posts over the years probably haven’t made sense. Ha! The second blog post about my recovery didn’t make much sense either but it’s been quite a journey so I will cut myself some slack.

I came home from the hospital Monday night of this past week and am slowly recovering, trying to regain some sort of normalcy again. Making myself write this blog post is one way of getting some of that back. I am still worried about my cognitive state at this point, but I can write cognitive so that’s a good thing, right? I have issues with brain fog anyhow but COVID has stepped it up even more. I had never heard how bad it messed with you mentally until I got it.

So, I mentioned in my other post that I have developed a very odd internal tremor that started either when the symptoms of COVID (dry cough, high fever, exhaustion, loss of taste and smell) started or when I found out officially that I had Covid. I’m not sure which. The days all blurred together. I do know I had a bit of a mental breakdown when I saw I officially had Covid, terrified of what it would bring to my family.

I chalked the tremor up to the effects of the virus itself but it is still there and won’t go away even as I should be over the virus. I do have occasional breaks from it. It’s very hard to explain it other than to say I feel like I am sitting in a pot of boiling water all the time but without the heat. Or that my muscles are constantly twitching from the spine up through my head. Or that I’m sitting on a phone on vibrate 24/7. I also have a low roar in my ears but my ears have been stuffed for over a month so that isn’t leftover from Covid.

I think I mentioned in my post earlier in the week that I had something similar happen to me when my dog of 14-years died in 2017. My daughter was also sick around that time (she’d stopped eating and was tested for the flu), I thought I had cancer (don’t even ask! I really am crazy sometimes), etc. it all built up and a vibration similar to this developed. It took maybe two or three months to settle down. I’m hoping this will take less time.

So I have slowly been getting my taste and smell back and cried when I started tasting food like my mom’s homemade mashed potatoes.

On Friday night I smelled Little Miss’s gas and actually got emotional. Ha! I know! It’s crazy but it’s just another sign I am recovering. I lost my smell and taste on the 13th. My son did as well and he’s still waiting for it to come back. I reminded him I am a few days ahead of him in recovery so it should come soon. My husband only lost part of his smell. As far as we know Little Miss didn’t lose any of that.

What I’m reading

So reading actual books was not on my priority list last week. I couldn’t get my brain to settle most of the time and did way too much internet research. When that obsession settled down, I found that texting my family and friends and watching old comedies like The Andy Griffith Show and stupid Lifetime Christmas movies worked to calm me more than anything else.

I did try to read Virgin River by Robyn Carr on my final day in the hospital, but, well, I don’t think it’s a very well-written book so I struggled some. Or maybe it’s just because I already knew what happened since I watched the first season on Netflix a year or so ago.

When I got back from the hospital my joy was reading Paddington with Little Miss and doing all the voices. Daddy doesn’t know how to read it right, she says.

I’m now also trying to read Saving Mrs. Roosevelt by Candice Sue Patterson for a book tour and so far I am enjoying it. It’s so nice to disappear inside books again!

What I’m writing

I am planning on gutting my novel this week. I don’t have a lot of brain capacity at the moment for writing, really, but I’m trying to do a little editing at least and that’s actually helping my mental healing a lot.

I have no idea when I will share fiction on the blog again. It might be after Christmas at this point.

What I’m Watching

I watched a ton of The Andy Griffith Show last week, as I mentioned above. Comfort watching. It was what I needed. I also watched Lovejoy and Corner Gas with my husband when we were first dealing with COVID and then did a couple marathons of Corner Gas during recovery this past week. I watched a lot of Gordan Ramsey’s travel show on National Geographic while in the hospital and a couple of really dumb Lifetime Christmas movies. I suffered through Pitch Perfect 3 as well. Lord, that was awful and I don’t think it was awful just because of the COVID.

What I’m listening To

In the hospital, I listened constantly to my Christian music playlist that I had set up on Apple.

I listened to Elevation Worship and Crowder and Matthew West, Needtobreathe (ironic, no?), Natalie Grant, Cece Winans, MercyMe, Keith Green, Michael W. Smith, Rend Collective, and For King and Country, just to name a few. I highly recommend listening to music in situations like that. It truly calms the nerves.

So that’s my week in review. I somehow made it! I would love to hear how your week went. I don’t care if you just cleaned out your attic or decorated the house or baked some cookies. Please feel free to share with me in the comments!

A slow mental recovery from COVID

I’m slowly mentally recovering from my five-day hospital stay from COVID.

I was on a low flow (very low) of oxygen for about two days but had to stay longer to finish an antiviral treatment which may or may not have helped (there are mixed studies on it). I had to take five doses over five days.

I went into the hospital on Thanksgiving night. I’d been sick for about nine or ten days by then. I went to the ER when my pulse ox seemed to drop. The ER doctor admitted me and at first, it looked like I would have to travel to a hospital more than three hours from my house. That thought terrified me and my husband.

By some kind of miracle, a bed was found at our local hospital (larger than the one I went to for the ER), about 45 minutes from our house.

There is so much I could write about all this and so much I want to, but I’m not totally mentally there to do so.

This was the scariest situation I have ever been in in my life.

I relied completely on Christ. I felt his peace even when I didn’t know how I was feeling it. I wasn’t perfect in my faith, don’t get me wrong. I had doubts but when everything else is taken away from you all you have is God.

I couldn’t have visitors, or at least as far as I knew. I was truly alone other than the amazing staff and nurses. Well, and God, as I’ve already mentioned.

My roommate almost died Saturday night, two days before I left. That was so hard. I prayed over her and even rubbed her shoulders at one point and prayed for her o2 levels to come up. By laying on her side they would come up and at that moment it rose from the low 80s up to 98 as I prayed. I don’t know what really happened, but I was so grateful to see that number.

The staff was doing all they could to keep her off the vent. I called Wednesday to see how she was and the staff can’t tell me much since I am not family but they did say she was still there. I took that as a good sign that she had not been sent to the ICU yet. It is also possible they couldn’t get her in the ICU as there is a huge surge in our area right now.

I am now keeping track of seven people battling COVID in our area. They are a mix of vaccinated and unvaccinated, which is who was in the COVID unit at our hospital, according to the nurses and staff. This virus isn’t discerning at this point, unfortunately. We just need to get on our hands and knees and pray to God for it to get better soon and for the doctors to keep finding ways to treat people as best as they can.

When I was in the hospital the attitude was very positive. There was no negative talk allowed about what could happen, other than realistic reports on how we were doing in our care.

They had us lay on our stomachs for an hour at a time every four hours. We were given low dose steroids, cough medication, albuterol every four hours or so, low dose blood thinner shots in our stomachs once a day to prevent blood clots, any regular meds, encouraged to walk around and also given a breathing device to strengthen our lungs. And we all, pretty much all, were on a drug that some say can affect your kidneys, but our kidneys were tested through blood work at least twice during our stays.

My lungs remained clear my entire stay, thank God, even though I had an annoying cough. The cough medicine was mainly an exportent (sorry, I can’t spell that and am too lazy to look it up.)to keep the mucous thin and loose.

So, I’m home.

It’s been a weird journey since being home too.

I have an internal tremor that started a day or so after my symptoms started on the 16th of November. That’s pretty intense, especially when the anxiety kicks in but it’s similar to tremors I had after my 14-year old dog died in 2017. Doctors couldn’t figure that out then and the nurses were bewildered this time, other than to say the virus puts a huge amount of stress on the body of patients and they believe it’s a mix of that and insane anxiety.

Oddly, as I am typing this the internal tremor is better. A lot better. Hmmm..maybe getting back to writing and sharing with my lovely blog readers is helping to distract me. Praise Jesus!

I’m sure I’ll write more about all of this in future blog posts. Or maybe I won’t. I don’t know how much I can handle writing about it all. Even thinking about it is very traumatic at this time.

Thank you to those of you who prayed and who I know will continue to pray now.

Stay safe out there everyone but don’t live in fear. God has us, one way or another! (remind me of this when I find myself doubting again!)