Scenes & Beans

Congratulations, S-Man!

2009-02-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

Dear readers:

As you know this blog has been dark after the events of May 2008. (Although all posts remain in our archives.) But we just had to post today in anticipation of S-Man's novel, Starfire, being published this spring! You all have watched him write the story and sign the contract. Now you can read the book!

Look for Starfire by Stuart Stockton from Marcher Lord Press in April.

Congratulations from all of us, S-Man!

A Final Note After the Hostage Situation

2008-06-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, all, Bailey here. I'm sorry we've been away from the blog for so long. As you can imagine, we've needed time to rebuild our lives after the tragedy, both emotionally and physically.

All of us Scenes and Beans posters are coming along. Some are still healing physically. We have been very busy restoring Java Joint, as the interior was devastasted by bullets. The counter and the space around it has been replaced, along with the stools. Walls have been repaired. John and I have had a lot of help from townspeople, and of course, from the Scenes and Beans folks.

Wilbur wants you to know he likes his new stool even better than the first one. (He says he didn't want the first one back anyway after a certain man chose to sit on it.) As for S-Man, he's signing his contracts for the two-book publishing deal. With all the media attention after the horrible events here on Memorial Day weekend, his first book, Starfire, has received plenty of buzz already. I know you all will enjoy reading it when it's published.

I am not going to comment directly on the events. You all have read the papers and seen the news. There is little left for us to say. This post is a more personal one for you, our friends, who've been reading this blog for almost two years now. We have enjoyed you so much. We've loved meeting those of you who made the trip to Kanner Lake and stopped by Java Joint to say hi. We want you to know we will forever treasure the online friendships we've made here.

But after what happened, I'm sure you'll understand that we no longer feel we can post on Scenes and Beans. Does that mean if this blog didn't exist, the hostage situation may never have happened? I don't know. Perhaps the three men who were so desperate would have come anyway. Or perhaps they would have chosen to go somewhere else, and other people would have paid the horrible price for that decision. We only know that despite what did happen, God was with us. In the darkest of moments, He was there. We clung to him that afternoon, and we cling to Him now and thank Him for bringing us through.

As you know, the thousands of comments that came in after our last post taxed our blog. Many of you tried leaving messages on previous posts before the blog finally crashed. When we got the blog up and running again, I had to delete all those messages. (Of course there were some from that horrible day that we would have deleted anyway.) Please know we read your kind words and notes of prayer, and were so heartened by all of them. Thank you, thank you for your concern for all of us.

I will be leaving Scenes and Beans up for now, although comments have been turned off so the thing doesn't crash again. Maybe from time to time you'll reread some of the stories we've told you over the past two years. And we still hope you will come visit us in Kanner Lake. Although much has happened to our quiet little town in the past two years, we all sense that we're about to enter a quiet time again. Good thing. We need some rest. :)

Blessings and love to all of you.

--Bailey and the entire Scenes and Beans crew

A Java Joint Celebration

2008-05-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

We are all so proud of S-man for selling his novel! Plus a sequel!

The Scenes and Beans bloggers are going to have a special celebration for our star author this Saturday at 8:00 a.m. at Java Joint. What a great way to start Memorial Day weekend--by witnessing S-Man signing his contract.

The book business seems so slow, doesn't it? We have to wait until next year for Starfire to be published. We'll have another huge party then for sure. The whole town will be invited for that one. In the meantime we look forward to this weekend.

Three cheers for S-Man!

News of a Lifetime

2008-05-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

Shnakvorum Rikoyoch (Greetings, Friends). S-Man here with the news I've been waiting on for a long time. My science fiction manuscript, Starfire, has sold to a major publisher. As if that's not enough, my agent managed to get a two-book contract for me. I'll be starting the sequel to Starfire right away.

The timeline as it now stands: Starfire will be published around May next year, with the second book following around January of 2010.

I'm so overwhelmed I can hardly believe this has happened. I've been working hard on writing for a number of years now, as you know. This feels like a dream. If it is, I hope I keep on sleeping.

Thanks to all of you who have encouraged me along the way. I'm going to need more of it. Now I have to come up with a second book ...

-- S-Man

Chasing Eva--Part 3

2008-05-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

So there we were, Bev, Eva Longoria, and I, sprawled on the sidewalk.

Red-faced and nearly beside myself with fluster, I managed to shove my hefty body to my feet. I held out my hand to Eva (Bev could manage to get up on her own). "Oh, I'm so sorry! Oh, oh! Are you hurt?"

Eva untangled herself from Bev, assuring me she was fine. Bev said the same. I pulled Eva up, and Bev tottered to her feet, glaring at me with the darkness of a tempest storm. Boy, I did not look forward to being alone with her. We brushed the dirt off our slacks. My elbow smarted something terrible.

Next thing I knew, a blond-haired man was standing beside us, eyes wide. "Amanda!" He was looking at Eva. "What happened? I've been waiting for you in the car."

Amanda?

Amanda looked at the man, then at me. I looked at her, then at Bev. Bev just kept glaring.

Eva (Amanda?) grabbed onto Blondie like a drowning woman just thrown a lifeline. "I'm fine. I guess. I was just . . . getting acquainted with some of the locals."

Finally, I found my voice. "Amanda?" I squeaked. "You mean, you're not Eva Longoria?"

She laughed. "Oh, everybody says that. It's not the first time. But no, I'm Amanda Bellingsworth, a seamstress from Montana, here on vacation." She gave me a look. "Sometimes the mix-ups can be more dangerous than others."

Amanda. A seamstress. Not Eva. I'd chased her, knocked her down. Well, with the help of a fool dog. She was going to think I was totally nuts. She'd think the whole town was nuts. At first I couldn't think of a thing to say. Then once I opened my mouth it wouldn't shut again. I said something about how lovely it was to meet her and I hoped their vacation was wonderful, and really, Kanner Lake wasn't a town full of a bunch of idiots, it just looked like it, and I just knew my friend Bev was going to lay into me the minute we were alone . . . I'd have kept right on blabbing if Bev hadn't clamped her hand over my mouth.

"She IS crazy," Bev declared to Amanda. "It's ALL I can do to keep her in line." Bev pursed her mouth at me and grabbed hold of my arm. "We'll be going now." And with no chance for another word, she stalked away, pulling me with her.

I looked back over my shoulder to give Amanda and her man a tiny little wave. She shook her head at me, and they went their way, and we went ours. Bev didn't let go of my arm until we were in Java Joint. Even then she threatened to chain me to my chair at our table. We drank our coffees in silence.

Four days later and Bev's still mad at me. Probably because Wilbur won't stop teasing her about it. ("Chasing an actress, who'd a thought?") He's always looking to bring Bev down a peg or two. Anyway, would somebody out there tell her to lighten up? And Wilbur to shut up? Although it'll be a miracle if either one of them listens.

-- Angie

Chasing Eva--Part 2

2008-04-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

So there we were, Bev and I, trotting down the sidewalk to catch actress Eva Longoria. I tell you--that Bev protested the whole way. You'd have thought I was pulling her along to feed her to the lions.

"This is ridiculous!" she wheezed. "The things you get me into. And just what do you expect to do when you catch up to her?"

Well, she had a point. What do you say to one of your most favorite actresses?

Anything. It didn't matter what. I was just dying to meet her.

It didn't take long to catch up. Good thing I've lost so much weight. I just pulled Bev along. Eva paused to read a poster outside a shop window. It was then or never, so I called out to her.

"Yoo hoo! Hello there!"

She turned around, looking very flustered. Staring at us as if wondering if she was supposed to know us. I skidded to a halt and thrust out my hand. My tongue got all tied up. "Hi! Hello! I'm Angie. This is Bev. I'm dying to meet you. Angie's not, but she came along--wait, I didn't mean that. Of course she wants to meet you too."

Eva's eyes bounced from me to Bev and back. Slowly, she took my hand and shook it once. Then let go in a hurry.

"So how do you like Kanner Lake?" I gushed. ""We just love you here. I watch you all the time." A strange expression flitted across her face.

"You do?"

"Yes, yes, I just think you're so beautiful, and the way you stand up to that rat Albert on the show--"

Out of nowhere, a red blur bounded down the street. I knew at once it was Thelma Grady's Irish setter, Josie, loose again. Thelma lives just two blocks from downtown, and that crazy, overly friendly dog wriggles under the fence every chance she gets. Josie spied me and headed straight for the three of us at full speed.

"Aahhh!" Eva howled.

I stepped in front of her, protector of actresses that I am. Bev was left to fend for herself. Josie plowed into me with a vengeance, licking and barking happily. Well, my goodness, that dog knocked me clear off my feet! I fell into Bev, and Bev fell into Eva, and before you know it the three of us were sprawled on the sidewalk like Dominoes. Josie's tail went a mile a minute as she pranced right across Eva, then that idiot dog took off to find another victim of her excitement.

Oh, my! Eva Longoria, on the sidewalk--because of me! I thought I'd die of humiliation. Turned out, that would have been nice, given what happened next.

-- Angie

Chasing Eva--Part 1

2008-04-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

Angie here. Oh, my goodness, I have to tell you what happened. Embarrassed myself nearly to death, and now Bev's hardly speaking to me!

Bev and I were over at Simple Pleasures, looking at those beautiful oil wick candles Sarah has, when this woman walked in. As I lifted a jar to my nose, inhaling the deep berry fragrance, the woman sidled past me toward the back. I set the candle down and noticed her ogling a bracelet out of the corner of my eye. Dark hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones. She wasn't the usual sort of T (that's what we call tourists at Java Joint), but she looked vaguely familiar.

I whispered to Bev, "You see her before?"

Bev glanced at the woman, then shrugged. "Looks like that TV actress on Desperate Housewives, Eva Longoria."

She said it so calmly, as if such a thing happens every day. Well, I just happen to LOVE Eva Longoria. And Bev was right--it was her!

I grabbed Bev's elbow and pulled her toward Eva. "Oh, my, oh! We HAVE to go say hi." I was so excited, I could hardly breathe.

Something beside us crashed to the floor. I swiveled to see a picture frame and all its glass shattered. Sarah hurried from behind the counter and lifted the frame. Bev apologized, saying her arm had hit the frame as I pulled her along. She gave me 'the look' as Sarah went into the back to fetch a broom.

"I'm sorry. I'll pay for it," I whispered real fast. I was barely thinking. I was just dying to talk to Eva.

Bev glowered at me. "You certainly will. In more ways than one."

Sarah came back, a whiskbroom and a dustpan in hand. She began sweeping the pieces up and Bev brought the trashcan over. I had to help, or else I'd look completely uncaring. So I set to work furiously, and the next thing I knew, the bell over the door tinkled. I looked around. Eva was getting away! I pulled a twenty out of my wallet.

"Here." I thrust it at Sarah. "This ought to cover itSarah pushed it back to me. "The frame's only $15.99."

But I couldn't wait around to hear the rest of what she said. "That's Eva Longoria!" I cried. "I've watched her for years on TV, and I'll just die if I don't meet her!" I grabbed Bev's arm, and before she knew what hit her, we were scooting toward the door. "Keep the change, Sarah, we'll see you later!" I shoved open the door.

Of course about that time Bev dug in her heels. "I will NOT pursue an actress down the street like some mindless groupie; I don't care WHO she is."

Eva turned the corner out of sight. Oh, no! What if she got into a car and drove away?

"Bev Trexel," I whirled on my friend, "if you don't go with me, I'll never let you hear the last of it. Do it for me, if not for yourself!"

Well. Bev's lots of things, but most of all, she's a good friend to me.

"The things you get me into." She shook her head, then huffed mightily. All the same, she set out with me to catch Eva. She never would have done it, though, if she'd known what trauma was coming.

-- Angie

An Agent Enters the Picture

2008-03-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

Shnakvorum Rikoyoch (Greetings, friends).

After being quiet on this blog for a long time, I have amazing news. Last month I signed a contract with a literary agent for my novel Starfire. That agent is now sending the manuscript around to major publishers.

The above three sentences sound so factual. So easy. But how hard it has been getting to that point! I have written this novel, then rewritten and rewritten some more. First rewrites were of my own doing. Then when I finally decided it was ready to send to agents, I found a number of them interested, but I needed to do more rewriting at their request. I didn't know I could ever grow tired of my own novel, but after looking at its pages so many times, that's exactly what happened.

The day I signed with the agent was a major day of celebration around here. I showed up to Java Joint the next morning--with no laptop. That's right. I came just to enjoy the coffee and my friends. I figured I deserved some time off of writing. But half an hour after arriving, I didn't know what to do with myself. I found myself gazing at my table longingly, wishing for my computer. I must be a real author. Either that or I'm crazy.

(Wilbur says he knows the answer to that question.)

I will keep you posted about what happens. Unfortunately now it's another waiting game while editors look over the manuscript. My agent says I have a good chance of selling it, but I'm not getting excited about anything until I see my name on the dotted line of a publishing contract.

All right, maybe I'm a little excited ...

--S-Man

Bearly Here

2008-01-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, Wilbur Hucks here. I haven't posted for a blue moon, seems like. We're all kinda quiet this year. I gotta tell ya, life is different in Kanner Lake from when we started this blog. So much has happened here. I never did see a little town like this one make the national news so much in such a short time. Oh, things have calmed down again--for now. But after three different whopping events, we can't quite get the hang of settling down for good. Sort of like an itchy feelin' in your drawers. Keeps you wiggling around, not quite able to scratch the thing. Here at Java Joint we can't help but wonder what's coming next.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be the storyteller of this here group, so I'd better pull out one. Now of course, all my stories are true, even though folks'll look ya straight in the face and tell ya they ain't. I figure it's their loss if they don't want to believe what I tell 'em.

So here's the story when I took on a bear--bare-handed. Well, more like footed.

Since we were youngsters, old Wally Keller had been telling me he wanted to sneak up on a black bear and give him a boot in the pa-toot. Don't ask me where he got such a fool notion in his head. I told him from the start he was a downright idgit, but he kept on. Then he started calling me chicken 'cause I didn't want nothing to do with it. Nobody calls me chicken. Even at the age of eight. I told Wally if he and I ever got the chance, I'd be the one to give it to the bear. Fifty-some years went by. Wally and I grew up. Wally and me went off to war and came back. (Thank the Lord.) Wally got married; I got married. We both had kids. Had us some good times with our families and some bad. In all the ruckus of life in general, we forgot about that childhood promise.

Then one day when Wally and I were hiking, lo and behold out of the blue we came up on a big black bear napping in the sun with his head resting on his paws. Wally pointed at the huge critter and then aimed his finger at me. I was about to shake my head no when Wally mouthed "You're chicken." Well, he's right about that. But then I got to thinking, doggone, we'd waited over half a lifetime for that moment, and could this war veteran just walk away? Right then and there my decision was made.

I snuck up on that bear so quiet it would have made Daniel Boone proud. Got my feet set for running, hands up and fingers spread for balance. Holding my breath. Up came one foot while I made good and sure I was stable on the other. Then I let my boot fly. Tell you what. That bear let out a howl the likes you never heard and took off like he'd been shot out of a cannon. Likely didn't stop until he crossed the state line.

Wally and I fell on the ground laughing until we near split our guts. I came back from that hike with the proof I'm no chicken, though I suppose you could call me a durn fool. But I had me a good story to tell.

Wanta hear it in person? (It's a whole lot better with hand and food gestures.) Come visit us at Java Joint. Only--stay off the stool near the counter. It's mine.

Ink and Paper

2008-01-09T07:00:00.000-08:00

"It isn't the magnitude of an event that makes it news; it's the people reporting it."

Those are the words of my wise grandfather.

Suddenly in Kanner Lake we find ourselves in a new year. Where did the last one go? In 2006 and 2007 our town saw big news--national news--happen right here. Events we wouldn't wish on any town, much less ours. We all are looking forward to a quiet 2008. As owner of the Kanner Lake Times, I'll be happy to return to reporting on everyday stories of our town. Which brings me back to my grandfather's wisdom.

"Jared," he'd say, "The world's best golfer could be some Eskimo in Alaska, whacking a snowball with a stick. Big news, right? Wrong! Not unless some reporter finds him, and writes a story. Then it's news." He ended every conversation on the topic with the same line: "There's no greater power than that which is generated by the combination of ink and paper."

Grandfather started the Kanner Lake Times in 1944 and ran it with the enthusiasm of Wily Coyote chasing the Roadrunner. It didn't matter to him that not much interesting happened in Kanner Lake. The way Granddad reported things, every pie bake-off and fishing tournament was big news. He had a way of getting people excited about things that weren't exciting. He certainly got me excited. At eight years old, I could hardly wait to start working on the paper.

Actually, I couldn't wait, so I started my own. The first and only edition of The Moore Monthly, came out in November 1944. I'd written my newspaper on notebook paper, then painstakingly copied it over and over fifty times (that was in the day before Xerox machines). A lot of work for a kid, but I didn't care. I'd be making ten cents for every paper I sold, I hoped. It was a nice little paper, considering it had an editor with a second grade education. I started with what I knew. Made a comic strip about my dog, Elmer, in which he stole a hot dog off the grill. The thought-bubble above his head said, "It really IS a dog-eat-dog world." I cheated on the weather report, copying information out of the real newspaper.

Since all newspapers have obituaries and I didn't know anyone dead, I wrote a nice little piece about my friend Tommy's goldfish, Speckle, who'd recently taken a tragic suicidal leap from his bowl. I covered every inch of Kanner Lake on my ten-speed, seeking out news and scribbling any interesting tidbit I could find in a little red notebook. My paper had stories about the Anderson's new kittens, the big fish a fifteen-year-old kid named Wilbur Hucks caught that weekend, and the mysterious damage to the stop sign at the corner of Barley and Hillwood Roads.

All of that would have been fine, but I didn't stop there. I'd heard Grand-dad say that you could always count on politics to fill up blank space. He'd also told me that a good reporter always looked for a unique angle--something other people didn't know. That's why I finagled a sleepover at Martin Pulaski's house. His dad, Martin Sr., was running for mayor. I figured I'd watch and listen closely to find out some little known fact about Mr. Pulaski, and I'd have my politics column. Too bad I didn't know enough to refrain from publishing the fact that Mr. Pulaski wore a toupee and enjoyed watching General Hospital every day.

My papers sold out in one lunch period and I made a killing, but once my customers brought them home and they fell into their parents' hands, I was in big trouble. Mom shut down my business, and Mr. Pulaski blamed me for his landslide loss in the mayoral race. To his dying day, he scowled at me whenever I met him on the street.

Ah, the power of reporting.

Signing off,

Jared Moore

A Nose for Fishing

2007-11-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, folks. Pastor Hank here, with a story from my first summer here. (Some 16 years ago.)

It was slow making friends as the new pastor. Everybody figured they had to be righteous or something around me, so they didn't want to do anything relaxing for fear of doing something "stupid." They never worried about the pastor being the one to do something dumb! One Sunday, Wilbur Hucks came up to me after church. (I think his wife may have done a little prodding, but he came nonetheless.) He asked if I wanted to do a little fishing the next Saturday. Boy howdy, did I! I'd grown up in Idaho, and if it's one thing this place has, it's good fishing. I'd been too busy to get out and drop a line. Now here was a local, wanting to take me to some sweet spot.

I was pretty excited to get my waders out and get my feet wet. Wilbur seemed a cantankerous sort, so I didn't want to set him off. I hoped to show him this "man o' God" could get right in there. I didn't know the best lure for this area, but I picked out some of my favorites. Wilbur drove up in his Chevy before the crack of dawn, and we were off. It was a quiet trip except for Wilbur always "honkin' his horn" as he put it. I'd never seen a man blow his nose so much. He said he was having trouble with allergies and never could seem to break open the dam in there.

We started into some small talk until we parked at the trailhead, and then we hiked a little ways to one of the tributaries that feeds Kanner Lake. Lovely area, with trees lining the shore. Wilbur was chatting a little more, telling me about life in town. He also started bragging about his fishing prowess. "I always land the big one," he bragged between nose wipes with his handkerchief. Our lines started dancing over the water, testing the fish to see what they'd bite. All the while, Wilbur couldn't stop blowing his schnoz. I couldn't take it any more after awhile.

"Wilbur, you're gonna scare the fish away a mile around if you keep it up!" I declared. He glared at me as if to say, "You young pup, who are you to be telling me to hold my honker."

In my peripheral vision I saw a big fish splash in the water. They hadn't been biting earlier, so I was determined to get this one. Just about the time I went to cast, Wilbur took a step toward me--and I hit him right square in his snoot. My line flew out just so--right where the fish had landed. Wilbur yelped and threw his hands to his face. "Wilbur, are you all right?" I asked. All the same, I didn't set the pole down. I wanted to catch that fish.

"Oh my node!"

I glanced over and saw blood on his fingers. I hadn't realized I'd hit him that hard. About that time I felt a powerful tug at the end of the line. Wow, what a fish it must be! He almost pulled the rod out of my hand. I look back at my wounded companion. I figured I was in big trouble now. I could read the headlines Jared Moore would be writing: Clumsy Local Pastor Gets Tied Up in Own Fishing Line. So much for making a new friend. Wilbur pulled out a handkerchief to stem the flow.

Instead of threatening me, Wilbur waved me back toward the stream. "Don't worry aboud me. You git dad monster!"

We were a sight, let me tell you. I was reeling in what would be the largest fish to come out of Cooper Creek in twenty years, according to the locals, while Wilbur cheered me on with his head tilted back, trying to stop the bleeding. I wrestled the beast to the shore, and after getting him secured, I packed up all the gear. I tottered down the trail with Wilbur leading the way, the occasional drop of blood escaping to mark our path. We reached the truck and got some ice out of the cooler.

After another 10 minutes or so, the flow slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. Wilbur was quite the vision, with blood and dirt smeared across him. I was sitting there as contrite as I could be, feeling awful about ignoring him while hauling in my prize. That is, until Wilbur slapped me heartily on the back. He sat on the tailgate, beaming, then pointed at his swollen nose.

"Hey, I can breathe! I can't remember the last time I didn't feel stuffed up. You knocked it loose just great." He looked me up and down before commenting, "You'll do good here in Kanner Lake, Hank Detcher."

Wilbur and I have been friends ever since.

We're Back

2007-11-12T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, folks, from Bailey--on behalf of all the Scenes and Beans bloggers. I know we've been quiet for a long time. But you all know why. We simply needed time to heal from the latest trauma in Kanner Lake.

We're going back now to our regular schedule of running stories from the lives of the S&B bloggers. Hope you enjoy them.

I know you all are wondering about Carla. She's doing fine. Right now she's vacationing far away at an undisclosed location, thanks to the gifts of some friends. There was simply no getting away from media here.

Greetings to all you reporters who spent time in Kanner Lake and are now back home--or somewhere else on the road. Wilbur wants you all to know if he snapped at you in Java Joint, he's sorry. He says come back and he'll try to behave better. Just leave your camera and notepad at home. And don't forget the fourth stool at the counter is his.

Love to you all. Thank you for your patience during this time of silence.

We're Alive and Thankful

2007-10-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hi, everyone, this is Bailey. I hardly know where to start.

I know you've heard the news by now. I suppose that's rather silly to even say, given that the whole world apparently is talking of little else. We had so many comments on our last post I actually had to delete them all. So sorry about that. They were sticking up our system, and it was the only thing I could do. Now the phone is been ringing off the hook.

I know I don't sound very with it. That's because I'm not. Neither is the rest of our crew. You have to understand we were as surprised at all the revelations as everyone else. But there's one difference here. We know Carla. We love her. We know the person she is, and we've seen how this whole thing is just about to pull her under. I do believe we have every person in the national media here in Kanner Lake. I know you've seen plenty pictures of Java Joint in your newspapers and on TV. This third time around, you'd think we'd be used to it. But not really. We just want our town to go back to normal. Again.

Wilbur's about to pitch a fit. Carla's his special buddy. They argue all the time, but he loves that. Carla's one who can give it right back to Wilbur. He's told three to four dozen reporters where to get off already. If I don't watch him, I do believe the man will start standing guard in front of Java Joint with a shotgun. Please, please, if any of you reporters make it into the coffee shop, don't sit on Wilbur's stool. I don't need any more grief in here.

And grief is certainly the operative word. We got enough of it to go around the whole state and then some. Carla's ... well, can you imagine being in her place? Her whole life's been turned upside down. I'd just like to ask all of you--can't you just leave her alone for awhile? Put yourself in her shoes. Imagine the stress. Really, she just needs to be left alone while this all sorts out.

Thank you all for your concern. We do appreciate it. We're just a little tired right now. Haven't had a lot of sleep. And we have a lot to deal with in the town. So please give us a few days to regroup. We're strong here in Kanner Lake. We always do bounce back. But I admit our bounce is feeling mighty slow right now.

-- Bailey, for all the bloggers at Java Joint

Fishing with Wilbur

2007-09-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hi, folks. It's been quite awhile since I posted. Bailey is right--we had plenty of tourists visit this summer. It was great to meet many of our Scenes and Beans readers! So why is Kanner Lake such a great place to visit? Oh, we've got the beautiful lake and the mountains around, with plenty of places to get in touch with creation. But there's more to this little town than a pretty postcard. This is a place where the stranger becomes family.

Let me tell you a story from my first summer here. It was slow making friends as the new pastor. Everybody figured they had to be righteous or something around me, so they didn't want to do anything relaxing for fear of doing something "stupid." They never worried about the pastor being the one to do something dumb! One Sunday, Wilbur Hucks came up to me after church. (I think his wife may have done a little prodding, but he attended that service nonetheless.) He asked if I wanted to do a little fishing the next Saturday. Boy howdy, did I! I'd grown up in Idaho, and if it's one thing this place has, it's good fishing. I'd been too busy to get out and drop a line. Now here was a local, wanting to take me to some sweet spot. I was pretty excited to get my waders out and get my feet wet.

Wilbur seemed a cantankerous sort, so I didn't want to set him off. I hoped to show him this "man o' God" could get right in there. I didn't know the best lure for this area, but I picked out some of my favorites. Wilbur drove up in his Chevy before the crack of dawn, and we were off. It was a quiet trip except for Wilbur always "honkin' his horn" as he put it. I'd never seen a man blow his nose so much. He said he was having trouble with allergies and never could seem to break open the dam in there.

We started into some small talk until we parked at the trailhead, and then we hiked a little ways to one of the tributaries that feeds Kanner Lake. Lovely area, with trees lining the shore. Wilbur was chatting a little more, telling me about life in town. He also started bragging about his fishing prowess. "I always land the big one," he bragged between nose wipes with his handkerchief.

Our lines started dancing over the water, testing the fish to see what they'd bite. All the while, Wilbur couldn't stop blowing his schnoz. I couldn't take it any more after awhile. "Wilbur, you're gonna scare the fish away a mile around if you keep it up!" I declared. He glared at me as if to say, "You young pup, who are you to be telling me to hold my honker."

In my peripheral vision I saw a big fish splash in the water. They hadn't been biting earlier, so I was determined to get this one. Just about the time I went to cast, Wilbur took a step toward me--and I hit him right square in his snoot. My line flew out just so--right where the fish had landed. Wilbur yelped and threw his hands to his face.

"Wilbur, are you all right?" I asked. All the same, I didn't set the pole down. I wanted to catch that fish.

"Oh my node!" I glanced over and saw blood on his fingers. I hadn't realized I'd hit him that hard. About that time I felt a powerful tug at the end of the line. Wow, what a fish it must be! He almost pulled the rod out of my hand. I look back at my wounded companion. I figured I was in big trouble now. I could read the headlines Jared Moore would be writing: Clumsy Local Pastor Gets Tied Up in Own Fishing Line. So much for making a new friend.

Wilbur pulled out a handkerchief to stem the flow. Instead of threatening me, he waved me back toward the stream. "Don't worry aboud me. You git dad monster!"

We were a sight, let me tell you. I was reeling in what would be the largest fish to come out of Cooper Creek in twenty years, according to the locals, while Wilbur cheered me on with his head tilted back, trying to stop the bleeding. I wrestled the beast to the shore, and after getting him secured, I packed up all the gear. I tottered down the trail with Wilbur leading the way, the occasional drop of blood escaping to mark our path. We reached the truck and got some ice out of the cooler. After another 10 minutes or so, the flow slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. Wilbur was quite the vision, with blood and dirt smeared across him. I was sitting there as contrite as I could be, feeling awful about ignoring him while hauling in my prize. That is, until Wilbur slapped me heartily on the back. He sat on the tailgate, beaming, then pointed at his swollen nose.

"Hey, I can breathe! I can't remember the last time I didn't feel stuffed up. You knocked it loose just great." He looked me up and down before commenting, "You'll do good here in Kanner Lake, Hank Detcher."

Wilbur and I have been friends ever since. This story just shows how this little quiet town takes in family. We take all kinds. It reminds me of one of my favorite verses, Psalm 68:6, "God sets the lonely in families."

God bless you all.

-- Pastor Hank

Angie's Reflections

2007-09-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe over a year has slipped by since our lives were forever changed July 22, 2006. It is one of those dates that I'll always remember where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news. It's just as etched in my mind as other major events, such as the day that JFK was shot. My, how things have changed in Kanner Lake, and even my own life, this past year.

In July, the press was back re-capping the events of a year ago. We came out of church to news vans and reporters. It was really a mess. Most of us simply pushed past the mob and went home. Of course, Milt Waking came to town a month before and shot a story for one of those Sunday night news shows. Maybe you saw it. I didn't watch it. I've lived it and don't need any reminders. However, I'm sure Milt did a tasteful job. I did have him over to dinner again, along with the family, since he and Frank Jr. have maintained their friendship. Poor Leslie, she was out of town on vacation with her family and missed all the excitement. We had Milt sign a picture for her, but of course it didn't replace meeting him in person.

As to the past few months since I last posted, they've been quite busy. We've had more T's (tourists) than ever in town this summer and I think everyone has been impacted. I've been helping Dimples at her gym since it seems that even people on vacation work out. I can't say that I've regained my Goldie Hawn figure, but I'm in much better shape than I was last year at this time and feeling great.

As for David and me, we're enjoying our relationship and having a lot of fun.

Cosmo continues to be my faithful companion and friend, although I do get tired of cleaning up the mess. I love him, but I would never have chosen to have another dog. Bev is still convinced that she did the right thing, but trust me, never give a pet to an unsuspecting friend. Of course, she and her husband dote on Talkatoo. She has that silly bird quoting Shakespeare at times.

As for Frank Jr., I've sworn off trying to get him married. Of course he's helped the situation by finally courting a wonderful young woman from Coeur d'Alene. She has no problems with squirrels. I can't say any more...

And I'm going to be a grandma again! Melissa and Reggie are expecting a baby boy next month. That will make four children. I don't know how she does it sometimes with soccer, ballet, home-schooling, and working part time in their business. I'll be spending some serious time in Coeur d'Alene helping for the next couple of months.

My goodness, how time slips away. I've got to run and help Dimples at her gym. Just one more thing, I forget to tell you, I've finally started my children's book.

Catch you next time.

--Angie

Great News from S-Man

2007-09-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

Shnakvorum Rikoyoch (Greetings, Friends).

Big news on the agent front. Two weeks ago I got word from an agent that he's interested in representing me. Which is quite exciting! But there's a bit of a snag. He wants me to make some changes to Starfire first, and only after those are made will he make his final decision regarding the manuscript.

Many of the changes aren't anything big, some wording issues and such. But there are a few I'm not sure how I feel about.

The first isn't necessarily something I disagree with, but it does feel quite daunting to me. Character descriptions. The agent thinks I need to cut back on the specifics on many of the descriptions because they drag on too long. I can see his point, but part of me rebels against it. I mean after all I'm dealing with ten-plus characters and dozens of different Saurian species, all of which are drastically difference in size and appearance. I need to make sure the reader can see that. But at the same time I suppose that if I let the descriptions go on too long then the important parts get lost in the mix. So I need to find the right balance and flow. Hopefully I can do that to the agent's liking.

The issue I’m less accepting of is that the agent thinks I have too much of the Saurian language in the book, especially words without clearly stated definitions. Removing Saurian words is something that I think would greatly impair the feel of the book and the sense of seeing an alien culture in action. And I can't be stopping for every word to give a definition. Especially since I have a glossary included with the book. And how do you use an English word for something that is completely alien anyway?

But then this is a question of whether I’m willing to give some in order to be represented and hopefully published. So I suppose I will have to go back and look at exactly how I'm using some words and the frequency of usage and the contextual clues to definitions. I must admit I have found a few places where I think I've been able to be gentler on the uninformed reader, and hopefully that is mostly what the agent is looking for.

Thanks to all of you for your encouragement. I hope you all get the chance to read Starfire for yourselves one day.

--S-man

Wilbur and the Bear

2007-09-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, everybody, it'll been awhile. Wilbur Hucks here. Good thing Bailey finally got the blog fixed. We all thought we'd be lost forever in outer space. (Oh. Someone just told me it's "cyber-space." Whatever in the heck that is.)

Carla's typing this for me 'cause I can't type or spell a lick. If you want to know how old I am now, it's 78. Let's just get that out of the way, and don't say you weren't curious. Been married for as long as I remember and survived it. So far. Also survived a war and just last year, heart surgery. Got the scar to prove it--the surgery, I mean--and it's a mighty fine one. More on that another day.

Might as well say something right up front. As you know, Bailey's reason for starting this blog last year was to make visitors to Kanner Lake feel welcome. That's fine I guess, and a lot of you are good folks and have even stopped in to see us. But don't expect me to be all-out friendly to everybody. Figure you better know what you're stepping into if you're gonna drive all this way to see the town. For every saint like Bailey you've got one of me. Come if you like. Take us as we are. We were here first.

Bailey suggested I tell you about the goings-on hereabouts, like the hunting, fishing and hiking. As the best fly fisher in Idaho, I expect she's got the right man for the job. We got fish in Kanner Lake so big you can ride 'em like a horse. For hunters, we got elk, white-tail and mule deer thicker than fleas on a dog's back. We also got ducks, geese, wild turkeys, and bear.

Took me on a bear once. Bare-handed. Well, more like footed. But the foot wasn't bare.

Since we were youngsters, Wally Keller had been telling me he wanted to sneak up on a black bear and give him a boot in the pa-toot. Don't ask me where he got such a fool notion in his head. I told him from the start he was a downright idgit, but he kept on. Then he started calling me chicken 'cause I didn't want nothing to do with it.

Nobody calls me chicken. Even at the age of eight. I told Wally if he and I ever got the chance, I'd be the one to give it to the bear.

Fifty-some years went by. Wally and I grew up, went off to war and came back. (Thank the Lord.) Wally got married; I got married. We both had kids. Had us some good times with our families and some bad. In all the ruckus of life in general, we forgot about that childhood promise. Then one day when Wally and I were hiking, lo and behold out of the blue we came up on a big black bear napping in the sun with his head resting on his paws.

Wally pointed at the huge critter and then aimed his finger at me. I was about to shake my head no when Wally mouthed "You're chicken." Well, he's right about that. But then I got to thinking, doggone, we'd waited over half a lifetime for that moment, and could this war veteran just walk away? Right then and there my decision was made.

I snuck up on that bear so quiet it would have made Daniel Boone proud. Got my feet set for running, hands up and fingers spread for balance. Holding my breath. Up came one foot while I made good and sure I was stable on the other. Then I let my boot fly.

Tell you what. That bear let out a howl the likes you never heard and took off like he'd been shot out of a cannon. Likely didn't stop until he crossed the state line. Wally and I fell on the ground laughing until we near split our guts.

I came back from that hike with the proof I'm no chicken, though I suppose you could call me a durn fool. But I had me a good story to tell. Half the people don't believe it, even with Wally as my witness. Too bad, I tell the story anyway. Tell it to you in person, too, when you visit Kanner Lake.

So come on see us at Java Joint. Make Bailey happy. Just stay off the fourth stool at the counter. It's mine.

Summer's Gone

2007-09-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

My, I can't believe we're almost to mid-September already. We've had a beautiful summer in Kanner Lake. And still now the weather is terrific. Clear, sunny skies and temperature in the high 70's to low 80's. What a gorgeous time of year. Soon the fall chill will come, and with it, the turning of the leaves. Although our forests will stay green all year long, of course.

Let's face it, every season in Kanner Lake is lovely.

One of my frustrations this summer has been with this blog. Did you notice it got slower and slower to load? Because of that, I've been unable to post. We've been dealing with a tech person for help on this, and it's looking like the load is now faster. Let's hope so. This post is really a test. If it goes up, I'll be happy!

Almost a Year

2007-06-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hi, all, Bailey here. I was just looking at the calendar. Hard to believe that as of July 5, this blog will be a year old! My, where has the time gone?

A year ago I started this blog hoping to tell more people about Kanner Lake. I wanted to bring more tourists to town and more customers into my coffee shop, Java Joint. Who'd ever have guessed how things would change. A year later I have so much business, it'll be days before a new post is put up. All the Scenes and Beans bloggers are still around, but they seem to be busy doing this and that. Or maybe it's that all their best stories have been told. (Except for Wilbur. He's always got a story to tell. If he runs out of true ones, he'll make one up. :)

As you all know, it wasn't long after this blog began that tragedy struck our town. The date was July 22. Just when all the drama from that day was finally over (in February of this year), new tragedy struck in March. This town has come through a lot in the past year.

As a result, Kanner Lake is now known across the country, as I'd hoped--but for reasons I'd never dreamed of (and still wish hadn't happened.) With national media turned on our town twice, Kanner Lake is now on "on the map." This last year we have really seen a difference in the amount of tourists. Now that the weather's warm, they're really coming in droves. Java Joint is jumping all day! It's been so wonderful to see all of you readers who've come in. Most of all, people want to meet Wilbur and S-Man. Seems there are two photos our new visitors always want: (1) Me behind the counter, (2) Wilbur sitting on his stool, (3) S-Man at his computer. (Although now that book #1 has been sent off to agents, he's taking a break from writing.)

Something else has recently happened here. The controversy all last winter about the proposed hotel next to the city beach has now been settled. The hotel will be built. In fact, it's supposed to be done sometime next summer. Wow. Will Kanner Lake be different then!

As the summer progresses, I just may re-run some of the favorite stories from last year. In the meantime--keep coming to see us! We love to have you visit.

-- Bailey

Send Off

2007-05-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

Shnakvorum, rikoyoch! (Welcome, friends),

The day has come. Finally I'm ready to send my completed novel, Starfire, off to the agents I've targeted. Who would have thought there were agents out there in this day and age who still wanted you to correspond with them via snail mail? But there are, plus a few publishers I figured I'd try as well.

Most seem to only want a simple query letter, but a few asked for some chapters, one publisher even wanted the complete manuscript printed out and mailed to them! So just as soon as this post is finished I'll be headed to the post office to send them all off.

This whole process has been a very interesting learning process. I used to think that publishing a book was as simple as finishing it and just sending it off. But the more I looked into publishers and agents the more I discovered I had to come up with such vile things as synopses and queries (can you imagine stuffing all the nuances of a 100,000 word novel into a paragraph?)

Thank goodness for the Internet and various writing books to help with research on all that. Otherwise I'm not sure what I would have done. But I pushed on through and here's what I ended up with as far as a summary for Starfire:

Rathe of Yanguch has fought his entire life to rise out of his low hatch status. When he wins a spot in the Imperial Light Infantry, he hopes his days of struggle are behind him. But when he discovers an ancient artificial intelligence (A. I.) that imprints him as its protector, he finds himself at the center of a fierce struggle as opposing forces seek him out in hopes of turning the A. I. to their own ends. Ultimately, Rathe is faced with a terrible choice: Destroy the artificial intelligence and doom his Empire, or use it to activate the mysterious Starfire, and doom his world.

I'll be sure to keep everyone up to date with how my path to finding an agent goes.

-- S-man

Wilbur's Eight

2007-05-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

Howdy, Wilbur here. In the last post Bev wrote this crazy list of "eight random facts" about herself. I gotta say, that's the most boring list I ever read. I told her so, and naturally she got all huffy on me. Said I should write my own list rather than "impugn" hers. (I have no idea what the word means, much less how to spell it. Good thing Carla's typing this for me.)

So I'm answerin' Bev's boring list. Here's my eight:

1. I can count to ten in English. On a good day.

2. Who's Shakespeare?

3. Sure I been outside the U.S. Went to Korea. In the army, from 1951-1953. Let's just say I did a little more than sightsee.

4. Who in their right mind collects African violets? I don't collect nothin' other than good stories.

5. My middle name is nobody's business.

6. I don't believe for one second Bev killed a rattle snake--in her backyard or anywhere else. As for me, I lost count of the number of critters I bagged over the years.

7. No wonder Bev's elevator don't go all the way to the top. Anybody who's corrected over 75,000 essays oughtta be google-headed. Only thing I ever corrected is kids when they're not actin' right. Which is most of the time. Don't get me started on kids these days.

8. What in tarnation is lutefisk? For Christmas I got a new shotgun. And I aim to do a whole lot more with it than let it sit in my pantry.

There, Bev. Now stop yappin' at me.

-- Wilbur

Bev's Eight Random Facts

2007-05-14T06:00:00.000-07:00

Since the tagging comment was left on my post (what was that person thinking?), everyone at Java Joint insists I must go first. As if I want to play some silly electronic game of tag. But Angie, in typical fashion, won't let me be until I do. So here it goes:

The rules: 1. Player start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 4. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

And my eight random things:

1. I can count to ten in five languages, including Greek and Latin.

2. I've read every Shakespeare play at least three times.

3. My husband took us to Victoria, British Columbia, for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. That was the first and only time I've traveled outside the United States.

4. I collect African violets.

5. My middle name is Elin.

6. I once killed a rattle snake in my backyard, only to have my husband yell at me for not cutting off the head.

7. I've corrected over 75,000 essays.

8. A friend sent me some lutefisk for Christmas one year. It is still sitting in my pantry. If anyone wants it, they can have it. I'll deliver it myself, if I must.

There. I've done my eight things. Now it's somebody else's turn.

--Bev Trexel
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A T Comes to Visit

2007-05-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, Bailey here with you today. Last Saturday we had fun meeting one of our blog readers. I will call her T--the name we use around Java Joint for tourists.

T is from Mississippi, and her accent shows it. She's absolutely darling. She brought in her husband and two children for coffee drinks and pastries, and they ended up staying in the cafe for almost two hours, talking to the various people who post. T brought in a printout of posts--one from each blogger--and had as many signed by the author as possible.

T's two sons, 10 and 12, took to Jake and Wilbur like fleas on a hound dog. The kids sat on the two counter stools left after Jake and Wilbur took their usual places, and the two men regaled them with one tall tale after another. I had a hard time keeping a straight face with some of the stuff those guys were dishing out. They sure know how to take a real story and streeeetch it until its almost unrecognizable. The caught fish and hunted deer got bigger and bigger.

S-Man and T's husband talked science fiction. T's husband has read it all his life, and is very knowledgeable about writers and plots. I don't know who taught whom more. I know that the conversation was fascinating enough to cause S-Man to stop typing for almost an hour. Now that's something.

Bev and Angie were also there to sign posts for T, who asked them if they really argued as much as their posts implied. Bev looked as Angie and replied, "Argue with her, are you kidding? She’d never be able to keep up with me."

After T and her family left, they went across the street to Simple Pleasures to meet Paige and Sarah--and ended up buying gifts for their friends back home.

Summer in coming to Kanner Lake--the best season of all, and the time when we see the most tourists. We hope more of you can come visit!

The S-man Posteth

2007-05-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Shnakvorum, rikoyoch. (Welcome, friends) I apologize for the long silence from me, but I've been buried up to my tail in editing Starfire to get it ready for submission to agents. I must admit I wasn't ready for just how much work there was to be done after writing Starfire. I really do feel like I've re-written almost the entire thing. It was a daunting task, and there were times where I wondered exactly what I had gotten myself into. But also it was an incredible experience for me to go back and read through this story that sprang out of my imagination. To re-live once more the journey of Rathe, Selae and Karey Or.

Some scenes were sparkling already, some were rubbish and needed to be trashed. I even found myself having to re-write significant portions to incorporate a new character that came about through the re-writing. But it also gave me a very touching funeral scene that I think showcases a bit of Saurian culture as a backdrop to what is going on inside of Rathe very poignantly.

In the end after this editing pass I believe in Starfire more than ever. It seems impossible to me that it won't get picked up by an agent and then a publisher.

Especially after the recent events, I feel like this is a chance to leave something lasting behind, something that will impact lives beyond the reach of my mortal coil. And what more could a man want?

-- S-man

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A Surprise Party--Part II

2007-04-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

Bev here again. As I was saying a few days ago, Kanner Lake threw a surprise birthday party at Java Joint for Angie. I left off my story with the presents. The best part.

It took several minutes to calm the ruckus down. Goodness, I honestly don't know how Bailey deals with it every day, running everything so smoothly, keeping everyone happy, and always holding onto that smile and sweet disposition of hers. And without her, I don't think we ever would have gotten to the presents.

But Bailey made calm out of chaos and expertly directed Ted, Pastor Hank, and a couple of the other men to the packages stored in the back, like she threw big parties every day. Meanwhile I settled Angie at the central table, David at her side, of course.

Angie couldn't understand why Bailey needed four men to help her get a bunch of cards. Cards! As if any one of us was so cheap. No, that would never do. Everyone had brought something.

So the packages kept coming and coming, and Angie's eyes got wider and wider. Then she started dithering as she twisted a paper napkin to shreds and babbled about how we shouldn't have or some such nonsense. As I said before, she would only turn seven--oops. There I go again.

Finally, David calmed Angie down (did I mention the man is a lifesaver?), and the opening commenced.

What a huge assortment of gifts! Yet every one was perfect for Angie while still reflecting the giver. A gift certificate for Java Joint coffee from Bailey. Sparkling earrings that Angie had admired at Simple Pleasures from Paige, with the matching necklace from Sarah. A free year's subscription to the Kanner Lake Times from Jared. A plaque from Ted with an inspirational quote about growing older and wiser written in that special language of his.

Next Wilbur supplied a huge box. I am told I turned rather pale at that, but what do you expect? I half-feared he'd given Angie a stuffed fish! Thankfully, it was only one large bouquet of silk flowers. Who would have ever thought it?

So on and on the presents came, Angie gushing the whole time. Or until she reached the last present--mine.

She picked up the long thin envelope and eyed it rather suspiciously. I can't imagine why. I've never done anything except what's best for her. Then she looked at me, one penciled eyebrow raised. "What are you up to now, Beverly Trexel?"

"Why do you think I'm up to anything?"

"I saw that post about your shopping trip. You said you got two of something. This envelope"--she waved it at me--"can't contain two of anything. So what else is there?"

"I promise you. There is nothing else."

She didn't believe me, I could tell, but she opened the envelope and pulled out two reservations for a dog-training school--during the same week.

Angie glared at me. "There's absolutely no way I'm taking on another dog!"

"Goodness me. I hope not."

"Then why two?"

I glanced at David. "Let's just say I thought Cosmos should meet any future roommates."

Perhaps for only the second time in her life, Angie didn't have anything to say.

Now that's what I call a successful surprise party.

-- Bev Trexel
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A Surprise Party--Part I

2007-04-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, everyone. Bev Trexel with you today. It has certainly been a trying few weeks. First the ruckus about building the hotel. Then those horrible murders here, and everyone looking over their shoulders. (See, Angie, I told you having a dog was a good idea.) Now the shooting at Virgina Tech, where one of my friends used to teach. After all that, who couldn't use some cheering up?

So Kanner Lake threw a surprise birthday party for Angie.

Barely. Wilbur tried to ruin the surprise by yapping that party or no party, the fourth stool was his. As if any of the regulars would even think about taking it. But Angie overheard the word party and everything would have been lost right then if David hadn't walked in--about the only subject that could distract Angie from thoughts of a party.

But somehow we made it, and Bailey rented Java Joint to us for a whole afternoon, no tourists. We decked up the place with balloons and streamers--even got a pink one tied into a bow around Wilber's stool--and everyone squeezed inside. All the regulars were there. Bailey and John. Jared. Ted Dawson in his corner with Leslie nearby ... hmm, I might have to look into that one. Carla. Pastor Hank and Janet. Wilbur on his stool with Jake right beside him. Sarah even closed up Simple Pleasures for a few hours so she and Paige could join us. And oh, yes, David. I delivered that invitation by hand myself.

Then I had the pleasure of half-dragging Angie from her home. She complained every step of the way, couldn't understand why I was so insistent that she had to join me for a cup of coffee. But when she walked in and everyone jumped up (well, everyone but Wilbur, him being so worried about that stool of his) and yelled "Surprise! Happy Birthday!" in two languages (thanks to Ted Dawson)--well, it was worth it.

We served up the world's best coffee and sandwiches, followed by chocolate cake and old-fashioned strawberry ice cream, just like my father used to churn when I was younger. For a long time I debated whether cake and ice cream were such a great idea with all of Angie's health fuss. But what is a birthday party without cake and ice cream? So I decided Angie would have to live with it; only once in a lifetime can you turn seven--oops. Angie would skewer me if I let that out to the whole world.

After that, sometime during the chaos, we decided that since all the bloggers were gathered in the same place at the same time for once, we would try to create a joint blog for Scenes and Beans, like our first day. But things got a bit, shall we say, out-of-control? So I think Bailey might have wisely locked it away someplace where it'll never be published. Unfortunately, I've heard rumors that Wilbur and Jake have started a petition for its publication. Don't be surprised if they try to get all of cyberspace clammoring for it.

Then Ted Dawson (S-Man) was persuaded to do his first public reading of the novel he's always working on. Outside those parts you can't understand, the writing wasn't bad. No Shakespeare or Hemingway, of course. But I highly doubt that was his intention anyway.

Unfortunately, Jake slapped his thigh and he said he could tell a story as good, promptly launching into his latest tale about his pup, Duke. Next, Wilbur decided he had to out-do him with one of his fish tales. That spurred Jake into one of his.

Thank goodness for David, or the party would have been a disaster for sure. But he stepped in and proposed a coffee toast for Angie. I always knew I liked him. Angie, on the other hand, turned bright red. She tried to tell me it was because Java Joint had become so warm, but although it was warm (what do you expect with all that hot air?), I knew better.

Finally we got to the presents--but that deserves a post all its own.

-- Bev Trexel
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Prayers for Virginia Tech

2007-04-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

Greetings, it's Jared with you today. I am writing this post on Monday the 15th, my heart laden with sadness, as I watch the news.

I've been a newspaperman all my working life. In fact, even in school. I've posted before about my childhood foray into printing a newspaper. As a reporter and owner of a paper, I have covered crime and tragedy for many years. Indeed, it's a sad truth that trauma--not good news--is what people have come to expect in watching or reading the media. But I have never seen such senselessness as these school shootings. Each new such crisis leaves us to weep and volley why? questions at heaven.

In Matthew 24 Jesus is telling his disciples about the approach of the end times. Verse 12 records these words of the Master: Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold. I'm no theologian, and I don't begin to claim knowledge about when Christ will return. The Bible says no one knows but God. But right now, at this time on earth, I do look around and see Matthew 12:24 at work. There has always been in evil in this world. But seems to me it hasn't always been this chaotic. Historically, even the worst of human evil lived according to its own warped purpose--revenge, eradication of a religion or peoples, greed, desired power. Now evil seems purely random. Senseless killings of strangers. Parents don't know if a child sent to school will come home. If a lunch eaten at a fast food restaurant will end in death. If a walk down the street might be the final action in a life.

As you know, we've seen tragedy here in Kanner Lake. Our hearts have been weighted with grief, our heads full of those why? questions. We have come face to face with the "increase of wickedness" in this world. I have no answers, other than to cling to God, who will one day judge with righteousness.

My sympathy, my heart-felt and tearful prayers go out to the families of the victims at Virginia Tech.

A Doggy Tale

2007-04-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hi, Jake here. Thought I'd tell you what's up with our pup, Duke. He don't look like a little puppy anymore, that’s for sure. He's over seven months now, with paws about as big as a house. Maybe one day he'll grow into 'em.

Remember, Duke is part Lab and part who-knows-what. So Mable got the bright to teach him how to fetch, since that's what Labs do. Only she thought he might as well fetch something significant. Like the newspaper off the front yard. Little did we guess what trouble it would bring us.

Since we have a doggy door in the garage, where Duke sleeps at night, Mable figured she'd teach him a way to do it that's easiest on us. In other words, without any prompting. So she started in the mornings, telling him, "Paper." Then she'd shove him out his doggy door, lead him around to the front, pick up the paper and put it in his mouth, lead him back through the doggy door, and get him to let the paper go right at door that opens into our kitchen.

I'm tellin' you that dog is smart. Took four times, that's it. On the fifth time, he went out the doggy door and his own and brought back the paper.

Day one after that--in the morning Mable opened the garage door, said, "Paper," and Duke ran and fetched it. Day two the same. On day three she opened the garage door to give the command--and found the newspaper already lying at her feet. She was so excited. "Hank, look, he did it!"

Duke got a lot of extra dog biscuits with his breakfast.

Day four went fine. Another newspaper, lying at the garage door.

Day six we ran into a little problem. Mable opened the garage door to find eight newspapers lying at her feet. Eight copies of the same paper.

We called the newspaper boy. Had he given us eight copies of the paper? Nope, he said. But he'd been gettin' calls from all our neighbors that morning, asking where their papers were.

Turns out Duke was havin' so much fun fetching the paper, one just wouldn't do. He'd visited every house on our street and brought back the newspaper. Mable and I had to go up and down the street, returning them all. Pretty red-faced, we were.

"Mable," I said, "how are we goin' to unlearn our dog from his life of crime?"

The next two days cost us some sleep. We had to be up before the paper boy came, ready to stop Duke in his thievin' tracks. When he brought in our own newspaper, we praised him and gave him a biscuit. When he headed out to grab one off a neighbor's lawn, we waited until he got it in his mouth, then went over and gave him what for until he dropped the paper. He slunk home with his tail between his legs. Poor thing looked awful confused. It wasn't until the second day that the nickel dropped in his doggy head. Since then--no more neighbors' papers.

I'm thinkin' it'll be awhile before we teach him another trick. Never know how far he's gonna take it.

The Light

2007-04-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

Pastor Hank here with you folks. I know we've been pretty quiet since the recent tragic events. I'm sorry we've not kept up, but I imagine you all can understand why. Thanks for all those who've said prayers and sent notes of condolences. It does mean a lot to us. The kindness of strangers in this terrible time reminds us of the good in the world.

I still shake my head and wonder how such darkness could have here in Kanner Lake, much less anywhere else. We've all had our share of introspection. I've also noted people giving sidelong glances to others passing on the street, as if they don't trust anyone anymore. It saddens me to think we are living like this.

People have been talking to me constantly, and I wish I had all the answers. I'm afraid that I'm just one simple country preacher. I can't explain everything that has been happening here. Only in heaven will we know all the answers, I suppose.

However, there are things that I do know, and have great confidence in. The fact that it is Easter week gives me great comfort, because it is there that darkness had its greatest defeat. The glory of Easter morning is that Jesus Christ rose from the dead to give new life to all who trust in Him, and to bring victory over the powers of darkness. As it says in Isaiah, "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned."

I haven't really preached hard before on this blog, since it is for Kanner Lake and not "Pastor Hank's Pulpit." However, this town needs some healing right now, and if I think I've got a remedy, I would be amiss in holding it back.

So yes, I am sad, but I am not defeated. Neither is Kanner Lake. These are good folks here, and we'll pull together. We'll keep praying, and you all out there in cyberspace do the same if you're so inclined, all right? And if you're in the neighborhood this Easter Sunday, the doors to New Community Church are open. We'd love to have you celebrate with us.

Blessings,

Pastor Hank

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Read the personal blog of the author of this post: www.spoiledfortheordinary.blogspot.com

An Announcement from David Clanton (Angie's Friend)

2007-04-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

(Note from Bailey: David wrote this post before everything that happened week before last, so it's been sitting awhile. It's time to get back to running our regular posts. We in Kanner Lake are struggling back to our normal lives, and that struggle will continue for awhile, but our lives do go on. And God is watching over us. I thank you all so much for the personal cards we've received at Java Joint. I've kept them on the counter so all the Scenes and Beans posters could read them. They've lifted our hearts.)

Now, David's post:

I asked Bailey if she would help me with this post, and she kindly consented. I'm just not used to public writing, especially when it involves personal topics. Angie was not comfortable posting this, so you get to hear directly from me. Rumors have been flying locally, and I wanted to set the record straight for Angie and myself.

Last week, after renewing our friendship over six months ago, Angie consented to move our relationship from just friends to dating. As some of you know, both Angie and I were widowed a couple of years ago after long marriages. You may also know that Angie and her husband Frank, and my wife Capi and I were close friends, a friendship that continued after Capi and I moved away from Kanner Lake. That friendship made it hard for Angie and me to admit that we were becoming attracted to one another in a deeper way. It almost felt as if we were being unfaithful to Capi and Frank.

We don't know if we will get married, but I want everyone to know that my intentions are honorable and that I think Angie is a wonderful person. She has added so much to my life. Of course, we've already told our kids, and Angie is telling Bev today, hopefully before she reads this post. You may have noticed Bev dropping some heavy hints.

I don't know if any of you have found yourself in a similar situation, dating again after a long, wonderful marriage, but it sure is tough. Although I know Capi is in heaven, I sometimes feel as if I'm being unfaithful by seeing Angie. It doesn't help that Frank was one of my best friends. Logically, I know that Capi and Frank are smiling in heaven at this turn of events, but there are some days when I struggle with some guilt. I know that Angie has gone through some of this too. I'm sure that God will help us resolve this if His plan is for us to marry, but I guess we'll have to wait for that. Don't misunderstand me, Angie and I are having a wonderful time and we don't spend a lot of time dwelling on this, but I would love to hear how some other widows and widowers handle this.
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Read the personal blog of the author of this post.

Breaking the Silence

2007-03-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

Howdy, Wilbur here. I decided to break the silence since nobody else around her feels like posting. Not that I do much, either. But I do have some things to say.

Before all hell broke loose last week, I was working on a post, and Carla was typing for me. I threw that one out for now, though. After everything that went on here, it just ain’t important.

Mostly I wanted to say that Vesta Johnson was a friend of mine. I respected her, and so did the rest of the town. If anybody could get me in a church, it was Vesta. I’ve had my share of problems with church-goers not actin’ like the Christians they say they are. Vesta wasn’t one of them. She lived what she talked. In fact, she lived more than she talked, which is the way I figure it should be.

You should have heard the eulogies at Vesta’s funeral. People were asked to stand up and say something if they wanted, and that part just went on and on. So many had great things to say about her. How she took food to them when they were sick. How she always had a kind word. How folks looked forward to waving to her every day as she took her walk through the neighborhood.

Listening to all that, it made me wonder what folks would say about me after I’m gone. Not sure I want to be around to hear it. But I guess I won’t have to worry about that.

Second thing I want to say is—I know you all heard on the news how there were some pretty strange goings-on around here connected to the murders. I ain’t been one to believe in stuff like that, but this whole thing convinced me. Pastor Hank says he’s going to be preachin’ on the subject for a number of weeks. I figure I’ll head on over to New Community Church and hear what he’s got to say. The longer I live, the more confusing this world gets. I’m thinkin’ that’s not a good thing. It ought to be gettin’ clearer as I get closer to meetin’ my Maker. So I aim to get a few things straight between me and God.

That said—just remember: the fourth stool at the Java Joint counter still belongs to Wilbur Hucks. Some things just don’t need to change.

Thank You For Your Notes

2007-03-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

It's Bailey with you this morning. Wilbur was supposed to be up, but as you know, we've had a very difficult weekend, and I felt I'd better say a few things. Before all of this began last week, Wilbur was working on his post. (And giving me trouble about it--can you imagine that?) I will put it up in the next few days.

So many of you left concerned comments to my post on Friday. Then over Saturday and Sunday--I suppose as you heard further information on TV--I see that you left more. All of us here in Kanner Lake thank you for your kindness. We are slowly emerging from our shock. But to tell the truth, the weekend seemed very long as we struggled to understand. We still could use your prayers.

I'm not going to comment on what happened. You've seen it all in the news anyway, and if you've been with this blog for any length of time, you know this is not the place to foment more talk. Kanner Lake has never been about tragedy. As long as I've lived here, it's been a wonderful town, with beautiful surroundings. Until last summer, we'd seen very little to shake us up. Now it feels like we've been to hell and back. But God is good. And with His help our town will restore itself.

So many of you asked about Leslie. I know she looked shaken and worn in her Saturday interviews. Those clips have run again and again--I saw them on many different channels. But she wants me to tell you she is recuperating emotionally and will be fine. You know Leslie; she's a fighter.

In the past you've seen a few posts here about the proposed hotel in Kanner Lake. Some of you wondered in your comments what these murders might do to that project--will they scare away the investor who wants to build here? It's too soon to tell. Talk is rampant, and I wouldn't blame the investor if he decides to pull his project off city hall's table. But whatever happens, you know I remain Kanner Lake's cheerleader. You can visit here in the future and maybe stay in a new hotel, or you can enjoy the B&Bs around town and on the water, as before. Either way, we want you to come see us. You'll love the beauty of the area. Water sports in the summer, snow sports in the winter. Not to mention the friendliness of the town. (Please, please remember that what happened here recently is so far from what this town is usually like.) It has been such a joy to meet those of you across the country who've come into the cafe to say hi.

Thank you again, all of you, for your encouragement and love. And mostly for your prayers.

Until next time, from Java Joint,

--Bailey

Please Pray for Us

2007-03-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, this is Bailey. Just a short note, as we are all still in shock. I'm writing this Thursday evening, to post for Friday. Thanks to those of you who've been asking about us. We have lost a very dear friend today. Vesta Johnson, a wonderful saint. A woman in her seventies whom everyone loved. I can't give details. The police are still investigating. I can only say that this is beyond our understanding, in many ways.

Everyone in town is just so sad. And sickened. We'd just pulled out of such awful times. Were looking forward to spring. Now this.

We really do need your prayers. Especially Leslie.

I will check back with you Monday.

-- Bailey

Leslie Checks In

2007-03-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hi, all, Leslie here, taking a quick moment to check in.

I can't say spring is yet here in Kanner Lake, but it's coming. The snow is pretty much gone, and the weather's beginning to warm. Oh, come, spring! This town is so in need of sun and fun.

For the past number of days, (I'm writing this Wednesday afternoon to run Thursday morning), Paige and I have been very busy moving. Yup, we've found a great little house to rent at the end of a cul-de-sac, so now we're going to be roommates. We've moved in the basic stuff but still have lots of boxes in the garage to unpack. That'll have to wait for nights and the weekend. Right now we're both busy with work--Paige at Simple Pleasures, and I at the newspaper.

Paige is doing fine, by the way. She says thanks to all of you who've sent her cards and letters at Simple Pleasures. And she has enjoyed meeting those of you who've visited the town and dropped in to see her. (This part's from me--don't ask her anything about what she's been through, okay? I mean, really, if it were you, would you want to talk about it?)

Thanks, also, to those of you who've sent me letters at the Times office. Yes, it has been very interesting to be interviewed on some national TV shows about all that's happened here since last July. Some of you wondered why Paige wasn't on those shows. Again--trust me, Paige is pretty reserved. She hates the limelight and just wants to get on with building her life. The last thing she'd want to do is be on TV, even though certain producers pursued her hotly.

Meanwhile, we have plenty of new local stuff going on here. You've been hearing about the so-called hotel controversy here. I've been busy covering the issue for the Kanner Lake Times. Today as you read this (Thursday), I will be interviewing both the developer who wants to build the hotel and a woman here in town who is leading the charge against the project. Townspeople on both sides have been very vocal about their opinions. Jared Moore (owner of the Times) and I have been doing our best to cover the issue fairly. Bottom line, the question is--what will a hotel next to the city beach do for the town? Detract from its small-town feeling and ugly up the skyline? Or bring business to Kanner Lake, thereby helping the business owners and the city as a whole due to tax dollars? Or some of both? This is what the city council ultimately must decide.

Either way, hotel or not--we hope many of you will visit this summer! Remember, we have quite a few B&Bs in the area. There are also houses for rent right on the lake--so tow your boat on over. And don't forget to stop by Java Joint so we can meet you.

-- Leslie

Birthday Shopping

2007-03-20T07:00:00.002-07:00

Bev here, wondering: What do you get for a stubborn old lady who has everything except the one thing I can't give her?

I've visited every shop from Kanner Lake to Coeur d'Alene--it was worse than one of those all-day shopping trips on which Angie dragged me. Or used to, before she got so caught up in that woman's health club thing.

I stopped at Simple Pleasures first. Sarah and Paige both tried to help. But while there were many beautiful and tempting things Angie would have loved--the jewelry boxes, chocolate-covered sunflower seeds, coffee-scented candles--none of them seemed quite right. Sara also suggested a gift certificate, but that's a bit impersonal coming from me, I thought.

So I tried other gift shops, but none of them had anything nearly as nice as Simple Pleasures. As for their service--I won't mention anything other than that Sarah ought to hold workshops to teach those owners how to properly run their stores.

I moved on to bookstores next. I looked at new books and used books. Fat books and thin books. Classics and even a few of those modern stories that makes one blush to look at the cover. Honestly, what were those publishers thinking!

Then I checked out certificates for fancy restaurants, but with Angie's current gym fetish, that seemed only impersonal and cruel. I considered flowers, but they soon die. In desperation, I even went into pet shops to look at leashes and toys for Cosmos. Nothing. The whole trip seemed to have been futile.

But as I drove back to Kanner Lake, I saw it. The perfect gift for Angie. So perfect that I got two. But I can't tell you anything more than that until Angie's birthday. We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, now would we? But I bet you can't guess what it is.

--Bev Trexel

Bev's Tidbits:

Word of the Day: Futile--an adjective meaning of no use, completely ineffective; frivolous

Grammar Rule of the Week: Use who when it is the subject of the following clause and whom when it is the direct objective of the following clause.

Classic Book: The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Poem of the Month: "Journey of the Magi" by T. S. Eliot

Wilbur Takes the Challenge

2007-03-19T07:00:00.001-07:00

Hey, all, it's Carla. Radling. Yes, the realtor. I know Ive been quiet for some time. Figured it's time I checked in.

First, I do not have a new dog. Jake can keep his Duke, and Angie can keep her ... what the heck's the name of that pooch, Cosmos or something? Why in the world would you name a dog Cosmos? And Bev can keep her yakky bird, Talkatoo. I live without pets, nicely and quietly. When I get home to my beloved little house, everything's just the way I left it.

So why had I been quiet? I've been busy with real estate. The market's gone through such changes. A couple of years ago houses in this area just skyrocketed. Now they've leveled off. Apparently northern Idaho is being "discovered"--especially by folks in California who want a second home, rental property or a place in which to retire. I swear you drive down to Coeur d'Alene, you'll find more Californians than in California. Might as well name the state Caldiho. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. New people means house sales.

Yesterday I was at Java Joint in the morning as usual. And, of course, there sat Jake and Wilbur at the counter. Bev and Angie at their table. And S-Man, still typing away on his manuscript. Anyway, Wilbur and I got into it. Actually he got into it. Wilbur growls and carries on; I just "discuss." So he starts in on this harangue about how the towns getting too big, and this new hotel might go in, yada, yada. I said, "Wilbur, what's the big deal? We're not talking about that much growth. And a few extra tourists will mean more people you can jabber at in here every morning."

He sniffed. "All the more people gonna want to sit on my stool."

"Sit on your stool? Are you kidding me? All this discussion for the town, and all you can think of is your stool at this counter?"

"Well, I got a right. I been here longer 'n' anybody."

"So what would happen if you sat somewhere else? You think the world would cave in?"

"Prob'ly."

"You're such a tough guy, why don't you find out? Go sit over there with Bev and Angie."

Wilbur reared back. "You outta your mind? Bev and me at the same table? Might as well put a cat and dog in a cage."

"Fine, then, go sit at one of the empty tables."

"Nope." He sucked on his coffee.

"Come on, Wilbur. For two minutes. You go around showing everybody your heart surgery scar, what a tough guy you are--you can handle this. One minute." I pointed to am empty table. "In that chair."

"Cain't do it."

"Chicken."

"I ain't no chicken, you pipsqueak! I done fought in a war with bullets whizzin' round my head. How about you?"

"Then you can handle this, Wilbur." I folded my arms.

Well, by this time everybody in Java Joint was listening. S-Man had even stopped typing. Wilbur looked around at everybody, his jaw working. Mumbling under his breath. Finally he huffed to his feet. "Fine then. After this you owe me some coffee. And a pastry. For the next week."

"Just do it, Wilbur."

And so he did. Shuffled over and plunked himself down at that table, fire in his eyes. Sat back. Tried to settle in. A pained expression crossed his face. He shifted. Shifted again. Laced his fingers and thumped his thumbs together. "How much time, Carla?"

I checked my watch. "Twenty seconds. You got forty to go."

He pulled in a long breath. Gazed around. "World don't look right from here."

"It's a new perspective, Wilbur. Once in awhile you need that in life."

"I like my old perspective just fine, thank you very much." He twiddled his thumbs. "How much time?"

"Twenty more seconds."

Somehow they passed. Somehow ol; Wilbur Hucks managed. At the end of the minute he pushd to his feet. Everyone broke out in applause. He pulled his head back, the corners of his mouth down and glared at us all. Even Bailey. "What’s the big deal, all's I did was sit in a chair. You want to see a real ordeal, look at this."

And he pulled up his shirt. Not until he made sure everybody saw that scar above his hairy belly did he pull it back down. Bev near had a fit. Then Wilbur headed back to his stool, head high.

Yeah, that Wilbur. He's a tough old bird, all right.

Hotel or No Hotel?

2007-03-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

Howdy, it's Jake. Been awhile since I made an appearance.

Just to get you caught up on me. Mable and Duke are doing just fine. For a woman who didn't want a dog in her house, those two are as close as stacked crackers. Sometimes I think Mable might even prefer to sleep with Duke over me, although she ain't said so. It's just those looks she gives me when I do something wrong. She never gives Duke looks like that.

Maybe that 'cause he don't leave his dirty clothes all over the floor.

Anyway, the latest thing around here is the hotel. Or maybe hotel. Some slick developer from outta state has come in and wants to build one near the city beach. That would put it just a couple blocks from Java Joint. A hotel full of tourists would be a good thing for businesses on Main Street, no doubt. But what about the other issues, like a building taking up the skyline where only the sky used to be? Lots more people to deal with. I don't know. I got friends on both sides. At first I was totally against the idea. But the city council keeps sayin' how much tax dollars Kanner Lake would get, and the business owners talk about the extra pennies in their pockets, and I know some of 'em are struggling. So we definitely got ourselves an issue.

Folks are downright fighting about this thing. There's a faction for it, lobbying hard and long. And a faction agin it, also lobbying. You'd think Washington D.C. upended a bunch a loud folks in Kanner Lake or something.

There's gonna be a vote on it--I don't know when. Maybe sometime next month. The newspaper's full of the story, people arguing on both sides. I tell you what, town's gettin' hot all over again. And so soon after the trial and all. I'm thinking we should all just calm down a little.

Can't wait for summer. I just wanna go fishin'.

Moving Mountains

2007-03-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

Some pastor friends of ours are in the early stages of a building campaign for their church. If you are a church-goer, and have at any time been a part of something like that, you know that everyone is asked to make a sacrifice of their time, money and talent, to see that work accomplished. Hank and I walked New Community Church through a building project a few years ago when we needed to repair our sanctuary. It was a challenging but rewarding process. We saw God truly work miracles in our finances, as well as in the lives and finances of our parishioners.

It's a unique experience. Being challenged to do something that, on paper, looks impossible. But being obedient to what one believes is God's challenge, and then to trust Him to make it all work out.

Last year some friends of ours in Washington state started their building challenge. The company that is orchestrating their capital campaign offered them several ideas for the promotion and 'sale' of their vision--the vision of their church. What they felt led to embrace has had a tremendous impact on me personally.

At the kick-off dinner, the focus of the evening was to give folks an opportunity to pledge what they felt the Lord would enable them to give over the coming two years. As they prayed over their commitment cards, they were then directed to take the card and deposit it into a box.

Surrounding the box was a variety of rocks. Creek rocks, really. Some large. Some small. Some smooth. Some jagged.

The point of all this was: God can move mountains, even if it's one stone at a time. Naturally, at this particular event, it was meant to apply to the financial picture of those attending--that God would move mountains in order to enable each family to give sacrificially to this fundraising effort.

When my friend shared this with me, it struck a chord. And the next day, I went out to Kanner Lake, and found a rock. I picked a pretty good-sized rock, because God had begun to stir some things in my heart about trusting Him. And I knew that in some ways, that was a big rock to move.

To this day I hold that rock in my hand during my morning prayer time. There is nothing mystical or magical about the rock, but it is merely a physical reminder that the Lord is at work in my life, moving my mountains one rock at a time. Sometime those mountains are blasted out of the way, almost miraculously, and other times, He just does it one rock at a time, over time.

After that first rock-hunting trip, I've made a few more. And I've given a box of rocks to several families in our church: to the young father whose wife elected weight-loss surgery to win a battle over a lifetime of obesity, only to "discover" a new side of herself that needed freedom. She walked out and left him with their two young boys. This daddy needs God to move mountains. God will.

To the woman in our church whose father was in a terrible car crash. More than once this father was not given a shred of hope for survival, or any quality of life if he did survive. But he's still with them, improving every day. God is moving stones.

To the couple who had a fire in their home, only to receive the news the next day that the wife has a early-stage uterine cancer. God is moving stones for them, one at a time.

We may not see Him at work, but we can rest assured that He is working. When we can't hear Him, He's at work. When we can't feel Him, He's at work. Always. Never sleeping. Continuously aware of every little detail of our lives, and working to bring all things together for our good. Sometimes He actually moves the mountain, and sometimes He just gives us the strength to get over the mountain.

Know this: the mountains you see all around you are nothing to the One whose strength is great.

This week, maybe you ought to find yourself a rock. Or two. Put them in places where you'll see them often during your busy day. Let those rocks remind you that God is moving mountains on your behalf. Sometimes the wait is long, but in the meantime you are becoming stronger. And one day you'll realize the mountain isn't in your horizon any more.
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Read the personal blog of the author of this post.

A Post About Nothing

2007-03-09T07:00:00.001-08:00

Well, have we been quiet enough around here for you? Everybody seems to be flying in different directions. This hotel controversy (Jared mentioned it in his post some time ago) has really heated up. But I am not writing about that. I am writing about nothing.

It has finally happened, you see, just as I knew it would. It's time for my biweekly update and I have absolutely nothing to write about. At least I am writing--which is better than I can say for some others around here.

I can't write about the recent trial, for that subject Bailey has banned. And the hotel issue--whether or not to build one at the city beach--rather bores me. My life will go on whether a hotel joins the Kanner Lake skyline or not. As for Angie--she's so into going to that gym now that she's become rather boring. Although she is losing weight, and I am happy for her.

I could write about my box sorting. But although I'm now through the one from my third year of teaching, nothing remarkable has been uncovered from among the stacks of paper. It has almost made me glad to have Talkatoo around. Almost.

(For my friends of more sensible taste who have been inquiring: no, I haven't convinced my inexorable husband to rename Talkatoo something more dignified. I believe it's a hopeless cause.)

About the only interesting thing on the horizon is Angie's birthday in a couple weeks. I haven't yet found anything that's perfect for her yet. She has forbidden me to get her another dog. I have no idea why she felt it necessary to inform me of that. Her house may be large, but not that large. Besides, the rest of the space ought to be reserved for a more, shall I say, complementary counterpart.

Perhaps one of you has an idea? Remember it must be good so I might sufficiently show my gratitude for Talkatoo.

--Bev

Bev's Tidbits (After all, I was an English teacher):

Word of the Day: inexorable--an adjective meaning not persuaded or moved by entreaty or prayer; unyielding; inflexible.

Grammar Rule of the Week: Use a semicolon to join two independent clauses that are not joined by a conjunction or to separate major elements that contain commas.

Classic Book: Black Beauty by Anna Sewell

Poem of the Month: Still working on memorizing Shakespeare's eighteenth sonnet. I'm down to the last two lines.

Angie Gets Cornered

2007-02-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

Angie here again. I apologize for it being so long between posts, but I think the whole town has felt like we've been stuck in a time warp with the trial going on. I'm so happy for Paige. I just hope and pray that she stays here, we've come to love her so. It's too bad she's a little young for my son, Frank Jr.

And don't listen to Bev about Talkatoo. She talks about that silly bird all the time. "Do you know what Talkatoo did last night? Isn't he the smartest bird you ever heard of?" She goes on and on. She loves that bird, but she will never admit it.

Kanner Lake is growing, you know. Last fall, a good friend of mine, Dimples Wright, opened up a new ladies gym in the old hardware store just off Main Street. Her husband owns the building, and when the hardware store closed, she thought it would be fun to open a little gym for the Kanner Lake ladies. Dimples is a retired history and gym teacher, and is in amazing shape for a lady of our era. Of course, not everyone has the same idea of fun.

After the pie explosion last fall, which was followed by the Angie explosion, Dimples stopped by Java Joint one morning and joined Bev and me for coffee. Of course hers was a cup of herbal tea with a fruit cup. Bev must have seen trouble coming, because she quickly excused herself and hurried out to an "appointment." Dimples and I continued to catch up on our families and everything. What I didn't know was she had a hidden agenda.

"I saw your post in the blog about your exercise program," she said, moving her index finger up and down, demonstrating my favorite workout.

"Did you like it? I'm really enjoying writing in the blog, but I'm not enjoying these extra pounds. But it's almost impossible to lose weight at my age."

"I love your posts, but I do have to disagree with you on one point Angie, you have not always been plump. You may have carried an extra 5 pounds or so, now and again, but you were never fat."

"I am now, and no matter how much I laugh and giggle, I hate looking at myself in the mirror. How do you stay so svelte? You have the figure of a 20-year-old."

"Trust me, I'm far from perfect, but I do try to eat right and stay in shape. I still work out every day and I just opened a new women only gym in the old hardware store. Rusty and I own it outright, so I don't have all the overhead, so I thought it would be fun to open a little gym and have a place to stay in shape. I've trained a couple of women who used to commute with me to the gym in Coeur d'Alene, and we’re going great guns. Why don't you come by and give it a try?"

Trapped. Cornered. My mind was racing. How do I get out of this one?

I'm sure that Dimples knew exactly what was going on in my mind, because she quickly moved ahead and continued, "Let’s make a date for 2:00 this afternoon. I'll take you through the circuit, weigh you in, and we can start you on a food and exercise plan. It won't hurt, I promise. I think you'll have fun."

What can you say after that? She knows my schedule. "Sure, if you really think it will help. Even David said I looked different."

"Wonderful! And I bet when you're done David won't be able to keep his eyes off of you."

Me and my big mouth. "It's not like that, really we're just friends."

"Of course, if you say so. Oh, my goodness, look at the time! I have to run and relieve Maki so she can take a break. I'll see you this afternoon." And off Dimples flew.

Of course I went, and I had a great time. I don't know how she did it, but Dimples had half the retired school teachers there, several moms, and even a little area for the kids and a college girl to watch them. Wow! She had only been open for a week, but had she ever been making the rounds.

As for me, it's been about 10 weeks and I've already lost 18 lbs and 2 dress sizes. I'm feeling better than I have in years. Missy (my daughter Melissa) noticed when she was doing my hair yesterday and was really impressed. Frank Jr. asked me if I've changed my hair, (answer-no), and a certain dinner companion has commented on how well I'm looking and whistles at me whenever he sees me. People are just now starting to really notice. Yes, it was little hard with the holidays, but the gym is such a great little place, it's like going to meet my friends every day. I might even start teaching classes soon.

Oh, I almost forgot. I found my old jeans and top that I was wearing when I met my Frank at Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, back in '67. You know, I might just get back in them. Eat your heart out, Goldie Hawn.

A Dinner Alone

2007-02-20T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, Janet Detcher with you today. Recently I received this forwarded e-mail from a friend. I don't even know if the story's true or not. Could be just made up. But it doesn't matter. The sentiment is true enough--and one I agree with. So I wanted to share it with you. You can read it as truth, or read it as fiction--either way, it has a strong point to make.
-------------------------

I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses that you find all over the country. You know the type--a bucket of peanuts on every table, shells littering the floor, and a bunch of perky college kids racing around with long neck beers and sizzling platters.

Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim of my glass. My gaze lingered on a group enjoying their meal. They wore no uniform to identify their branch of service, but they were definitely "military:" clean shaven, cropped haircut, and that "squared away" look that comes with pride.

Smiling sadly, I glanced across my table to the empty seat where my husband usually sat. It had only been a few months since we sat in this very booth, talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle East. That was when he made me promise to get a sitter for the kids, come back to this restaurant once a month and treat myself to a nice steak. In turn he would treasure the thought of me being here, thinking about him until he returned home.

I fingered the little flag pin I constantly wear and wondered where he was at this very moment. Was he safe and warm? Was his cold any better? Were my letters getting through to him? As I pondered these thoughts, high pitched female voices from the next booth broke into my thoughts.

"I don't know what Bush is thinking about. Invading Iraq. You'd think that man would learn from his old man's mistakes."

"What an idiot! I can't believe he is even in office. You do know, he stole the election."

I cut into my steak and tried to ignore them, as they began an endless tirade running down our president. I thought about the last night I spent with my husband, as he prepared to deploy. He had just returned from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots. The image of him standing in our kitchen packing his gas mask still gives me chills.

Once again the women's voices invaded my thoughts.

"It is all about oil, you know. Our soldiers will go in and rape and steal all the oil they can in the name of 'freedom'."

"Yeah, I wonder how many innocent people they'll kill without giving it a thought? It's pure greed."

My chest tightened as I stared at my wedding ring. I could still see how handsome my husband looked in his "mess dress" the day he slipped it on my finger. I wondered what he was wearing now. Probably his desert uniform, affectionately dubbed "coffee stains" with a heavy bulletproof vest over it.

"You know, we should just leave Iraq alone. I don't think they were hiding any weapons. In fact, I bet it was all a big act just to increase the president's popularity."

"Yeah. Plus, think of all that money going to the military instead of social security and education. And, you know what else? We're just asking for another 9-11. I can't say when it happens again that we didn't deserve it."

Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched gathering outside our base. Did no one appreciate the sacrifice of brave men and women, who leave their homes and family to ensure our freedom? Do they even know what "freedom" is?

I glanced at the table where the young men were sitting, and saw their courageous faces change. They had stopped eating and looked at each other dejectedly, listening to the women talking.

"Well, I, for one, think it's just deplorable to invade Iraq, and I am certainly sick of our tax dollars going to train professional baby-killers we call a military."

Professional baby-killers? I thought about what a wonderful father my husband is, and of how long it would be before he would see our children again.

Indignation rose up inside me. I'm normally reserved, but pride in my husband gave me a brassy boldness I never realized I had.

Sliding out of my booth, I walked around to the adjoining booth and placed my hands flat on their table. Lowering myself to eye level with them, smilingly said, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. You see, I'm sitting here trying to enjoy my dinner alone. And, do you know why? Because my husband, whom I love with all my heart, is halfway around the world defending your right to say rotten things about him.

"Yes, you have the right to your opinion, and what you think is none of my business. However, what you say in public is something else, and I will not sit by and listen to you ridicule MY country, MY president, MY husband, and all the other fine American men and women who put their lives on the line, just so you can have the freedom to complain. Freedom is an expensive commodity, ladies. Don't let your actions cheapen it."

I must have been louder that I meant to be, because the manager came over to inquire if everything was all right. "Yes, thank you," I replied. Then, turning back to the women, I said, "Enjoy the rest of your meal."

As I returned to my booth applause broke out. I was embarrassed for making a scene, and went back to my half eaten steak.

The women picked up their check and scurried away. After finishing my meal, and while waiting for my check, the manager returned with a huge apple cobbler ala mode. "Compliments of those soldiers," he said. He smiled and said the ladies tried to pay for my dinner, but that another couple had beaten them to it. When I asked who, the manager said they had already left, but that the gentleman was a veteran, and wanted to take care of the wife of "one of our boys."

With a lump in my throat, I gratefully turned to the soldiers and thanked them for the cobbler. Grinning from ear to ear, they came over and surrounded the booth. "We just wanted to thank you, ma'am. You know we can't get into confrontations with civilians, so we appreciate what you did."

As I drove home, for the first time since my husband's deployment, I didn't feel quite so alone. My heart was filled with the warmth of the other diners who stopped by my table, to relate how they, too, were proud of my husband, and would keep him in their prayers. I knew their flags would fly a little higher the next day. Perhaps they would look for more tangible ways to show their pride in our country, and the military who protect her. And maybe, just maybe, the two women who were railing against our country, would pause for a minute to appreciate all the freedom America offers, and the price it pays to maintain its freedom.

As for me, I have learned that one voice CAN make a difference. Maybe the next time protesters gather outside the gates of the base where I live, I will proudly stand on the opposite side with a sign of my own. It will simply say, "Thank You!"

To those who fought for our Nation: Freedom has a meaning the protected will never know.

Back to Normal (We Hope)

2007-02-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

Well, by now you've all heard the news. The trial is over. We are so very happy for the outcome. God has answered our prayers.

Lots of healing needs to take place now. Paige says to thank all of you who've written her for your thoughtfulness. She will be getting on with her life now, as will the rest of the town.

Things are sure quiet this morning. The reporters have all pulled out of town. It's back to the usual crowd here, with Wilbur on his stool, everybody chatting, and S-Man typing away. (Of course, NOBODY sits on Wilbur's stool when he's in the cafe.)

The biggest news around her now will be whether or not the hotel at the beach gets built. Good. That's the kind of controversy we can handle.

Love to all of you,

-- Bailey

Gone to the Bird

2007-02-13T05:00:00.000-08:00

Some people just don't learn.

For example, Cosmos was a good gift for Angie. Just what she needed--practical, companionable, and at the very least, soft enough to cuddle. But what does she go and get me? A bird! A noisy, bothersome cockatoo, not good for either companionship or cuddling. What was I ever going to do with such a gift?

There seemed to be only one thing to do: give it away.

Not immediately, mind you. I could tolerate its somewhat questionable chatter for a few days, long enough for Angie to have her laugh. Then I would find it a proper home, maybe with a certain coxcomb I know.

But wouldn't you know it, my husband has taken a liking to that bird. Laughed every time he passed the cage. And when I suggested finding it a better home, he wouldn't hear of it. So my house has gone to the birds, and Talkatoo has found a permanent nesting place with us. (I assure you, the name was my husband's choice, not mine. I would have chosen something more reasonable like Hamlet or Dante.)

Now Talkatoo sits in the corner of the spare bedroom, talking off his bill and flinging birdseed over the floor. I think I shall have to invest in a new vacuum soon.

--Bev
-------------------
Bev's Tidbits:

Word of the Day: Coxcomb--noun meaning a vain, showy fellow fond of display.

Grammar Rule of the Week: Quotation marks indicate titles of short works (articles, short stories, one-act plays, essays, short poems, and chapter titles) while italics indicate the titles of long works (books both fiction and nonfiction, full-length plays, book length poems, motion pictures, periodicals, and magazines).

Classic Book: David Copperfield by Charles Dickens.

And in honor of February, the month of love--Poem of the Month: William Shakespeare's eighteenth sonnet.

I'm On a Rant

2007-02-12T07:00:00.000-08:00

Howdy, it's Wilbur Hucks with you on this Monday morning. Lots going on around here. I'm sure you all know that--you can read the papers just like I can. Except I don't need to read 'em since I'm livin' here seein' everything take place.

The trial's supposed to end this week, that's what we're hearing. But it may not be until around Thursday or Friday. Everybody's on pins and needles, I can tell you that. We just want this behind us. Of course, Paige does especially.

But you're hearin' enough about that on the news--that's not what I want to talk about today. I'm doggone riled up, and when Wilbur Hucks is riled, the folks I'm riled at had best watch it. What am I so mad about, you ask?

Stupid people cuttin' down our military folk.

Listen. You can hate war all you want. You can this particular Iraq war all you want. You can think it's the dumbest thing we ever did. But you can't say idiotic things about the brave men and women who are serving in our forces.

I served in the military myself--the Korean War. I didn't have a lot of time on the battle field worrying about whether I thought the war was a good thing or not. I just did my duty, tried to protect myself and my fellow soldiers, and come home in one piece. I was lucky. I got to do just that. A lot of my buddies didn't. Those people over there in Iraq are heroes. They're doing what their country has told them to do. They're putting their life on the line to fight terrorists and try to help those Iraqi people. They're not "mercenaries." They're not gettin' lots of "obscene amenities." They don't deserve to be "spit at". They deserve our respect and honor.

It's hard enough fighting, knowing you might be blown to bits any minute. It's got to be a whole lot harder now, when all our folk over there can read the news on the computer, and read about crazy people and how they tear down the military. You think that don't make them feel bad? They're over there fightin' while we're here in our snoozy soft beds, and all they get is bad attitude and disrespect from some people. It's downright disgusting.

When I see anybody in uniform here in the states, I go up and shake their hand. I say thank you for their service. That's what you should be doin' too. You don't want to do it for yourself, do it for me, and tell 'em Wilbur sent you.

Rant over. It better not have been for nothin'.

The Trial

2007-02-07T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, this is Bailey. Sorry for the lack of a post yesterday. It seems the lives of all of us bloggers are getting busier. Lately I've been running around bugging people for their posts. I've decided to relax about the matter. If a new post doesn't come in for the day, so be it. We'll post as often as we can.

The reason for the latest hubbub here (this is putting it very mildly) is--the trial's now underway. No doubt you've been reading about it in the papers. We've had over six months in Kanner Lake to try to settle after last summer's trauma, and we've managed to do that pretty well. But now everything's all stirred up again, with the trial and news people here from all over the country. I've been very busy at Java Joint, I can tell you. Lots of people coming in and out. It's been very interesting to meet the country's top reporters that I've seen on TV for so many years--from all major news stations. I just wish our meeting could be under different circumstances.

This trial--well, most of the town wishes it wasn't even taking place. All we can hope for now--pray for--is that it ends the way we'd like it to end. Sometime next week it should all be over. Sarah Wray is hanging in there, but she's on pins and needles every minute, worried about Paige. Of course Sarah's tending the shop by herself right now, but hoping for Paige's return. Simple Pleasures has had a booming business, too, with all our visitors.

To all you media folk who are now in Kanner Lake--we do hope you feel welcome. If anyone acts snippy to you or less than totally friendly, please do remember what a strain we are under. Seven months ago this was a little-known town, not used to publicity. Now, frankly, at times we can feel under siege. Everything will go back to normal in time, I know. But for now…things are a little hard. Hang in there with us. Okay?

Love to all of you out there, from all of us Scenes and Beans bloggers.

-- Bailey

Superbowl 41

2007-02-05T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, Carla here. Did I watch the Superbowl? Of course. Didn't everybody? Given the crazy bunch I was with, I didn't just watch it, I lived it. I was at some friends' house, and they threw a true Superbowl party. Lots of people, lots of food and drink. Plus one couple had gone to school in Chicago, and another couple was raised in Indiana, so we had people yelling for both teams. It was a fun afternoon, even for someone like me who doesn't get into football all that much.

No doubt the men at that party could give you a blow-by-blow account of the plays. Who did what, who ran so far, who kicked so great, whatever. I couldn't tell you any of that stuff. Here's what stood out to me:

Best play: Okay, I said I couldn't name any, but I can name one. That very first play. A kick-off, run all the way down the field? Man, even I got excited at that one.

Best commercial: Hands down, the “mouse” commercial for Blockbuster. I kept waiting to see it again, but they only showed it once. You wait. Everybody’ll be talking about that one today. I laughed so hard I nearly squirted Coke out of my nose.

Best new advertised product: What in the world has taken technology this long?!! Bring on the Chrysler car with the heated cup holders! Just think--no more cooled-off lattes from Java Joint!

Worst commercial: The two guys “kissing” while eating a Snickers bar. Something tells me you're gonna be hearing some water cooler talk about that one…

Worst halftime artist: Prince? Are you kidding me? So many great singers and bands out there, and they had to pick a guy who doesn’t even know what to call himself? Okay, I liked his blue and orange outfit. Kicky mix of colors. But what was with the black do-rag? You think he put that on in the last minute just to keep his perfect curls from getting wet?

Most apropos halftime song: Purple Rain

Weirdest move: What was with that funny leg-lift thing the Colts quarterback did every time he was about to get the ball? A strange-looking step with his left foot. Can anybody enlighten me?

MVP #1: Most Valuable Precipitation. Well, the rain, silly. It had more effect on the game than any one player, if you ask me.

MVP #2: Most Valuable Pigskin. Yeah, the dancing football. The one that bounced from arm to arm like it was greased. How many turnovers and fumbles did it manage to pull off, anyway?

Worst misnomer for a state (or maybe I should say "best"): Florida, the sunshine state? Yeah, right.

So there ya have it. Carla's blow-by-blow account. Did I miss any highlights?

Duke Takes the House

2007-02-02T07:00:00.000-08:00

Well, finally! Here it is February--and this crew finally lets me make my first post of the year. I've been waiting every since December to fill you in on something.

In December I told the story of how the wife, Mable, got all upset when our pup, Duke, got a Christmas ornament hook stuck in his mouth. But I left out the first part. Before that, last you heard from me on the Duke subject was--Mable refused to let him in the house. So how did he get from the garage to the room where we keep our Christmas tree?

Happened like this. I was out in the garage messin' around. I thought I might be able to make me some homemade spinner bait. I got the idea watching Mable and that yackity friend of hers sittin' at the table makin' their foo-foo jewelry. They was using all kinds of glittery, shiny beads and it got me to thinking.

Since Bailey showed me about this bloggin' thing, I went out and got us a computer for home so I don't have to always bug Bailey to write my posts. Leslie showed me how to use Google and wouldn’t ya know it--there's a site to make spinner bait. Check it out: Fisherman's Shack (http://www.fishermanshack.net/faq.htm) Lookie that little picture at the end of the page, that's what I've been making. Well, close to it anyway.

So Duke and I are out in the garage with Mable's beads and whatnots. Duke's got a bone and going to town on it. We're just as happy as can be, the two of us. Mable starts yellin' at me to come in the house and bring her beads with me. I took 'em in and had a talk with her. We decided I needed to buy my own beads. Well, she decided and I agreed. I poured me another cup of coffee and listened as Mable went on and on about everything that yackity friend of hers had said.

"Shh!!" I said.

"Jake Tremaine! Don’t you shush me."

"No. No. Mable, listen. Y'hear that?"

She cocked her ear over. Then she jumped up from the table and ran to the back door and yelled, "It’s Duke!"

I followed her out the door and there was Duke, lyin' in the middle of the yard, head down, cryin'. (We have a doggy door in the garage for him, so he can get in and out.) I called him to come to my but he just laid there. Mable started to get nervous and ran to his side and was there before I could get off the porch (and she tells me she don't like Duke.)

"Jake Tremaine! Look what you've done to this poor puppy!"

"What? What'd I do?"

I don't know how he did it. Duke's paw was up on his lip and his tongue was hanging to the side all funny. I looked closer to see a fishing hook laced through his paw, lip, and tongue. If I didn't feel so bad for the little fella it would've been hilarious. Mable was furious. "Get that thing out of that poor puppy and don't you leave stuff laying around like that."

"All the stuff was up on the workbench. I don't know how he got it."

"Then don't leave him in the same room with it."

"But, Mable, you told me he's got to stay in the garage, and that's where all the stuff is."

So I got the hook out and Duke's fine. He's a trooper. I went to the store and got my own beads. And Mable lifted her rule about not lettin' Duke in the house. 'Course then he goes and gets a Christmas ornament hook stuck in him. I think the dog's just hooked on hooks. Anyway, he earned his place in the house, and now Mable's so stuck on that dog she hardly lets him out of her sight. He even sits and listens while she yakkity-yaks away with that friend of hers. Now that's patience.

-- Jake
---------------------------
Read the personal blog of the author of this post.

It's Done!

2007-02-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

Rak Shool Yikra! (It is Done!)

Shnakvorum rikoyoch! (Greetings, friends!)

That's right! My first novel, Starfire, has been completed. I typed in the final words on January 25th at 3:04 p.m. at my little table in Bailey's most wonderful Java Joint. It was something of a surreal moment for me. I could have sworn I heard a Apatos trumpeting in triumph, but when I looked up from the computer screen everything in the Java Joint was quite normal.

Bailey was serving some coffee to some people on their way through for a weekend of skiing, while trying to keep Wilbur from showing his scar to them (unsuccessfully, mind you). Janet had come by to work on a blog entry, and was talking with Paige, who was picking up some drinks for herself and Sarah at Simple Pleasures.

Then, as if on cue, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked back at my table. Maybe it was the sudden silence after so many days of constant keys softly tapping away, or the scribble of pen on paper. Or maybe there's some kind of vibe that a just finished novel sends out that demands attention. I don't really know, but Bailey's squeal of joy was surely heard by half of Kanner Lake. Even if it wasn't with Java Joint being something of an unofficial news center for the town it wasn't long before word spread that Starfire was done and that the completion party was on for Friday the 26th.

I must admit I was very surprised at the turnout for the party. It seemed like half the county was trying to cram into Java Joint for the evening. Bailey and Sarah had gotten together and made a very wonderful cake decorated with little plastic dinosaurs. And then all the Java Joint regulars presented me with the latest edition of the Writers Market Guide. Agents, here I come!

It is times like this when I am so glad to live in a community like Kanner Lake, where friends share in each others' accomplishments. And though I'm not one to get all sentimental, I don't know if I could have ever finished this novel without the constant support (and yes, even the teasing) of everyone here in Kanner Lake. Their interest pushed me on, even when things got tough.

So thanks to everyone who's been here with me through the writing process. You have all made Sauria a better place, and I hope one day you'll get to see a bit of the world you influenced by influencing me.

-- S-man
-----------------------

Read the personal blog of the author of this post.

Proposed Hotel for Kanner Lake

2007-01-31T07:00:00.000-08:00

Greetings from Jared Moore--in my first post for 2007.

Here in Kanner Lake we suddenly find ourselves facing some controversy. No, I'm not talking about the murder of Edna San last July, and all the repercussions of that crime, which still have to play out. I'm talking about the age-old argument between those who want to keep the environment as unfettered as possible and those who see new building as a form of needed progress.

Now as a reporter and the owner of Kanner Lake Times, I'm not going to take sides in the argument. My job is to report both sides and leave the reader to make his/her own decision in the matter. So here are the basic facts:

An outside developer has proposed building a hotel next to the city beach. This beach is one block south of Main Street--the downtown area that houses Java Joint, the KL Times office and many other shops and businesses. Right now on the site is merely shoreline. It gets a little rocky in that area, so it's not beach property.

The "pro-hotel" folk see this as a wonderful opportunity for the town, especially the business owners on Main. Right now we have no big hotel in town. We do have scattered B&Bs around town and the lake, but our tourist numbers are rising, and the B&Bs are often maxed out. This argument is founded on the "If we built it, they will come" mentality. The pro-hotel people cite the increase in tax revenues for the town through the hotel alone, not to mention all the more sales that will occur on Main Street as a result of the increase in foot traffic from the hotel. With those tax dollars we can do more to support our schools, mend our roads, etc. Most of the shop owners on Main whom I've spoken with are in support of the hotel.

The "anti" folks cite the environment, extra traffic considerations, more noise, and the obvious loss of some scenic shoreline so close to town. They counter the "more tax dollars" argument with "yes, but do you want more money at the expense of natural beauty and quiet in our town, which is exactly why tourists come here in the first place?" So many scenic small towns are suddenly "discovered," they argue--and look what happens to them. Building everywhere--until the scenery that first attracted everyone is all but eaten away. What sad irony.

Studies are being done to determine more exactly the environmental impact of the proposed hotel, and the tax revenues such a business could bring the town. People on both sides of the argument will be addressing the city council, who ultimately will have to make this decision. I have no idea how this will play out, but it already seems to be heating up as a major point of contention between people in the town. Everywhere I go folks are arguing about it--Java Joint included. Seems 2007 is going to be an interesting year.

I'm aware you readers across the country can't understand all the issues as we in Kanner Lake can--but what would be your general opinion to this type of change in a small town?

-- Jared Moore

My First 2007 Post!

2007-01-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, Sarah Wray with you today. And happy to be here! I read Wilbur's post yesterday and had to laugh. I felt like he did--so mad that our blog had been hijacked. We're all very glad to have it back.

Wilbur mentioned how Bailey's been getting more business around Java Joint since so many people starting reading Scenes and Beans. I have to say the same for Simple Pleasures. We had a great Christmas season! I can't tell you how many tourists have come in and said they were so glad to finally meet me and see my store. Makes me mighty happy. I love meeting all of you.

Now let me just say this one thing--very nicely, I can assure you. Yes, Paige still works for me. I love having her, and she loves being there. She will be off for some time in February, that's true. I don't need to tell you the reason--if you've been reading the papers you know. I know I'm speaking for just about everybody in town when I say I hope she can resume her duties at Simple Pleasures when everything's all said and done next month. In the meantime, while she's still there--please don't come in and ask her any questions about the whole matter. Paige is a very private person and hates the publicity. She doesn't want to talk to anybody about it, okay?

So--before you know it, it'll be Valentine's Day. What have you bought for your honey? Men, want a beautiful, glitzy purse for your gal? Or a necklace or earrings or bracelet? How about a super soft, warm throw blanket for her? And women, you'd be surprised what you might find for your men in Simple Pleasures. Some knickknack with a hunting or fishing theme, for example. Or special martini glasses, perhaps. Come on in and have a look around. And whether you buy anything or not, we'll be most pleased to meet you and have you in our shop.

Here's to a wonderful 2007 for all of you!

-- Sarah Wray

Finally--a Decent Post on This Blog

2007-01-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

Howdy on a Monday. Wilbur Hucks here. It's about time I got back on this thing. First Scenes and Beans gets lost in outer space somewhere. I kept askin' Bailey--where is it? Just gone, she says, disappeared. Pfffft. Now how does that happen? A whole durn file of stories just gone? If a kept a filing cabinet at my house full of stories, I can guarantee you I wouldn't wake up one morning and just find the whole thing vanished into thin air. I never will understand these computers. All the same, they do allow me to talk to you, sitting at your breakfast table in some fancy New York City apartment or wherever, so I guess I should be grateful. But you think they'd make 'em so they wouldn't up and eat somebody's entire blog.

Anyway, after the thing reappeared--just pffft and there it was--then folks like Bev started yappin' about writing a book analysis (whatever that is) and memorizing poems and all kind of craziness. Then Angie gets on and tells the silly tale of how she got Bev a bird, because Bev got her a dog ...

What is this blog comin' to? We get the thing back, and all we're spouting is nonsense. People are gonna start thinkin' we're total idiots.

So finally--here I am. Guess what I got for the new year. A new typist. She may last awhile if I don't choke her silly. Since Scenes and Beans started, Bailey was typing my posts for me whilst I dictated. (I never could type and I ain't learnin' now.) Then the blog started workin' a little too well. Meaning more and more of you Ts (tourists, if you don't know our lingo) started comin' round to meet the famous folk at Java Joint. Especially me. (I'll talk more about that in a minute.) Anyway now Bailey's too busy serving everybody to sit down at the corner computer table and let me dictate. So guess who's helping me--Carla Radling. That's right, Miss Know-it-All Realtor who can't go two minutes without giving me some yap. [Carla here--he's about to see just how bad my yap can be.] I'm grateful for her help and all, mind you. But she starts typing things I don't say and insertin' her own little how-do-ya-do remarks, she's gonna owe me a month's worth of coffee. [It'll be worth it.]

Now back to all you Ts who are gracin' us with your presence. Please be sure to know you're welcome. If I didn't tell you that, Bailey'd have my hide. Besides, she needs the money. Did you know this café supports her and her husband, since he's home sick and on disability? So come and buy lots of coffee and pastries in the morning, then pop back for sandwiches at lunch. But here's the thing, and you'd best not forget it. There are four stools lined up at the counter. The farthest on the left is mine. Got that? Nobody else sits on that stool when I'm around. And I happen to be around every morning, so don't push it. I don't take kindly to waltzing in on a fine morning and first thing you know, I'm havin' to push some T's big behind off my stool. And while I'm at it, I might as well stick up for Jake and tell you his stool is next to mine.

The other two stools--the ones closest to the front windows--are up for grabs as far as I'm concerned. Leslie or Carla or most of the other Scenes and Beans bloggers will take 'em if they're empty, but they won't fight you for them. There are three bloggers who don't sit there. Angie and Bev have their own table across the café, where they can sit and gossip about everybody and his brother. And fight with each other. For "best friends," those two sure know how to stir things up. And S-Man's always over at his table near the back wall, typing away and muttering crazy comments to himself in some language nobody ever heard of.

Well, I guess that's about it for me for today. I'm glad to be here with you in 2007--now that it's almost February.

-- Wilbur Hucks

A Gift in Turn

2007-01-26T07:00:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everyone! Angie here again. Actually, we're already almost clean through January, but time has just zoomed by, ever since Thanksgiving.

I don't know how I'll ever have time to keep up with this blog, what with my new little puppy-friend and all. I named him Cosmos, because he causes the most trouble you can imagine for a puppy. (My first name of "Killer" was just a little too harsh for the little guy.) Every time I turn around, he's chewing on something or chasing one of Nutty's family members. Those poor little squirrels!

As much as I love Cosmos, I knew I needed a special gift for Bev to thank her properly. I couldn't go out and just get her another dog. That would be boring, wouldn't it? I thought about a monkey, too, but they are just too expensive--and besides, with all the legal stuff about transporting them, I just didn't have the gumption to pull it off. So, I did something even better.

I asked Bev to doggy-sit for me while I did some shopping in Post Falls. I could tell she was more than happy to do it for me, as she just loves the pooch. Almost as much as I do. Little did she know I was on a mission to get her a present she'll never forget.

There's a quirky old lady in Post Falls that sells exotic birds. I saw her on the news last summer. So, after I dropped off the pooch, I drove down there to find the loudest, most obnoxious bird she had.

And what a find! The lady, Mrs. Abrahms, was only too happy to show me her array of birds. I settled on a Lutino cockatiel, a beautiful white bird with an orange and yellow face. Mrs. Abrahms even threw in a starter cage for free. It seemed like she was only too happy to get rid of this feathery creature.

I wrapped the cage carefully with a towel, then carried it out to the car. I put it in the front seat, then secured it with a seatbelt. When we had gotten on the road and the car had warmed up some, I pulled down the towel. I figured I had only a short time to train it, so I'd better give it some intense lessons.

The whole way home I repeated only one phrase out loud. "Bev should mind her own business." The bird was silent, though I wished with all my might he'd repeat it--just once.

Pulling into Kanner Lake, I decided to grab some coffee. I pulled up to Java Joint and parked. Wilber was razzing Carla again. "Wilber, you old coot," I muttered. I covered the bird up and slipped inside for a peppermint mocha.

Ten minutes later, on the drive over to Bev's house, I left the bird covered up. If he hadn't learned to say, "Bev should mind her own business," by now, more talking lessons wouldn't do any good, anyway. I consoled myself with the thought of the mere presence of the bird. Surely it would be more than enough to get my point across, right? I could hardly wait to see the look on her face.

Bev opened her door and I could hear Cosmos barking to be let out of the back room. She peeked out, and her eyes were drawn immediately to the covered cage in my hand.

"I'm back!" I beamed, trying hard to suppress a chuckle.

She did not look as amused as I was. "What is that you've got there, Angie Brent?"

"Just a little present for my best friend."

I breezed past her, ignoring the barking dog and her squeaky protests. After I set the cage on the table, I yanked off the cover.

For a moment, we all stared at each other in shocked silence. The bird blinked his eyes, taking in his new surroundings. Cosmos was quiet on the other side of the door, as if he could sense something monumental was occurring. I stood there, an all-too-pleased-with-myself grin stretching across my face.

For the first time in her life, Bev was speechless. She looked as though she could burst, but fought hard to maintain her composure.

Finally, the bird broke the silence. It turned out I'd taught him to say something after all. "You old coot!"

My Confession

2007-01-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

Today, much to my chagrin, I--Bev Trexel--have a confession to make: I am a packrat.

Remember my first goal for the year? To "clean out the boxes leftover from teaching." My most reasonable resolution, I thought at the time. So this morning I had my husband bring down the boxes from the attic to the spare bedroom. I expected five, maybe ten boxes. But the boxes kept coming--fifteen, twenty, twenty-five! I guess this project will take a little longer than anticipated. (Angie, quit your gloating.)

But I know certain people wouldn't let me live it down if I turned back now. So I dug into my first box--which I will have you know was well labeled as from my first year of teaching.

It was only about three-quarters full, mostly with paper. Memos from other teachers. A notebook I started of dos and do-not's. Copies of the school paper and programs from school plays. Stacks of worthless notes from school meetings, board meetings, teacher meetings. Goodness! I never realized how much time I wasted in worthless meetings.

But in the bottom of the box, wrapped in tissue paper, was a small wooden apple ornament with eyeglasses etched into the surface. Tucked beside it was the tag "from Gregory James."

He was one of those problem students from day one. He always acted up in class, landed in the principal's office once a week, and declared loudly how much he hated English, hated books, and hated anything to do with reading.

Then one day I caught him in the library, trying to read the book I'd assigned him. His nose nearly touched the page. No wonder he hated books so much. He couldn't see to read them!

So by the next class, a pair of glasses ended up on his desk. I never saw him wear them, but his grade went from a D to an A in one quarter, and at the end of the year, I found the apple on my desk.

Maybe being a packrat isn't such a bad thing after all.

--Bev

Bev's tidbits:

Word of the Day: Consanguineous—adjective meaning of the same blood or origin, or descended from the same ancestor.

Grammar Rule of the Week: Do not spell out dates or other serial numbers except when they appear in dialogue.

Poem of the Month: "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

Classic Book: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

God's Compassion

2007-01-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

Happy 2007! This is Janet Detcher. As last year came to a close, I was reflecting on how amazingly God draws people to Himself ... people who, by human standards, might be overlooked or discounted. But God misses no one. He sees every life in all its darkness and in all its need, and He has compassion.

We have a couple in our church, who I'll call Tom and Daisy. (I'm telling this with their permission, by the way.) As they put it Tom and Daisy lived most of their lives as "hell-raisers." They had a rocky marriage for the first 20+ years; they raised their kids with little clue about how to do so, and had difficulty holding down a decent job.

Tom is a recovering alcoholic and Daisy was a smoker for years. But she will testify that God took that craving away the very moment she asked Him into her heart. That was about seven years ago now, and it came because someone was praying for them. That someone happened to be Daisy's sister, who I'll call Martha. Martha came to the Lord about 10 years ago. Her life was transformed and she was an immediate 'missionary-evangelist' to her friends and family.

Martha and her husband, Frank, live in Colorado. It was from there that Martha called Daisy to tell her about her new-found faith. To hear Daisy tell it, Martha was a "Jesus Freak." Daisy wanted nothing to do with it. And she told Martha so. But Martha's burden for Daisy and Tom would not be quieted.

Martha and Frank had come to Kanner Lake for a visit, met up with Bailey at Java Joint, and asked about a good, local church. Hank and I were on vacation when Martha and Frank were in town, but Bailey told her about New Community Church, and shortly after that I got a letter from Martha, telling me about Daisy and Tom, and asking if we'd visit them.

We did. We were received tentatively. They thanked us for our visit but made it clear that they were not interested in church.

Well, that was then, and this is now. Today, in spite of Tom's now-good-paying job as a mechanic, (thanks to a wonderful businessman in our church), he and Daisy have chosen to remain in their long-time neighborhood so they can be LIGHT to the hopelessness they see there everyday.

For the past 4 or 5 summers, Daisy has enthusiastically hosted a backyard Vacation Bible School. She goes door-to-door, handing out the invitation flyers and little gifts for every child. I've personally seen as many as 30 children attend VBS at Miss Daisy's. Other days, there are as few as a dozen.

But you know, the important thing is that every child is hearing that Jesus loves them. Every child is hearing, maybe for the first time, that he or she is important to someone. That he matters. That she is beautiful. That there can be more than what they can see or imagine. Daisy's heart is to direct a child toward God's best, speaking the Truth that God has a plan for his or her life. She wants them to avoid the pain that she and Tom lived for so many years. A life apart from God can be that--full of disappointment, with a dull, lifeless ache in the pit of your stomach. Of course, there is sometimes pain in a life lived with God, but there is also peace that comes only from having Him walking with us in that pain. That is something you can’t find anywhere else.

What would our world be if there were more Daisys? On the other hand, maybe you are simply the water for the Daisy in your life. If so, give it all you've got. We are the hands and feet of Christ to a hurting world. We are all a critical part in God's plan to reach the lost. Tom and Daisy are precious examples of what God can do when His people pray.

I pray that 2007 will be your year of answered prayer. That you will pray as you have never prayed before. And that God will answer in ways you never dreamed possible. He can, you know.
------------------------
Read "My Journey Toward a Trusting Heart," the blog by the author of this post.

The Fang--Part 3

2007-01-23T07:00:00.000-08:00

Final part from S-Man's introductory story of Sauria:
----------------------------

"Beware of belittling the guide! Yi know not of whom you speak. Yea there are many who have lost sight of the way, wallowing instead in their own misery, though the guide is still there, waiting only for them to lift their eyes and follow. Others claim to follow the guide, but are naught but mockeries, following twisted paths."

Wracking coughs shook the beast, when they passed his voice had softened again. "But it is not about them that yi should be concerned, for their paths are their own. Your path lies ahead of you, it is surrounded by storms and trouble and there are many pitfalls awaiting yi."

Another fit of coughing tore through the Jerkenak's broken body, and a gush of blood issued from his ruined mouth.

"Let my fang, that yi hold, bear testimony that I have warned yi. Seek the guide and follow the way, or your path to doom will be certain. My journey is done. I am home." A final rattled breath issued from the best and then he lay still.

The words were so soft that Rathe wasn't sure they were spoken aloud. He stood above the dead Jerkrenak trying to shake its final words, but they stuck, gnawing at his mind. With a roar of frustration he threw the Jerkrenak's fang away and swung his sokae, sinking the curved blade deep into the dead beast's neck.

As Rathe turned away from the corpse a quiet whimper issued from one of the darker corners of the cavern. Cautiously he walked toward the corner letting his eyes adjust. A male hatchling of the Barniks clan, not yet grown into his markings lay in the shadow. His long flat snout gaped, sucking in shallow breaths. His eyes stared ahead in an empty gaze. As Rathe knelt down beside the hatchling he discovered its right leg bitten off just below the knee.

Rathe stared at the leg, then looked back at the dead Jerkrenak. Rumors had circulated for weeks about hatchlings vanishing. He snarled as he saw the truth behind them. The Jerkrenak had been snatching away the young to feast upon. The Grakil must have picked up on the beast’s trail and followed it to this cave and fought to save this hatchling's life, giving his own in sacrifice.

Rathe cursed himself for listening to the Jerkrenak. "He was probably just stalling, hoping this hatchling would bleed to death before I realized the truth."

A stifled cry drew his attention back to the hatchling. Rathe scooped up a handful of ash and pressed it to the leg stump. The hatchling screamed, then fainted. Satisfied that the bleeding was stemmed, Rathe scooped the youngster into his arms. As he did so a glint of light caught his eye. The Jerkrenak's fang lay propped against a small rock, it’s glossy surface reflecting the dim light.

Rathe smiled as a plan formed. Capture meant nothing now. His sokae stood with its blade buried in the Jerkrenak's neck. And this fang would be a great trophy. It could be the means to which he finally proved himself. He scooped the black spike up, his mind whirring with the tale he would tell of slaying the beast, and rescuing this hatchling.

Yet in the back of his plotting mind a single voice wormed.

"Your path to doom will be certain."

***

So there you have it. Rathe of Yanguch's destiny has been put in motion, and his life will be one beyond anything he could ever imagine. Just a few short Saurian years after this encounter Rathe will discover an ancient secret of Sauria’s past and will be forced to decide between dooming his Empire or dooming his world.

That is the tale found within the pages of Starfire. I truly hope that one day everyone here can share in that adventure with me.

--S-man
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Read "Riter's Bloc," the personal blog by the author of this post.

The Fang--Part 2

2007-01-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

Part 2 of 3 from S-Man's introductory story:
----------------------------
Guided by the touch of stone and probing with his sokae, Rathe followed the winding passage of the cave. He strained for any sound other than the quiet click of his claws on stone. Time distorted each second drawing out for eternity, each step a lifetime, while at the same time it seemed only moments had passed since he left the entrance.

All at once the savage sound of two creatures locked in combat rebounded through the tunnel. Rathe froze in his steps, listening as the unseen beasts tore at each other. His breath froze when he recognized words among the roars ..."the only"..."abomination" and others too muddled to understand, yet clearly speech.

Silence abruptly claimed the tunnels again, and for a moment the darkness seemed to deepen. Rathe remained still, barely daring to breathe, for a long moment. Waiting for the victor to spring forward and rip him to shreds. But death did not come springing from the black to claim him. Finally, Rathe eased his way forward once more. He rounded a near corner to discover the glow of daylight illuminating an archway leading into a large cavern.

As he edged closer, Rathe could see a large hole in the ceiling that spilled the sunlight across the cavern below, flecks of ash dusting the beam. Two large forms lay on the bloody floor below. His blood chilled as he recognized the mangled bodies.

A Grakil Chae lay nearest, its grey flesh shredded, its two thick legs splayed at odd angles. The noble warrior's long tail trailed away behind it, clawed fist at the end stained with the blood of his enemy. His bulky head and thick neck lay twisted at an impossible angle. Two ugly gashes rent the back of the neck.

Beyond the Grakil Chae lay a beast right out of Rathe's nightmares, a Jerkrenak. Many a nights as a hatchling he had woken screaming as the vicious creatures hunted him down. Blood enemies of the Grakil, no Jerkrenak had been seen this deep within the empire in years. But there was no doubting that is what this creature was. Its narrow snout sported a long horn, and above the crushed lower jaw, Rathe could see one of the beast's killer fangs. Short, thick spines covered its body from the shoulders to the tip of its tail from which sprouted four rear-arching spikes.

Rathe slipped into the chamber, a morbid curiosity drawing him closer to the carnage. He stooped over the corpse of the Grakil. Even in death he could sense the sheer power the warrior wielded in life. The sheer number of grievous wounds that the body bore was testament to his endurance.

A black protrusion from one of the gashes on the neck drew Rathe's gaze. He grasped the object and pulled it free. A foot long fang glistened wetly in his hand.

"Be careful how yi hanle that, boy."

Rathe jumped back, instantly regretting it as pain flaired through his side. The harsh and muffled voice spoke with a strange, slurred accent. His eyes locked on the Jerkrenak, now propped up on a foreleg, looking at Rathe.

"What’s the matter yi never hird someone talkin afore?"

"You’re dead!" Rathe said, cursing himself internally for letting his guard down.

"Oy we’ve git irselves a smart one here." A fit of coughing wracked the Jerkrenak's body.

The light shifted slightly and Rathe saw the extent of the Jerkrenak's wounds. A horrible blow had crushed the entire left side of the creature's face, skin ripped away showing bone, an eye missing from its socket. That the beast was alive, let alone able to form words seemed impossible to Rathe.

He looked back at the ravaged corpse of the Grakil and noted the bloody trails in the ash-strewn floor that marked the course of the battle. "Jerkrenak." The name twisted on Rathe's tongue. "You are aptly named."

"Jerkrenak is what I am, 'tis not mi name." Eyes filled with endless pain fixed on Rathe's. "Yea I am a Beast of Slaughter, though not in the way that yir thinking. Call mi Durston, as that is the name I’m known by."

"You murdered this Grakil, a loyal warrior of the Empire!"

"Loyal! Hah, thir jist usin' thi 'mpire to fulfill thir own ends."

Rathe roared in anger. "The Empire gives life to those who serve it, the Grakil know this. They have served since the first Melgor's ascension. They're loyalty is beyond reproach."”

"Ah the stubbornness of youth. So certain that you know evertyhing." Durstin's head dropped to his foreleg and his voice softened, "Listen to mi hatchlin', I was old when the Saurn first looked to the stars, I saw the Dread fill their hearts and lived through the Chaos. I’ve seen the rise and fall of more Melgor than you know lived, and have fought the Grakil since before I can remember.

"There is more to this world than you know or can see. The path that your precious Melgor walks will lead this world to great peril..."

Rathe snarled. "You speak words of poison Durstin..."

"Yea, poison!" Durstin snarled in return. "Poison not meant for yi but the shroud that covers yir soul and entangles yir feet. My journey is near over, as it is will all my kind, the coming storm will sweep us aside for our pilgrimage is complete and our destination at hand. But yir's is just beginnin', make sure yi know who yer guide is, there is only one true guide for this pilgrimage, and only one path."

"Your words are lost on me, beast." Rathe grinned at the dying Jerkrenak. "You intend to confuse me and sway me into betrayal of my people. I have heard the tales of your kind, speaking with a sweet tongue, luring the simple minded and weak willed into snares and turning them against their own. I have seen them myself, wallowing in their own self-pity in the Skereta mines, their wasting beliefs eating them faster than even the poison in their veins can. Your guide is doing precious little to light their paths."

Anger burned in the Jerkrenak's eyes and Rathe flinched back, certain the beast was about to lunge...
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Read "Riter's Bloc," the blog by the author of this post.

The Fang--Part 1

2007-01-18T20:47:00.001-08:00

Shnakvorum Rikoyoch! (Greetings, friends.)

I did it over the holidays--finished my manuscript! Still feeling a little buzzed. I mean, sure there’s still lots of editing that needs to happen, but the fact that the story is actually written out in a complete form still boggles me a bit.

Many of you have stated that you can’t wait until you get to read Starfire, however that day is still sometime off in the future. However, Bailey is graciously allowing me to share a short story set on Sauria here on Scenes & Beans. It will run today, and next Monday and Tuesday.

The Fang is sort of a prequel to Starfire. It was a piece I wrote to help me get to know Rathe, the protagonist of this story and of my novel.

I hope you enjoy this little glimpse of Sauria.

***

Rough stone tore Rathe's palms as he stumbled through the gaping maw of the cave. He tore away the makeshift leaf filter that covered his mouth and sucked in the cool underground air, soothing his burning lungs. Pain lanced through his side with each breath, testament to cracked ribs on his right side.

He turned to the entrance and gazed into the ash-clogged air outside. Grey blanketed the world like a shroud, quickly covering any tracks or scent that would lead the trackers to him. Satisfied that he would be safe for the duration of the ash fall, Rathe staggered farther into the cave. His claws echoed hollowly on the stone floor, their quiet clack, clack, clack bouncing into the darkness.

The musical trickle of water sounded nearby, and Rathe angled toward it. Sudden wetness at his feet alerted him to the presence of a shallow pool. He lowered gingerly to the ground and stuck his snout into the chill liquid, easing his thirst, though the effort intensified the pain in his ribs. The cool, moist rock felt good against his hot skin, and he rolled onto his left side, stretching out to his full twelve-foot length. His tail-tip lazily slapped against the ground as drowsiness flowed over him, and the water's flow sung him to sleep.

A shrill cry jolted Rathe from soothing darkness, pain seared through his right side and down his tail. Through the agony the fading echo of the cry played at the edges of his mind. He groaned as he rolled onto his belly and forced a few swallows of water despite the fire in his side.

After a moment's rest he pushed to his feet, swaying slightly as his stiff muscled adjusted to his weight. He cocked his head and listened, but whatever had made the sound had gone silent, or the cry had been only the vestige of a nightmare.

A glint of light drew his attention to the cave entrance. The remaining half of his sokae lay just inside the entrance. The curved blade winking in the renewed light filtering through a lessened ash fall. He staggered to the entrance and slowly retrieved the weapon. Hefting its five-foot shaft gave him a renewed sense of confidence.

His gaze wandered the gray-toned landscape outside the cave. Ash blanketed the valley, yet even now bright flecks of color began stirring, as klants uprooted themselves and began skittering about, feasting on the bounty, their light-red fronds swaying as if in a gentle breeze. Other plants joined in, some slowly moving about, others making due with what fell nearby, slowly leeching away at the nutrients expelled from the earth.

Just down the slope the Hekaret river rushed along its course, choked with the ash. Rathe marveled at the fortune that had washed him ashore so near to this shelter. By all rights he never should have emerged from the torrent after his failed fording. But the same rock that had cracked his ribs had enabled him to reach the shore. And though he had lost half his weapon, and all of his gear, at least he was still alive.

Rathe craned his neck and surveyed the damage done to his right side. A wide black-green bruise spread from just behind his shoulder, over his hip to just past the base of his tail. The skin over his ribs was torn, but he was close enough to shedding that only a few scrapes showed blood, already scabbing over.

A klant wandered close to the cave entrance, little spurts of dust spouted from under its hard shell as it moved. With a quick thrust, Rathe speared the plant on the end of his sokae. He grimaced as the impaled plant's legs continued moving as if nothing had happened. A savage jerk tore one wrigling leg free, releasing a pungent odor and dripping sap. Rathe's lips formed an involuntary snarl as he lifted the limb, crushed the hard exterior between his teeth, and sucked the pulp out.

Three legs later he tossed the boxy plant back into the ash-covered valley. Despite a slight queasiness Rathe felt more energized. He turned his gaze back to the landscape, scanning for any movement that wasn't a plant.

A bloodcurdling scream tore out of the depths of the cavern, chased by a savage roar. Rathe spun around, scouring the darkness behind him. But the cries echoed into a skin-crawling silence. He backed toward the entrance a step at a time, but then froze as a new sound reached his ears.

The guttural cry of thorniks on the hunt sounded from the valley. A group of trackers, barely holding the beasts under control, appeared from behind a grouping of rocks on the far side of the river. There was no way they would have missed the scream, or the roar. Rathe shrunk back into the shadow of the cave entrance, as the group stared in his direction. Three weeks of dodging and hiding, and now he was finally trapped. It would take time for the trackers to cross the river, but even so, with his cracked ribs he'd never be able to outrun them.

He turned back to the black cave depths. Death waited within the abyss, he felt it. But better to chance death than face the humiliation of capture. With his sokae held in front of him and his right hand pressed to the stone wall, he took soft steps into the dark...
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Visit "Riters Bloc," the personal blog of the author of this post

Helping All Year Long

2007-01-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hey there everyone. Pastor Hank here with a belated Happy New Year to all.

Well, like the rest of the Scenes and Beans bloggers, I had an after-Christmas post written, which now seems a little late. But actually, this post is about Christmas all year long.

In Kanner Lake lots of folks give generously to the needy at Christmastime. Kanner Lake is not a large town, and New Community Church is not a large congregation. However, I love my flock because they have a large heart, and it shows in so many ways. Kanner Lake depended a lot on the lumber trade, and with all of the regulations and environmental concerns of the last couple of decades, the business is not as lucrative as it has been in the past. We are not a rich town, and there are a fair number of families in need.

For many years we did the traditional food basket for a needy family in the town. It was a nice gesture, but it seemed like we could do a little more. Then about seven years ago a dear saint suggested that Jesus didn't just care about people around His birthday. He loved them all year long. As a pastor, I was challenged in a big way with that word. And I'm proud to say the church was too, and stepped up to the challenge.

Now each year we watch carefully for any families that our people may know of that are struggling. Maybe the husband is out of work or the wife is sick. Whatever the reason, we find a family we can "adopt." We start with a special collection of food at Christmas, along with clothes or toys that may be appropriate. But we don't stop at Christmas. We agree to partner with the family for the next year to see what we can do to help them with whatever their needs. If the mom needs some babysitting to be able to work or go to the store, we help with that. The church bookkeeper may help them with budgeting skills. So many times they have just had a bad run, and knowing there is someone watching their back helps them get back on their feet.

We have also had the joy of having some of these families become part of our church and be able to help others as they were helped. That to me is just awesome. Not every family has decided to be a part of us, and that was never a requirement. Jesus told us to love people, not to make them exactly like us. We're not super holy here, but we try to do the best we can with what we're given. We have people with good hearts, and they truly make this outreach happen. I can't do it all as the pastor.

And we wouldn't be doing it at all if it weren't for a baby in a manger 2007 years ago.
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Visit "Spoiled for the Ordinary"--the personal blog of the author of this post

New Years Resolutions of a Retired English Teacher

2007-01-17T07:00:00.000-08:00

Well, finally, we're back on. None of us took too kindly to our blog being hijacked. Computers. Really, I think the world was better without them. Anyway, although it's rather late now to run a New Years resolution post--it's what I had ready two weeks ago; therefore 'tis what you will get:

If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it, as my mother always said. So it’s about time that I start exercising this mind of mine before I lose it--like certain other people I know. So here are ten of my New Year resolutions:

1. Clean out the boxes leftover from teaching.

2. Sign up for one of those high-tech word-a-day lists.

3. Buy an updated copy of my writing manual.

4. Memorize one grammar rule every week.

5. Read two classic books every month.

6. Write a book analysis every month for the library’s “What’s New?” newsletter.

7. Memorize a new poem once a month.

8. Encourage my best friend to stretch her literary horizons once a week.

9. Post biweekly how my resolutions are going.

10. Write a 1,000-word essay on why anyone would be crazy enough to keep these resolutions.

As you can see, I'd rather just ring in the new year and leave it at that.

--Bev Trexel

Is This Thing On?

2007-01-16T07:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm "tapping the mic" to see if it's turned on. Suddenly it appears our blog might be fixed. We received no notice of such, but when I tried something that never worked before (posting a draft) it worked! So now I'm trying to post for real. If you're reading this--yup, it's on. Which means we'll be back tomorrow with our regular roundup of bloggers. We've missed you! Hope you've missed us, too.

-- Bailey

Merry Christmas From All--and Now Happy New Year

2006-12-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

Update January 15, 2007:

Hold on, folks--our blog just might soon be fixed. Check back tomorrow!

Update January 8, 2007:

We haven't heard a thing from the Blogger Employee in our Google Helps group since last Tuesday. He said he'd fix the problem. Meanwhile, many other people are saying they're having the same problem we are. We're all beginning to wonder if we'll ever get back on. Do keep checking back. One of these days ...

Update January 5, 2007:

Still no word from google, although their employee said he'd "fix" the problem. This is a glitch in their system. We are not the only ones experiencing this same problem of not being able to put up new posts. Sigh. Maybe we're in a line-up of 10 million other blogs requiring the same manual fix.

--Bailey

Update on January 4, 2007:

I'm still working with google to fix my problem of not being able to post. They tell me they're going to fix it. Hopefully, that will be this year... Please keep checking back!

-- Bailey

Update on January 2, 2007:

Happy New Year, all!

Over the holidays, I switched Scenes and Beans over to the new blogger. Everything looked fine. As you see, I can edit a past post. But guess what--I can't post a new one! I'm in contact with google and hope this issue will be resolved soon. Man, what a way to start the new year.

Love from us all, and please keep checking back!

--Bailey

From all our motley crew of posters here at Java Joint, we send you our warmest wishes for a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Scenes and Beans will be taking off all next week and New Years Day. We will start posting again on Tuesday, January 2--2007, can you believe it!

Here are some Christmas/New Years wishes from the Scenes and Beans posters to you:

Angie: Merry Christmas, all! Don't drink too much spiked eggnog on New Years. And for goodness sake--don't let your best friend surprise you with a dog as a gift.

Bev: Unless your best friend happens to know better than you. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Jake: Merry Christmas to you all. Thanks for reading us. Thanks for the gift ideas for the wife. Except for the diamonds. (All you women sure stick together.)

Wilbur: Happy snow and presents and warm fires to everybody on Christmas. Do a good deed. Hug a curmudgeon.

S-Man: I would wish you Merry Christmas in Saurian, but there's no such holiday in Sauria. So I'll just have to keep it in English.

Carla: Merry Christmas and a dazzling new year! Don't let any curmudgeons get you down. Hug one if you must, but you might find yourself having to kick him in the next minute.

Leslie: Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! My favorite time of the year. I'm wishing on ... the right man to kiss me under the mistletoe.

Sarah: Oh, it's my favorite time of the year, too. Everything's so beautiful and sparkly. And the store smells of spiced apple cider. Merry Christmas to everyone!

Jared: Merry Christmas and Happy New year. May the news you read in 2007 be more positive than in 2006.

Pastor Hank: Merry Christmas, wonderful Scenes and Beans readers. We are so grateful to have you in our lives.

Janet: Amen to what Hank said. Scenes and Beans has been a blessing to me this year because of all of you. Merry Christmas to you and your families.

And there you have it--greetings from all of us to all of you. See you in the new year!

Christmas Decorations

2006-12-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

Jake here. I told you all how Mable finally let Duke in the house, didn't I? Well, she did. Now she doesn't want me to tell this story, but I think it's only fair.

I made some real nice lures that day and used up all the beads I bought and had to go back for more. Mable told me to go and gave me a list of stuff to get at the grocery while I was in town and she said she'd keep Duke. She was in the middle of puttin' up the Christmas decorations and didn't want to go in town with no make up on. I'm glad I'm not a woman, I'll tell you that much.

I went to town, had a cup of coffee at Java Joint and got some good gossip on the latest goin' ons of the town. There's a lot been goin' on, too. I headed down and got the beads and then stopped at the grocery. Ran into Wilbur while I was there and told him about the fancy homemade spinner bait I was making and told him to stop by and see 'em.

When I got home, I found Mable sittin' on the couch holdin' Duke and just bawlin' her eyes out.

"What in tarnation? What's wrong, Mable honey?"

She just sniffed and snotted some more and couldn’t say a word. Big ol' tears just streaming down her face. Like to break my heart. I knelt down by her and rubbed Duke's head, and he whimpered.

"Mable, what is goin' on? You OK?"

"Duke. Oh Jake. I'm so sorry."

"Mable, you ain't makin' no sense. Take a deep breath and tell me what is goin on."

It seems she was singin' her heart out with Bing's White Christmas and puttin' the ornaments on the tree and sippin' her hot, spiced apple cider when between songs she heard Duke whimper. When she looked down, poor Duke had a Christmas ornament hook stuck through his lip. Mable was so upset with herself for not takin' care of the puppy properly that all she could do was cry. She got the hook outta Duke's lip and just held him until I got home.

I hugged that sweet woman of mine and told her everything's all right. I think maybe we got us a rebellious pup who's been watching too many of these youngsters with all that steel hanging outta their lips and eyebrows and noses. Next thing ya know, Duke's gonna tell us he wants a tattoo!

What Was In Those Cookies?

2006-12-20T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, all, Bailey with you today. The Singing Christmas Tree was last weekend--and it was wonderful as usual. John's solo was great as always. He can really mesmerize folks. Yes, I'm proud of him!

Do you know right now we have no snow on the ground? Wow. And it's supposed to be dry again today. Maybe some snow tomorrow--a little--but the rest of the weekend also looks dry. We might just end up with a green Christmas!

On Sunday I baked. John loves my reindeer brownies. I also made him some pretzel rods dipped in caramel, dark chocolate and drizzled with white chocolate, then sprinkled with nuts, cookie crumbs, or mini M&Ms. Yum! I've got a recipe for fruit and nut cookies that is out of this world, courtesy of a Taste of Home cookbook. If you beg me enough, I'll give you a copy.

When my parents came for a visit last year, I was in the process of retrieving my measuring cups for the 1/2 cup of confectioners sugar needed for the fruit/nut cookies. Right when I was ready to dip out the white stuff the doorbell rang, and I ended up talking to our neighbors for half an hour. Meanwhile, Daddy was shuffling around in the kitchen, but he was gone when I went in there. I went to dip out the 10X sugar and saw that the 1/2 cup was already full. I didn't think a thing about it and added the extra 1/2 cup of 10X needed for the glaze. Daddy came in as I was drizzling the cookies. He shuffled around, eyes stabbing this way and that (I’m a messy cook). He picked up a baggie next to my elbow and got a weird look on his face. I offered him one of the cookies. He took four and a tall glass of milk. Came back for four more and another glass of milk a little later. He kept smacking his lips together.

"Something wrong?"

"Taste a little funny."

I glanced over the recipe. "Might be the lemon juice." Maybe I'd put too much in or something.

Well, that night at dinner, Mom said Daddy wasn't feeling well, and they couldn't find his little baggie of GlycoLax.

"What does it look like?"

"White powdery stuff."

I shrugged and cleared the table, proudly setting the plate of the cookies in the center for all to enjoy with coffee. One bite warned me that what Dad said was true. Too much lemon. I only had two cookies. Mom had two. John had six. He didn't feel too good that night.

I'm sure you can figure out what happened. Apparently Mom had put the stuff in a baggie for easy packing. Daddy had brought it into the kitchen and used my measuring cup to determine how much he had and how he could divide it for the four days they were staying. Between my mess in the kitchen and his forgetfulness, he saw the empty 1/2 cup and started looking for the baggie, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, but, of course, I'd already dumped the contents into the bowl for the glaze!

Oh, my. I'll never make cookies quite like that again.

Before I forget, I wanted you to know that I never did hear anything more from the guy who wanted me to take down my nativity scene. Yippee! I was seeing $$$ signs before my eyes when I called that lawyer friend of Hank's.

Love to all and Merry Christmas! Just watch what you put in your cookies.

A Killer Gift

2006-12-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

It's Angie with you today. With a word for my friend Bev.

Love at first sight? Not quite. Bev gave me a dog. She thought she was being helpful. After the murder and all in Kanner Lake, she felt I needed protection. What I need is a friend who asks what I want before she takes it upon herself to give it to me. I mean, a dog is almost like a child. It wants love, attention, and someone to clean up its dookey.

I don't like dookey. I never have. I told Bev that I appreciated the thought and love behind it. I know she worries about me, but good grief, there was nothing to worry about before. No one was bothering me. I came and went as I pleased without incident.

Now, if I want to go out, I have to make sure Killer has water and food. Then I have to watch the clock like a worried mother. Have I been gone too long? Will Killer be lonely? Will Killer be hungry? Will Killer soil my cream berber carpet?

It turns out Killer has a bit of a weak bladder. When he gets excited, well... As far as I know, they don't make doggie Depends. Killer also likes to nibble my toes when I sleep. Bev thinks it's just the sweetest. I think it wakes me up with nightmares of being devoured by a bear. Scares the pants off me every morning!

I tried to take Killer back right after Bev left him and his leash with me. But once we got to the animal shelter, I couldn't leave him there. I saw all those other pathetic looking pups looking up at me with their sad eyes, hoping I was their salvation ... and then I looked down at Killer.

It probably defied the odds that he should be rescued from such a place. Imagine his relief at the moment that Bev chose him. But then to be brought back. Rejected. I just couldn't do that to him.

I guess he's good for a lot of things besides worrying me to death on whether or not I'm a suitable parent, er, dog-owner. He's a great snuggler. He lies right in bed with me. He's so warm. And he does bark like crazy whenever Bev or anyone else tries to sneak up on me. I can tell you no one would ever hurt his mama.

Okay, so I love Killer. I do. I admit it. And to thank Bev for giving me the best present I've ever received, I've decided to surprise her with one in return ... Mwahaha.

Oh, My--Computers!

2006-12-18T07:00:00.001-08:00

Here it is, Monday morning, and I, Bailey Truitt, should have a new post to put up for you. Except that I had some trouble with the computer, and everyone's posts that I had lined up are now all missing. How could this happen? Sometimes computers just boggle my mind.

I'm sure I will find the missing file. In the meantime, for today I beg your forgiveness in not posting one of the wonderful stories already submitted. Please come back tomorrow!

By the way, hope everyone's Christmas shopping is almost done. The stores are getting more crowded by the day. I'm glad to say I'm completely done.

Christmas Gift for Mable

2006-12-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

Well, it's me again--Jake. I thought this dang bloggin' idea of Bailey's was a crock, but I got to admit I'm hooked. Tell the truth, though, I could use some help from you people. I don't know what to get Mable for Christmas. Everyone says I come up with the dumbest gifts, but I just don't see it. I get practical fun gifts that I'd think any good woman would love. Not thoughtless gifts like some dolts buy their wives, but nice lovin' gifts.

Here's a for instance: Several years ago I got her a shotgun. They ain't cheap, I can tell you that. But I love my wife and money's no consequence. Not only did I give her the gift that keeps on giving--grouse, turkey, ducks & geese she can shoot, clean and cook for us, but it gives us quality man/wife time. See? Is that the gift of a thoughtless man? Everyone in town razzed me for months about it. They thought I should have given her something more feminine.

So, last year I bought her the cutest darn chain saw you ever did see. Lightweight so it don't hurt her arm when she carries it--real feminine. I figured she could limb up the low hangin' branches on the trees she'd been complaining were covering up her perennials. Some of those pine limbs grow clear to the ground. I chased her around for the first week she got it with my camera. I was so proud of my woman wielding her own chainsaw, I couldn't stop snapping pictures. Got one published, too. Front cover of Logger's World Magazine!

So what do you folks think Mabel might like this year? I thought maybe a fishin' pole and a promise to buy a couple dozen night crawlers once the weather turns warm next spring. That'd give us some more "together" time down at the pond, so this could be the romantic gift she's been waiting for. She could make us a big picnic basket, throw in a blanket and we could fish together all day.

I can't believe no one thinks I'm very romantic. I'll put off my shopping for a couple of days 'til I get some of your ideas. Hurry now! Not many more days 'til Christmas.

--Jake

Tough Chicks

2006-12-14T07:00:00.000-08:00

Over the years, Hank and I have had the privilege of doing a bit of traveling, most of it with the church, doing missions projects. We have taken separate teams of men and women to do various kinds of work. While you might assume that the women may settle for "domestic" types of involvement, (and there has been lots of that!) you will be surprised to learn that New Community Church also has some 'tough chicks' in our midst. We took a trip to Jamaica a few years ago and mixed and poured concrete in a bucket brigade up a ladder and across a roof.

The men are gearing up for another trip to El Salvador in March. We have partnered with a missionary team there, helping build their campground. There are dormitories, a chapel, a prayer tower, cafeteria--everything you need to enjoy a great experience.

As I've reflected on our past trips, I thought it might be fun to share a couple humorous experiences with you.

Naturally if there's something funny it involves Larry Cellaway. You surely have by now come to know Larry as the Town Clown. He's loved by all, never vicious in his efforts to be funny, and ALWAYS effective at getting a laugh.

One trip, a few years back, the men were were heading to Honduras to help with the clean-up after Hurricane Mitch. We had a great group of guys, headed up by Hank and Larry and Bob Johnson. As is our usual tradition, the wives of the team members joined them at the church for a time of prayer before they headed for the airport. In a display of great ceremony, Larry took center stage. "Folks, we are pleased to have two new members on the team this year. Jim and Tom have not been with us before, and have never even flown before. I'd like to make a special presentation, to help them feel safe. I present each of them with this gift..." With that, Larry handed men a small, wrapped package. They each seemed a bit embarrassed by all the attention, but proceeded to open the package...to find a single "Depends" undergarment.

I laughed about that all the way home.

Another time it was a women's trip to Jamaica. I was leading with another friend in the church, Sandy. Our flight took us to Chicago's O'Hare Airport where we were to connect on to Miami, then to Kingston.

The year was about 1993, I believe, and it was the spring of the NE "March Monster" blizzard that blasted the northeastern US. And I mean BLASTED. Airports all along the eastern seaboard were closed, and those flights had to be re-routed to various more-westerly airports. This meant a huge mess for every airport from the Midwest toward the east.

We got to Chicago with no problem, but we could not get out of Chicago. Our plane was grounded for about 5 hours. We finally were allowed to leave, and arrived in Miami at about 2:00 am. There were NO hotels to be had, no pillows or blankets left, and we were forced to sleep anywhere we could find a soft (or not!) place--floor, chair, any place to lay a tired body.

Because our luggage was still in the belly of the plane, most of us had no toiletries, meaning NO MAKE-UP! No toothbrush; no deodorant, some didn't even have a hairbrush. We were a gorgeous lot, I'll tell you.

The next day, at about the time we should have been checking in to the hotel in Kingston, we finally left Miami. By the time we dragged into the Kingston airport, we were so tired, so stiff, so irritable...and to make matters worse, one of our ladies overheard the security guards remarking about the ugly American women! Of all the nerve.

It was not a trip any of us will soon forget. Thankfully, we had a fruitful trip and accomplished a great deal for the church in Kingston. Our ladies proved themselves worth their salt. They poured concrete columns, sprayed concrete ceilings--'tough chick' work. The men were almost hard to convince of our troubles. Thankfully, our resident photographer, Carole Cellaway, took lots of pictures. And it was funny to see the looks on the men's faces when they saw their wives covered in cement mix and dirt. I think they were pretty proud of us.

So, if you think of it, pray for the Team in March, will you? It's the desire of New Community Church to show the Love of God in all corners of the world--and we have some awesome people to do it.

Let's just hope by next March airport security has loosened enough to allow us to take our toiletries in a carry-on.

It's Leslie Again

2006-12-13T07:00:00.000-08:00

Yup, I'm up again already. Apparently everyone else around here is too busy doing Christmasy things.

Speaking of Christmas, have you seen the number of people in the shopping malls these days? A gal can't even walk around without bumping into someone and their Christmas purchases. It's calmer here in Kanner Lake, of course; but when a friend in Coeur D'Alene wanted to go shopping together at the mall in downtown Spokane, I got my share of people, let me tell you.

I wonder why it is that parents just have to get the newest toys and fear that their children won't enjoy the holiday if they don't get them. (By the way, sometimes the "children" are adults.) Look at the craze over the latest video game systems. People at risk of robbery and personal harm, all for a specialized computer!

Ten years ago, when the first Tickle Me Elmo appeared in stores, one of my cousins had given it top spot on her Christmas wish list. Her dad waited in line for hours and still didn't get one. The store gave him a rain check, but the next order got snowed in at the warehouse. My mother told them not to worry and directed them instead to a local store making personalized dolls. They brought in a few photos when they placed their order and the doll maker sewed matching outfits. That doll became a much-loved toy and lasted far longer than the Elmo that finally showed up after New Year's.

It's not what's on the list of must-haves that matters most to kids and adults alike, so if some items aren't available this year, I won't panic.

Of course, I'm more about tradition at this time of year than toys. It's a Brymes thing, I guess. My parents always share the first glass of eggnog while decorating their tree, and each person who decorates has to place at least one ornament on the tree. Mine is a barely recognizable snowflake I made in third grade, while Mom puts an elaborate angel up because it's her favorite of all the decorations my dad has given her over the years.

And then there's Christmas Eve, when we pile into the minivan, crank up the Christmas tunes and tour Kanner Lake to see all the lights on the houses. When we're done, there's hot cocoa and cookies for us. Then we each pick a single gift to open before bedtime.

Dad always thinks he's in charge of the rest of the gift-opening the morning of the 25th, but Mom tends to tell him which gifts should be opened when. She also makes the traditional list of presents so that it's easy to make thank you cards later and know for sure who gave what.

And when Christmas is officially over, there are still traditions: traveling a few hours into Washington to see my dad's parents and a lot of cousins on the 26th, playing games and assembling jigsaw puzzles almost every evening left in December, eating way too many baked goods, and keeping the tree up until January 1st.

As with many things in life, Christmas is often what you make of it and we Brymes like to have a holiday full of family and fun. A toy here and there is great, but it's just icing on the cake, as they say!

Why I Visit Jails

2006-12-12T07:00:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas. Pastor Hank with you today.

When I was young, long before my call to pastoral ministry, I had a good friend. I'll call him Jake. Jake and I grew up together and were friends since kindergarten. We did everything together. In the summer we threw the baseball and in the winter the football. We dreamed together about growing up to be fireman. We were as close as two boys could be. Then, just as we were entering junior high, Jake's mom and dad began to have marital problems. They were divorced when we were in eighth grade. Jake was devastated. It was the first time I ever saw him cry. We would have long conversations about what it was like not having his dad at home.

Our lives changed in the spring of eighth grade. Jake allowed distance to grow between us. He found new friends at school that were a part of a gang. Before I knew it Jake and I hardly saw each other at all. I ran into him one day at the bowling alley and we began to have a long discussion about the bad things that was doing with this gang. I was so afraid for him and tried to tell him to stop doing these things. Jake listened but I sensed he wouldn't change. Then on the last day of school the police showed up at our school, and I saw something that changed my life. My lifelong friend was being handcuffed and ushered out. No one should ever have to watch his friend be handcuffed.

Over the next few years Jake was in and out of juvenile detention facilities. I lost track of him but never forgot how much my heart hurt when I saw him in handcuffs. In high school I began to sense a call to pastoral ministry and enrolled in Bible College when I graduated. Four years later I graduated from college and took a role as an assistant pastor in that college town. One of my new responsibilities was a monthly visitation to the local jail, where I led a Bible study for some of the inmates. On my third visit I was entering the open common area when I looked up and locked eyes with Jake. Not sure that I can adequately relate the mixture of emotions that I felt. Jake tried to pass me by and not acknowledge our past connection, but God wouldn't let that happen.

I stopped Jake and engaged him in conversation. I asked him if I could visit him and he said it was okay. Over the next year Jake and I reconnected and something miraculous began to happen--not in Jake but in me. I began to experience levels of compassion that I never had before. God began to open my eyes to the pain in the world around me and in Jake specifically.

Jake was released from jail after that year and has experienced much success in his life. But I never felt a release from this ministry. Since that time I still visit jails and prisons once or twice a month. I have established relationships with several men and find that gift of compassion renewed each time that I visit with them. I hope I am a help to them. I surely know that God has used them to help me and teach me a few things.

Our Christmas Tradition

2006-12-11T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hey there, Leslie Brymes here at Java Joint, taking advantage of a few quiet moments.

I'm not the only one humming Christmas hymns, am I? As soon as the last football game is over and all the Thanksgiving leftovers have been divided among the family members I can't help but turn to the next holiday. And there's so much to do!

There are choir practices for the Christmas service at church, parties to attend, donations to collect for the food bank, decorations to hang and a tree to trim, treats to bake, cards and presents to mail out... It's a wonder I have time to listen to my favorite Christmas CDs and watch movies like White Christmas and It's a Wonderful Life.

Oh, and there's one activity I absolutely cannot miss, no matter what's happening in December. Dad and I make a family of snowpeople on the front lawn each year. I'm responsible for the fashion of the snowman, his wife and their two kids, so old scarves, hats and even jackets are pulled out of storage for the season. It's just not the same if there's a green Christmas, but then we make do with broom and stick people. Fortunately that color Christmas is very rare!

Is there something fun your family does every year? Do tell. Maybe some of us in Kanner Lake will get a new idea or two.

For anyone else running around like crazy already, I salute you with a ginger spiced latte and one of Bailey's great pumpkin muffins. Have a great holiday!

Christmas at Java Joint

2006-12-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, Bailey here.

The Christmas season is truly in full swing. That irrational post-Thanksgiving madness known as Black Friday (why do they call it that anyway?) is over and done with. For the first time ever, I braved the crowds at 5:00 a.m. (yes, 5:00 a.m.!) before I opened Java Joint to get myself a new pair of tennis shoes and grab my darling a few rock-bottom priced gifts. At least that was my plan. After getting shoved, tripped, elbowed, and poked by the hordes of people, I decided to close my eyes, grab what I could and RUN.

Never again.

I have three bruises, a sore backside, and the memory of a string of profanity hurled my way when I got the last pair of window sheers of an advertised sale. And, yes, this will become my husband's present. He can drape himself in them in lieu of the robe I planned to get him. LOL! Just kidding, the sheers are actually for our bedroom. I managed to get a pair of tennis shoes too. Both shoes in the same size, though I had to crawl on the ground to find the left size eight, while other combatants served up punches over my head.

Java Joint has not been immune to the increase in activity. I've been busier than a beaver building a new dam (thank you, Lord) getting the place ready for Christmas. We are offering a brand new menu of Christmas offerings: spiced cider, mint hot chocolate, eggnog, gingerbread cookies, and reindeer brownies, just to name a few. The decorations are all finished. As usual I put the nativity scene in the front window. I love everything about Christmas (even if the shopping can be brutal!) but there is something about seeing the setting of the first Christmas as I walk in the doors of Java Joint each day that keeps me focused on the reason for the season. It has created some extra work for me this year though. Every day I have to remove coffee beans that Wilbur slips in there. I've gotten more appreciation and compliments on that little scene than ever before (without the coffee beans, thank you).

But you can't please everybody. The other morning I received a phone call about the nativity scene. A man informed me that he was going to start a petition to make me remove it. He claims that since it was in the public view, it was offensive to non-Christians. I politely listened to him and then tried to explain my thoughts but he hung up on me. Suddenly I wasn't hearing Christmas bells or sleigh bells but alarm bells in my mind!

I called Hank immediately and he referred me to a lawyer he knows. Nice fella. He said that nobody could force me to take that scene down--it's on my own private property! For now I'm going to leave my scene up and play my Christmas music the same quiet way I always have. Java Joint is for the public but it is run by me. It is not like I am aggressively forcing my beliefs in exchange for coffee.

Oh dear. Wilbur got here early this morning, and out the corner of my eye, I'm seen him hanging around the front window. Better go check for coffee beans.

Have a blessed day.

Kum Ba Ya--Part 2

2006-12-07T07:00:00.000-08:00

All afternoon, while the rest of the girls spent their free time swimming, canoeing and what not, little Becky made friends with that goliath tarantula. Myself, I couldn't get used to the idea of a giant spider crawling on my skin, let alone one the size of a dinner plate; but Becky took to the critter like it was a big, fluffy kitten. She even gave it a name--Mondo.

Well, enough of all that. You want to hear about the night that folks around these parts still talk about to this day. You see, the last thing before turning in, the tradition was then, and I'm pretty sure it still is today, that they build a big campfire, sing songs and drink hot cocoa. Then, on the very first night, the camp director stands up and tells a scary tale. Since Ol' Pete was laid-up, the duty fell to me.

Heh-heh.

The fire had burned down mostly to coals, and the dying flames gave off only enough light to cast eerie shadows on our faces. I held my flashlight against my chest, pointed it up at my chin and turned it on. A few girls giggled and more than one screamed, but most put on a brave face, although their eyes were wider than normal.

"This is the story of Mondo, queen of the spiders," I said in a grim tone. "It was a hundred years ago, somewhere in these very woods, a wagon train stopped on their way out west. Now on this wagon train there was a passel of kids, in all shapes and sizes, but there was only one Becky Lu. It turned out that Little Becky Lu was special because everywhere she went, wild animals would come right up to her.

"Now this made some of the other kids jealous. They ganged up on her, said mean things and loved to make her cry. No matter how hard Becky Lu tried to be nice to them, those kids just grew meaner and meaner. It got so that none of the other kids would play with her for fear those mean kids would pick on them too. Poor Becky got so lonely it broke her heart in two and she cried herself to sleep almost every night. Then one day she prayed for God to send her a friend all her own, someone who would protect her from all the mean kids."

I looked, and every eye belonging to the girls in Becky's group looked sad and guilty, that is, all of them but Mrs. McGraw. Her eyes burned holes right through me. She knew I was talking about her group, and she didn't like it one bit. (Well, if she'd only stopped the behavior, I wouldn't be tellin' this tale right now.)

"Then one night not far from here, the people from that wagon train was sitting around a campfire, just like this one. Some say God answered Becky Lu's prayer by sending an angel, and others say it weren't no kind of angel at all. But that very night Mondo, the giant queen spider dropped down from a tree and landed on top of Becky Lu's head.

"Mondo just sat there as friendly as can be. She liked Becky Lu. But when those ornery kids went to bed--oh, ho-ho, it was a different story! Mondo was busy all night. The meanest of those kids were found in the morning, all wrapped up like mummies in a cocoon of spider webs. Oh, they didn't die. Becky Lu wouldn't let Mondo eat them. But the giant spider did crawl all over their bodies while they was wrapped up. Might even have taken a nibble or two."

I looked around the campfire at all the girls, my voice lowering to a hush. "Don't you forget Mondo still lives in these woods. Now. To this very day."

Suddenly--a cry sounded on my right. The girls all screamed bloody murder and leapt to their feet. I whipped the flashlight around. Becky jumped from the shadows--with a huuuuge spider on top of her head.

"Ahhhhh!" I yelled. "It's Mondo!"

Becky ran into the midst of the stumbling girls. Mondo jumped from her head right onto Mrs. McGraw's face. Half blinded, she ran in circles like a chicken with its head chopped off. The girls screamed all the louder. Mondo got so excited, she jumped from one face to another. Some of those girls got so scared, they fell right down to the ground. The rest of 'em blazed trails to their cabins.

Finally, only Becky and I were left.

Mondo was gone. We looked but couldn't find her.

We knew where she'd gone. Into the woods. Where she'd wait and watch, looking for any girl who just might be mean to a fellow camper. Anybody who acted mean would bring the wrath of Mondo down on her head--literally. The next morning at breakfast that's exactly what I told the girls. They believed me, too. Some of 'em were still shakin' from the night before.

You wouldn't believe how nice those girls were to each other for the rest of the camp. Becky especially made a lot of new friends. Nobody wanted to mess with Becky.

I'd say that was the best $12.50 I ever spent.

--Wilbur Hucks

Kum Ba Ya--Part 1

2006-12-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

Wilbur Hucks here. This week I'm going to tell you about the time I faced a pack of the deadliest critters in all creation. Now, I've been snake bit, treed by a bull elk, and chased out of my own house by a hungry bear, but let me tell ya, hell hath no fury like that of a pack of nine-year-old girls out for blood.

It was Memorial Day weekend, 1969, and O' Pete Zellesky managed to break both his legs in a car accident. Pete was caretaker at Camp Paradise, on the far side of Kanner Lake. Girl scouts were coming from all over the Northwest, and he asked me to give him a hand.

"Just drive over to Spokane," he said, "and pick up the supplies. When you get back, all you have to do is baby-sit. If a light bulb burns out, put in a new one. That's all there is to it. Oh yeah, they are mighty timid about spiders, and the leaders are worse than the girls. You might get called on to kill one or two."

I drove to Spokane, picked up the supplies and then dropped by the five-and-dime store. I walked back out with two bags of plastic spiders in assorted sizes. I was feeling mighty pleased with myself until I saw a sign in the pet store window across the street: "Half off on all tarantulas." Suddenly, those plastic spiders lost their magic. I just had to go into the store.

There must have been a hundred of those big, wooly beasts crawling around inside a large aquarium. Even at half price, five bucks seemed steep for a spider. That's when I saw one in a tank all by himself, or I should say, herself? This one had a sign that read "Goliath Tarantula--$25" and she was big enough to wear as a hat. It was the best $12.50 I ever spent.

On registration day, girl scouts descended on the campgrounds like locusts. They arrived in station wagons, vans and buses. They all stood around singing "Kum Ba Yah." It was enough to make a man want to pull his hair out.

That's when I noticed a girl standing off to one side, crying her eyes out. The other girls from her group were busy taunting her, and their leader just stood by doing nothing. Before I knew it, my legs carried me across the campgrounds to where she stood. She had pasty white skin, oily brown hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses so thick she could see the man-on-the-moon.

"Bucky, bucky, bucky, sucking on her thumb," the other girls chanted. Their leader, a too-narrow-between-the-eyes, snooty-faced woman looked on with dancing eyes. Her thin lips curled into the cruelest smile I ever seen. What on earth was wrong with that woman?

I stopped in front of the girl and offered her my hanky. She just stared at it.

"Don't worry; it's fresh from the laundry," I said.

She inspected it warily and then blew her nose on it again and again. "Thank you, sir," she whimpered, and handed it back to me.

"You keep it. My name's Wilbur, what's yours?"

She pretended to smile. "Becky, but they call me Bucky because I got crooked teeth. I-I used to suck my thumb."

"Calling you names, now are they?" I winked at her. "Tell you what. How would you like to get even?"

Saurian Tech--Karn Light Infantry Gear: Weaponry

2006-12-05T07:00:00.001-08:00

Shnakvorum, Rikoyoch! (Greetings, friends!)

Book Update: Get your forks ready, this crazy thing is almost done! I can smell the end from here. Unless something crazy happens I only have about a chapter and a half left to go. That's only about 30 pages! Can you believe it? I know I can't. Seems like just yesterday when I was staring at that strange sketch on my cast--and now my first novel is nearly completed! Bailey's already started plans for a completion party. I just hope we don't scare away too many tourists. But then they're few and far between this time of year anyway (though there are some crazy ice fishermen who always show up, but I'm sure our own fishermen can fill you in on that).

Now for my Saurian weaponry.

Karnian Light Infantry use a wide assortment of weaponry, from simple blades to large assault cannons, determined by personal preference and their role within the spur. The vast majority use various blades as their weapon of choice. But since we're focusing on Rathe's gear, things are a bit more complex.

Rathe is unique in that he uses a sokae, a staff-like weapon with curving blades at each end, and which can be split into two halves. This weapon gives Rathe the flexibility of choosing broad sweeping strokes and keeping his enemies at a distance where their shorter weapons can't strike, or using quick swings for confined areas where maneuverability is limited. Rathe chose the sokae due to the unusual nature of its fighting style (giving him an edge over opponents unfamiliar with it) as well as the desire to prove his worth by taking on a challenging weapon.

But sometimes you don't want to get right in the face of your enemy, and Rathe has two other weapons for striking at a distance. The first is a simple brace of throwing spikes. These two-foot long metal spikes are perfectly balanced, and Rathe has become an expert at snapping off a short-range throw to wound or outright kill an opponent in the critical moments before they enter melee range.

The second is his kothas. This is a small mag-launcher affixed to his right gauntlet. It uses magnetic pulses to fire anti-personnel explosive quarrels. Each quarrel is tipped with a shaped charge in a fragmenting casing that is designed to throw the majority of the shrapnel away from the point of origin in order to let the kothas be used at relatively close range with some semblance of safety. The quarrels are loaded in clips of four, and are accurate up to a hundred and fifty feet (which isn't as far as it sounds when you have an angry Herian charging you).

Finally, Rathe also carries the basic loadout of grenades for the light infantry. Which is 2 smoke, 4 shock, and 6 explosive. Smoke grenades are basically what they sound like. Shock grenades emit an electric pulse that can kill an average sized Saurian within three feet, and incapacitate within ten. And explosive grenades are the basic anti-personnel grenades, with a kill radius of twenty to thirty yards, depending on the size of the Saurn.

In addition to his own weaponry, Rathe carries extra ammunition for the spur's Assault Cannon, carried by their heavy weapon's member. This is a massive gattling cannon and grenade launcher (on average around five feet long) that can lay down a withering spray of fire, covering the spurs retreat or halting an enemy charge in its tracks. Though it does this at the cost of longevity, as the average spur can only carry enough ammunition for 60 seconds worth of firing time. However, when a 3-second burst puts out over a thousand rounds, 60 seconds can go a long way.

All these weapons brought together within a tight night Light infantry spur, filled with Saurn who have trained with their weapons for at least 30 earth years, makes them a swift and deadly precision strike force.

-- S-man

The Skiing Spirit

2006-12-04T07:00:00.000-08:00

Pastor Hank here. Boy, it sure cooled off here over the last few weeks. The Idaho panhandle had its first real snowfall the weekend of Thanksgiving. The white blanket calms the surroundings and makes it so peaceful--until the people drive on it for the first time each year. Seems like every winter people forget that snow is slippery, so Sheriff Edwards and his crew spend the first storm chasing down all the wrecks.

The winter months are something northern Idaho looks forward to each year; it means that skiing season is finally here. I think everyone knows about Sun Valley in central Idaho, but there are many good places to ski throughout the state. One of the destinations for Kanner Lake denizens is Silver Mountain, about an hour away.

I haven't done a lot of skiing in my life. It tends to be an expensive sport to keep up with, and weekends are when I do most of my work. However, when my girls hit their teens it was the cool thing to go skiing with their friends. We managed to save up for some ski equipment for them, but they had to save money from the summer if they wanted to go to the hill a lot.

Every winter during that time the girls got so excited for the first snowfall, instead of looking at the slush and cold as an inconvenience. Their enthusiasm became contagious. I started to appreciate the snow more, where I had gotten into a rut of complaining about something that wasn't going to change (winters in Idaho, that is). Soon that enthusiasm translated into curiosity, and I wanted to see what the girls were experiencing.

Now my dear Janet didn't think it was such a good idea for me to get up on a vertical slope of slippery stuff with slick sticks attached to my feet. I get something in my head though, and I can be tough to turn around. At least I wasn't stubborn about one thing: I signed up for ski lessons. I'd heard too many stories of people being told that their skiing friend would stay with them, only to be left alone on the top of some black diamond mogul run. My girls swore they wouldn't do that. A pastor's supposed to be a trusting person, but there's still a point when it turns to folly!

So the girls and I drive on up to Silver Mountain. The day is perfect: sunshine, calm skies, and soft groomed runs. I have a young gal as an instructor, only a few years older than Amy (my oldest). She assured me that she'd have me heading in the right direction in no time. Now, a push at the top of the lift would've sent me in the right direction too, but I decided to trust her and the Lord to get me through this adventure.

You know what happened next? I had an absolute blast! The beauty of the mountains, the crisp air biting your cheeks as you slide down the slopes, the freedom of moving down the mountain. I started in the typical "A" wedge for skiing, but soon was cutting back and forth across the bunny hill. I couldn't believe the exhilaration of flying down the peak.

There was one other thing that I really picked up from my time on the hill. During my lessons, I found that it is best to lean into the skis for control. That defies common sense. My initial reaction was to lean back. It's closer to the ground, and leaning forward points down. But the front of the skis is where the control is, and if you lean into the skis, lean down the hill, then you will be in control. Once we lean back, we actually lose control and are headed for a fall. It took a lot of prodding from my ski instructor to get over my tendency to lean back, but it was amazing once I had a little faith and aimed down the mountain.

There is a point to all of this. I bring up the skiing because it reminds me of life in the Holy Spirit. We all want to be in control, and think that pulling back from being too "spiritually minded" keeps us level. I believe that people are uncomfortable with the idea of letting God have too much control, so they "lean back" in their skis, thinking they are in control. But this is backwards. The only way to make it down the mountain safely, to make it through this life victorious, is to lean in to the Spirit. It takes faith to do this, because it looks like we're hanging over the edge. But the control is now in His hands, and it will guide us through the trees, moguls, and all the other obstacles that face us on this mountain. When we lean back, and take the steering power away, that is when we will crash. Lean into the Spirit, trust Him to guide us as we schuss down the slopes, and we will go places we've never thought possible.

That's my skiing lesson for today. I wish I could say that I'm still a skier. A couple of years later I was racing my kamikaze twelve-year-old Andy down the mountain when a nasty crash put me down. My fearless little girl swooshed down the hill, as I climbed out of a snow bank with a sprained knee. It's never been quite the same since. Now my skiing rush is of the spiritual variety, and let me tell you, it is a ride like no other!

Big Boy Buck--Part 2

2006-12-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

So there I was on the ground with my bow tied up, and I was sawin' away. I cut my bow free, afraid to unlatch it because of the awful metallic clang that would echo all over tarnation. I got my bow in my hand, steadied the arrow, and looked Big Boy Buck straight in the eye.

He grunted and stomped his foot, accepting the challenge of our meeting eyes. Now I ain't never got buck fever before. Big Boy Buck is a special case, though. He's the biggest whitetail I've ever seen that ain't been on the pages of my huntin' magazine my dear wife's always throwing away. My hands started shakin' and sweat dripped down my forehead. If I could just get a good shot, Big Boy Buck'd be in the record book for sure and he'd be mounted on my wall.

One thing's for sure about my lovely wife, she loves venison. and boy does she know how to cook it. People come from all over the county to get her recipes. So she doesn't mind me hunting. That's the good thing about women in Idaho. They ain't afraid of hardly nothin'. Wish I wasn't afraid of Big Boy Buck, but the way he was snortin' and stompin' and carryin' on, I thought he was gonna ram that huge rack of his in my chest.

I took a deep breath and got my hands to quit their shakin'. I drew back and released. Whoosh. The arrow went right over his back and he didn't even flinch. I know he heard it 'cause he took a step towards me and snorted a snort I'm still havin' nightmares about. I still can't believe I missed. I moved as slow as I could and got another arrow. I drew back and held it. I wasn't gonna miss again. No Siree Bob. I heard somethin' rustlin' behind me and I was in quite the conundrum. Do I take my eyes off Big Boy Buck? Well, it didn't take long for me to decide. All the commotion from behind got the best of me. I turned slow as ever.

There stood the ole Boy's doe. Seems he wasn't snorting at me, he was puttin' on a show for the lovely lady. He didn't even know I was there. I guess the rut's come a bit early this year. Now if you don't know it, this is a bad time of year for the ole bucks. Those doe's and their feminine wiles have the bucks so dumb and crazy they don't pay attention to nothin'. Seems that's why Mr. B3 didn't hear that arrow whizzin' over his back.

So my arrow's still drawn and I figure now's the time to get 'em while the object of his affection is behind me wooing him. Wouldn't ya know it. I hear another ruckus behind me. I was thinkin' it was just another doe trying to get B3's eye, when all of a sudden somethin' is jumpin on my back. Liked to scare me half to death. The arrow went flyin' out from my bow. I dropped the bow and thought I was gonna get ate by some creature of the forest because I felt something wet all over my neck. Turns out somehow little Duke got out of his kennel and decided to meet me out in the woods for a little playtime. Dadgum pup. He was all over me lickin' and and 'jumpin'. At first I was madder than I've been in a year of Sundays 'til I realized that Duke jumpin' on me and releasin' that arrow was the luckiest shot a man's ever made.

B3 was down.

I'm waiting for my Boone and Crockett score on ol' Big Boy Buck. Y'all should be proud to have a hunter of my stature amongst you.

Big Boy Buck--Part 1

2006-11-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

In bow-hunting season this year I decided I'd move my tree stand 'cause it seems Big Boy Buck (B3 for short) is moving over on the west side of the forest near the creek that runs into the lake (well, eventually). I decided to put it in a tree next to the little clearing, figuring old B3 would slip up one these days this season. I get the stand outta the old tree, no problem. Haul it over with my truck that Leslie keeps threatening to send a picture of to "Pimp my truck," whatever in tarnation that is. Get it to the new tree and everything's good. I get it all secure cause I don't wanna be fallin' outta no tree when B3 walks by. I climb up it and notice there's a few branches need to be cut so I can take my shot.

By the time I get all this done, its time to go back to the house and get showered and put my descenter on. By the way, if' your dog ever gets sprayed by a skunk or rolls in dead critter and brings the sweet smell home to ya, use your descenting shampoo. I'm tellin' ya, they oughtta market the stuff that way. Anyways, I get all good and unstinky and head back out to my stand. Well, normally when the deer come in, they come in biggest boy down to the pipsqueak of the bunch, but not always. Sometimes the little guys like to run ahead. So I'm sittin' there and this little button buck comes walking under my stand. I'm gettin all excited now cause maybe B3 is still coming. I pull my arrow out and line'er up and wait. And wait. And wait. Nope. No luck. B3 is nowhere to be found.

While I was doin' all that waitin', there's this danged limb I didn't cut down far enough pokin' me in the ribs. I was lucky B3 didn't come by cause I'm pretty sure I woulda missed him with that limb cuttin' into my side. So, since he wasn't making an appearance, I decided to trim up the limb. Figured I wasn't gonna waste my time huntin the little guys.

I'm making nine kinds of noise and carrying on without concern sawing and whatnot. I tied all my stuff and dropped them on the line down to the ground and I climbed down. That's when I heard it. The cracking of a dead branch on the ground. And wouldn'tcha know my bow's still tied up. If I try to unhook it, it'll make a loud metallic ting and that'll sure 'nough scare away whatever's cracking those branches. So I reach to my side and get my knife and I cut the rope around my bow. I look around to see if I can catch a glimpse of him. I'm hoping it's B3.

I reach for my bow and as I'm about to grab it, I look up and there he is. Big Boy Buck and he's bigger than I thought he was. Danged if he ain't a seven-pointer. Who ever gets to see somethin' like that? I guess I musta been making too much noise in his neck of the wood and he was comin' to investigate. And he found me.

Tune in for Part 2 tomorrow.

-- Jake

Love at First Sight

2006-11-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

This world just isn't safe. Not for kids. Not for adults. Not for men. Not for women--especially women living alone.

All you have to do is turn on the television to know it's not. Predators, stalkers, scam artists, rapists--all these and worse roam the streets free, not to mention those trouble-making teenagers who need some good, old-fashioned discipline. Not that such people live here in Kanner Lake, mind you, but even we get the occasional stray from the cities.

It doesn't bother me much. I have my husband, for better or worse. But Angie ... she rattles around that big, old house on Third Street, and while her son's return should help, she's still living alone. She needs a good steady man. Or if not a steady man, at least a good, strong dog. Look at what happened this summer! But no, she still refuses to listen to reason.

So this week I took matters into my hands and drove over to the animal shelter in Coeur d'Alene.

My goodness! What a lot of dogs. Big dogs, little dogs. Old dogs, young dogs. Plain, spotted, shorthaired, longhaired. But do you think I could find a suitable dog for Angie?

Those hyper, little dogs would likely give Angie a broken hip. The big, impressive dogs wouldn't fit in Angie's yard. The puppies were cute, but wouldn't protect anyone from anything. The old dogs couldn't.

Dobermans and German Shepherds were too vicious. Huskies were too fluffy. Dalmatians--they'd probably freeze in an Idaho winter.

Then I saw her in the corner. A beautiful, black-and-white dog with the biggest brown eyes. A three-year-old Australian shepherd/border collie mix, I was told. Gentle, calm, and loving, but loyal and protective to a fault.

Not too big, not too small. Not too fluffy, not too shorthaired. Not too old, not too young. A perfect fit. I chose the dog on the spot and drove straight Angie's.

After leading the dog up the walk, I rang the doorbell, handed Angie the leash when she answered, and left immediately. But although I didn't stay, I could tell it was love at first sight. Angie, for once, didn't have a thing to say.

-- Bev Trexel

Christmas Season is Here!

2006-11-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

Jared here, saying Merry Christmas everybody! It isn't too early to start saying that, is it? If it is, I don't care. One of the best things about writing on this blog is that I don't have to be as politically correct as I do when putting the newspaper together. Here I don't have to do that "inoffensive" Happy Holiday thing.

I know Bailey certainly doesn't mind a mention of Jesus. She's already got a big old nativity scene set up in the front window of Java Joint--Mary, Joseph, shepherds, even angels flying over the whole thing suspended from the ceiling. She's got all the cute little animals in there too. Can you believe Wilbur keeps suggesting she scatter coffee beans in there to simulate manure? He says it would lend accuracy. Every time I go in there, he's lobbying for coffee bean manure, asking innocent tourists things like, "You ever seen a barn without poop?"

Anyway, I think it looks great, Bailey. And I love having somewhere to go where Christmas is still about the nativity. Even the songs Bailey has playing are the good old carols. None of that "Santa Baby" stuff they're always blasting at the supermarket and the mall.

It's hard to be a newspaper man this time of year. Part of me wishes I could take the whole month off and whisk all my friends and family to a cabin in the mountains somewhere, so we could celebrate peacefully and simply without having to see the news. It makes me sad--people shooting and trampling each other to get the newest version of the Playstation. Other people putting themselves deep into debt buying things they don't need. Some suffering the loneliness of a holiday spent without family. Some spending it in Iraq.

But then I remember that Jesus knew how sad and wicked the world was, and He came into it on purpose. He didn't need a mountain cabin to hide in. He could have just stayed in heaven. But He didn't. He came--into the darkness, into the world full of greed and violence and loneliness, into a manure-filled stable.

Then I decide it is good to be at the paper, writing and reading the news, painful though it may be. It reminds me to pray more, give more, say Merry Christmas more often, and "God bless you," too. Wherever you are this season, I encourage you to be a light (like Bailey so faithfully is). Go down to the church and help Hank with the Christmas outreaches--the gift baskets for the poor, the carol sings at the nursing homes. Pray for our men and women overseas, visit someone who's lonely.

Okay, about now, Hank must be wondering if I'm trying to steal his job as preacher. I'm not, buddy. Just getting all this stuff off my chest that I can't print in the paper.

So maybe Wilbur has a point. The manure does matter. When we see it, smell its putrid odor, the wonder of Christ's holy presence is all the more amazing. Thank You for coming into such a dark world, Jesus.

Merry Christmas season everyone.

-- Jared

Our Thanksgiving Guest

2006-11-27T07:00:00.000-08:00

Angie here. I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We sure did and everyone fed the squirrels.

I don't know if I've introduced you to my daughter Melissa's family yet. Well, Melissa, her husband Reggie, and the three most beautiful children in the world, Ethan (8), Kristiana (6), and Eliza (4), arrived early in the day. Frank Jr. wasn't awake yet, but after a cold, wet wash cloth in the face (delivered by his sister), he joined Reggie to discuss football and try to keep the kids out of our way.

It was almost like old times, except my Frank wasn't there. I tried not to let anyone see the tears, but my kids have a sixth sense about my crying. Melissa looked up at me just about the time Frank came in the kitchen for something to eat. I tried to turn away, but I just wasn't quick enough.

Frank broke the silence first. "Mom, you miss Dad, don't you?"

I nodded as I wiped my eyes. The next thing I knew both my kids were hugging me and telling me how much they missed their dad too. It was a special moment.

About 1:00 PM, David and his daughter Darlene came over (I won't mention that this beautiful young woman is still single). They brought a beautiful pumpkin cheesecake (we decided not to have pie this year), a sweet potato casserole that tasted like heaven, and a strawberry-pretzel salad. Her mom never would give me that recipe and I couldn't coax it out of Darlene either. (By the way, single men--Darlene is a gourmet cook)

As we were taking the turkey out of the oven and the door bell rang. I was still in the kitchen but Frank Jr. got the door. A minute later he came in the kitchen and looked a little flustered.

"Mom, I forgot to tell you that I invited someone to dinner."

"A young lady?"

"No, someone I got acquainted with on one of my projects. I ran into him yesterday in Spokane and when I found out he was here on business and had to place to go for Thanksgiving, I invited him over. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you."

"That's all right. What's your friend's name? I'll come out and meet him as soon as I finish making this gravy."

"Please don't get mad. I don't think you like this person."

"How can I dislike someone I've never met?"

Just then Reggie walked in the kitchen and whispered to Melissa, "Aren't you going to come out and meet Milt Waking?"

Darlene said, "Milt Waking? That hot FOX news reporter?!"

I looked at my son and glared in a very un-Thankgivingish way, "Are you trying to tell me that man is in my house?"

"Mom, it's Thanksgiving, and give him a chance, he's really a nice guy."

"Don't you remember what your Aunt Zelma told me about how he harassed that Chelsea Adams lady, in Redwood City?"

"Mom, Aunt Zelma doesn't even know Chelsea Adams."

"No, but her best friend's cousin's sister-in-law is Chelsea's best friend. And what's Milt Waking doing here anyway? Is he trying to get information on Edna San's murder?

"No. He's actually here doing some background on a story about Christian healings. He's in Spokane checking out the Healing Rooms, and then he's going to interview that Christian author who was healed from Lyme Disease and was on the 700 Club. She lives part time in Coeur d'Alene you know."

"Ok, he can stay, but he better not try to pump me for information about the murder, because these lips are sealed."

Five minutes later, after I finished the gravy, I walked out to meet this paragon. I was a little surprised at the scene that met my eyes. Milt and David were playing a game with the kids, while talking with the adults and not missing a play or a word of conversation. The kids, who had no idea who Milt was, were clearly enthralled with him. He obviously wants to try to get into our good graces through the kids, I thought.

Frank Jr. introduced us.

"It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Brendt," Milt said.

"Thank you, Mr. Waking, and welcome to my home. But before we sit down to eat, I want to make one thing clear. The recent events in Kanner Lake and the upcoming trial are off-limits for our conversation tonight. My sister Zelma lives in Redwood City and I know all about you."

"Mom!" Frank Jr. gave me the look his father used to do.

"Mrs. Brendt, I'm not here on business tonight, I'm simply Milt and grateful for the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving with your family."

Just then I realized how judgmental I had been, and how I had been rude to my son's guest. I was ready to go crawl under the sink and lock the cabinet door, I felt so bad. Lord, please forgive me and help me undo the unkind words I've spoken, I prayed. Then I looked up at Mr. Waking. "Milt, please forgive me. I've been terribly rude. You are welcome here in my home and we're glad to have you with us for this Thanksgiving. And please, call me Angie."

“\"Mrs. Brendt, I mean Angie, thank you so much. By the way, I brought you these." He stepped over to the table a picked up the most beautiful bouquet of two dozen yellow roses. "I hope you like them."

"Thank you so much, Milt, I love roses! By the way, do you know Eva Longoria?"

He did know Eva, and he passed the Nutty test.

It was a great Thanksgiving.

Happy Thanksgiving and Dominoes

2006-11-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi! It's Sarah Wray.

As this Thanksgiving is almost upon us, I have to say that being the owner of Simple Pleasures is an enormous blessing for me. My store is a gift from God. It's a beautiful place to visit with old friends when they come in to browse. I've also met plenty of new friends who turn into old friends when they fall in love with Kanner Lake and decide to come back year after year.

I can always find something to do at my store. When I dust shelves and move aside the fancy, carved Dominoes set, I always smile.

I remember lying on the floor as a child, playing Dominoes (using a regular set) with my dad. He taught me so well that he started keeping score. When I started winning on paper, it became a serious weekend competition. He was so proud of me, but told me to never play with adults. They'd never understand why a little girl like me was so good at a game like Dominoes.

One quiet fall evening, some of my parents' friends came over. The women played cards and chatted while the men played Dominoes. I was relegated to my stack of coloring books until bedtime. It's not that I didn't like coloring. I liked it fine. It just irritated me that my dad and I were a team and they were playing without me.

Being a good girl and all, I got myself ready for bed early and went back to coloring. My mother and the other ladies still chatted incessantly. My dad and the other men had just finished one game and were starting up another. I ran out of interesting pages to color at about ten minutes before bedtime, so I climbed up on my dad's knee to watch him play.

I wrapped my arm around my dad's big neck and whispered, "I love you" in his ear just loud enough for the other men to hear. Then after a while, I told him more quietly which Domino to place, knowing the other men thought I was still being sugary-sweet.

You know, that night my dad let me stay up an hour after my bedtime.

I don't play Dominoes anymore. Not since I've become too busy with the other details of life. But I'm thinking about buying a game for my grandkids when they come up for Christmas this year. Maybe I should even give Bailey a set to keep in Java Joint. (Might even keep Wilbur out of mischief.)

As for the fancy carved set of Dominoes on the Simple Pleasure shelf--I almost hope I don't sell it.

Happy Thanksgiving, all! Bailey wants me to tell you we'll be taking Thursday and Friday off. Scenes and Beans will be back next Monday.

-- Sarah

Saurian Tech--Karn Light Infantry Gear: Armor

2006-11-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

Shnakvorum Rikoyoch,

Book Update from S-Man: Nothing like exploding Chihuahua-lizard-like-creatures to make things interesting. I'm in the final chapters of Starfire now. And there has been surprise after surprise cropping up. It seems like every time my fingers start typing one of the characters does something I wasn't expecting! But that just makes things even more exciting. Really can't wait until all of you get to experience this story first hand.

Over the next few entries I'm gonna look at the battle-gear worn by the Karnian Light Infantry, the branch of the military that the protagonist, Rathe, is in. The light infantry are fast response shock troops, generally used in hit and fade strikes and harassment behind enemy lines. Not quite special forces, but the next best thing.

Due to the fact that each soldier is responsible for outfitting his own gear, every Light Infantry Saurn will have a slightly different set-up, based on personal preference and role within a Light Infantry Spur (squad). However, there is a basic commonality. For the purposes of this series I'm going to be focusing on Rathe's battle-gear. Starting with the armor.

There are three basic pieces of Light Infantry armor. The battle pack (ketal bor), the chest & belly guard (tathnak), and the gauntlets (ikaryoch).

The battle pack is made of a flexible, but sturdy material and holds all of the essential rations, personal effects and other field equipment necessary for a mission. The pack covers from the shoulders to the base of the tail, held in place by a series of straps that run under the arms and legs, and across the chest, waist and base of the tail. There are also usually two thigh flaps that provide protection for the upper leg and also sport pouches for quick access to (relatively) small items.

Standard battle packs have between 8-12 compartments (in addition to any thigh pouches). Most can only be accessed when the pack is removed, or by a fellow spur-mate. In Rathe's case his pack has 12 compartments, most of which are used for spur rations and extra ammo for their heavy weapons member.

The tathnak is made of a similar material as the battle-pack, but is thicker and much more flexible. It is designed to thwart blades, claws and shrapnel. It is usually at least two to three inches thick, and attaches to the straps of the battle pack, giving a solid layer of protection from the neck to the tail, completely covering the vulnerable underbelly. Early on in Starfire, Rathe's tathnak is put to use in thwarting a vicious kick during a fight, one that would have incapacitated him at the very least.

The final, and in some ways, most crucial bit of armor are the gauntlets. Gauntlets are arm protection that covers the back of the hand and forearm in a solid protective shell. Most gauntlets also have built in magnetic seals that are used in conjunction with Karnian blades as a way to prevent disarming. (I'll talk more about this function during the weapons segment). Some gauntlets also feature expandable shields, but Light Infantry tend to prefer dual wielding or polearms.

But one thing is standard in every soldiers gauntlets (one of them anyway) and that is their Personal Combat Computer. This is a rather simple device, something like you might find in a PDA here on Earth. Basically it stores topographical maps, mission essential data and positioning coordinates using triangulation. It also serves as a communications device between the spur and the chain of command. It can be used within the spur, usually through text. Voice is used, more often, Light Infantry spurs communicate vocally over distances through a complex battle code.

That basically sums up the armor. As you probably noticed, the Light Infantry have very sparse armor, focusing much more on stealth, speed and surprise to avoid any straight up fights. But even when forced into combat, their skill with their weapons makes them deadly adversaries. And that's what we'll look at next time.

-- S-man

Feeling Worn

2006-11-20T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hello from Bailey.

I'm feeling really worn down today. Not that you stopped by here to read about my woes, but sometimes it's nice to share them. John had a bad night, which translates into I had a bad night.

I need to go sneaker shopping, these are getting all worn out from my constant trips back and forth along the counter. The cafe needs a good toothbrush-cranny cleaning job. Maybe I'll get Wilbur to pitch in since he spilled his coffee all over the countertop and floor the other morning. Thank goodness he drinks it black. It also happened to douse him a good one in his lap. Never, ever, have I seen Wilbur move quite that fast. The out-of-towner who entered the shop about that time took one look at Wilbur fanning the front of his pants and busted out laughing. Wilbur wasn't amused, but it shook a chuckle from the depths of my parched soul. Turns out he gal's a writer who has been reading the blog and wanted to meet S-man. You would know that S-man wasn't here. I learned she only lives on the other side of Spokane, and she proceeded to tell me she was a writer with a sci-fi manuscript and she hoped S-man would give it a look. Hm. Not published yet, and he's already sought after by other writers.

Well, I need to get moving. I've lit a new Yankee Candle I indulged in from Simple Pleasures' enormous stock. The scent's a new one called Autumn Leaves. Gotta try it. It's brisk and subtle at the same time, and a good mix with the coffee. Scents always energize me, and this one reminds me that the wonderful holiday season is just around the corner. John is already practicing his solo for the singing Christmas tree.

-- Bailey

New Food Critic in Town

2006-11-17T07:00:00.000-08:00

Leslie here. I might have a future as a food critic. I visited a restaurant in Coeur D'Alene recently with one of my friends, and the chef recognized me from the media coverage this past summer. She thought she'd try some new dishes on me and then had the bright idea that I should write out my thoughts so she could review them later and make any necessary changes. I didn't like the sound of it. What if I insulted her by my reaction to the food? And yet I wasn't sure how to refuse without sounding rude. It didn't help that my friend was all for the idea and encouraged the chef to send us any "culinary experiments." My friends are so helpful. ;)

A five-course meal appeared soon after, and the servers made sure we lacked for nothing. In return, I was honest with my assessment, even if I didn't like a dish. And believe me, I was nervous about that. Turned out it was a good choice. The chef was so impressed that she called Jared a couple of days later to run ads in our paper! She wasn't even offended that I called her Caesar salad "an artist's rendering, with nothing near the genius of the original." (Beautiful description, if I do say so myself. Perhaps a tad overkill when I could have just said "the lettuce wasn't as fresh as I expected and the dressing was a little strong," but I'm a writer and I could be said to have a flair for the dramatic.)

I have an open invitation to stop by that restaurant anytime I'm in Coeur d'Alene, and the chef has promised to visit Java Joint so I can introduce her to the gang there. Who knew a little taste-testing could do so much? And let me tell you something--the desserts at this particular restaurant are so good, I'll be going there every chance I get.

My new motto: "You never know what's going to happen, so go with the flow!"

Longfellow of the Lake

2006-11-16T07:00:00.000-08:00

Howdy, Wilbur here, dictating to Bailey as usual.

So one day last month I'm sitting here on my stool (first one at the counter, mind you) mostly minding my own business, when S-Man walks in with his shirt half untucked and laptop bag slung over his shoulder. "Hey S-Man, when you gonna have that book of yours written?" I ask him.

He looks me over, trying to gauge whether I really care or if I'm just hasslin' him, I'm sure.

"When it's done," he says.

Now I look back at him, me trying to gauge whether that's some kind of writer answer or if he's hasslin' me back. Before I can open my yap, S-Man hands me a sheet of paper. "Take a look at this."

It was a printout for a poetry contest. Some place I never heard of: Dragons, Knights and Angels Magazine.

"What, where's your entry?" I asked.

S-Man grabbed the biggie coffee Bailey started pouring when he walked through the door. "Don't have time to enter, gotta write my book. Thought maybe the Longfellow of the Lake could do something with it."

I don't know how he found out my old nickname, but from the snort Bailey gave from behind the counter I have my suspicions. [Bailey: Honest, wasn't me. Wilbur once told me the only reason he took Trudy to see Dead Poets Society was because he thought it was a murder mystery, so S-Man's comment took me by surprise.]

Still, top prize was $75 and I was running low on fly-tying supplies. So I sat down and started working on a poem. Nothing fancy like a sonnet, I was too rusty for something like that. Something simple. A half hour later I was done. Except it wasn't quite right.

Forty-five minutes later I had it fixed. Almost.

Okay, maybe just a haiku. Five syllables, then seven, then five.

My first six tries were all a syllable long or short. Number seven was fine until Bailey stuck her nose in and pointed out two words that were misspelled, and when I fixed 'em the line ran over the limit. I grabbed the contest sheet and the stack of napkins I'd been scribbling on and went home.

Didn't come back to Java Joint for three days. I still wonder how everyone survived without me. But the poem was done, sent in two days before the deadline. That was at the end of September. The winning poems were announced just before Halloween. Mine wasn't among them. Guess I was rustier than I thought. If anything good has come of this (other than having gone ahead and bought the fly-tying supplies to salve my wounded pride because I didn't win) it's that the old nickname doesn't bother me much anymore, and I remembered what fun poetry can be. Not prissy moon-balloon-June-swoon garbage, but really robust stuff. I'm thinking of asking Bailey to sponsor an open-mike poetry night here at Java Joint.

If I can find the right rhyme for coronary bypass, that is.

[Bailey here. I bent Trudy's arm until she fessed up about Wilbur's nickname. Okay, I went over for tea and wouldn't leave until she told; I'm not a violent woman. Seems Wilbur was quite the romantic once upon a time and wrote poems to court Trudy. Some of his male friends found out and came up with the nickname. (Poor guy; almost feel sorry for him.) Trudy got a little mad at the memory; like it was a good thing those boys weren't in the kitchen with us just then. Then she pulled a worn and yellowed sheet of paper from the lining of her purse and handed it to me.

"This is the second poem Will ever wrote me."

Shall I?, by Wilbur Hucks

Shall I compare thee to a large mouth bass?
No. For though thou art wily and elusive--
Hard to hold and harder to catch--
I have learned that women do not like to be compared to fish in poetry.
Ever since my first attempt, which revolved around a play on the word flounder
(though perhaps it was my misspelling of grouper that left you with the wrong impression).
Nevertheless I love you very much.
And request that you go out on the lake with me this Saturday.
Please respond by Friday evening,
As I will have to dig nightcrawlers in the morning,
And need to know how many to get.

What a smoothie.]

What Do Your Belongings Say About You?

2006-11-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

Here's Carla talking at you. I have this writer friend who lives down in Arizona. I met Jennifer Cary at a hotel in Denver a few years ago. She was there for a writer's conference and I was town for realtor's workshops. Jennifer had such a charismatic personality. I was quite intrigued. I found out she was a teacher and a published author. Before we both left, we decided to exchange e-mail addresses, and have kept in touch ever since.

After visiting her blog, Abundant Blessings, I realized that some of those writer types, while odd, usually have some interesting things to say. (Take our own S-man, for instance.) Recently Jennifer had a post on her blog about "What our purses say about our personalities." She asked some of her writer friends to display their purses. I thought it was kind of cute. I had no clue who the purses belonged to, so I went back to see the answers this week.

One of the authors Jennifer used in her study was Brandilyn Collins. I’m sure you’ve heard of the sometimes quirky, if not strange local suspense writer from over in Coeur d'Alene. I laughed when I saw the purse she carried and read a comment of one of the bloggers, who guessed that the purse must belong to someone who writes historical fiction. Another person guessed she had to be a romance writer. LOL.

At first I thought, hmm, guess our purses may not say as much about us as Jennifer thought. But then I got to thinking. You know you could carry around a pretty big weapon in a bag that size. And we all know how that Collins woman seems to like killing people off. Maybe Jennifer is onto something. ;)

Since I'm figuring the guys who read this blog won't relate to the whole purse thing, tell me something you own that says something about yourself. Your purse, clothes, car, house, anything that you think captures who you are. For me it's my house. I love it. It's small and charming, painted blue. Very open interior, with one room flowing into another. It's my own little safe haven. An escape from a sometimes harsh world.

Now what about you?

The Detchers and Land of Mao

2006-11-14T07:00:00.000-08:00

Occasionally one of our overseas friends will invite us (Hank and Janet) to be a part of their mission. Such was the case this summer when we were invited to participate in a Bibles for China outreach. The trek began on a Wednesday when we flew out of Spokane heading for Hong Kong (via San Francisco, Honolulu and Manila). That was one long trip. In Manila we stayed overnight with missionary friends George and Stacy Barlow. We spent hours reminiscing about our lives together in Bible College. We left Manila the next day and finally arrived in Hong Kong on Saturday. Kurt and May Jansen met us and explained the nature of the Bibles for China outreach. We would join a group of eighteen others to carry the scriptures into the mainland.

But first we would eat. Walking downtown Hong Kong was a very strange experience for us--raw skinned chickens, ducks and snakes all over the place. Besides all of that we were just not used to all of the people!

The next day, after church services at the Jansen's home church, we found out about the true nature of our mission. The gals would be separated from the guys for a few days, and we would meet up in the city of Guangzhou. The guys would take a train and the gals would take a van. This way we would be have a better chance of success. Following are our separate stories.

Hank here. Counting me, there were ten guys hauling "loaves." First we loaded up on small Chinese bibles at the church, then packed them into suitcases. Each of us had two to three bags. Man, they were heavy! Our first stop was at the town Fanling. We crossed over several times from Honk Kong to Fanling and staged our "loaves" in a storage facility. Each time we crossed over we had to go through a random checkpoint where our bags would be examined. Both times that I crossed carrying two bags I got through without being checked. Guess the Lord was watching over me. Only one of us got checked, and they just had their "loaves" confiscated.

Our journey to Guangzhou had an amazing start. Seems that we had a few too many bags for the journey and were keeping the train from leaving on time. A few Communist Chinese guards came over and we thought that the jig was up! To our amazement these guards began to help us load our bags on the train. That made for great conversation all of the way to Guangzhou. When we arrived we brought our "loaves" with us as we checked into a hotel. The next day the girls arrived with some great stories. I'll let Janet fill you in on that and finish up our story.

Janet here. We knew something was up when each of us gals was given a loose fitting skirt to wear when we left from the meeting place that first morning. Each of these had many small pockets sewn on the inside of the skirt. Before we left we each filled these pockets up with very small Chinese language New Testaments (baby loaves). Each pocket held two baby loaves and the skirt held 50 in total. They were quite heavy! Ten of us loaded into the van and made our way through the checkpoints and into the Land of Mao. When we arrived at the hotel in Guangzhou we all rejoiced that the van had gotten through all of the checkpoints.

The remainder of the trip was filled with beautiful scenery and delicious Chinese food. We traveled south and crossed the border at Macau on a hydroplane. We flew out of Hong Kong the next day and spent several days traveling home. When we think back we can only rejoice at what we saw the Lord do through our team. We remember the many people we met in the Underground Church and still pray for them. It causes us in this time before Thanksgiving to once again remember the blessings of our great and free nation, and to give thanks for all of our blessings here in Kanner Lake.

Happy Thanksgiving (almost),

Hank and Janet Detcher

The Other Twenty-five Percent

2006-11-13T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, Bev Trexel with you today. After four months of interruptions, I've finally made it back to my original topic: why I am writing for this blog. Four months. My goodness. I knew I should have never agreed to this. But it is too late now.

As I made very clear in my first post, I hold my friend Angie mostly responsible for my participation in this activity (although what type of friend would write such slanderous things about me as she has might be brought into question). But to be fair, I cannot blame her one hundred percent. Twenty-five of it sits squarely in my husband's lap.

When we were first married, I didn't drink coffee. I could not stand the bitter stuff. But my husband insisted on having a cup of it every morning. So every morning, like any dutiful wife would, I brewed him a cup.

And every morning he would tell me how bad it tasted. "This isn't coffee, Bev. No flavor at all. I might as well be drinking water."

"You'd be better off drinking water," I would remind him.

"Well, that might be, but I still say this isn't coffee. It's only good for warming up hands."

Hopeless, that husband of mine.

Finally I became tired of hearing how bad my coffee was. I decided to learn to drink it myself to prove it wasn't nearly as bad as he said it was. The problem was once I got beyond the bitterness I enjoyed drinking a cup of coffee every morning.

So if my husband hadn't complained, I would never have learned to drink coffee. No taste for coffee, no trips to Java Joint. No trips to Java Joint, no request from Bailey. Therefore, twenty-five percent is truly my husband's fault.

Let's not forget that the rest is Angie's.

--Bev

A Nutty Thanksgiving

2006-11-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hey folks, Angie here again. I had forgotten how nice it was to have my boy here as Thanksgiving approaches. I'm so excited; I've already started planning the feast. Boy, oh, boy is it ever going to be a good one. The pressure is on to make it the best ever, if only to make up for last time. I don't think Frank has been home for Thanksgiving for five or six years.

Back then he brought a girl with him from Chicago for a week-long visit. What was her name again? Suzanne, or Sharon, something like that. One of those big city types, with a cell phone hanging from her ear at all hours of the day. She was nice enough, but right away I could see she wasn't "wife" material. She was just too frilly and fancy for my Frank, Jr. How would she be able to keep house and cook with those nails?

Then, on the big day, I confirmed what Frank Jr. should have suspected all along. The girl just wasn't cut out for small town life. While the guys sat around the TV, watching football, we women bustled around the kitchen, discussing gravy methods and new cranberry salad recipes while the turkey baked in the oven. Sharon, or whatever her name was, bless her heart, was doing her best to stay out of the way. The potatoes were bubbling quite nicely, and I cracked a window to let some of the steam out of the room.

I'd been feeding a squirrel whom I'd named "Nutty" all autumn from my kitchen window. His favorite snack was peanuts, and I'd buy them whole in the shell. I loved watching him nibble, holding the peanut in his little front paws and standing up on his back haunches. He'd sit on my windowsill, munching away and watching me work. Naturally, squirrels get hungry on Thanksgiving too, and when he saw all the hubbub he hopped up on the windowsill to get his daily handout.

I smiled and headed toward the pantry, where I kept my stash of squirrel goodies. I reached my hand into the brown paper bag and pulled out a handful of peanuts and was about to turn around when I heard a blood-curdling screech. I screamed and simultaneously threw the whole handful of peanuts up into the air.

"What?" My heart pounded.

Sharon's hand was clamped over her mouth and she stared at the windowsill, eyes wide in horror. "What was that?"

I laughed. "Silly, that's just the squirrel I've been feeding. He's harmless."

All the other women in the kitchen scrambled to pick up the nuts, doing their best to suppress laughter.

Just then, Frank, Jr. appeared in the kitchen and put his arm around Sharon. "Mom, what have you done now?"

"It was just Nutty, that's all."

He scanned the floor, assessing what must have been twenty or so peanuts tossed all over. Then he took on that parental tone he inherited from his dad. "Mom, this is no time for puns."

"You named that thing?" Sharon's peaked skin had started to show a little bit of color. In fact, she was getting downright red in the face.

Frank gave me another look of disapproval as she stalked out.

I didn't really see what all the hubbub was about. It was my windowsill and my kitchen, for goodness' sake. "What?"

He shook his head and followed her out into the living room. I peeked in a little later and found her snuggled up next to him and looking at the TV, eyes glazed over. Poor thing probably didn't know the difference between a pass and a run.

I knew right then things wouldn't work out between the two of them. A mother can't say these things out loud, of course, but she knows.

For all you future mother-in-laws out there, remember the squirrel test. If things get nutty when a cute little critter shows up on your windowsill, then she's not the girl for your boy. By the way, I have a few squirrels around here you can borrow. Nutty ended up being a female, and her lineage has had tons of babies. It's getting to the point where I can't afford that many peanuts. Thankfully, they started coming around to the back door, because they wouldn't fit on the window anymore. So, if you need a squirrel, let me know. I'm sure we can arrange a way to transport one or two.

Now, I'm off to the grocery store. My list is long: a turkey, olives, evaporated milk (low fat), peanuts ...

Puppy Tails -- Part 2

2006-11-09T07:00:00.000-08:00

Jake back with ya today. As I was saying yesterday, I got to the end of the row, and here's this puppy looking at me with old man's eyes. Looked like he'd lived a lifetime, but his paper said he was only ten weeks old.

Something about the pooch grabbed my heart. Told me he needed a home and mine was as good as any.

I snapped a leash on his collar. Tugged him out and walked him with the other two dogs to the exercise yard. While the other dogs charged around the fence, wild to run, this pup sidled up next to me. He brushed against my jeans then jumped up. He bounded as high as he could and only reached my knees. I scooped him up and rubbed him under the ears. In minutes he snuggled under my chin and stayed there.

Wouldn't ya know, he was in my lap as I headed home. The director said he was a Heinz 57. Probably had a bit o' lab and something else in him.

I stopped at the grocery and bought a bag of food. Pulled into the drive and let him out.

He tripped up the sidewalk and scampered up the porch stairs and into the house. His tongue hung out in a crazy grin. A look my wife did not match. She took one look at the little guy and pointed us out the door.

"No dogs in my clean house, mister." She only calls me mister when she's mad. And she's stuck on remembering my last dog that chewed up all her shoes. ("Pumps," she calls 'em. What a dumb name for shoes.)

Seems she thought we needed a pet like a hole in the head. So the pup's out in the garage tonight. I think a few licks and looks and the wife will be hooked. He's only dug one hole in her flowerbed so far. I don't think she's noticed. Maybe I can sneak him inside next time she's at her ladies Bible Study. Once he's there, she won't have the heart to kick him out. Pumps or no.

Now the pooch needs a name. I'm thinking Duke or Hunter. Won't be long and I can train him to work with me when I'm hunting. Whadya think?

Puppy Tails -- Part 1

2006-11-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, Jake Tremaine here. I mentioned some time ago that I might go down to the SPCA one of these days to see about getting me a dog. Well, I did.

Let me tell you, it was quite the experience. I've always thought I loved animals. But they make you go through a background check before you can even water them. The agency takes their work quite seriously. Good for them.

Me, I just wanted to pet a pooch or two. Wrestle on the floor and play with 'em a little. There's a little exercise yard for the dogs. Folks who are considering a pet can take the dog out back and see what it's like outside the cages. [Bailey's trying to tell me cage ain't the right word, but as long as it's got fencing on all sides I'll call it a cage no matter the size].

The first day I took two or three dogs out at a time. The regular staff told me which ones could go together so I wouldn't get caught in a dog fight. I threw balls till I thought my arm would fall off.

After I'd had a couple days to recover, I went back. Anything's better than my wife's growing honey-do list. Seems each day she adds three things to it. By the end of the year it'll stretch clear to Washington.

When I got back last week, there were several new faces and some of the dogs I'd worked with had new homes. I went about my business. Grab a leash, unhook a door, coax the dog out, hook him up, and then grab the next little guy. Well, I got to the last group of 'em, which also included the last cage at the end of the row.

I reached his gate and just stared. There's this tiny fur ball sitting right at the door. Looking at me with the biggest eyes. And they were old eyes. As if the little guy had lived a lifetime already.

I guess you could say I was a goner at that point. Now if only I could get the missus to agree with me ...

What I Love About Fall

2006-11-07T07:00:00.000-08:00

My mom has been organizing again, and she came across a few mementos from my childhood days, some of which she has posted on her refrigerator because they make her smile. Her favourite is the following two-line "essay" from my grade three class with Mrs. Campbell:

What I Love About Fall

I love the colors on the trees, warm clothes, hot chocolate, and baking with Mom. I also love seeing my own breath outdoors, and eating Thanksgiving dinner.

Not much has changed on that list, actually. I'd add stylish boots and accessories (like the cute scarf and glove set I found last November) but the rest still applies: bright red leaves throughout town, mixed with all the green of pines, tamaracks, and fir trees, which don't lose their leaves. Dressing in fancy sweaters; Bailey's perfectly mixed beverages; making cake, cookies and squares in Mom's cozy kitchen; making "smoke rings" in the chilly air; and the wonderful feast that is Thanksgiving with the Brymes family, with turkey, glazed ham, steamed veggies, fluffy mashed potatoes, and at least three varieties of pie.

Oh, and I can't forget my top fall activity: Christmas shopping! I love to start in October and gather ideas each time I go out. And the best place to find those perfect gifts is, of course, our own Sarah's great little Simple Pleasures store. (Only thing is, it'll be hard to shop for Sarah and Paige while they're working!)

What do you like about this season?

Idaho Novelist Stephen Bly

2006-11-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, it's Bailey today. Have you heard about the Idaho novelist Stephen Bly? He lives in Winchester, Idaho and has written 100 books. Now he's doing something really fun. He's so gotten into his newest character that he's caught up in looking for her in real life. Her name's Juanita, the girl of rodeo cowboy Hap Bowman's dreams. (Another of Bly's characters.) They are both in Bly's novel One Step Over the Border.

Bly has listed Juanita's description on the home page of www.OneStepOvertheBorder.com: raven dark hair, dark eyes, has a petite birthmark the shape of a horse's head under her right ear. She lived in sight of the Rio Grande and spent time with 12-year-old Hap Bowman in Central Wyoming during the summer of 1988 and is 31 years old now.

Bly's hoping to see "Have you seen my Juanita?" signs pop up everywhere--on websites and message boards, in waiting rooms and bulletin boards, on car bumpers and T-shirts, at rest stops and stuck to magnetic surfaces. "Maybe we really will find her," Bly says. "If so, she'll be featured on our website for sure." There's even a free “Have You Seen My Juanita?" Search Kit ready to send to those who e-mail cowboy Hap at HapBowman@yahoo.com with their snail mail address.

Apparently Bly is no stranger to getting heavily involved into his characters. In his novel Paperback Writer a distracted detective rides along with his author, serving as alter ego and companion in troubles on the road. "Life imitates art, they say," Bly muses. "I care so much for my characters I find it hard to let them go. But also my desire is for the reader to find their own real life discoveries, to be encouraged in their own struggles, by the vicarious 'entering into' the quests of my fictional characters."

I told S-Man he ought to try some similar marketing campaign when Starfire is published. Although it may be a bit stranger, looking for a dinosaur-like creature.

The story of Hap's search to find his Juanita in One Step Over the Border releases June 2007, by Center Street/Hachette Book Group, USA. I hear that pre-orders are already available through www.blybooks.com and soon will be at www.amazon.com and other online bookstores. We'll all be reading the book at Java Joint. It's great to support another Idaho novelist!

-- Bailey

Love That Raspberry Salsa

2006-11-03T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, it's Sarah Wray. I don't know about you, but my church doesn't always get out at the same time every week. I try to put lunch on the table quickly when we get home so that husband of mine doesn't become a bear, growling over the kitchen bar, waiting and watching with persistent questions. Sometimes he's worse than a four-year-old.

Last Sunday, when our church got out later than usual, Pastor Hank stayed to visit with several people. It didn't seem like he was in a hurry to leave, so I invited him and his wife, Janet, over for lunch. They were happy to come.

Anyway, I tossed some chicken in the oven and made a nice green salad to go with it. But my chicken can get a boring without a little something added to it. Since I will not allow Pastor Hank and his wife to leave my house with the idea that I can't cook, I used the Raspberry Salsa that I brought home from Simple Pleasures' specialty foods section.

That Raspberry Salsa is alive with flavor, and it's such a time-saver. No need to chop vegetables or make a sauce. This little jar made my work quick and easy. Ten minutes before the chicken came out of the oven, I dabbed some salsa on the pieces. Our taste buds started a party, I'll tell you. That sauce really has some zing to it.

We visited about the sermon, which was really good by the way, and we listened to Pastor Hank tell about his plans for a church get-together later on. But I noticed that both my husband and Pastor Hank reached for extra salsa to help them finish the rest of their chicken.

To cool our mouths after lunch, a light dessert seemed to be in order. Fruity Yogurt Salad is perfectly soothing. I knew it would be just the thing. I mix fresh blueberries, red grapes, and chopped strawberries with some banana yogurt and serve chilled. It's that simple!

If Raspberry Salsa is anything like the Latin dance, Fruity Yogurt Salad is like sitting in a rocking chair on the back porch in the cool of the evening.

Pastor Hank and Janet said they enjoyed the visit and the good food. I could tell by the way Janet studied her dessert that she'll be looking for the ingredients at the store the next time she goes for groceries.

I'll bet she comes by Simple Pleasures for some salsa, too.

-- Sarah

That's MY Bumper Sticker

2006-11-02T07:00:00.000-08:00

Howdy, Wilbur here. If you've read anything I've said on this blog, you know I'll never be accused of being a Pollyanna or Little Miss Sunshine. I don't come across as one of them Glass-Half-Full people. Some folks 'round here think all I do from sunup to sundown is complain, but they've got me all wrong. Sure, I spout off about this or that, but the truth is, not much really gets my dander up. Here's a little tale about one such occasion.

Back in, oh, musta been the fall of '70 or '71, I'd been out huntin'. Deer season it was, and I'd bagged me a big boy. I'd be lyin' if I said I'd not seen a bigger buck--that one hangin' over Jed Smithson's fireplace for one--but I've never brought home better myself. Back then I was built a little more solid than I am today, but it still took me the better part of four hours to pack that buck back to my pickup. I almost drove off the road a couple times on my way back to town. My eyes kept pullin' up to the rear-view to stare at the trophy rack on that buck. Couldn't take my eyes off it. I decided to pull off the road a spell before I killed myself, so I steered into the lot out at Lakeside. Except this was twenty years before Bud Brankser bought it. Back then it was called Bear's Den Diner.

The Den was as quiet a place back then as it is these days. Run by a fella named Bill. The only other vehicle in the lot was one of them Vee-Dubya vans. Didn't see many like this one in our neck of the woods. Thing was painted bright yellow with a big black peace sign on the side. Had California plates. Big surprise.

Anyway, I go inside, grab a stool at the bar, and order black coffee. Don't worry, Bailey, it didn't compare to your brew. Half the time I hear someone talkin' to Bailey here it sounds more like they're speakin' in tongues than orderin' a cup of coffee. Back in the 70's coffee was just coffee. At some point since then coffee's gone and gotten itself complexified.

Where was I? Oh, so I'm sittin' there, drinkin' my coffee and I tell Bill about my buck. The fella drivin' the Peace Train out front is sittin' a few stools down from us, and when Bill stepped out to take a look at my buck, the fella slides over to the stool next to me and strikes up a conversation.

I don't think I'd ever talked to a hippy before that day. He was baby faced and had thick, frizzy blonde hair like that Garfunkle fella. Spoke all educated and polite, which I hadn't really expected. He'd dropped outta the University of San Francisco to travel. Live an adventure he said. Didn't have to worry about the draft on account of a bum foot or some such.

Once the pleasantries were out of the way, this fella starts tellin' me how huntin' is wrong, that I'm violatin' nature or some nonsense. I ask him if the deer that died for his buckskin jacket died of old age on a farm in Wisconsin. He asks me if I always treat out of state visitors so hostile. I says usually I just tell 'em "Welcome to Idaho. Now go home." And I made sure to call his hometown "Frisco." I hear folks from San Francisco hate hearin' that. To them it's "The City," like it's the only one on the planet. And they think we're big-headed.

By the time Bill came back in from admirin' my buck, the Frisco Kid is walkin' out the door. Ya know how sometimes you just get a funny sense about somethin'? I got it right then. I knew, knew for certain, that I'd see that fella again.

Well, a couple years later, folks start movin' into Idaho in record numbers. Back then we still had less than a million people callin' Idaho home, and a lot of us liked it that way. A bumper-sticker got real popular 'out then. It read like what I'd told that hippy: WELCOME TO IDAHO. NOW GO HOME. In fact, that sticker got so popular that they did an article in the Idaho Statesman on the fella that came up with it, had his picture in the paper and everything. Yep, that deer-lovin' fella from Frisco moved to Boise and made a small fortune off that run-in with me, he did.

I don't hold a grudge against that fella for gettin' rich off my words. Truth be told, a lot of things I say belong on bumper-stickers. Maybe I ought to make up a few bumper stickers of my own and see about selling 'em. You all got some ideas about any famous sayings of mine I ought to try first?

-- Wilbur

Singing Christmas Tree

2006-11-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

Janet Detcher with you today.

It's that time again--time for our church choir to begin practicing for our Singing Christmas Tree. That program is my favorite part of the season. We've been doing it for about 15 years now. It has been our 'gift' to the community and has become an expected and anticipated part of Kanner Lake's events. We've often heard that Christmas would not be the same without our annual Singing Christmas Tree. Jared has even given us free advertising every year! (Thanks, Jared!) It brings folks from as far away as Spokane.

We are blessed with some exceptional voices for such a small congregation, and our directors, the Harrises, talented as they are, have always taken us to such a high level of musical presentation it would rival any larger church in the big city. We perform five nights during the season, and it's a packed house every night.

We'll have our usual cast of characters. Hank is always eager to participate and is never caught by stage fright. Larry Cellaway is a fine tenor, and also is a great help to building the sets; and I'm praying that John Truitt is well and able to participate. John has a beautiful singing voice and always moves people to tears with his music.

As is our tradition, I've been looking over music with Dawn Harris, (she and her husband, Skip, are our directors). The other day we got to reminiscing about past years. We got laughing so hard I thought we'd split a gut.

One year, it seemed that whatever could go wrong did go wrong. Ellen Linden, our organist, had practiced diligently for her part. A couple weeks before we were to begin our performances, the organ died. And there didn't seem to be any reviving it without a large outlay of cash. Cash we didn't have lying around.

The choir committed it to prayer, and two days later a gentleman came to visit Hank at the church. He told Hank he felt the Lord wanted him to buy our church a new organ. (He was a member of another congregation in town, mind you!) We were overwhelmed. The new Hammond organ was delivered less than a week later. Ellen was clearly beaming as she beautifully offered her talent for our production.

Another year, flu swept through the ranks just days prior to our first performance. Panic sat in. Soloists were left with less than 100% voices, and Hank even missed a couple of nights of rehearsals due to sickness. Somehow, we all managed to make the very last rehearsal and, weak as everyone was, we knew in our hearts that it was going to be a great year. (It always seems the more the enemy fights you, the better the results of your labor).

John Truitt was singing King Herod's bombastic solo and was the last to get the flu. But, as everyone who knows John will tell you, NOTHING gets that man down! In spite of feeling so crummy, John pulled off a memorable performance as King Herod. The funny thing is, John had changed a few of the words of the song, adding his own personality, without the choir or director having any knowledge of the changes. The choir loved it, though the audience had no idea. It was unforgettable indeed!

One funny side note on that sixth evening's performance: One of the young ladies was wearing a hairpiece. The congregation was already seated, waiting for the program to begin. As "Cheryl" climbed the ladder to take her place with the other altos, she ducked to enter the riser. When she came back up, one of the branches grabbed her hairpiece, and off it came, left dangling as an odd ornament on the tree. She was so shocked she didn't know whether to grab it and run or to ignore it and just take her place. After a painful moment's hesitation, she grabbed it, slapped it back on her head, took a minute to straighten it as best as she could and walked on around to her place on the riser.

There is so much more but I'll have to save that for another day.

Believe me, you just never know what's gonna happen, but one thing's for sure: you don't want to miss the annual New Community Church's Singing Christmas Tree. Like they say, "Christmas would not be the same without it!"

-- Janet

Saurian Tech & Culture: A Merchant's Foot

2006-10-31T07:00:00.000-08:00

Shnakvorum, rikoyoch!

Book Update: Had a blast over the last few weeks putting my characters through some crazy stuff, not the least of which was meeting some crazy spika who were worshipping a bit of ancient technology. I'm around probably just shy of three-fourths of the way done now, if I'm able to keep up this pace the book will be done before Christmas! Seems hard to think that not too long ago this book was nothing but a blank file.

Oh, Bailey also insists that I let everyone know that my cast is off, and has been for a while now (no more clumping around Kanner Lake for me). Though I have gotten into the habit of needing to have my left leg propped up on a chair to feel comfortable when writing.

But keeping in the theme of feet, today's post will be about the artificial foot on that stubborn merchant that gave me so much trouble in the past. After all, little details like this can help flesh out a culture, even if you never use even a 10th of it in the actual book.

Now a Saurian leg isn't built like ours. They have normal knees, but they walk on their toes, so the ankle is held high off the ground (with a small "spur toe" on the lower side of the ankle). Goshren (that's the merchant) lost part of his right leg when he was just a hatchling, barely over one aboyoch (a Saurian year) old, so his leg ends just below the knee.

So Goshren's artificial leg extends for part of the middle "calf" section of his leg, and has a complex joint for his ankle that also allows the "toes" to flex naturally during weight distribution. All this held in place by a leather casing and magnetic strips. The main body of the "foot" is made up of a hard steel, using springs and magnetic repulsion technology (where we might use hydraulics) to give a natural flex. The three toes are capped in removable leather sheathes.

You see Karnian culture (one of the major cultures on Sauria) is a very militaristic society, and even the merchants are expected to know how to fight. Even though they are made up mostly of elder Saurn or those with injuries like Goshren's and who aren't allowed to serve in the Karn army. So the artificial limbs often double as weapons. So where most Saurians use their toe claws as a weapon in combat, Goshren can trump all but the Deinon clan with his dagger like foot in a kick.

Anyway, that's a quick look at some minor piece of tech that fits the theme of broken legs and walking again. Next time I'll be dealing with some much more interesting topic of the Karnian Light infantry battle gear. After all everyone should know their tathnak from their kothas!

-- S-man

A Different Fall Classic

2006-10-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, Pastor Hank with you today.

I've already talked about helping to coach little league baseball here in Kanner Lake. It seems I have an interest in throwing things around. In the summer, it is baseballs. In the fall, I start to divide my time between baseballs and footballs. I was always better at baseball. It is the national pastime, after all. There's just something about the crunch of leaves on the grass that pulls me to the pigskin during autumn.

I've mentioned my three girls in a prior post. I love my girls, and wouldn't trade them for anything. But they did have to learn a few things they may not have in another home, since I didn't have a boy. All of the girls were game enough to throw the ball with their old man. Not surprisingly, it was my youngest spitfire Andy who showed the most aptitude for it.

The older girls humored me for a little while, but soon found excuses to slip into the house to beg hot chocolate from Janet. Not Animal Andy. She always managed to throw herself around after our little Nerf when she was little. I tried to tell her the purpose of the game is to throw the ball, but she delighted in launching herself in the air.

Many times our chucking sessions involved a day when I was raking leaves into big piles, either at our house or the church. The game evolved into my sending the football sailing toward one of the piles, and Andy happily diving into the crunchy leaves.

The problem came when my baby girl got too big to keep deciduous diving with me. She was off with her friends, doing the school thing, or whatever that kept teen girls occupied. I'd get her maybe once or twice in the autumn, but not very often. However, I always kept a ball in my pick-up, just in case someone was up for a little game.

Turns out though, I was able to parlay this game into a little neighborhood outreach. You see, I couldn't help but throw a few balls into the piles of leaves, to keep up practice. Some boys were walking by the house and saw me chucking away one day. They thought this was amusing, and stuck around to watch. Well, I soon finagled them into catching a few with me. First I started throwing the ball to them. Then I asked them to make it more interesting by running routes. Then it was into the leaves. I never ran into a boy that could resist the temptation to dive for the ball. All I had to do is lead them a little with the pass, right where I wanted. They'd jump for the pigskin, and end up with leaves sticking to their hair or caps. Ha! Good fun.

I've had some returning friends this way, catching me each fall for a little leaf-ball. I think some have gotten wise to me, but there's always a new pack of boys running around that haven't figured out ol' Pastor Hank yet.

I still get Andy too, when she's back from college. I think you're never too old to fall into leaves. And Kanner Lake has some of the best around.

-- Hank Detcher

Maybe I Should Have Showered First

2006-10-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

Hi, Carla here. You know those days you think you'll just run an errand and not worry too much about your appearance? And you know how inevitably you regret that decision? I had one of those days last month. I was working out over at a gym in Coeur d'Alene. I remembered a great blouse that I had my eye on at a certain store. I wasn't going to be back in town for a couple days and wanted to save some gas by getting the blouse while I was already there.

So, I brushed my hair. A little. And jumped in my car. It was such a nice day I rolled my windows all down. By the time I got to the store, my hair was in wild disarray. You know how when your hair is all sweaty and then it dries. Yuck.

Oh well, I thought to myself, it's Coeur d'Alene. What are the chances I'll see someone I know.

I ran in the store looking for the blouse. I found it quickly and made my way to the counter.

I heard my name called and knew the voice before I even turned around. It was an old colleague. I will refrain from mentioning her name. This is the woman who had me fired from my job when I worked at a large agency in Coeur d'Alene. I’m not going to go into what she did, that's a story for another day. Anyway, she was standing there with this handsome man probably 15 to twenty years younger than she. Clearly together, at least by the hand he had around her waist. She was not only dressed impeccably, her hair and makeup were perfect. There I stood in my workout pants and tank, probably stinking to high heaven--and I had to run into her. Uh, do I have a kick me sign somewhere on my back?

She looked me up and down and smiled. "Well, Carla, look at you. You look just great." Her young man snorted. I so wanted to wipe that grin off her face. So, I did the next best thing. I gave her my best smile.

"You too. And how nice to see you still volunteer for the Big Brother/Big Sister program."

Her glared could have skinned a cat. His too.

Okay, I know it was childish. I just can't help myself. Sometimes I wonder if my sarcasm is going to be the death of me.

So make me feel better. Tell me something childish you've done. (I can't be the only one like that in this world.)

-- Carla

It Won't All Come Out in the Wash

2006-10-26T07:00:00.001-07:00

Hello, Jared Moore with you today.

When Tricia and I first married, we both had a bit to learn about thoroughness. For Tricia it was about laundry. Raised by a single father who had little time or energy for domestic chores after his twelve-hour shifts at the mill, and having no mother to train her in the ways of home-making, poor Tricia didn't know where to start. I'd met her while on assignment in California, then moved her out here to Kanner Lake when we married, so the poor girl didn't have any girlfriends yet to help her out. I certainly wasn't any help; my mother had been a cross between Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart. Her pie crust was flaky, my dad's shirts and mine were starched and gleaming white, and the house was spotless. I had no idea how Mom did those things. I was just glad she did them, and I assumed my wife would do them too (don't lynch me, ladies. I've learned an awful lot since then.)

It all started with the first load of laundry. The morning after we returned from our honeymoon, I did what I'd always done at my parents' house--left my dirty clothes on the floor by the bed and went about my business. Later that day I suggested that my new bride and I go out to lunch. Tricia was thrilled and disappeared into the bathroom to get ready (a process I'd never realized could be so lengthy. My stomach growled louder and louder while I waited for my darling to emerge from the bathroom, but I didn't mind. I was in love after all. I figured I'd grab my wallet and wait out on the porch, but my wallet was nowhere to be found. I hunted high and low. No wallet.

When Tricia finally came out, glowing and gorgeous, I asked where she'd put my wallet. She said she hadn't put it anywhere.

"Well, where are my pants?" I asked.

"The ones you left on the floor? I put them in the wash."

"Didn't you take my wallet out of the pocket?"

Well, she hadn't. Nor had she taken out my pack of Wrigley's gum. No lunch was had that day. My driver's license and photos were ruined along with my laundered money and minty fresh, gooey clothes. I'll never forget that day. It was our first fight--me telling her she should have checked the pockets, her crying her little eyes out and saying I should have used the hamper and checked my own pockets. I did apologize and promised to check my pockets, but I'll admit I still used the floor more than the hamper.

There were more laundry incidents, like the time her new red sweater turned all my white shirts pink. My friends loved that one. And the time she didn't check her pockets and her lipstick came open in the dryer. Through the years, she's learned to whiten whites with the best of them. She taught me too, so I could do laundry when she decided to go back to school. I was sure thankful she showed me more grace than I showed her when I shrank a load of her sweaters. Turns out checking those little tags that give you washing instructions is just as important as checking pockets.

In some future post I may tell you what I've learned about careful checking while working on the paper. I was a reporter who couldn't spell in the days before spellcheck ...

-- Jared