K.M. Updike's Blog, page 17

On certain Christmas-y things that have been in my house at Christmas forever

     Christmas is my most favorite thing in the whole world.
     I know, there are a lot of things that are my most favorite thing in the whole world.
     But Christmas is up there at the top of the list of my most favorite things in the whole world of my most favorite things in the whole world list. Except maybe for stories.

     My mom tells me sometimes the story of that Christmas in Colorado when I two and I cried because we had to take the Christmas tree down. I still don't like being around when all the Christmas things go away. One month is just not enough days to celebrate Christmas. It's not enough time to build up your anticipation any more. Sometimes I dislike growing up more than other times. And Christmas is one of those times.

     But today is the day I'm sharing with you some of the things that absolutely must be there in my house for Christmas to be Christmas. It's just not Christmas without them. I don't know what I'll do when I go away forever. Move back in for Christmas, I suppose, husband and kids and all. Or I have this picture of my life having a disgruntled, messy college student look to it, where I come home to sleep because it's the only place I'm ever able to sleep and eat healthy food, and actually do stuff that's good for me, and hoard these Christmas items so it will be Christmas forever.

     So, here is Christmas at my house. And if I only had these few items in my house at Christmas and nothing else but bare floor and a Christmas tree, it would still be Christmas.

     This little Christmas house. I still want to go live in it someday. I still imagine living in it and looking out of its frost covered windows, living inside the warmth of the candle glow. I still remember Mama setting it out and being enchanted by it. It means Christmas just looking at it.


     Baby Jesus figurine and sheep. We played a lot with this when we were kids. I think we broke the other Nativity pieces that went a long with it. But it's not Christmas without these sitting by our Advent wreath.


     Spruce and apple/holly door hanging. If you bury your nose in it, you can smell Christmas. I still remember the cinnamon and clove scents it sent through the house when we lived in Wyoming at the ranch. How it just meant Christmas was here and you were happy.


     Candle wreaths. These have a certain place and they do not belong anywhere else except on the top of the piano with two red candles that smell like apples and cinnamon.


    These little things always come out for Christmas, completely immortalizing it and are the pillars of childhood I can return to when the world is cruel. When I forget what Christmas really is, I can look at them and remember what I felt like as a child with the clearest, most fond memories when I see these come out to sit around our house and wait for Christmas and Jesus. Sometimes the childlike excitement is gone, and sometimes it's not as strong as it used to be. But always, always, always on Christmas Eve, when everyone has gone to bed, and the stockings are laid out, and I'm laying in bed, waiting for sleep . . . I do think about what I'll be getting and the excitement of opening surprises and candy. But I think when you grow up and that kind of excitement fades, you get a new excitement. The excitement of giving, and seeing the delight on the faces of people you love when you surprise them. And that's an even more soul-filling excitement than getting.

About one of my most favorite things

It was talking to Laura about it that gave me the idea . . .
How about a post about one of the best things in the world?
So I said, "Why not?"

She was driving across Nebraska when she told me one of her favorite childhood books was Millions of Cats . And we both discovered we loved Make Way For Ducklings  and Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, especially Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. She told me the story of Millions of Cats and I told her about The Little Old Man Who Could Not Read, 'cause who wants to escape childhood for good and never remember the good things you loved? The books that are still worth reading when you're older and know more things?

So here's my list of favorite childhood books. Because books are the best things in the this world. Because no matter what fails in this world, books will always be there. And these ones, I want my to read to my kids. There's no stopping joy when it fills you up.

In no particular order. I've read a lot of them to my little brothers and sisters already. Yeah, joy reading began early in my family:

Stone Soup, by Marcia Brown

Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, by Virginia Lee Burton

Make Way For Ducklings, by Robert McCloskey 

Owl Moon, by Jane Yolen - especially this one

The Little Old Man Who Could Not Read, by Irma Simonton Black

The Bears On Hemlock Mountain, by Alice Dalgliesh

Blueberries for Sal, by Robert McCloskey

One Morning in Maine, Robert McCloskey

The Matchlock Gun, by Walter D. Edmonds

Barney the Beagle, by Jean Bethell
This was my daddy's book, and I remember reading to my little brother years ago before it got so old and torn Mama put it up.

Frog and Toad, by Arnold Lobel

Time for Bed, by Mem Fox

White Snow, Bright Snow, by Alvin Tresselt

The Pokey Little Puppy, by Jeanette Sebring Lowery 
A Little Golden Book
Curious George Flies a Kite, by Margret Rey

The Puppy Who Wanted a Boy, by Jane Thayer
I remember reading this book one Christmas, and I was so sad for the puppy because my mama reads books so well it pert near brings little girls to tears.

We Help Daddy, by Mini Stein 
A Little Golden Book
Play Ball, Amelia Bedelia, by Peggy Parish
And any other Amelia Bedelia books, but I especially remember reading this one a lot because it was the only one we had that wasn't from the library.

The Biggest Bear, by Lynd Ward

The New Baby, by Ruth and Harold Shane 
A Little Golden Book
Johnny Appleseed, by Stephen Kellog
I love the illustrations in this book. I would pick it up just to look at the pictures. The pictures made the whole book worth it.

The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams

    I've got them all in a happy pile here in my room, and I can't wait to sit in the hall and read them, as I periodically do. Innocence brings back a sense of confidence for me, the returning of things I know and love, and are still there. I hope it does for you, too.

     What are some of your favorite childhood books?

Family Portraits - The Uptons

     A few weeks ago I was able to photograph the wonderful Upton family! Mom met Christa through the homeschool group in our area, and we met at a park to have a play day together.  
     Through it all, we shared our blogs and email addresses, and one day Christa emailed me and asked if I would do some pictures for her book. In return she would edit my stories for me. It was a blessed exchange! And Christa has more than given me back what she promised. Not only has she been a wonderful editor, she's become a friend. She encourages me and gives me hope when I feel hopeless. She also played a magnificent role in getting me started in this indie author publishing stuff! 
     I love her family and I'm so happy to know them. To read Christa's story and find out about her books, please visit her website. Black Hills Picture Books. And watch her blog, she has a new book coming out very soon! You can find her on Amazon, too.

On loving autumn and false inspiration

     It's the best, longest, most beautiful autumn I remember. All the trees, everywhere, except the elms, this yellow-golden-orange color. The tree leaves on the creek bed were the first to turn, first to fall, first to show the naked black branches against the bluest of skies. I don't tell people this much, but I love trees when they're all stark and bare like that. They look like winter when it's still and quiet, and makes this burn rush up and heave right in the middle of my chest.
     I learned something the other day. Something that had been rolling around in my skull for quite some time. One of those things you don't really want to understand, but one day it dawns on you that you do, and it wrecks havoc in your writing life, but mostly your life in general.





     I cannot believe how slow I am at understanding things, about really getting them. I look at the big picture of things and it's hard to see things on a smaller level.
     So today I was thinking that I have not written anything truly inspirational, or felt any true inspiration at all, or put words together to make a story in a very, very, very, very, very, very long time.





    And it's because I've been waiting for it, I've been looking for it elsewhere and hoping it would strike. Trying to find things that would inspire me: surfing the internet, Pinterest, blogs, books, anything! Things caught my eye, words I wished I had written, but they ended up only making me long for having written instead of inspiring me to go write.

     I thought back to when my Internet was limited, and I could not rely upon it for anything. So I relied upon myself, because that was all I had. And as horrible as my writing was, back then it was authentic. It came from me, not stemmed from something I read and tried to repeat within my own words and sentences. It was real writing. Because it was original and not spawned from something else. And maybe it wasn't so horrible.

     Inspiration is not to be gained from others, certainly it is affected by others, other words, other photos, other beauty, other people. But inspiration and originality come from within. Not without. You must rely upon yourself for inspiration, for only when your inspiration is exclusive to you will you gain originality and uniqueness.

      Read the classics, read the greats, read, read, read, read. Be inspired! There's no stopping you. But when you find yourself inspiration-less, don't rely upon anything but your own true inspiration. Set up limits. Set up boundaries.

     Just you and your voice. Your notebooks. Your pens and your inspiration.



     
     I've held to the quote, 

I write when I am inspired, and I see to it that I am inspired at nine o'clock every morning. ~Peter De Vries

for a very long time. But I felt like I could never grasp it completely. I didn't know what it really meant until I experienced it myself.

     I must find my own inspiration. Because if I don't, all I will ever be is a second rate, copy-cat writer who never once said anything for herself. Never owned a single thought that was her own, never said anything but to repeat what someone more important had said before, never became original. Never was.

     This frightens me.
     More than I can say.
    
     To never have said anything worthwhile to have lived all my life believing I was something, only to discover at the end that I was nothing, and I've a lie in believing I was writing something real. I don't want that. Never. Never. Never.

     "Tell the naked truth . . ."
     
     "Write hard and clear about what hurts." ~Ernest Hemingway

    Rely upon the complex workings of your own mind for inspiration . . . 

     " . . . and nine times out of ten, you will have become original without ever having notice." ~C.S. Lewis

      







     You don't love autumn for the mere reason of loving autumn. You don't just love autumn. You love what it means. 

     Fires on the hearth. Rubber boots. Leaves. Tea. Cozy socks, sweaters, coats. Cold. Snuggling that seems to mean so much more when the weather is raging rampant outside.

     It seems a time for deep thinking. Changing of seasons always does. When things changes, thoughts come from deeper down then they used to. 

    When the wind blows cold, your nose and cheeks catch it full on, glowing pink. I always miss how my nose gets cold in the autumn. 

   

The blessed mail arrived today . . .

. . . and I got a package!Proof copies for my story.


Lots of things to work on and change, and wait for, and re-upload, but. . .there's no ridding yourself of the excitement bubbling up inside you!

Life as an Indie publisher, thus far

    I don't have much to talk about. Really, not much at all. I'm not really sure I'm worthy of such a title, anyway, because I'm so very far away from being it. Sometimes I feel like just a little nobody doing something she knows nothing about.
     But in the spirit high aspirations, of someday looking back on these days from the platform of dreams come true, I would like to journal about the days I am living now. Bare and penniless though they may be, I am not complaining because I am terribly happy and very content. I don't want to forget these days of yes, struggling, but learning and hoping, working and dreaming. I would still much rather be scribbling my days away, chasing after these stories and people in my head, who make their appearances less than I would like, and disappear, leaving me feeling void of something dear. But there's time for work and time for play. I'm saving up writing for NaNoWriMo this year.

     So without further ado . . .

     These are the books I have collected so far:
How to Market a BookLet's Get VisibleThe Frugal Book PromoterHow to Make a Killing on Kindle     The most helpful at this point, by which I mean the one that doesn't make self-publishing look like a "great big modern mess", How to Market a Book, by Joanna Penn. Michael Alvear seems to leave a lot of empty details about some things in his book, which Joanna Penn sorted out, or made just a little clearer for me.
     Sites I love and/or have discovered but have yet to look in to:Helping Writer's Become Authors - for some much needed writing inspiration. K.M. Weiland is very helpful and gives me hopeThe Creative Penn - I've yet to look into Joanna Penn's Website more, but it looks promisingAuthor Marketing Club - I've yet to explore this, too, but it also looks like it holds untold treasures for authors!     And of course there is always Amazon, CreateSpace, and KDP. Right now, I think I may have some stuff sorted out, but what really frightens me is getting in trouble with sale tax and paying taxes, social security, keeping accounts, and all that lovely stuff. I just know I'm going to be arrested because I didn't do something right. But every time I tell my mama about it, she brushes it off as if it is nothing, promising my parents' help. So I am not really worried, but I am. 
     The other day I jotted something down in celebration of the one month mark of my indie publishing career. I don't think I saw it then, but I have such a long, long way to go. Years ahead of me. I'm thinking I need a plan of a longer term . . . possibly another job.
     I divide my days with reading marketing books, following their guidelines, working on book covers, making tea, jotting things down about stories when I become distracted and tired of making my left brain work. Wandering the internet, Pinterest Boards, reading actual fiction books, following up on research on a sudden thought or curiosity, listening to music, wondering how I got there, and retracing my steps all the way back to where I was at the very beginning, and starting the entire cycle over again.     Yes. Such is the life of an indie publisher.      Also there's considerable craving for chocolate, and tea drinkin.     So it's been a month and 15 days since I've set sail on this life as an indie publisher.     I'm starting to procrastinate.     I'm  figuring out I have a bit further to go than I first realized. So setting a publication date at December 1st, 2014, was a bit ambitious. (But it did give me a good look at the time frame and how long it was actually going to take)    I'm learning I should be promoting my book now, which means I need to finish the new cover and start promoting/advertising now.     The Frugal Book Promoter is not being very helpful yet . . . most everything I am reading it not being very specific at all in the line of marketing strategies(mostly because I was just not comprehending what I was reading,or thought it was not within my power, or was time I did not want to spend). Specific but not specific enough for me.     I need to get my act together because I'm going to have to start learning the specifics on my own. I hate doing unknown stuff like this, though. I fear failure too much. Much too much.     I am also designing my own book cover. Haha. Yes. All the professionals say you should not do it yourself, no matter how good you are at graphic designing, you will NEVER be that good. And I've seen many examples of self-designed book covers turned into a professional ones, and I still am determined not to pay $500 for something I could do myself, even at the risk of it not selling. Because the cover is a very important part. I'm being stubborn about it. We shall see how stubborn after I get no book sales whatsoever because my cover is rot.
     I must keep reminding myself that the hard work begins after I hit the publish button, not before. Things will only get harder from here. But there will be some relief after I publish. I can start putting lots of the things I learned to work and, terrified of the results as I am, I will start seeing them, and will have to experiment over and over again till something works. 
     Plan. Plan. Plan. You can't just wing things like this, which I love to do in the creative atmosphere. "Just wing it!" No, entrepreneurship is not winging, as sad as that makes me feel to say that, I'm learning you have just got to plan.

My workshop. Messy, isn't it? But I take comfort in the messy-ness.

Two Important Things I've Learned:Give yourself a date to work up to. A date six months in advance at least. I thought four was enough, but it's not enough for meLet yourself have weekends. Really. I am always very tempted to stop doing useless things and read some more about marketing, or book cover designing, or editing. But I know me, and I know I will get very burned out with this indie author stuff very quickly. So on the weekends I don't work on indie publishing. I do something else. And by Monday, I'm up and running and ready to get back into the sphere, simply because I took time off from it, and I don't dread it.     So that is life thus far. It's hard work, even though I'm not really doing anything at this point, and beta readers are still reading the manuscript, proof copies are still coming, and I'm terribly impatient sometimes. But God is always good. In a few months this post may become completely laughable because I will have failed miserably, but still, God is always good.
     #1 Thing to Remember(there are lots of things I would like to remember, but this #1):I'm here to serve.      It was never my goal to get rich, win the Pulitzer Prize, or be on the NY Times Bestseller List, or win some other award. Did I dream about it? Yes.      I wanted to tell stories. To make words and live lives a second time, or to live another life entirely, and share the good people filling my head with others. To give and fulfill a need. To care. And that's all I want still. So if one stranger out there reads a story of mine, and finds some kind of hope that will keep them going . . . my dream's come true. Remember that, will ya, Kayla, next time you feel like giving up.

One autumn meal on the last day of summer

It's the last day of summer, and there we are, sitting around the table, eating of summer's best.Being there. Together.Dawna all frolicking and decorating the house with autumn.And Mama makes biscuits, calling Joseph to set the table.We're one short tonight when we sit down to pray.William's off traipsing the Midwest, towing a Russian orchestra,but he said the drive was beautiful.I believe him. Cause there's a pretty beautiful creek bed full of trees when you pop up over the hill driving to town. Sometimes I can't believe it's mine.It's so beautiful.





It's all family tonight. We're all happy. You can tell the talkers apart from the quiet ones who just like to listen. Like to eat. Like to be there. And Mama laughs. You know things are gonna be alright when Mama laughs . . . despite everything.

In between stories there's "Will you pass the biscuits?" and "Jelly, please, Hannah", or "Mom, this soup's delicious."

There's dark clouds rolling in, the weather man said there'd be scattered thunderstorms today. The yellow leaves of the ash tree look more autumn against that dark blue rush of clouds filling the sky above the prairie.








So I looked for gifts today. When Haylee smashed her thumb in the door, and there were only tears and no stopping, I sat down. Her in my lap. Those dark clouds filling up the sky. We just waited, the wind whipping us, bringing chill and raindrops. That's how I found out.

You just sit and you wait. If you want to find your gifts today, you watch for them. Like for the first start at night, or Santa on Christmas, or robins in spring. Cause they all come. They all do. And gifts and joy are always coming. They're in the warmth of a needy little soul against your own, how your hair blows away from your face in the wind, in the boyish handwriting of a six year old on his school papers. Soft butter on the butter dish, and a boy eating the last biscuit on the last day of summer.

How I fell in love with farmland {pt.6} The Last Day

Monday we went shopping. First, Grace and Laura took us to brunch at Wheatfields. First time for everything. And Wheatfields is lovely.
It's a sad/happy feeling when you know you've got all day long with friends, but you're leaving that night, and there's all these long, luscious hours in between you've got time to fill. But why do they fly by all too soon? I was thinking today that time is the one order of the universe that never makes a mistake. Time is pure, repeating itself day in and day out, always changing things, but ever always the same. 
But how can there always never be enough time, and sometimes much too much? 
I felt quite grown up driving 1,100 miles with this little sis of mine, and we all know sometimes we're not so good at this grown up thing. There's just something about driving 550 miles to see someone you love. Especially the Browns. There's just something special about how I feel like the boys there are my brothers.They are so similar, like you've known them all your life. I love when you Browns just stand in hallways and bedroom doors and talk to each other. And you talk as if there's nothing better to do, nowhere better to go and no hurry to be in, and staying up late just sharing opinions and stories is the best thing in the world. Being grown up means a lot of things, but mostly it just means you've lived a long while and you've made mistakes. And it means being willing to be wide open, to learn things, and to love, to make more mistakes and to keep on loving. 'Cause there's no mistakes in loving.  
When you've gone to new places, there's this whole world of restaurants and stores, all new and exciting. All of us wondering if you have Five Guys, and there's this feeling of restaurants I've never been to and stores I've only heard of. It's all real here.

Grace's ArtDriving down the farm roads to the city, one of the last times.


We're a bit blurry, Lauri, but I don't think either of us mind. Look! It's the both of us together!

Grace's ArtSo Grace, I love your art. Thanks for teaching me to never undervalue the love of an art. Seeing you with a camera and the joy you had in it; it's enough for one girl to take a step back and blink away all she knows, and just look straight again at the heart of it all, to come back to what she knew first.

Grace's ArtMe and Laura dreaming, wedding dresses and all.

Waiting for breakfast! It's going to be delicious!

Grace's ArtAnd what's breakfast with apple juice?

And pretty wedding cake pictures on the walls!

Hannah's nummy kische(?)

Laura and me had crepes and sausages with yummy cream! Wheatfields is lovely. Such a delicious treat to go out with our precious girls!

Then off shopping we went! Our first Whole Foods! It was a trip of experiences, let me tell you! They also took us to Charming Charlie's where Hannah found sunglasses and we bought scarves.

To the Old Market! Such a beautiful place. Old and wonderful, and the streets rumbled under tires.

There's a history here. Tall brick buildings with windows and big rooms. Something new about all the old-ness.

Wandering down the streets. It was imperative that we find a restroom, and soon. But we got caught up in an old antique store.

. . . and funny signs!


I bought some used books, and I couldn't decide. But if you bought three, you got one free! So I rushed back and grabbed "Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry", because I'd never read it before.


The brick streets. The tires made a rumbling, humming sound as they whirred over them. How loud they must have sounded beneath the hooves of horses and wagon wheels.


This was full of Russian china and chandeliers!



And at any market, there must be pigeons.


We wandered down into art stores and jewelry rooms, and down into this passageway.


Oh, and Hannah bought some tea at a tea shop/coffee shop. And I found a mug with a sweater design on it!

Dear Old Market Candy Shop, your homemade caramels with sea salt are the most delicious things I've ever eaten! Except for maybe white hot chocolate.

A British telephone box! In the Midwest! It was at a restaurant across the street, but Laura and Grace said, "Why not?"


So we headed over.
Grace braved it first!
Definitely a spot for cute pictures!

Then a nice old man came along and offered to take our picture. Thank you!

G&H Inc. Friend pictures by the windows. I hope the restaurant people didn't mind. No came out to ask us to leave, so . . . 
K&L Inc. 

Then B&U Inc. Look at all our pretty white smiles!
The classier side of B&U Inc. See our sunglasses coordinate with the friendships? Grace and Hannah's? Mine and Laura's?

Big buildings with fire escapes. A weakness of mine. Must live an apartment with a fire escape someday.

Then we went to grab a bite to eat before Grace had to leave. We ate some McDonalds and watched the trailer to a WWII movie, talked about life. Things. Us. People. And tried not to think about the dwindling hours and bits of sand dropping through the hour glass.

But we listened to Laura Story on the way home to Laura's house, and Jewel, because music is such a part of our friendship. Music and words sung.

Laura loaded up some eggs for us to bring home, cause that's just what country folk do. Give and give, and don't expect anything in return.

Here's Laura's Penny the Panda she bought for me. She keeps me warm and safe at night, Laura. Thank you. Soon I'll be getting out a scarf for her cause summer's ending and autumn is around the corner.

Then we let our hair out and Hannah braided it together, cause this how we are inside. All braided up with each other. Yeah, twenty-something friends do this, too.

When it's time to leave, it seems like there's a never ending list of stuff to do before you leave, and you're caught in the middle of hoping it'll never end, and you can stay forever, and just wishing to get the hard part over with it.

It always feels like there should be something else in between good-byes. Is it really just the longest hug you've ever given and then you get in the car and leave? Is there nothing in between? Just this silent transition where all you want to say gets bottled up inside you, with no room to get up and out your throat and into each other's hearts?

Peter Pan was right. Good-bye does mean going away and good-bye does mean forgetting. One of Peter's worst fears was forgetting something important. Mine, too, Peter. Something important I could have said, something important I could have done. Something important someone tried to tell me, something important to them, something important that I forgot about. But Peter, when you love someone you might lose them out of your head, but never out of out of your heart.

How I fell in love with farmland {pt. 5} The Henry Doorly Zoo

Then it was Sunday morning. All the hustle and bustle of graduation and company slowed, and it was just Sunday. Sunday like my home. Big bowls of cereal and the girls still in jammies and messy hair. We all piled on the sofa; long, tall Brown boys and girls with Bibles, and Liz brought the afghan. The gigantic afghan for Laura, that turned out bigger than originally planned and was big enough to cover all eight of us kids, all in a line on the couch, all at the same time. And the picture, if I had a picture, would say, "Got afghan?" like Liz said. 
There's all these little things not captured on camera, except the camera of your memory, and somehow it makes me sad that there isn't anything to hang on to but the memory. And yet, I'm still smiling. Hanging on to this picture in my mind and a happiness that can't ever be distorted or changed.
Then, after Bible study, we girls rushed to dress and headed off to the lovely Omaha and the Henry Doorly Zoo! A warm, sun shiny day, perfect for a day at the zoo. Perfect Day, right, Laura?
Heading to Desert Dome! Hannah's first time here ever!

Of course, you must try and stop the world from spinning.

Sunglasses and all, girl, I love you!

Wandering about the desert...amazing the creatures they have there!

On to the aquarium! Hannah and Grace admiring the many species of fish. Laura and I were especially fascinated by the jelly fish.

I loved this place! Though I remember it being a bit bigger the first time. ;)

We sat down on the benches and watched the sharks and sting ray, and of course took time for a picture. 
Look, Grace! There's a shark in the background! These precious friends, though. Hannah and Grace, let me just say I loved watching you be friends.

There were so many places to just stop and look! So many big fish! So many little fish!

Yes, and it all made you smile with wonder!

At the end was the gift shop. Tada! Laura found Marlin.

I think after the aquarium and the swamp we all thought we were pretty hungry and stopped to grab a bite at the cafe. Or maybe it was before the aquarium? We got pizza and hot dogs and water and listened to all the people around us. The birds scavenging the dropped food, and darling little kids across from us. Then we went to the butterfly house. Oh. So beautiful. We looked for the Morph Butterfly. And I do believe we found it, but I haven't got even one decent picture of it!

But the butterflies were so amazing and lovely. Dawna would have loved it there! Wish she could have come along. 
Waiting at the other side. You had to stop in between doors and look at yourself in the mirrors to make sure no butterflies attached themselves to you. I was almost sad none hadn't.

Onto the gorillas, orangutans, and monkeys! I think we must have spent the most time there! They are so funny and human like, especially this fellow above. He looked much like a ghost covering in this sheet and swinging around the fence. We just sat and watched and watched for the longest time.


These monstrous beings would slap the domed windows and the sound would rumble like thunder through the entire building. They never did it when I was there, though.

Get a close up look in one of the window domes, but the gorillas all moved to the other side when we came.

I adored how you were so fascinated with them, Laura girl.

Here we just sat and watched and watched. They were the most entertaining animals that day!

We stopped for a snack after the gorillas and bears. Laura said it was tradition to get a frozen lemonade. I had never had one. So I got one. Delicious. When I come back, let's do it again?

Pretty sisters.
Hannah and Grace wanted snow cones, but they were all pre-made, so they decided to go for ice cream. What's the fun of getting a snow cone when you can't even watch them make it?

The jungle is our absolute favorite place! And we headed there straight after! First you walk all along the walkways up above before circling down to ground level. The rope bridge was blocked off, making plans for a new one. It made Grace so sad, and Peter when he found out.

How real it felt. How easy you could slip off and really live in this jungle world.

We all took pictures on the rope/branch swing. Some nice people from India let us go first.



These monkeys were a sight! They were all fighting the monkey with his tail around the door knob for the express privilege of being able to put one's tail about the knob and swing from it, but he wouldn't get off! When we left they were still fighting.

Behind the waterfall.

Parrots!!

And there were baby monkeys!! Cutest things in the world.

Down on the path at last. Exotic, humid, real. It was a pity you had to look up and see the roof instead of the sky and couldn't live long in your pretend adventures through the jungle.

Stopping for a picture, Grace strikes a victorious explorer pose.

It was such a lovely place for friend pictures we couldn't resist.

And yup. I'll say it once more. Love her. Missed Liz on this trip.

Orchids and flowers everywhere!

We passed this poor ducky on the walk, he couldn't walk very well, and I hoped no one would tease him too badly.

Ah! The mysterious peep hole!

Can't remember what we were looking at, something under water maybe, but it was worth looking at . . . whatever it was.

This tree! It was like living in a tent already made!

A path all the way through.

Quick picture in the tree.

Then it was getting quite late, and we missed the wild cats and lions and elephants. We wandered about in the last gift shop and Laura bought me Penny the Panda. Yeah, I sleep with Penny curled up under my arm at night now. It helps you sleep, hugging something soft and cozy like that.

A nice lady took this picture for us. At least we got to see some lions and wild cats.

Sore footed and tired, we headed home. I bought this shirt, and that is Penny, and behind them the "Got Afghan?" afghan. What did we do that night, girls? Oh yes! We had left overs for dinner and smoothies and a delicious dessert and talked about stuff. And the gorillas. I told Peter I didn't really help Laura with supper, just sat around and talked with her. He said that was okay because I kept her company and that was helping.

I wish I'd realized it then, how good it was to just talk to her; her bustling about the kitchen being her awesome cook self, and me just talking. Wish I'd told her more things. 'Cause I don't get to do that very often. I felt kind of useless just talking, and Peter made me see things different. Thanks, Peter.

The room Lauri and I shared with Lizzie. It was such a peaceful, quiet room, and with the windows open at night, soft breezes touching the curtains, I thought I'd drifted off into some kind of heaven.

A new page to this life of mine, and the blog

Dear Friend,

Yes, a new page for you. Because it is for you. I do not have much to give, but what I hope to give most is from Him Crucified. When the world tears and scrapes and runs you ragged I hope when you search for comfort you will find Him in the real and true things of this life. That when people and wars and hurting come with harsh words and yelling voices you will find healing in quiet whispers and gentle callings. 

"And I...did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power,  so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God." 1 Corinthians 2:1-5

This is my manifesto. Simple words, simple stories. No miraculous wisdom, no phenomenal descriptions. Just life, pure and simple. When it is hard and when there's fear, and when we're too weak to lift ourselves. 

Thank you for dropping by, friend. Would you look at the new books page up on the tab line? When the blackest days come, and on the "how could the stars ever shine again?" nights, may this be a place where you can grasp beauty again through a Man sacrificed.

Love,
Kayla