Force of Habit

I have a table just inside the door, with a large stone angel statue. There is just enough room at the base for me to place my glasses and my car keys, and keep them handy. It is very rare for me to break from that habit.

My purse goes on the hook on the bi-fold closet door, followed by my jacket in cooler weather, the keys and glasses to the table

Habits. When you change the routine, it changes everything. I must have set the keys down as usual, then hurried to put the groceries away, still wearing the glasses.

I should be wearing the glasses all the time, for distance, like for watching television. But, I never wear them at home. too much bother as I can't wear them for craft work. I have a pair of bifocals, but they stay by the bed.

When I went out today, I grabbed the keys off the table, my purse off the hook, and walked out the door, locking it behind me.

I was half way to the car, thinking how bright the sun was, and realized I wasn't wearing my glasses, with the lens which darken in the sun.

I don't think I've ever done that before, and admit I was shocked. It's such a habit, to grab them as I go out the door.

I'm sure, if the bright sun hadn't alerted me, my fuzzy view of the road would have.

Creatures of habit, aren't we?

Finding Inspiration

My son and his wife are avid hunters and fishermen. They are all about the outdoors, and love nature.

At the same time, they are up on all the modern technology, computers and cell phones and such.

So, it was just over a year ago that they found themselves out in the woods, hunting, talking, and looking at their surroundings...where the forest meets the corn. They laughed and said it sounded like a book title, and immediately sent me a text to share.

Hunters of old would never believe this kind of thing.

Anyway, I liked the title "Where the Forest Meets the Corn" and finally came up with a story idea. The book is finally finished, and is live on Amazon, available for Kindle.

I'm not sure my son expected me to come up with a story about a serial killer, but that's what I did.

I loved the challenge, and thank the two of them for the inspiration. It was fun, writing a book from the title only. Usually I struggle for a title after the book is done.

Now back to the current book in progress, no murder in this one, time for something  a little different.

Here's the link if you're interested.


https://www.amazon.com/Where-Forest-Meets-Corn-Deborah-ebook/dp/B01LZSKM6J/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1473955131&sr=1-1&keywords=Deborah+Lean#nav-subnav

To Grandmother's House We Go

What are your earliest memories?

I remember long road trips to visit my grandparents in Ohio. They lived on a high ridge, the Ohio River far below, West Virginia on the other side of the wide waterway.

I remember watching the barges go up the river, often loaded with coal, at least that's what I remember.

The house was huge, in my child's eyes, and was what they called a Tourist House, which meant they rented out rooms on the upper levels.

The front door opened into a dark entryway, dark because it was paneled in dark stained oak wainscotting, but not the usual chair rail height, this almost reached the ceiling.

Funny, but if there was a living room or parlor, I don't remember it. My grandparents' bedroom was on the first floor, maybe where the original parlor had been?

The kitchen was long and narrow, running the full length of one side. The dining room was really big, with a large picture window looking out to the river. The walls were covered in that same dark wood, with a plate rail on the top.

The round table would seat the whole family, and had a lovely stained glass lamp hanging over the center.

Some of my memories of the yard and garden are from photos. There was an English style garden, the grassy area surrounded by a white picket fence, the flower beds along the perimeter.

There were only two houses on the block, each house a large three story, on, aptly named, River Avenue.What seemed strange to me, as a child, was that there was a road separating the house from the garden. It was a small, maybe private road that didn't seem to go far except to separate the house from the yard, and the river beyond.

You could see the river, but it was from a height, and you couldn't make your way to the river's edge, as it was straight downhill and very wooded. Just as well, the water looked brown and dirty, not appealing for swimming.

When we visited, I got my own bedroom, a novelty as I shared one at home with my sister.

I remember they had a canary, and it once got loose in the kitchen. I have memories of sitting in my grandmother's bedroom going through her boxes of jewelry, some of which I still have.

Because of the age I was in the photos, I figure it was here my grandfather had his photography studio, and darkroom. There are so many pictures of us during those years.

Not sure when they moved to the smaller house, my memories are not as strong of that home. I think as we got older, my grandparents came to us, rather than the family making the trip to Ohio.

In 1971, they moved to Florida, and I've never been back to that 'hometown'.

I remember my grandparents to be loving and creative. From my grandmother I got a love of needle crafts, like sewing and crochet. From my grandfather it was the arts, painting and photography.

They were truly remarkable people, and I was very fortunate to have them in my life.

Remembering 9/11

This is the poem I wrote on the first anniversary of the events of 9/11. A day never to be forgotten 

Firefighters of Station 9/11

Amid the rubble and the dust

Men did, as such men must,

Fought back their fears,

Choked back their tears,

And went forth, to who knew what.

And from that day each found their way,

From a man; -into a hero,

And time stood still

As it ever will,

At that place

That is Ground Zero.

Riding Boots

My daughter had a 'horse crazy' phase as many young girls do. She took riding lessons, and had all the required gear, the riding hat, a crop and, of course, the boots.

In spite of all the years, and all the moves, she saved those boots, and now her daughter is wearing them for her own riding lessons.

I never rode, had a fear of big animals, but I supported my daughter's desire to ride.

Thought I'd share some photos of the newest young rider, lesson three.