Larada Horner-Miller's Blog, page 51

New Book Coming Out This Year

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I Grew Up To Be The Woman I Always Wanted to Be is my grief memoir, a collection of poetry and prose, about the loss of my Dad 21 years ago and my Mom 4 years ago. The majority of the book deals with Mom’s death and my process afterwards.

Here’s the poem the book is named after.

i-grew-up-to-be-the-woman-poem

Have you lost both parents? Do you feel like an adult orphan? Fill out the poll below and we will see the results–also leave me a comment about this topic.

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Hello 2017!

[image error]Happy New Year to you!

I enter this year with sadness and anticipation–more so that other years.

My sadness comes from thinking about the past and facing a year of uncertainty. It will be four years since my Mom died. Last year was filled with losses too. We have some dear friends facing major health crisis and that shadows what this year may be.

The weather in southeastern Colorado continues to be dry–we need deep moisture to heal the drought we experienced last summer. How do ranchers and farmers deal with the uncertainty of the weather and mother nature?

I’m new to this position but I so respect my Dad and all my ranching and farming friends who have experienced this for years. My Dad would say it’s just a part of the job.

I base my anticipation on my eternal optimism.  I have a book ready to be published. My husband and I scheduled out our fun travels fro 2017  for pleasure and dancing last week–looks like a great year.

We got snow in New Mexico a couple days ago, so the dryness received some relief here.

All in all, I know that possibilities abound this year, and I am ready.

 

My Grandma’s Homemade Turkey & Egg Noodles and Popcorn Balls

I have two favorite Christmas memories about my maternal grandmother. 

Grandma made all the traditional sweets for Christmas time, but she made something really different that became my favorite. She made popcorn balls for a Christmas treat. I never made them with her because she had to prepare all those goodies before we arrived.

I found a great recipe in the Folsom Garden Club cookbook and have used it every year since. Every Christmas I make two batches of popcorn balls–a red and a green batch. I love making these sweet treats and as I munch on them, Grandma Dickerson comes to mind. I don’t have her recipe, but I have my memories.

The other memory I have is the day after Christmas, Grandma made homemade turkey and egg noodles. She would use the leftovers and the turkey carcass to create the soup. She was of the generation that did not waste a thing, so the carcass was boiled to get the good broth for the soup she was preparing.

Then she would make the homemade noodles. She never used a bowl; she poured out a mound of flour on the table, scooped out the center to make the bowl then started adding ingredients. She would roll out the noodles and cut them and leave them scattered on the table to dry for awhile.

Grandma was a short lady, so I stood at her elbow often watching the process, anticipating the finished product. She knew it was my favorite dish so she spoiled me with this treat any Christmas we were at her house.

The delicious smell of the turkey cooking and the knowledge of the dish coming had my mouth watering. The sampling of the broth, the aroma of turkey cooking and the warmth of the hot soup warmed my heart and soul.

I have never tried to make her noodles–again I don’t have her recipe. I’m not sure she had one. Maybe I should google a recipe for homemade noodles and try my hand at a batch. I’m sure all those years at her side would help me create something special.

Mom was always a part of this special time in the kitchen. Grandma was a great cook and these two Christmas memories warm me every holiday time. It was communal time in the kitchen–three generations enjoying each other around a tradition I miss today.

Christmas Caroling

[image error]“Silent Night,” “Joy to the World!” I love to sing Christmas carols. As a child, we sang those precious songs at church and school. I never grew tired of them.

One year when I was in high school, Margie Miller, one of our multi-talented teachers, taught us “O Come All Ye Faithful” in Latin. It sounded so similar to the Spanish many of my friends spoke. In our small community, I heard Spanish often. We had Spanish in fourth grade so I had an early introduction to learning this language.

The sound of this familiar Christmas hymn mesmerized me. Fifty-plus years later today, I can still sing those Latin words to that wonderful old song.

I grew up at a time when church and state were not as separate as they are today. As a high school, we drove around Branson on the back of a hay truck singing Christmas carols for the community. This became my favorite caroling experience.

We knew everyone in town, so it was delightful to see the response from our friends and neighbors when we drove up to their houses. Most of the audience was elderly and their eyes shone with joy as they heard traditional songs they loved. At key points, someone served hot chocolate and cookies to us chilly carolers.

Yes, it was cold on the back of that flat bed truck. We dressed warm with layers of sweaters and heavy winter coats. A bright scarf and hand-knitted hat kept my head and neck warm. Warm mittens kept my fingers toasty and snow boots donned my feet. I have the worst time keeping my feet warm, so I remember cold feet no matter what I had on my feet.

After about an hour of singing, we would go back to the school for our annual high school Christmas party. The main focus of the party was dancing — country and western dancing.

I have so many precious Christmas memories in that small town and school, but this one rings strong and bright.

Lyrics to

O Come All Ye Faithful

O come, all ye faithful,

Joyful and triumphant!

O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;

Come and behold him

Born the King of Angels:

O come, let us adore Him,

O come, let us adore Him,

O come, let us adore Him,

Christ the Lord.

God of God,

Light of Light,

Lo, he abhors not the Virgin’s womb;

Very God,

Begotten, not created:

Sing, choirs of angels,

Sing in exultation,

Sing, all ye citizens of Heaven above!

Glory to God

In the highest:

Yea, Lord, we greet thee,

Born this happy morning;

Jesus, to thee be glory given!

Word of the Father,

Now in flesh appearing!

 

 

Latin Lyrics:

Adeste Fideles

Laeti triumphantes

Venite, venite in Bethlehem

Natum videte

Regem angelorum

Venite adoremus, Venite adoremus,

Venite adoremus, Dominum

Cantet nunc io

Chorus angelorum

Cantet nunc aula caelestium

Gloria, gloria

In excelsis Deo

Venite adoremus, Venite adoremus,

Venite adoremus, Dominum

 

Writing Journals

Lin and I just got back from a cruise through the Panama Canal and one of our ports was Puerto Quetzal, Guatemala. From there we drove through the country side for ninety minutes to Antigua, the old capitol of Guatemala. On the drive, we saw a volcano erupt and I got great photos of it.

At one of our stops along the way at a coffee plantation,  I bought a journal with a Guatemalan textile cover. Guatemalan textiles use all the colors I love!

Antigua’s charm comes from her age; she dates back to 1524. We walked ancient cobblestone streets, and I had a blast bartering with the vendors. I speak a little Spanish so I was able to visit with them and enjoy them in a different way from the non-Spanish speaking tourist.

I collect journals and use them regularly for writing. I’ve gone through phases when I’ve bought big ones — 9 x 11 and toted them around everywhere I went to smaller, more convenient ones. I have a collection of full journals in my book shelf besides my computer, and the other day I started going through them, looking for a specific story. I didn’t find the story, but what joy I had to see all my writing over the years.

Right now, I have a small notebook in my purse and I wrote in it regularly on the cruise ship by the pool.

I have set my new gorgeous Guatemalan journal on a stand besides my computer and every time I walk by it, it calls to me to open it up and write. I will!

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Cutting Down Our Own Christmas Tree

[image error] Growing up in southeastern Colorado, we could choose any tree on our family ranch to become our star Christmas tree every year. We never bought a Christmas tree when I was growing up. Why would we? We could cut our own–free for the selection and lots of fun.

Mom and I would start looking for this year’s Christmas tree during hunting season in October.

“There’s the perfect one,” Mom pointed to a small three foot piñon pine tree that she wanted to put up on the coffee table. She went on and on about the virtues of a small tree. Dad, Bub, my brother, and I moaned and groaned. Oh, not this again, but we knew her–she always wanted a small tree.

Driving a little farther near the canyon, I spotted a regal six foot piñon pine tree and exclaimed, “Here it is! Let’s mark this one. This is it for sure–our Christmas tree for this year.”

Dad and Bub shook their heads in agreement. We continued our back and forth about small trees and big trees. Then we would continue our task of hunting for a deer to have venison meat for the winter.

This routine repeated itself throughout the months of October and November and into the beginning of December. Mom lost most often with the three of us outnumbering her on the big tree.

One year, the three “big Christmas tree lovers” overdid ourselves though.

The time had come to go to the ranch to cut down our tree. For some reason, Mom didn’t go, so the three of us knew there would be no argument and that the tree would be big this year. We scouted out familiar ones that I had mentally marked throughout the fall, but Dad and Bub spied one they wanted. The saw came out, and they cut it down as a team, laughing about how Mom would reacted. Yes, it looked fabulous out on the ranch against the deep blue sky. We admired our tree and laughed about Mom’s possible response.  What added to the joy of our selection was it was our first year in our new home with higher ceilings, so the taller the better.

We prepared for Mom’s comments–rehearsed our answers to her probing questions. We drove up out front of our house and backed the pick up into the driveway so it would be easier to carry it in.

I hurried up the walk to talk to Mom. She stuck her head out the door, quizzing me about the size. Kidding her, I replied, “It’s your size.” Her laugh told me she didn’t believe it.

It took both Dad and Bub to carry the tree up the walk and set it on the porch. Already I realized we were in trouble. The tree seemed to go on forever.

Dad took out the hacksaw and cut the bottom of the stump off evenly and slid it into the stand and tried to get it in the door. Bub and Dad wrestled with the tree and the door, trying to carry it up upright in the stand, but it wouldn’t fit, so they laid it out lengthwise and finally shoved it in the door.

Mom had cleared the area in front of the front window to showcase our tree to the world. Dad and Bub set the stand on the floor and raised the tree.

All four of us gasped at the same time–the tree reached the ceiling and curled down at least a foot! What do we do now?

Dad took control, “That’s easily fixed,” so he and Bub took the tree out on the porch and cut a foot off the bottom of the tree and brought the shortened tree in and set it up. The top of it brushed the ceiling but fit.

We stood back and admired our beautiful six foot plus tree and laughed. Mom said next year I’m for sure going with you three so we can get a smaller tree.

We all laughed, joyful at our selection and adjustment.

Is Creativity Stimulating?

It’s 12:55 am, and I’m usually asleep by now. For the first time in my life, I’m participating in NaNoWriMo, a worldwide commitment by individuals to write 50,000 words of a novel in the month of November. I have writer friends who have done. I have teacher friends who have had their high school students do it. So this was the year for me.  I haven’t met my daily goal every day, and it’s November 17, but I’ve written over 18,000 words. I feel really accomplished by doing that. If I double up for the last 13 days, I should get close!

This commitment to produce a certain amount of words each day has forced me to write daily. It has become a habit, a great by-product of NaNoWriMo. Before, I wrote when I felt like it, but often it got pushed aside for more important tasks. Now it is the priority–another paradigm shift.

Is creativity stimulating?  Tonight I was in the zone, writing and crafting my women’s novel, and I had one of those experiences we writers crave–the inspiration of my muse carried me away with a twist in the story that made me cried it was so beautiful. I could have kept writing all night, but my husband needed some attention, so I stopped.

Now I can’t sleep. I want to write. Ideas flash across my mind about this character and that one. How will I end the story i forgot to add this piece. Oh, my!!! My mind won’t stop. It’s on a roll and wants to continue, so I’m sitting in the dark in my bathrobe, crafting this blog post.

This has been the week of the super moon with ultra bright evenings. Is that why I can’t sleep? Or is creativity so stimulating, so much like a caffeine buzz that I am wired for the night?

What do you think?

Are A Lot of People Bibliophobic Today?

Bibliophobic?  I am at a spring craft show at the most affluent school in our city, selling six my self-published books, and people veer completely away from my booth like they are deathly afraid of books.  It’s almost comical.

I am the opposite.  Books draw me to them. I am compelled to buy another book, even though I have stacks and stacks of unread tomes at home.

So do people read as much today?  A statistic I need to research.

Many do. I see them in airplanes, in the park and on buses. So what about these people who won’t even make eye contact with me? I wonder.

Books have always been friends. What’s your thoughts about books?

Christmas is here!

The gifts are wrapped; cards and packages sent; the baking is done.  Now is a lull, and I like this time before the rush of the actual holiday. 

The child in me remembers all those great Christmases and the anticipation. It was the anticipation that grabbed me–waiting, waiting, waiting!

Traditions resounded in my childhood home:  church program, program at school and one of my favorites was shopping from the catalogs for months before Christmas.

Montgomery Wards — we called it Monkey Ward.  I couldn’t wait for the thick catalog to arrive.  I would dog-ear the pages of what I wanted, revisiting that magical volume often. Then I would wait, wondering if I would get what I wanted.

Did you always get what you wanted? I didn’t. I will tell you about that in my next post.

Release Party on Facebook

My new book, When Will Papa Get Home?, is out and I had a Release Party last Sunday, December 6, 2015 on Facebook from 6:00-6:30 pm. I wrote out a script with a timeline and what I was to do.

My husband video-taped an introduction for me and I started with that.  I uploaded it too late–I started at 5:55 pm and I should have started 5 – 10 minutes before, so I started a couple minutes late.

Here’s the timeline of the party I followed:

6:00 – Welcome Video & Timeline of party

6:05 – Story Behind the Story

6:10 – Great discount on ebook at Amazon for a limited time announcement

6:15 – Excerpt – Preface & Chapter 1

6:20 – Pictures

6:25 – Questions & Answers

6:30 – ebook discount announced

I created an Event on Facebook and invited lots of people, but only a couple actually showed up. I should have been more selective of who I invited.

I ended the Release Party with the announcement that my ebook would be FREE on Amazon for a limited time.

It was hard to interact on Facebook like I thought I could, so I am thinking a webinar would be better. It was a great learning process.