Nook and Granny

 

 

 

 

This cover  is on Nook. The price of the book is $3.99. The same with Amazon.com Kindle version.  I just looked on Amazon.com and saw that someone wrote a great review of my book. I have five stars. Wahoo!

And now if my memory serves me…

Your memory serves you only if you feel good in the remembering of it. I was listening to an Abraham tape recently where a man spoke of “Severe childhood abuse.”

With that severe abuse, he said, came a severe belief in the well-being of life.

Since I have written a book that mentions sexual abuse, among other things, I felt some pontification was in order.

So I ask, how is it that some people suffer greatly from various hardships of life and come out whole, exuberant and joyful, while others are forever in the trauma of it?

What makes some people indomitable?

Once I read a psychologist’s Treatise stating that he could tell which teenage girls were going to be successful life and which ones weren’t. The difference was Blame. According to the ones who didn’t make it, it was always someone else’s fault.

Abuse IS someone else’s fault, but, I’m sorry dear one, the recovery from it rests on your shoulders.

 

 

Escaping the Maze

It was a perfect October day.

After a week of rain that transformed the fields, seemingly overnight, into a green blanket our Saturday  visit to THE MAZE turned out to be bright sun-shiny tee-shirt weather.

What a phenomenon that visit was. A local farm, now a produce provider larger than Safeway, has with it an amusement park atmosphere complete with a utility vehicle pulling a cow-train that careens up and down mounds of earth mowed clean as a lawn, a horse-drawn wagon, a tractor drawn wagon, an elaborate water-flowing  sluice for panning semi-precious stones (purchased there of course), and a feed-the-goats area on a cat-walk situated on top of the roof--just the place goats love to go.  To feed the goats you place grain in a bucket, and with the pulley attached you raise the bucket up to the roof. The goats were so full they didn’t know if climbing to the roof was worth it.

Our purpose there was to conquer THE MAZE. I have to show you these pictures for I was so astounded by their artistry I have to share it. It took the entire afternoon to escape the corn-field maze—that was my two daughters, two grandsons—who thought it was a ball by the way, and myself.

 

 

Entering the CORN MAZE

 

 

 

Here is a map of our journey

 

 

 

 

Yep, the corn is as high as an elephant's eye

 

 

 

 

Real corn too--no picking, no throwing

 

 

 

 

Indeedy.

 

 

 

 

Two white horses to wish upon, they are Percherons

 

 

 

 

Which way?

 

 

 

 

Previous years mazes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are aerial photographs. Now, tell me, how in the heck do they lay out these designs?  I guess they have a computerized tractor. My guess is the maze is either laid out before the corn is planted, or when it is lawn-high. What's your guess? 

 

AT NIGHT OUR MAZE IS HAUNTED.

 

A Parade

Last night after I exited the Post office in mist that was formerly rain, and would be again, and was driving through our little town of Junction City I saw before me the flashing lights of a fire truck.

It was parked crossways of the road. Don’t despair, nothing bad, it was blocking the road for a parade.
 

Presently a group of people, teens primarily, came down the street carrying a banner. Written across the banner was “JC” and something else I couldn’t read. Behind them a group of girls with gold glittery pom poms waving, and wearing cheer-leader type outfits were strutting down the street.

I looked around.

Nobody was watching.

Well, I was.

A parade was happening, in the dark, in the cold, in the mist. I remembered feeling that cold when I was a Booster girl in High School and played the drum, and we marched in our little outfits and froze our butts off.

I turned and found a roadblock thwarting my way back home.  I drove down one street then another avoiding road blocks that wasn’t blocking anyone but me. Wait, do you hear it?  Barbra Streisand is singing “Don’t Rain on My Parade.”

Maybe that parade was for me.

Now, here’s something--sort of a parade that will warm your heart and cause tears to over-flow. I love love love this commercial--makes me cry every time I watch it. I found it without commentary. See if it comes through...

 

 Hint Budweiser Clydesdales
 

 

http://youtu.be/T4HV__P2I1I

I worked for me. Ta Da!

 

 

Hallelujah!

I was so nervous to open that box that I had to fortify myself with drink.

 
It was a coke.

My real hold-in-the-hands paper books Don’t Tell Mommy arrived UPS five minutes ago.

AND THE PICTURE IS CENTERED ON THE FRONT.  THE COPY IS CENTERED ON THE BACK!

Hallelujah!

Whew! I can rest assured now.

 

 

 

 

After my struggle with that template and where the spine would go, and deciding to leave the spine blank, I didn’t know how it would look. They didn’t give me another proof. I wonder, though, if it would be better to bleed the cover to the edge, that is no white border on the front. What do you think?

 
Now I need to put on another that hat besides that of a writer. I need a marketing hat.  All publishers want a writer who will market their own book. It’s the name of the game.

 Oh oh—more nerves.

 

If you have any direction for me, let me know. If you want a book I would be happy to send it.

 
Just click jewellshappytrails@gmail.com

 For more information check out http://www.jewelld.net.hostbaby.com