Jo-Brew

2010-05-03T15:26:00.000-07:00

POSTPONED EVENT
The Groundwaters Live Event planned for May 16 has been postponed until August. The date to be announced later.

Two more events are on the calendar. On Friday, July 2 from 11:30 am to 1:30 pm, I will be at the Oregon Authors Table with my newest book, La Femme:A Collection of Short Stories About the Ladies, at the Art & Vinyard Festival in Alton Baker Park, Eugene, Oregon

Again with the Oregon Authors at the Lane County Fair on Wednesday, August 18 from 11:00 am-2:pm

2010-04-04T13:58:00.000-07:00

MAY HAPPENINGS
Groundwaters, a literary magazine for local writers and artists will be hosting Groundwaters Live, an afternoon of words and fellowship on May 16 at the Broadway Event Center in Veneta, Oregon.
As a contributor, I will be a presenter reading a short piece I've written for Groundwaters and for the AAUW Readers Theater Group.

CHATEAU LORANE ART AND WINE FESTIVAL
I will also be at the authors' table with my new book, La Femme: A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES ABOUT THE LADIES, at the Chateau Lorane Art and Wine Festival on Memorial Day Weekend. My times are Saturday, May 29 (11:30-2:30) and Monday the 31st. (2:30-5:30)

2010-03-12T16:16:00.000-08:00

In recognition of Women in History Month, I want to tip my hat to Barbara Roberts, Oregon's first woman governor, a legislator and educator. Barbara grew up in Sheridan, Oregon, attended Portland State University, the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard and Merylhurst University. She was elected to the position of Governor in 1990 but had been active in public service in several elected positions previously.
During her term, she advocated for gay rights and the appointment of women and minorities to public positions. After the passage of Measure 5, limiting funds to education and other public services, she organized community conversations and worked to streamline government service, reducing the number of positions in state government and eliminating or consolidating boards and commissions, shaping much of the government Oregon has today.
After the death of her husband in 1993, she chose not to run for reelection in 1994 but has since maintained an active role in public affairs with academic and leadership positions at Harvard and Portland State Universities. She is still working to achieve good things for Oregon, a woman worthy of our respect.

2010-02-10T20:54:00.000-08:00

On March 11, I'll be presenting Fireside Stories at Oasis, upstairs at Macy's in Eugene's Valley River Center from 1:30 until 3:oo pm. I will have LA FEMME, my new book of short stories in hand so I may share a story or two. I'm planning a good discussion on story telling and the affect stories have on the way we live our lives. Put it on your calendar.

2009-11-09T13:42:00.000-08:00

COMING UP-- NOT TO BE MISSED
2009 SOUTHERN OREGON BOOK & AUTHOR FAIR
November 21, Ashland Springs Hotel, Ashland, Oregon
10:00 AM- 4:30 PM
Fifty Area Authors--Hundreds of Gift Books

2009-08-30T19:41:00.000-07:00

Mc Kenzie Art Festival.

For a special event, make the beautiful drive up the Mc Kenzie Hwy (126) for the 8th Annual Mc Kenzie Arts Festival on Sept. 5 and 6. Labor Day weekend.
Several local authors, including me, will have books featured in the Mc Kenzie Community Center on Mc Kenzie River Dr. Artists, artisans, cooks and handcrafters will be there also. Watch for a flyer in the Eugene Register Guard.

2009-04-27T10:59:00.000-07:00

In Oregon's Beautiful Willamette Valley, A Special Memorial Day Weekend Event--

The Chateau Lorane Fine Art and Wine Festival is welcoming local authors to participate in the popular annual event.

Jen Chambers, Joey Blum, Pat Edwards, Dan Armstong, Shirley Tallman, myself and literary magazine, Groundwaters contributors will be present on Saturday, May 23rd.

On Sunday, May 24, authors Carola Dunn, Dan Armstrong, Sharon Brandsma, Pat Edwards, myself and Groundwaters contributors will be featured.

Monday, May 25, Doug Card, Joe Blakley, Marva Dasef and Groundwaters contributors will be featured.

Chateau Lorane is located at 27415 Siuslaw River Rd., Lorane. www.chateaulorane.com

2009-03-21T06:34:00.000-07:00

THE SEARCH FOR CLUES

As a child growing up, I was always told I looked like my grandmother, often acted like her too. The way the comments were made didn't encourage me to ask questions. Besides, both of the grandmothers I knew were old-- it couldn't be one of them the conversation was about.

Many years later, when I began inheriting old family pictures, I discovered my grandmother had been a very pretty young woman. The only connecting resemblance I could find was dark hair and eyes. In addition to being pretty, she had come to a new country alone when she was only eighteen, much more adventurous than I had ever been. I wanted to know more, about her, about her family and about her home in Sweden.

It was difficult to find any information--a census record in nineteen hundred when she was a young wife and mother was about it. Everything I could find about Swedish history was written in Swedish-- no help for me.

I put the quest aside for another decade. This year, an Internet contact from a cousin I've never met gave me a few more tidbits of information, a marriage certificate and a parish census from Sweden. A few weeks later a third cousin and then a fourth joined our Internet site and added more information. The fourth to join the group lives in Sweden and is quite fluent in English.

I'm learning more about my grandmother and extended family all the time and many of the puzzle pieces are falling into place. What I have never had was the motivation to cause a young, pretty woman to go off on her own, leaving her family, home, culture and even her language behind.

A different kind of contact led me to a series of books--fiction based on fact, The Emigrant Novels by Vilhelm Moberg and translated by Gustaf Lannestock. The four books of the series follow a group of fictitious as they face the problems of their homeland, make the decision to leave, the journey and eventually build new lives for themselves. All the books are a good read and
interesting but it is the introduction of Book 1 and the portrayal of Swedish life in the 1850s that gave me the answers to my questions of why?

The introduction also increased my awareness of the difficulties a young, female emigrant would face in her new home. My respect has grown by leaps and bounds. My grandmother was very
strong.

If I am ever able to gather enough information to write her story, it will be far different that the vague picture I had envisioned from what little I knew about life in Sweden or even of the journey to North America.

2009-03-03T09:01:00.000-08:00

I have just finished reading Buffaloed by Fairlee Winfield. A fun read with a fascinating look at the west just as it was changing and beginning to modernize itself. With artist Charles Russell and a plucky and determined Norwegian immigrant at the center of the story, it moves quickly and often makes you smile.

2009-01-04T11:24:00.000-08:00

PREPARING FOR THE NEW YEAR
With the disarray of our current economic situation and environment damage, I've begun reading THE GREEN COLLAR ECONOMY by Van Jones. The premise that the economy and the environment are tied together and that solutions for both are not only possible, they can be within reach are presented by the author. The book offers a plan to get there. It's well recommended and worth reading as we seek new directions.

2008-12-16T07:35:00.000-08:00

DECEMBER NIGHT
When the chime of the anniversary clock let me know it was eleven, I began the nightly routine of shutting down the computer, locking the doors and turning out the lights. Finished with my personal bedtime preparations, I turned out the last light and moved to the bedroom window facing the house directly across our quiet suburban street. I put the blind up far enough to see out and stood still to watch the barely lit landscape.
A black cat strolled up the driveway I was perusing, not sensing any danger to it's unwelcome exploration of that yard. I knew the arrogant cat, I'd run it off the fence closest to my bird feeder countless times. At least it probably wouldn't be hunting birds in the middle of the night.
The next nighttime visitor was a stranger surprise. A fawn, past the spotted stage but not grown was making her way around the corner from the usually busy cross street. She seemed hesitant on the asphalt and stopped, tense when a car went by on the street behind her. I watched in amazement as she turned and went into the shadows behind the neighbors tree. I couldn't think of where she had come from. A very developed suburb built on farm land during the seventies left few places for deer.
Looking up again, I saw the signal I'd been waiting for. The drapes in the unlighted house across the street had opened slightly. I knew the tiny, frail and very elderly woman who lives there was seeing the empty street and my raised blind. Her husband was now in a care center and she was alone in the large house, often afraid. Since the day she'd told me she found comfort in a late night survey of the outside world, I've made the effort to let her know she has a sister across that road. When we see each other during the daytime hours, in the yards or at the mailbox, we might chat a little but we never mention the late night silent connection. Its a confidence we don't talk about but she doesn't mention being so afraid anymore.

2008-12-07T11:10:00.000-08:00

CURIOSITY LEADS IN A NEW DIRECTION
Tired of my own questions about the life of the two and sometimes three crows who patrol my front yard, I took the advice of a friendly bookstore owner and began looking for information. I didn't find the book she suggested but I did find "In The Company of Crows and Ravens" by John M. Marzluff and Tony Angell. There was a lot more to know than I imagined. This well researched and well written book opened my eyes to the relationship between humans and the crow, or corvid, family. Fascinating.

2008-11-07T15:49:00.000-08:00

A Special Project

Oregon is celebrating it's sesquicentennial (150th) birthday next year. To help with that celebration, the Readers Theater Group I belong to is putting together a program, "Voices of Oregon Women." We are using excerpts of manuscripts from the Federal Writers' Project during 1936-1940. Almost half way between Oregon's birth date and the present.

Not the stories of the pioneers who came from the east in ox team wagons. These are snippets of life stories told by their descendants and those who followed. They tell of the difficulties and pleasures of the lives they forged in the northwest.

None of the sections we're doing are very long, we want to do ten or so. The hardest part is deciding which fragments we can leave out:struggles with the hoop skirts, the unbroken horses to pull the stage, sixteen children in a two room log cabin, compensation for a teacher-all interesting.

The stories are told by descendants of families who came from different parts of the country in a time before we were all hearing a standardized language. Radio wasn't available in all places during the 1930's. There are expressions and speech patterns I'd never heard. I've had to go looking for the meanings of a few. "A knitter of the first water," was easy to understand even if I'd never heard it used. I had more trouble with hoodlumish "plug uglies."

These life histories were compiled and transcribed by the staff of the Folklore Project of the Federal Writers Project for the WPA. The Library of Congress collection includes 2,900 documents representing the work of over 300 writers from 24states. Oregon is one of the states with access available on the Internet. They are fascinating stories.

For those interested in reading the stories, the Internet address for the home page is http:rs6.loc.gov/ammem/wpaintro/wpahome.html

2008-10-21T20:35:00.000-07:00

"ANNE MARIE'S NEW MELODY," my latest novel has been released. It is the last in the series of three northwest women and the retirement choices they make that change their lives. Anne Marie is the musician, gourmet cook and a woman of the senses. Nothing in her life has prepared her to assume the role of mother for two neglected children but neither can she just walk away. Her emotions are battered as she struggles with her decision but the ending to her story works out exactly the way she want it to.

"ANNE MARIE'S NEW MELODY" is available through some independent bookstores, through www.bbotw.com or other on line sources.

2008-10-11T21:01:00.000-07:00

NO RAINBOWS cont.

It was only a little past noon on Thursday when Kathleen's phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hello, Kathleen, this is Riley again. I'm just ready to head home so I thought I'd call before I get engrossed with child activities."

"You're finished teaching for the day?"

"I am." He paused, "So-how about that coffee date? I think we have enough in common to build friendship."

"We don't even know each other. How could you know what we have in common?"

She could hear his smile as he answered, "We both like dogs-that's a start. And we both like being outdoors, even in the rain."

He went on, "Let's see then, we both have careers and we're close to the same age-adult."

She said, "I'm listening but I'm not convinced."

He went on, "We both like children. You admitted you did. And you're attractive when you aren't crying over you know who. Your smile is great, I'd like to see it a lot more often."

She smiled then, she couldn't help it. "Are you through?"

"Not yet. We both like coffee but not sweet."

"That's it?"

"This is my clincher. I have children and you want some, but you have to learn to like me first. Oh yes, the other part of that, I have the superior genes common in redheads to pass on to future children. Now are you clenched?"

Stunned, Kathleen was almost angry but he'd sounded very insecure in spite of the bravado of the words. A laugh escaped, she couldn't help it. "I'm not clenched. Not even close, but I'm listening. I'd say your case is pretty flimsy so far. Any how, the point about the children is a tough one for me. I admit I like children, even that I'd like some but I don't want to learn to love a child again and then have them shut out of my life. It hurts too bad. I also wouldn't want to get interested in a man who just wanted child care."

She drew in a deep breath, "Besides that, I don't get involved easily, or often, so I'm not ready to think about a relationship right now." She paused, "I could use an occasional friendly cup of coffee and some conversation, if that's an option."

"It is an option. I can tell you aren't ready for anything else now so I think that's a pretty good deal. Say coffee tomorrow, at Starbucks on 18Th."

"I could do that. What time?"

"I have an early class and no office hours, about ten thirty. I don't pick up the kids from pre-school until noon."

"All right. I'll combine it with a trip for office supplies and see you then. Goodbye now."

"Goodbye. See you tomorrow. Oh, and Kathleen, I did hear what you said about the children. I'll be very careful to see neither of those things happen."

Kathleen put the phone down and stood staring out her back window. No rain today, no rainbows either but still an improvement. This was the perfect time to clean up the garden. Get it ready for a new planting in the spring. She located a jacket and gloves and then headed outside to begin pulling the withered plants, determined that next year's garden would be even better. The end.

2008-10-05T08:56:00.000-07:00

NO RAINBOWS cont.

She'd completed two stops and was just going for groceries when it suddenly occurred to her, she hadn't thought about Steve once since she left the park. She'd been too busy fuming about that jerk. Where did he get his crazy ideas? What nerve.

By the next Saturday she'd passed the sidewalk chalk on and hadn't cried all week. She still ached whenever something reminded her of Steve or Ashley but every day she had more time when she didn't think about them. She did think about Charley's owner a time or two. He was amusing even if he did irritate her. He was kind of good looking too. Well, she'd put him and his kids out of her mind for good. She didn't have extra energy to waste thinking about him. She avoided the dog park entirely and took Emma to Joyce's rural home north of town. They both enjoyed the time with Joyce. While she was driving home, Kathleen wondered casually if Charley had been at the dog park.

On Monday, the phone rang mid morning. "Hello?"

"Kathleen, please don't hang up. Let me talk a minute. This is Riley Barrows, Jamey and Kelly's father and foster parent to Chrley."

"How did you find me? I can't believe this. You didnt even know my name."

"Before I tell you, I need to tell you that I can give you reference. I'm not a stalker, not dangerous. I'm just an ordinary guy, a teacher from the Community College. A little nicer than some but just ordinary."

"So! How did you find me?"

"This morning, when I wanted to find you and couldn't think how, I remembered the article in the paper about the Department of Motor Vehicles on the Internet. I thought about it awhile and finally connected on your licesnse plate number. Does that upset you?"

"Yes it does. It make me feel spied on. I don't like it at all."

"Kathleen, I'm sorry I looked for you. I was worried that you stayed away from the dog park because of me. I didn't want to lose contact with you. "I'll hang up now if you don't want to talk to me."

"Riley, you said your name was. It fits you somehow. Part of the reason I skipped the dog park was because of you. You seem to rub me the wrong way. "

"Ha! What I really do is distract you from moping about what's his name. Admit it, I do distract you, don't I?"

Kathleen thought about his question before she answered, "Yes, you do. I admit it. But I'm not sure the anger you cause is any better for me."

"Seriously Kathleen, I don't want you to disappear. I hope we can get together for a cup of coffee sometime, get a little better acquainted. At least share the dog park."

"I'm on a deadline right now and don't have time to think about this. You might call later in the week and I'll consider the dog park."

"I will. There might not even be rain."

Kathleen said goodbye and ended the call. She probably wouldn't go. She might have something better to do.

2008-09-29T07:47:00.000-07:00

NO RAINBOWS cont.

His frank response let her blink away the tears. "Well, you brought coffee so I do thank you. I suppose you could have brought sunshine. That might help more." She was able to produce a smile, wobbly but an attempt.

He looked up over the field. "Charley and Emma seem to do well together, don't they?"

Kathleen wasn't quite ready to leave her pain. There was another part she hadn't shared and she needed to get it said, out in the open. "The worst thing about getting left, dumped, isn't just missing him. It means I can't see his little girl anymore. I love Ashley. I thought we were building a strong family. Now she's just gone, out of my life for good. I can hardly stand that."

Maybe Ashley was more important than her father. I mean, you aren't a kid that can have a big flock of children. You might have been thinking of her as a way to have a head start on a family."

Angry, Kathleen found herself speechless.

He looked at her face, "I didn't say that very well did I? I'd hate to have my kids be more important to my woman than I was. That's all I meant. I don't even know if that was true, I was just talking."

"Well, it wasn't true. We'd dated two or three times before I even knew he had a daughter. I went out with him because I liked him."

"Liked him better than anyone else? Or was it the daughter that narrowed the field?"

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

"I know. I'm just letting you know that you can't have me for my kits."

"What? I can't believe you said that. I don't want you, kids or no kids. Who do you think you are anyhow?"

"Hold your horses. I'm just trying to be funny, cheer you up a little. Besides, I'm not such a bad proposition. That is, for someone who doesn't mind being confined by young children."

"Well you aren't funny. You're making me mad."

He laughed at her sputtering, "Better than crying, isn't it?

She didn't bother to give him an answer he didn't deserve, she called Emma and started to the car. Emma, seeing Kathleen headed out the gate, came running. As Kathleen backed the car out and pulled toward the drieway, he stood watching with Charley sitting at his feet. He gave a last minute wave but she didn't respond.

2008-09-22T08:09:00.000-07:00

NO RAINBOWS cont.

I'm out and about a lot on my job. Where do you work? Maybe I could arrange a coffee delivery on Monday."

Kathleen thought about how miserable she felt and how irritating he'd been, "Don't bother, really. I have an office at home so I take care of my own coffee."

"Have it your way lady. I'd like to make amends but it sounds like you'd rather stew. Sorry I offended you."

Kathleen knew he hadn't meant his last comment but she backed her car out to leave the parking lot as he was obviously fastening children in car seats. She knew she'd been barely courteous, she just didn't feel like making the extra effort to be nice to anyone right now. She wanted to punish somebody, better him than Emma.

Besides, he was another redhead. He was better looking than Steve, probably just as unfeeling, or maybe more so. She did wonder, for a second or two, what he was so unhappy about but shut that thought out of her mind.

The next Saturday, Kathleen decided to go back to the dog park. Her coworkers had been nice. Too nice really, whenever she talked to them or ran into the main office to pick up or deliver another project. She'd passed on the word of her big breakup with Steve to Joyce, her best friend, and left it to her to spread the word. Joyce had obviously covered all the bases because the people who knew her well enough expressed sympathy. Those who didn't were careful not to mention her personal life at all. That worked well, she didn't cry in public all week, only to her mother on the phone. One more week down, she would get through another Saturday. It wasn't even raining, just cloudy and grey.

She got an earlier start but repeated the drive of the week before. When she arrived at the park, there were a couple of cars parked but none she remembered from the week before. She let Emma out of the car and the dog bounded off, recognizing the freedom immediately. Kathleen made her way to the benches and sat o watch Emma explore. Suddenly there was a streak across the field and Emma was joined by a Basset. Before Kathleen turned to look fo Charley's owner, he appeared beside the bench carrying two coffee cups. He handed one to Kathleen with a smile. "I hope you like a Latte. These are very good."

Surprised, Kathleen accepted the cup, "Thank you. I do like a Latte if it isn't too sweet."

"I don't like mine sweet either. I had these done with no extra flavor although chocolate-brandy is very good. I treat myself to one every once in awhile."

"Where are the kids this morning? They are yours aren't they?"

"Oh yes, the twins are mine. My mother's in town this weekend. She comes in every couple of weeks. She says it's to get her fix of grandchildren time. I think it's more to save my sanity."
Taking a sip, he went on, "I knew I was probably too old when I finally decided I wanted to be a father but I was afraid I was going to miss something important in my life. I was right about that much anyhow. I needed that pair. I just chose the wrong person to make me a father. She was a bright young thing who loved the idea for about the five minutes it took to do the deed. She even liked the attention she got when she was pregnant and about the first six weeks of motherhood. After that she saw a brighter future beckoning that didn't include raising twins. She left when they were babies, almost three years ago."

"It seems like you should be used to handling the situation by now."

He snorted, almost choking on his coffee. "A lot you know. The twins are not gentle, well behaved little dolls. They don't handle easily. They're live wire, curious, active, fearless imps. There's nothing routine about living with them."

"I could tell you were pretty upset the other morning. What had they done so bad?"

"It wasn't exactly them that morning. I was a little edgy. Not that the sword business wasn't irritating, it was. I over-reacted. " He gave Kathleen a look that she'd have labeled sheepish in any language, "I'd been dating a very attractive, interesting woman and she dumped me. U couldn't find a baby sitter for Saturday night so I couldn't take her to the concert she'd planned on. She said she was past the age where she wanted to be confined with young children, even once in awhile so I should find someone else. Maybe one of my eager young students."

He shook his head, "I'm not interested in taking that route again. I was ready to settle down, create a family. I just chose a partner in the wrong age group. She didn't have enough experience to know what she wanted."

Kathleen listened without comment and watched Emma and Charley chasing. Emma seemed to hold her own with Charley.

"So how about you? Do you have children? A husband? What?"

Kathleen found her eyes swimming without warning. "No. No children. No husband. Not even a what right now. I pretty much go dumped myself and I'm having trouble dealing with it."

They sat silent for awhile. He finally mommented, "I guess I should say I'm sorry. I am sorry you got hurt. I don't think I was as involved this time. I was more mad than hurt. I don't suppose my being sorry makes it any better but I don't know anything else to say."

2008-09-14T13:40:00.000-07:00

No Rainbows cont.

Kathleen looked around and spotted a couple of benches part way down the field so headed down the gravel path toward them. A pair of children came through some bushes at the edge of the path, a little girl running and shrieking with a boy about the same size chasing her with what looked to be a sword.

Kathleen expected the little girl to veer when she got close and wasn't braced to have the small body bump into her. She sat hard with the little girl sprawled on top. The boy barely got himself stopped without adding to the pile.

She stood the little girl up as soon as the boy shifted and then got up herself. Kathleen realized the back of her legs, her sea, and her jacket were soaked. Feeling the tears ready to start again, she bit her lip and looked around to see where Emma had disappeared. Coming through the bushes now was a Basset followed by an upset looking male, just about to be greeted by a bounding, happy Emma.

The Basset responded to Emma's joy by running to chase her but the man kept coming toward Kathleen. "Kelly ran into the rain lady," the boy announced.

The man ran unsympathetic eyes over Kathleen, taking in the wet clothes. "Looks like you should have moved."

Matching the unfriendly tone, Kathleen replied, "I would have if I'd realized she was too busy looking behind to see me. She seemed worried about the sword coming after her."

"Jamey, were you chasing Kelly with the sword?"

Jamey looked at the ground without answering.

"OK. I warned you. Give me the sword."

"Daddy, please. I won't chase her with it anymore. I promise."

"We had this same talk twice this morning already. Two times you promised and then you forgot. I have to take it this time."

"Can I have it back tomorrow?"

"No. It has to go in the trash can. You just aren't old enough to handle it."

Jamey started to cry and Kathleen turned to move away, but Emma, with the Basset in hot pursuit, charged into the group. This time it was an upset father that got sat down in the pooling water. Getting up, he glared at Kathleen, "Can't you control your dog, lady?"

"As well as you can control your children, or your dog!"

"Well, I sure don't need some damn woman telling me how to do either one."

That was too much for Kathleen, she burst into angry tears and was forming the words to tell him just what she thought but swallowed them when she saw Kelly's face.

Kelly looked at Kathleen and then at her angry father and began wailing.

"Oh hell! Lady, I'm sorry I snapped at you. My morning has been lousy."

"Daddy, you told me not to say that, never." Jamey exclaimed, "Daddy said a bad word--bad word--bad word."

"OK, Jamey, that's enough. Kelly you stop crying now." He gave Kathleen a hopeless look.

"Please lady, would you stop too. I can't handle this. What's wrong with you anyhow?"

Kathleen drew in a breath, clenching her fists. "The only thing wrong with me Mister, is you. Your daughter knocked my down and my clothes got soaked. I haven't heard one squeak of apology from you and I have to go clear across town to change before I can finish my errands. Then you stand there and yell at me because your dog is chasing mine." She leaned a little closer and spoke more slowly, "Well, I certainly don't have to put up with any sniveling man yelling at me and I don't intend to. If you'll just control your dog long enough for me to get mine, I'll get out of here and you and your poor children can have the park to yourself."

Kathleen looked down at Kelly and realized the little girl was staring at her with wide-eyed fear. She bit back the rest of what she'd have liked to say to the father and spoke gently to the little girl, "Kelly, I'm sorry we feel down. I hope you didn't get hurt."

Kelly's father looked at her too, "Babe, it's all right. Nothing bad is going to happen. I'll get Charley now. OK?"

Kelly nodded.

He called Charley, and after another swooping run at Emma, the dog came. Holding Charley's collar, the man looked up at Kathleen, "It's up to you now. If you want to go, get your dog."
Kathleen called Emma and started to the car with her.

The man called after her, "My poor children aren't suffering. You can forget that line of attack, it doesn't fly."

Ignoring his comments, she went through the gate into the parking lot. She had Emma in the car and was ready to get in herself when he came into the parking lot with Charley and both children.

He put Charley in the back of a van and then turned around to call to her. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have given you a bad time. I don't seem to be coping well right now."

Kathleen shut her car door and, after wrestling with her own sense of right for a minute or two, rolled down her window. With a rigid jaw that just wouldn't allow a smile, Kathleen called back, "I'm sorry too. I should have handled myself better, controlled the anger." That was as close as she could come to an apology, it would have to do.

"If I weren't so wet and miserable, I'd suggest buying you a coffee and we could commiserate with each other."

"If I weren't so wet and cold, I'd take you up on that." To herself Kathleen added, "when hell freezes over."

2008-09-07T07:18:00.000-07:00

NO RAINBOWS cont.

Kathleen gazed out the big window through the steady rain. She could hardly see the bedraggled we garden. Just as well. She let the tears coursing down her face fall unheeded. It would be in about the same shape as she felt, neglected and unwanted. She'd been the one who wanted the garden but Steve had been eager o help her, he loved gardening.
Together they'd picked the seeds and tiny plants, together they'd tended the little plot and together they'd eaten most the produce. Now it was almost frost time and, without warning, Steve was gone. Moved on to someone else.
How could she have been so stupid? It wasn't like she was seventten. She was an educated, intelligent woman, with a successful career. She'd had her share of romances that made her stomach quiver, her pulses race, and her heart pound, but never one where she was so totally involved.
She'd committed her all to this relationship, convinced he cared as much. A year, more than a year,they'd been a twosome. Ofen a threesome when he had Ashley for a visiation weekend and then, suddenly it was over. The thoughts of Ashley caused a new flood of tears. How she missed that little girl. She ached to see her again, hold her, tell her bedtime stories.
She just wouldn't let herself stand at this window weeping all day. The tears weren't going to help. It was up to her to control them, to help herself. There was plenty to do on a Saturday, even if it was raining. She had errands to run, a dog to exercise, even friends she could see. Scolding herself for lapsing into self pity, she moved to get a new start on the day. A long shower with her favorite shower gel, a cold pack on her swollen eyes, and some makeup all helped.
She looked better, almost normal. She even felt better. Next the jeans that showed off her trim build, and a bulky sweathirt. She brushed the super short dark hair off her face and tried to decide where to take her golden lab, for exercise.
She didn't want to go on the usual bike trail, Steve would probably be running there. Maybe the new dog park on the far side of town. She'd seen an article in the paper, she could go take a
look. Emma would love to visit with other dogs if there were any on such a rainy day. She put on her rubber boots and hooded rain jacket, it would be good for both of them to go someplace new.
Leaving the house through the front door to pick up he umbrella from the porch, she almost lost her composure at the sight of the bucket filled with sidewalk chalk sitting there. She'd take it to work with her one of these days and give it to some coworker with children. As soon as she could pick it up without shedding tears. Grabbing the umbrella, she went around the corner of the house to let Emma out of her run.
Emma's joy did a lot to cheer her. Opening the back car door for the dog to jump in, she checked that she had a Frisbee for playtime and her list of chores to do on the way home. She'd been too upset to take care of the weekend chores last week so she'd been disorganized and behind all week. She didn't want that to happen again.
About a half an hour later, she stood in the parking lot to put on her fanny pack and pull her hood up. Three other cars in the lot. Good, Emma would be able to do some running and real play. She let Emma out and called her to follow through the gate. Delighted to be off leash, Emma bounded onto the grassy field.

2008-08-31T08:45:00.000-07:00

NO RAINBOWS
Ryan listened quietly as Dana explained, "I'm sorry you couldn't get a baby sitter for Friday night but I have the tickets for the concert and I want to go. I'm not ready to cancel special events for your children. I can arrange something for Friday night but I think we should just forget about making other plans together."
Not ready to express his frustration, he answered, "Suit yourself." and put the phone back on the stand. He thought about his stupid response, "Suit yourself." Obviously she had. He headed back in the kitchen to check on the kids, reminding himself not to take it out on them. This wasn't their fault.
They were already finished eating and Jamey was down with his new sword in hand. Ryan studied his son, "Remember, no teasing. If you bother Kelly with that, it gets put away again."
Jamey didn't answer so he asked, "Did you hear me? If you bug her, it gets put away."
Jamey nodded.
Ryan turned the television on so they could watch their show while he went back o clean up the kitchen. He'd barely moved the dishes off the table when he heard Kelly, "Don't!"
He sighed, glancing out the window. Rain or no rain, they all needed to get out. Where? The dog park. Charley needed some exercise too. He'd bundle them up and get them outside to break up this gloomy day.
With the boots and raincoats on, he opened the door and let the kids head to the van while he snapped Charley's leash to the collar. Charley didn't seem as eager as the kids but he finally agreed to get up and move to the van. As Ryan urged Charley into the back, he noticed Jamey had the sword in hand. Why had he ever agreed to a Halloween costume with a sword included. Even a plastic sword with no point was just too tempting for a four year old boy.
As he got in the driver's seat, he looked at Jamey, "Remember, you tease Kelly with that sword and it goes away."
Jamey didn't respond. "Jamey?" Finally Jamey nodded.
Ryan started the van and headed toward the dog park. He was relieved to find the parking lot nearly empty. They could all get some fresh air and exercise without the problems of dogs that didn't socialize well.

2008-06-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

GHOST WRITING
I've taken on a new project, meant to be of value to someone else. It may be but I'm finding it an excellent learning opportunity for me.

I agreed to help a woman living with severe macular degeneration write her life story. I meet with her weekly, set up my tape recorder and try to guide her with talking points and questions. I take basic outline notes while she talks.

Back at the home computer, I play the tape and try to catch the essence of her story in her own words. The process has turned into the most informative lesson on developing a character's dialog possible. A chance to listen and listen again to the language, flow patterns, and traces of dialect as my lead character talks. Then to use what I'm hearing to tell her story in her words without the pauses, fill ins, and repetition we all use in our daily speech. The elements that would distract from her story and cause her embarrassment.

The attention I'm giving her dialog is more intense than I've given the characters in my fiction. It's an exercise that will change my attitude toward dialog in my own writing.

2008-04-05T08:57:00.000-07:00

Barnes and Noble.com to the rescue. I've been squeezed! Like many other authors published by small or non traditional presses, I'm caught in the strong arm twist by Amazon.com. They still list my books, rank them, and carry the reviews, but they don't sell them. There is no buy button. Not because of my books, my writing, or me but because they are now owners of a publishing company and want my books redone by their company.
When I protested, I received a lengthy letter of explanation, saying in essence, that the new policy is to speed up the process and better satisfy the customers. A story I'll believe when they begin remaking all the toys, clothing, and appliances they also sell.
On the upside, Barnes and Noble.com does the same job at the same price and just as quickly. www.barnesandnoble.com

2008-03-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

My Oregon, the Valentine state, celebrates it's one hundred fiftieth birthday on February 14, next year. A place of great diversity, in the land itself, in the people who were here and those who have come after, there is richness in it's history and in it's growth.

The Oregon 150 organization, led by our Governor and Senate, is planning a year of cultural celebration that should call out to the writer in all of us. There are stories to be told. For more information, go to www.Oregon150.org

2008-03-03T09:54:00.000-08:00

As a child, I visited the beautiful brick school my grandfather was helping build as a WPA carpenter. As an adult I've visited incredible lodges in our national parks, built by WPA workers. I've also read political cartoons making fun of the program and studied the concept in history classes. It wasn't until another writer turned me on to a different part of the program that I discovered many authors were also employed by the WPA. One of their projects was to interview and record the lifestyles, culture and history of people from all over the country from 1936 to 1940 Those records are in the Smithsonian but are available on line, arranged by state. The address is www/rs6.loc.gov/anmem/wpaintro/wpahome.html
I've been reading the stories told by the people of Oregon in their own words and discovered they are fascinating and rich with history not taught in the classroom.

2008-02-10T13:49:00.000-08:00

After weeks of Oregon rain, freezing rain and a mix of rain and snow with no birds in sight, I made a drive north in a morning drizzle. The country road I chose passed through grassy fields that have been soaked for weeks and now have standing water in large puddles.

I knew my choice of road was right as soon as the Canada Geese flew over, headed toward the river, not one wedge but many. I could count ten in the short time I was under them.

My next reward was passing by a large flock of Tundra Swans settled in a field close enough to let me watch as one or two changed locations like children at recess. Not much farther, a sheep pasture alive with hundreds of gulls mixed with the sheep caught my attention. Not usual since our gulls typically prefer parking lots near a food source over soggy fields. In that same field, a pair of wood ducks had found a temporary large puddle attractive for a swim.

Of course, I could spot the usual hawk in a bare tree or sometimes a fence post, and once in a awhile a pair of crows along side the road.

Before I got to an urban area, I'd also spotted one field hosting a huge flock of starlings, probally gathered for a general meeting before they divided and headed out in smaller groups to search for food. Those big flocks always make me wonder just who is in charge and if there are sub captains.

My last spotting, the one I always think of as lucky, was a Great Blue Heron in a sheep pasture bordering the river. A satisfying morning drive for me. The winter dearth of birds hasn't meant we're deserted.

2008-01-15T11:21:00.000-08:00

For Oregon Readers
Join Jane Kirkpatrick, esteemed Oregon author, for Brunch at 10:00 on March 8, 2008 as she does a special presentation honoring Women in History at the Eugene Hilton, 66 E. 6th Ave. Eugene, Oregon. For reservations, send a check made out to AAUW to A. Hinman, 236 Greenvale Dr., Springfield, OR 97477 by March 1. The cost is $18.00. This special event is sponsored by the Eugene-Lane Branch of the American Association of University Women.

2008-01-03T07:39:00.000-08:00

To Start The Day
Trying to gird myself to tackle the needed changes to make for the beginning of a new year, I picked up my January edition of the Willamette Writer Monthly Newsletter. Contemplating the dreary end of year chores on another grey morning, the article, Keeping Hope Alive, by Jessica Morrell turned out to be the spur I needed.
Above all else, the steps she suggested, ideas she put forth, and her way of looking at the Writer's Life reminded me that my mind set and what I do about it are up to me. It's not the housekeeping gods, the filing inspectors, or even the IRS in charge. It's me who decides my attitude if not my activities. One more time I have to make the decision to stand up and take charge. My day will be what I decide it can be.

2007-12-11T09:14:00.000-08:00

At the Eugene Library's Author and Art Fair last weekend, the artist sitting next to me introduced me to a local literary magazine I hadn't discovered on my own, Groundwaters. The description provided in the introduction includes, "Groundwaters is a grassroots, community-oriented literary quarterly which serves the West Lane area and all it's connections."

I read the copy handed me by editor Judy Hays-Eberts from cover to cover. Every contribution was exceptional. What a gift to contributing writers and artists in all genres and of all ages and what a monumental treasure for the communities in West Lane County.
www.Jo-Brew.com www.something-brewing.com http://Groundwaters.org

2007-11-12T16:34:00.000-08:00

An abolute treat and potent inspiraion, I've just enjoyed a video interview with Velda Brotherton, fellow member of Women Writing The West. Velda reminds us of the importance of our past in understanding our own lives as she interviews older residents of the Ozark communities that were the center of life and are now disappearing.
Velda's ability to make us feel like we're sitting next to her in a porch chair to visit makes the presentation spellbinding. Her newest book of essays and the basis for the interview is "Wandering In The Shadows of Time: An Ozarks Odyssey." To see the video interview, go to http://vimeo.com/354804 or to learn more about Velda and her other work, visit www.veldabrotherton.com/ http://veldabrotherton.blogspot.com womenwritingthewest.blogspot.com

2007-11-04T07:39:00.000-08:00

Living With Football Fever
On a sunshiny fall Saturday, I'm free to choose any activity I'd like. It's football season and I've passed my ticket to a grandson as passionate about the game as his grandfather. Those two will spend most of the day on crowded and noisy bleachers while I'm open to the world.
My choices, or at least the ones I consider, aren't earthshaking options but unobligated time doesn't often present itself. This beautiful day, I chose to spend time in the yard, removing spent plants and raking leaves. The neighborhood was quieter than usual. I imagine the few neighbors who were home were inside, watching the game or relaxing in some fashion. A few bicyclists rode by and several couples walking toward the nearby coffee shop. A weekend break that let me find a peaceful place in myself.
When the chill began, I moved in to read awhile, then work on the novel I have underway with a freshened viewpoint. I don't mind the frenzy of football season at all.

2007-10-10T22:16:00.000-07:00

After a cold, rainy week of paperwork and business, I needed rejuvenation and found a willing co- escapee in my husband.

On a three day trip that began on my birthday, we spent one day in the central, southern part of our state. We rode our bikes on the banks of the Rogue River and listened to it's song. We lounged in warm sunshine and watched the tiny birds flit in and through the trees. The drive down had been through tan grasses with hay already cut and green pastures with sheep or cattle grazing. We could see snow capped Mt. Mc Loughlin in the distance but only blue skies above us. A breath of summer still.

The second day, a drive through the farm country and through the fir forests, past Crater Lake and into the pine forests of central Oregon took us into another world. The ground covered with pine needles and cones gave a brown floor to this world. Even the shrubs were leafless. A different kind of beauty. We hiked along the Deschutes River and through a burned forest barely coming back to life with young trees not yet knee high. The scampering chipmunks ignored us as we passed.

A third day in Sisters, an old mountain town turned tourist attraction, a collection of fascinating shops and galleries kept us wandering the streets. The song of the town was the birds bringing fruited apple trees to life. The cold moved in, brought by wind and sent us to shelter by late afternoon. That was a wind that huffed and puffed most of the night, making sure we knew it's force.

In the still quiet of morning, we headed down the mountain to a home that would be welcoming even after so short a time away. This drive was through a wonderland of pink, red, and wine vine maple nestled among the pine trees. Above the trees the snow capped trio of mountains, the Three Sisters, drew our eyes and we caught glimpses of lakes through the trees. As we crossed the summit of the pass, the trees became the dark green of fir, the bright yellow of birches splattered here and there and the tan of the spent ferns covering the forest floor. The laughing river we followed down the mountain was the Mc Kenzie, the prettiest we'd seen on our brief escape. The rain began, shining the orange and russet of the roadside shrubbery at the lower altitude.

With last weeks worries and pressures erased by all I'd seen, heard, and experienced, I came back to my life dazed by love for this incredibly beautiful place I live.

2007-09-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

Something Brewing and "Marge, Back On Track"

This week I'm launching the new website for my monthly Something Brewing newsletter and announcing the release of my newest novel, "Marge, Back On Track."
Marge is the second of the series about contemporary women at retirement as they find their own paths to move forward. For more information, visit my website at www.Jo-Brew.com
Until now the full Something Brewing newsletter has only been available in print so this is a big leap forward. Drop by and take a look. http://www.something-brewing.com/

Jo@Jo-Brew.com

2007-09-08T09:51:00.000-07:00

Shortcuts Aren't The Whole Answer-- Reality Check
One of those little fill in articles in a national newspaper caught my attention on an afternoon away from the computer. The subject of the piece was text messaging between teen age and tween age students and how it is carrying over into classroom work. The point of discussion was that the simple sentences and phrases of the shortcut text don't let the message sender express the deeper thoughts they will need on the job or in college.

My interest didn't focus on agreement or disagreement. I zeroed in on the list of meanings for the texts I seem to get in e mail messages, even from fellow authors.

What a wake up call. The simple LOL I thought meant Lots of Love, that left me feeling warm and fuzzy, really means Laugh Out Loud. I guess I have a few messages I'll review and maybe take off my good friends list.

2007-08-28T12:23:00.001-07:00

Two special project I'm supposed to be working on have me stumped. It's as close as I've come to the mysterious "writers block" I've heard so much about. I have no idea what I want to write.

I'm into the third day of trying to fix the problem and I've tried all the usual tricks to clear my thoughts, spent hours in the garden and read half the books in my summer stack. The first was Child of Light by Diane Bentley Baker, a fascinating journed of a time traveler on the ancient silk road. I loved the two novels by Jennie Shortridge: Riding With The Queen and Eating Heaven. I sat on pins and needles while I read the Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini and now I'm involved in non fiction, The Wicked West--Boozers, Cruisers, Gamblers, and More by Sherry Monahan.

Only the barest twinkling of light on my writing dilemma but I'm having a lot of pleasure getting there.
www.Jo-Brew.com www.womenwritingthewest www.thecreswellchronicle womenwritingthewest.blogspot.com

2007-08-11T10:40:00.000-07:00

From the belief that family stories can help us understand who we are and that the understanding improves our writing, I decided to try writng the few family stories that were passed down to me.

One grandma, on my mother's side of the family, was of Danish descent. A woman who carried herself with pride, wore well ironed dresses and aprons with a ruffle trimmed in rick rack. She smelled good, seldom gave hugs and rarely smiled. I'm sure she believed in the adage, children should be seen and not heard, because she seldom actually talked to us.

Still we knew she was fond of us. She was available for baby sitting when we were young and always sent a Christmas box filled with all sorts of small treats and treasures wrapped in tissue paper. Sometimes she sewed for me so I might also have a new dress, or one remade from a cousin's contribution.

I never saw her in an emotional outburst myself. About the time I was in first grade, my brother and myself went to Colorado on the train to spend the summer with her and grandpa since my mother, in California,was working. During the visit, I slipped her good sewing scissors outside without her knowledge. Before long I experimented by trying to peel one of the potatoes I found stored in the separate garage. One slip and a blade went through my thumb. When I went in the back door for help with the bleeding, she turned and saw me, "Stay right there. Don't get blood all over the floor." I stopped and she came to help but her calm was the biggest help of all.

Once, when I was older and riding across town with my parents after a Sunday visit, I overheard my mother tell my father that grandma had gotten so angry at grandpa and his fascination with their new television, she'd gone in the bedroom, shut the door and thrown her shoes at the door. I was surprised and shocked. I hadn't known adults could get that angry.

I was particularly fond of my grandfather. He seemed to like us and would take us for walks or sit on the porch and sing for us. "Hello Central, Give me Heaven,"Two Little Girls in Blue," and "It Ain't Gonna Rain No More," were favorites. Once in awhile he could be persuaded to play his harmonica. A man full of music he seldom got to express.

As I grew older and began to think romantic thoughts, I asked Grandma about their meeting. She told me she had been raised on a farm where she had to help with the heavy labor as there weren't any boys to do it. She was determined not to marry a farmer so she went into the city, Pueblo, and found a job working as a household helper for a well-to- do family. That family was fond of her and taught her about manners and ladylike behavior.

When an acquaintance introduced her to a handsome young railroad man, she was interested and welcomed his courtship. Later, he was sent across the border into New Mexico as foreman on a crew, the contact continued by mail. The time came when she had to choose between making the journey to visit Europe with the family she worked for or her beau. They decided to marry.

Her father took her to the train station in Pueblo to make the trip south to join her future husband. The train was late. When she arrived in Raton, it was too late for a wedding. Grandpa had to pay for a hotel room for her and find a place to bunk for himself. They married the next day and set up housekeeping in Railroad housing on the outskirts of town.

Although they moved frequently, their life seemed fairly stable until the railroad workers went on strike. Grandpa wouldn't have needed to go out but he sympathized
with the strikers and went anyhow. That choice went against grandma's wishes since she had two daughters to care for and would lose the railroad housing in addition to the income from the job. They did find a place in Pueblo but eventually had to put groceries on the book, a credit account.

When Grandpa did get work in a lesser position at a different railroad, Grandma skrimped and saved until the grocery bill was paid off. Later, even that job was lost as the country moved into the depression. Grandma baby sat for me until my parents moved to California and Grandpa got on with the WPA.

When the project he was working on, a beautiful brick school, was finished, they too moved to California. He and my father combined all their resources and bought a truck, begining a furniture delivery business that serviced both the Sears Roebuck and Montgomery Wards stores. The start of World War Two finished that effort but the railroads were in desperate need of workers. Even though Grandpa was older than they usually hired, he was able to get a job and finished the requirments to earn his retirement.

The next part of the story is from grandma and undoubtably true. She claimed that she thought he was a gum chewer until they were married and was shocked and furious to find he chewed tobacco.

When she told me, the dislike of the coffee can spitoons hidden under the couch, disgust at the smell, and anger that he'd never quit were still there. She'd warned him not to hug his daughters or us, never to get close. His habit made him repulsive.

It wasn't until years later, when she'd passed away and he'd been alone and lonely for more than ten years, that I really thought a lot about their story and all it implied. They had been married more than fifty years, been through strikes and the depression, raised two children, cared about three grandchildren, and met three of their great grandchildren all while she was still furious with him for chewing and he'd never quit. It's hard for me to imagine; her, living with all that cold anger, and him, a man starved for affection and joy who didn't give up the tobacco. A waste for both.
www.Jo-Brew.com www.thecreswellchronicle.com www.womenwriting the west.com
http//womenwritingthewest.blogspot.com

2007-06-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

My Place

With rationed time, I limit the blog spots I visit but several comments by other authors drew my attention to the Love of Place blog. As I read the essays and notes about the influence of place on our lives and writing, I knew I needed to give more attention to the place I call home.

For all the years I can remember, I've been a restless sort, pacing up and down the west coast of our country, never straying too far from the middle.

Time has fine tuned my comfort level to the point where my center of gravity is limited to an area about a hundred miles in diameter, right in the middle of Oregon. To the north are the business centers and cities, to the south, the farms, forests, mountains, lakes and mountain towns of southern Oregon and northern California. With the Pacific Ocean an hour to the west of my home and the Cascade Mountains an hour to the east, I live in a valley with a moderated climate. Perfect for an active life style and outdoor activities. Life here doesn't stop for the winter and we don't need to leave in search of a comfortable summer temperature. The morning exercise walk and bike rides happen all year, only the wraps change.

Calls of the crows, blue jays and the scolding chatter of a squirrel wake me in the morning but the low voiced gossiping of the junkos hidden in the shrubs goes on all day. Any time I drive to the mall, or in any direction but to the city center, I count the day as lost if I don't spot a great blue heron, or two.

In my soul, the truly special feature of my place is the rushing river that passes through the town. I drive over it to go anywhere east of my home, again if I visit grandchildren to the north of us. I park where I can see the river when I go in or out of the mall to shop and I walk or ride my bike on the path beside the river as often as I can. If I'm upset or angry, a visit to the river bank calms me enough to let me function.

From a place lacking violent storms, deep freezes or baking heat, it's clear to me why my written thoughts are not based on fantasy or high drama. They are not experiences of the hero or the villian. Extremes of human behavior seldom happen in an environment of calm. My writings are the stuff of life in the middle, where most of us live, work, grow, love, and die.
http//www.Jo-Brew.com

2007-05-31T07:08:00.000-07:00

A week ago, on a cloudy and chilly day that was one of a long series, we headed south in search of sunshine and an interesting break in our routine. We planned to head toward San Francisco in a circle including the wine country of northern California and the smaller towns along the coast.

This visit to the fabled city turned out to be one of our most interesting in spite of fog and a cool breeze. We took a lengthy tour with a knowledgeable guide, a brave and confident driver, and saw parts of San Francisco we'd only read about as well as sampling the usual tourist treats. Between the visit to Nob Hill and Golden Gate Park for tea at the Japanese Garden, we drove through the Presedio to admire the renovations,visited the Lincoln Park Municipal Golf Course (formerly the Chinese Cemetary), the Cliff House, the remains of the Sutro Gardens and took a walking tour through the alleys of China Town. The step into a different world at the Fortune Cookie Factory gave me the only San Francisco souvenir I brought home.

We located our favorite sourdough bakery for lunch with dessert at Ghirardelli but skipped the Sea Lion viewing, we have our own share of problems with those robber barons. This was our first time to walk on the Golden Gate Bridge and feel the vibration. I didn't go very far, that's not a sensation I like a lot, even on our local overpass.

We came home with a lot of new memories to absorb, reassured that the Oregon Coast is more user friendly than the northern California coast, and a list of things to see and do the next time we drive over the Golden Gate.

2007-05-04T09:57:00.000-07:00

Last Night, as a member of Willamette Writers, I had an opportunity to be one of many in a short workshop on Marketing Your Creative Work with Melissa Reardon, author and artist. The presentation appealed because Ms. Reardon covered the nitty gritty elements of planning and marketing in a gentile way. No circus performance required. I came home with several new ideas I can put to use and a copy of her workbook, Marketing Your Creative Work. The workbook is available on her website www.earthdharma.com.

www.Jo-Brew.com

2007-04-27T09:42:00.000-07:00

My reading of my latest novel, What Next, Ms Elliott?, this week went wonderfully well. The listeners were involved in the snippet of the story I presented and eager to go on. The turn out filled the small room, some attendees had read my books and made complementary remarks. My hostess was pleased and I was thrilled at the response. A project well worth doing.
www.Jo-Brew.com

2007-04-15T09:05:00.000-07:00

At noon on Tuesday, April 24, I will be reading from What Next, Ms. Elliott?, at the Solvang Retirement Center, 1202 Jacobs Dr., just off Hwy 99 in North Eugene.
I will be the first speaker in their Brown Bag Lunch Series. The event is free and includes lunch. To register, call Elizabeth at 541 641 0490
www.Jo-Brew.com

2007-03-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

Finding Clarice by Jo-Brew exerpt
Chapter 4

The bright sunlight woke Clarice early but she closed her eyes and snuggled into the warmth of the bed. She lay half awake and realized she felt wonderful, full of anticipation. She stretched and discovered the longish soak in the hot bath last night had done a lot to avoid stiffness. In spite of the coziness of the bed, she had no desire to linger once she'd reached awareness. She wanted to be up and active. She threw the covers back and felt for her slippers with her bare feet. She located them, stood and stretched again, as tall as she could.

She marveled at the change from her usual morning blues. The fear of a seriously damaged career wasn't her first waking thought. The boredom of the recovery routine hadn't kept her weighted down in the bed. It was a promising morning.

She began her regular recovery routine with her stretching exercises and then poured her juice. While she swallowed pills and drank, she stood at the east facing window and soaked up sunshine. She admitted to herself, the excitement she was feeling was because Ray would call, probably soon.

Before she'd had time to savor the anticipation, the phone rang. Her "Hello?" was followed by a short silence.

"I'd forgotten your voice could sound so husky. Good morning. I hope you were up." Ray explained, "I didn't want to wait."

www.Jo-Brew.com

2007-03-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

With the return of rain to bring me out of the garden, I went to my stack of unread books to choose one for an evening's entertainment. The treasure I picked was Alice's Tulips by Sandra Dallas. Set during the civil war, it is a dramatic story of relationships between women, survival and strength while the men were gone. Quilts and the importance of quilting as artistic expression, entry into a community of women and as a source of warmth for the men fighting the war provided the framework for the story. The history of many classic patterns and quilting itself was provided separately so as not to distract from the story. A skillfull writer
developed an engrossing story. www.Jo-Brew.com

2007-03-01T15:58:00.000-08:00

After hearing Anne Lamott's book, Bird by Bird, recommended everywhere writers meet to talk, I picked up a copy. Not fiction but a revelation of the writer's life. The last chapter, in particular, reminded me of just why I keep writing. Good inspiration.

2007-02-15T12:52:00.000-08:00

Knowing that March is women in History month, I decided it was the perfect time to read FOUNDING MOTHERS by Cokie Roberts. The excerpts from the letters of Deborah Franklin, Abigail Adams, Mercy Otis Warren, Martha Washington and others I'd never known of caused me to think deeply about the difficulties those women faced. Not only did they raise families, bury children who didn't live, run businesses and maintain households alone while their husbands built a country, they did it when they had no right to own anything of their own nor have a voice in major decisions.
Reading the stories of the remarkable women of that time and place, my respect grew with my knowledge. They made major contributions to the formation of this country, to their families and to our future. They grew and thrived in spite of restricted lives and what was dished up on their plates.

2007-01-30T16:41:00.000-08:00

My walk this morning was cold with crunchy frost on the path, I hurried. On my way back in the house, I closed the garage door and locked it from the inside before I took a minute to walk across the almost empty space. I lifted the corner of the old bedspread for a quick look at my secret The thrill surged through me again. The shiny bicycle is there...waiting.
For the most part, I'm not a big fan of things mechanical With a sense of resentment, I use the technology to make my life easier but I walk away from the more complicated. I prefer my manual can opener to an electric, but I depend on the microwave, computer and car.
The bicycle is different. My first gave me freedom, almost freedom to fly as I explored the city, the orange groves, the near desert on the outskirts and the parks where I honed and tested my riding skills.
My new Sun Cruiser is almost the same bike-built a lifetime later. It has fat tires, wide handlebars, three speeds and brakes that work when you push the pedal backward. Even the bell is the standard ringer that sounds ting-a-ling when you press the handle. This bike spends more time parked under cover than the first.
Commitments I've taken on as an adult keep us both more grounded. I'm not as brave either. It takes more effort to get on the bike now, more space to make a turn and I'm sure I'd break easier if I happened to fall. Those thoughts aren't enough to squelch my interest in an adventure nor the desire to fly again but they do limit the places and time I bring the beautiful cruiser out for a spin. Spring is on the way.

2007-01-16T09:06:00.000-08:00

SOMETHING BREWING IN OREGON
In keeping with beginning a new year, I've taken down the trappings of Christmas and packed it all away, or tried to. The memories aren't packed and there will be a few unnoticed shiny reminders that show up unexpectedly over the next few weeks to bring back flashes of good times.
Christmas week, we drove north on the old Hwy 99 from Eugene to to Corvallis for an afternoon concert and to deliver grandchildren gifts. We've made the winter trip often and have occasionally seen the wild swans visiting from the north settled in the fields. never as many or as near to the road as on this trip. South of Junction City, I was thrilled to be able to see the large flock close enough to watch as they moved around. I could even see some were muddy. Impressive, beautiful birds and a very special sighting for me.
That drive north, the middle school performance, a visit with excited young people, and the drive back, after dark, through a countryside brought to life by the lighted farmhouses scattered along the road, was the real beginning of our season. We added cheerful family gatherings, time and greetings from good friends, lots of music and immense love. A wonderful way to end a year and take the beginning steps into a new one.
Now my web page has been updated with a new essay and a partial listing of upcoming events. A couple are readings of What Next, Ms. Elliott? Another pair are workshops, Wade into Writing, greared toward beginning writers of any age. That's a new project I'd like to go farther with. I've written new columns for the Creswell Chronicle, easy to read from the link on my web page, the newspaper itself or on the Chronicle web site. Between the other writing projects and normal family life, I've been working on the next novel, Marge, Back on Track and find myself almost satisfied.
Now I'm beginning to think toward other goals. Inspiration is high on my list and not terribly difficult to search out. Next weekend, I'll be attending the Writers By the Sea workshop in Yachats where I'm hoping John Reed, novelist and instructor, will help me turn the inspiration into improved story telling skills. Possibly a new direction.
One of my important goals is to keep in touch with readers during the long spell between book publications. This blog is an experiment to see if it is on interest and if it is something I can keep up. Jo- Brew www.Jo-Brew.com