Hey, It’s My Anniversary–Again!

Hi all! Hope Monday (and the rest of this week) finds you all well. I’ve been dealing with a sinus infection all weekend and haven’t had energy to do much. At least Saturday ran an NCIS marathon; Sunday brought the Barcelona ATP Masters Championship featuring Rafa Nadal in the final. That worked-and the maestro of the clay courts won, too. Yay! (Thought I was linking to a single photo. What the heck–enjoy!)

Back to today: married eighteen years to my hunny and beginning to get the whole ‘depth’ thing that goes along with a long-term relationship. He and I are known for our differences, but we work hard at being respectful of what makes each of us who we are on the day to day. I promise too, that opposites really did attract on every single level, even down to us viewing my laptop screen: him with reading glasses, me with distance glasses, lol. Yet, one day at a time, one situation at a time, we’ve made it to Wedding Anniversary #18 (and even like each other today).

What keeps us strong? Speaking only for myself, choice.  As I’ve written in previous anniversary posts, choosing to be committed on those rare days I not want to be. Truth is, no matter how wonderful a relationship, it takes work. True, some might take less work than others, and there are those who find themselves in a situation in which only one person is doing most of it.

That’s par for the course. Ideas about a 50-50 share of the work is common, but most folks may not consider that 50-50 is an average number. And those of you who are mathematically inclined understand that an average is gained by adding varied sums and dividing by the total number of sums used.

What does that translate to? Simple, math-wise anyway. Sometimes I do more of the work. Sometimes hubby does.

Honestly, I may be more blessed than some. Hubby and I rarely fight, as in it gets nasty and/or ugly between us. (Maybe five or six times in eighteen years? Not bad, right?) Despite our disagreements and fundamental differences as people, we try to talk things out and approach each other as friends. I’ve also come to know that I need to explain my point of view the next day, or when we’re not in that angry moment, when one or both of us might not be thinking clearly. (That’s just plain-old impulse control, friends: an imperative life skill to practice no matter what the situation or setting, i.e., work, home, etc.)

Neither of us likes being at odds. Fortunately, those ugly times usually last little more than a week, and even when the stretch has been (much) longer, we’re still respectful when dealing with the matters a household and family bring. No directing the kids with, “Tell your father…” or “You can let your mother know…” Fights (between almost anyone, I think) are often about control issue(s) anyway. Being aware of that makes a huge difference—period.

I could probably go on and on but I most certainly will not! I will, however, point you to a pair of previous posts on commitment. (Find those here and here.) Please, also take a moment and visit April Cassidy’s Peaceful Wife’s Blog. She covers a range of related topics and shares much wisdom.

This was taken at my bridal shower. Geez, my favorite Frannie Drescher (as Fran Fine) got nothing on this big hairdo!

And before I forget, happy anniversary to my hunny! My humble gratitude and love to the guy who has shown his own side of love and commitment to this looney lady all these years! I am blessed.

Until next time,

Joanna

Post #300–Wow! How Did I Get Here? and THANK YOU!

Am I out of my mind? (Answers do not have to be recorded for my reading pleasure, thank you! )

Believe it or not–I certainly don’t–this is post #300! Had I been paying attention I probably would have gotten it up sooner.

Yes, friends, you’ve dealt with me for close to three years and 300 incidents of my musings, opinions, recipes and reflections (and surprisingly close to the three-year anniversary of my first post–so not planned). Every now and again, I’ve hopefully taught something, got you thinking, elicited a smile or chuckle or turned you on to a recipe you’ll use for years to come.

One could also hope I’ve created the desire for you to come back, despite the inconsistency of my posting at times, as well as the seemingly random subjects I’ve touched upon. I truly wish I had more time (and better focus and organizational skills) to really explore or chat about everything that interests me in some shape or form.

I THANK EACH OF YOU WITH ALL MY HEART for taking the time to visit and making me feel I am not alone here in cyberspace. (Giant hugs go out to those who comment regularly and to those of you who share my content.)

There are no words for how humbled one feels.

My sincerest gratitude,

Joanna

Risotto and the Hero’s Journey–Part 1

Happy Wednesday, all! I might have posted Monday had I not been so distraught over the Packers’ undoing by Colin Kaep–I mean, the 49ers (;D)–just kidding. Hey, I pulled for Packers but the better team won. Call me a front-runner (some man I’d never met before did in Wendy’s last week, AFTER he told me and my younger son to go incinerate our Giants’ jacket and hoodie–any wonder the man sat down alone to eat?), but I’ll watch the next 49ers game–awesome is as awesome does.

Let’s move on. Hope all is well and no one has the dreaded flu circulating the Boston area. Brings to mind author and online friend Carrie Rubin’s excellent debut novel, The Seneca Scourge. Crazy parallels going on with that story, which Carrie released earlier this year. If you’re interested, read my thoughts on it here. (But don’t forget to come back!)

What I adore about the internet is the connections one gets to make all over the globe. Should I ever make it to my Aussie cousins and the Australian Open Tennis Championships–Rafa Nadal pulled out so I figured I’d skip the trip this year –I’ll make sure to look up today’s guest! I’ve been inspired by his posts: he challenges the hero in each of us to answer the calls life puts out there and be our very strongest. 

About the Author: James Stratford is an educator and author of numerous publications on the hero and international strategy. His blog, Beyond the Call, shares reflections on his own approach to  learning and personal development that are often inspired by the great hero ancient and modern stories. James is also a keen cyclist and traveler and a lover of great food – preferably all together. He lives with his wife and son in Melbourne, Australia. Find him on Facebook and Twitter.

Note: James has been terribly patient waiting for  me to finally get this post up–thanks, James. The floor is yours:

You’re probably wondering what risotto, the classic Italian rice dish, has to do with heroes. I can assure you, absolutely nothing.

Well almost nothing.

I realized the other day that it was almost twenty years ago exactly when I cooked risotto for the first time and when I first saw Joseph Campbell interviewed on the Power of Myth, thus starting my long relationship with the hero of myth and epic. I ended up devoting the next twenty years to researching one of the great ancient hero myths, Homer’s Iliad, which features the hero Achilles.

The hero myths stuck with me not merely because they’re wonderful stories, but because I’ve always found they resonate with whatever phase of life I’m in. I wrote about this in my book, Discover the Hero Within (published in Spanish as Descubre a tu heroe interior by Aguilar Fontanar–read an excerpt here). I’ve also found that the epic, and the hero’s journey generally, has held vital lessons which have inspired me and reminded me of the most resourceful strategies for living in the world and getting through some of the toughest times.

Eating and hospitality centered around the sharing of food have a subtle but important place in the journey of the hero. In the Iliad, meals take on a range of significance. When Achilles receives the embassy who have come to secure his return to battle, before any discussion takes place he instructs Patroklos to prepare food for his guests as an expression of xenia, or ‘guest-friendship’.

On the other hand, after the death of Patroklos, Achilles denies himself all food and is nourished by the gods who infuse him with nectar ambrosia. In the final and, many would say, the finest, book of the Iliad, Achilles graciously offers food and lodging to the old king, Priam, who has come to ransom the body of his son, Hektor, killed by Achilles in battle (in savage revenge for the death of Patroklos).

The sharing of food stands so simply and effectively as a ritual that embodies the natural order of the living. It is also symbolic of Achilles’ return to this world, not in a literal sense, but metaphorically as an agent of order rather than as a bringer of the chaos and death that characterize his grief-fueled return to battle. If you’re familiar with the Iliad, food has a similar significance in the closing stages of Book 1. When the Greeks appease the wrath of Apollo by returning Chryseis to her father, the troops bring closure to the episode by having a great feast and singing to the god. Order restored.

This is only a taste. If you read the Odyssey, eating plays an even more important role, and we see it used both properly by the venerable heroes of the Trojans and abused by the band of suitors who effectively hold Odysseus’ family under siege, and the infamous cyclops who turns Odysseus’ men into a meal.

But I don’t want to leave you on that grim image.

Rather I want to urge you to contemplate the significance of food on your journey:

the great meals you’ve shared; the satisfaction of eating simple foods after hard days in the bush, hiking or skiing or doing hard physical labour; great meals in foreign cities.

Then there are the real feasts, meals that we share to mark the most important days in our lives – marriage, birthdays, graduation.

Which ones stand out most and why?

I suspect that when you reflect on this you might find that while beautiful food is often central, what it’s really about are things like the nourishment of the spirit and the honouring of our relationships with one another. It’s no wonder food has such an important place in all the old cultures. It’s not much of an exaggeration to suggest that the sharing of food is really the axle around which our cultures function, all starting at the family meal.

We’ll stop here for today. Friday, James will share the his own special risotto recipe. Definitely a weekend undertaking, given the time and dedication James discusses for this particular dish’s preparation. In the meantime, we’d love for you to take a moment and talk about how food figures into your life and relationships, be it cooking, eating, socializing, celebrating–it’s your call. Go for it. And if you please, do take a moment to SHARE via one of the buttons below.

Thanks so much and see you Friday

Joanna

Unlikely Holiday Traditions?

Good day, everyone. Hope everyone is getting caught up with their holiday goings-on AND doing better than the NY Giants’ football team did this past Sunday. They were positively pulverized by the Falcons. I tuned out at 0-27 in the 4^th quarter. Final score: 0-34. (They should have saved some of their points from last week’s game against the Saints, whom the Giants beat 52-27.)

Then there were last Friday’s heart-wrenching events—as recent superstorms hadn’t devastated people in the northeast enough. I keep trying to process the horrific happening and praying throughout the day for those impacted. Gratitude somehow keeps moving further front in the consciousness department.

That brings me to something I’m particularly thankful for: the opportunity to live out the traditions we’ve established as a family as time wears on. Rather than go into every one, I was thinking about those I never imagined I’d have. Of course I’ll illustrate then pass the blog wand for you to take a turn at sharing.

My family celebrates Christmas. As Italians, we’d do the fish dinner on Christmas Eve. (Can you believe, until last year, I didn’t know that tradition requires seven types of fish to be served? Obviously, we did not have that many types at my house. Most likely cost too much $$, lol.) Christmas Day included a pretty large dinner with immediate family—which most of the time is now held at my home—and a trip to my aunt’s afterward.

Pretty basic stuff, huh?

Here’s the one I could never have conceived as a kid. I am the oldest of three children. In May 1987, the older of my brothers died of leukemia, three weeks shy of his 22^nd birthday.

My mom wore black for the following six years. (A tradition I dislike tremendously. Her friend’s son died three years earlier. She’s in mourning garb to this day.) Mom refused to do anything Christmas-related that year. Not sure she did a dinner.  No decorations. In the tradition of Italian mourning, no music was allowed (someone might think we weren’t unhappy), so I’d wait until she was at the other end of the house to turn on my stereo and play it so softly I had to sit next to the speaker to hear it.

Of course there was no Christmas tree either.

I insisted we have one and put up a traditional-style one (a Charlie Browner)—at the cemetery.

I’ve done so ever since. Hubby and my stepsons worked with me when they were young. Now me, hubby and my guys give my brother his ‘gift’ together.

 

This year, my mom bought a small artificial one for my uncle’s grave.

So, what unlikely tradition has become a regular part of your holiday season?

Have a great day, friends! Thanks for stopping by!

Joanna

Remember the Titans?

We’re talking the classic feature film here, one of my all-time favorites.

Hi all–hope you’ve had a nice weekend and that all is well–or as well as it can be!

Happened across this article on Yahoo! and found myself tremendously inspired. Superstorm Sandy left her mark. (If you like, you can read my 2-part thoughts post on her here and here.) She devastated too many to count in more ways than I’m sure any of us can truly realize. Here though, is some very young proof of the human spirit and how indomitable it truly is, especially when it functions as a collective.

As per Remember the Titans, this story sounds like it has all the makings of another classic one I’d love to see interpreted on the big screen. (What can I say? I’ve got a thing for against-all-odds stories, especially those that involve sports!)

Later this week, a super-easy, incredibly tasteful side-dish recipe for lazy but-love-to-eat cooks like me!

Enjoy and have a great day,

Joanna

Thoughts Post-Superstorm Sandy–Part 2

Welcome back, friends and thanks for indulging me. Maybe it’s late in the game, but  I have this tremendous desire to not forget that people will be recovering from Superstorm Sandy LONG after media coverage has moved on to more immediate situations. How wonderful it was to happen on Fox News, on a Pay It Forward segment about nationwide church efforts to help those in need in this area. For example, a New Orleans group is sending a truck-load of supplies to Staten Island. Not only are those folks still recovering from Katrina (seven years later) but they haven’t forgotten the kindness of volunteers then (and now).

I guess too, this is an outreach to donate in any way you can to relief efforts—not just for Sandy, but for anyone in your area in need. Some folks will be living in trailers and makeshift housing for a long time. (Heck. Haiti hadn’t gotten over its last earthquake. Sandy delivered torrential rain and mudslides. For more, check out this segment of ) Shelters need food, water, clothing, linens, towels, toiletries and sundries. (A friend from Staten Island said bleach and cleaning gloves are in need—makes sense if you’re treating mold-covered objects. Out in Queens, 110 homes went up in flames.)

Now might be a great time to get into your closets and cupboards; pare down the stuff we keep saying we’ll go through and know we don’t need. (The Red Cross takes blankets and monetary donations. Local churches often collect all kinds of household goods to send to missions, family members, etc, in places where there is an ongoing need. Even getting your unwanted items to your local Goodwill or thrift store works—someone is always looking to spend a little less on clothing, etc). If you can, volunteer your time and your talents. Help someone recover some of the things that mean most to them or just be there while they try to make sense of the mess. Lend your ear and a hug.

An online search of local relief efforts can help you decide how best to pass on your donation. If you live in or near any of the affected areas, talk to people there. They know better than anyone who needs what.

And if you’re so inclined, pray.

Thanks again for indulging me. To my new followers, welcome. To ALL my followers, a sincere and heartfelt thank you.

Until next time,

Joanna

Thoughts Post-Superstorm Sandy–Part 1

Welcome back to the blog, friends. Wrote this a while back and just haven’t had the time or focus to get it together. Thanksgiving is behind us and I suppose the holiday craziness begins. (Seems like the media took off early with advertising for shoppers too.)

BUT: A short while before October 25, 2012, a wave is said to have risen off the coast of Africa. Meteorologists kept their eyes and computers fixed on its progression into a serious marine disturbance. Before long, a pretty horrid hurricane named Sandy tucked itself inside a nor’easter and hooked up with a full moon around high tide. The 900-or-so-mile-wide-monster took off, without a care or a hoot about the havoc it wreaked on pretty much anything in its path.

Following a windstorm that resulted in a light show where transformers in my area blew one after another–kind of like a domino formation going down–life in my neighborhood went dark. Power was out from Mon-Sat nights, but that was the worst of it for me and mine. (Tons of folks are still waiting.)

My area was then treated to a 4-6-inch dumping of snow ten days after Sandy, closing school a final day and subjecting all the utility workers to cold, wet, freezing conditions as they worked through the storm to restore power. Crazy. So, after an unheard of near two weeks closed, my school district resumed a normal schedule.

Normal. Life has a way of sliding back into its routine. It’s too easy though, to forget that too many others didn’t squeak by so easily. The media, in my area anyway, focuses on the devastation of NYC and NJ’s beloved coast, but Sandy’s wounds and scars-in-progress will stay long beyond the media’s coverage. I keep thinking about the folks in distress we don’t hear about that much (Staten Island, Haiti, Cuba, etc) and even those still recovering from earthquakes, tsunamis, brush fires–need I go on?

Sorry folks. The intro to my thoughts on my most recent awesome read somehow morphed into a follow-up to why the blog went dark for two weeks. Not only did I not have power or real internet access for a week, I couldn’t focus, feeling out of sorts, out of my routine; worrying about food and gas and people who were seriously lacking in hope, post-storm onslaught. When power was restored I wept. Actually, I sobbed.

On a recent Sunday (11/11) hubby wanted to get out and enjoy the beautiful day. We got in the car and pointed it shoreward. One of our favorite stops—Sandy Hook—was completely closed off, so I finally got to visit the Twin Lights at Navesink (a very cool historic site). I wound up chatting with a woman I ran into twice on the grounds. Of course we talked about the storm and I mentioned something about Googling images of the flooding in other beach areas.

“Oh, but I don’t have power,” she told me, her voice sweet, calm and matter-of-fact. Turns out she rode out the hurricane at home. Like so many of us, she lost power and finally got nervous enough to evacuate when a pair of Marines (?) showed prior to the impending snowstorm ten days later.

She’d been in that shelter since and shared with me details the media might not think to mention. She was waiting for an inspector to decide if her home needs to be condemned. Her car was totaled due to flooding. Guess she wasn’t able to take her pets to the shelter (cats and beta fish) and is limited financially by how much  she can get to them since a cab ride to her home costs $21 (I’m thinking that’s one way).

Flooding totaled her car and everyone’s in her neighborhood. There are (were?) two hundred people ahead of her for a car rental. A cab to her job—I forgot to ask about what type of work she does and where—is $75. (Again, I’m not sure if that is one way.) Mass transit would be a three-hour trip one way and she’s scheduled to start at 7 AM.

I wanted to keep talking with her, to listen to more of her story. (Had hubby not been waiting for me, I might have hung out longer.) Part of me wanted to ask for her phone number, to follow up on how she made out, but I felt weird doing so. When we took off in our own directions, she gave me a hug. I keep praying for her by name now and find myself getting very emotional as I write this.

From there, we wound up driving through a small, seaside community—The Highlands, I think. I took only this photo; didn’t have the heart to take more. (The community lost 1200 of its 1500 homes to tidal surges as high as seventeen feet.) Most of the small homes near the water had already been gutted and open to air. Like the images we were bombarded with on TV the first week or so, there were trucks parked nearby with supplies (i.e., water, toiletries, cleaning items, etc).

In a small park too, the community had gathered. A band played. Tents had been pitched and tables loaded with food during a Hope for the Highlands fundraiser. Hubby gave to the effort but we just didn’t feel right partaking. We’d not suffered the trauma these folks did. I did, however, feel tremendously inspired by the spirit I felt in that small span of park space.

So what is my point? For the sake of not waxing overlong I’ll end here and pick this up later this week.

Have a great day,

Joanna

When is Enough…Enough?

Welcome to another look to the blog–something more appropriate to the season–and to another post, friends. A special welcome and thank you to to my most recent new followers. I would have contacted you via email to do so personally, but the notification I got from WP didn’t include that info.

I thought about breaking this one up b/c busy schedules and limited time often result in readers looking away once too many words show up on the page. (Couldn’t figure out a good place to do so. FYI, my WP word counter has this at 876, lol.)

I try not to spend too much time on soapboxes or at the feet of someone else’s.  These thoughts, however, have been niggling at me for a very long time now—years, I’d say.

My question is: when does one draw the line at work and demand to own his/her life?

Far as I can tell from my limited perspective, since the beginning of the economic downturn the United States has faced in the past decade (probably longer), people who have not lost their jobs have been put in a position to do the work of three. “I’m grateful I have a job,” is the sentiment I often hear.

(Unspoken translation: “I’ll do whatever necessary to keep it.” I.e., work extra hours sans pay; bring work home; sacrifice time with family or personal time; neglect scheduling doctors’ appointments for self or the family members dependent on self—getting the picture?)

Disclaimer: this is all reflection and opinion on my part. I’m blessed to have obtained a degree in a profession where work often comes to me, and almost anywhere I throw a stick is a position ready to be had: full-time, part-time, per-diem or contracted. But I see the astronomical amounts of work—the life people give up—in order to hold on to a job.

I just want to know: When is enough enough?

I’ve always been a fan of Mary Kay Cosmetics, threw my hat in the consultants’ ring for a while and read Mary Kay Ash’s biography at least twice. Among the reasons this lovely lady founded this excellent company was to provide women with an opportunity to generate an income while being able to do the following in this order of priority: put God first in their lives, their families second and their work third.

Is it me, or has the almighty dollar and workforce kind of pushed this kind of thinking to the wayside? Talked with a cousin yesterday, who holds a high school education supervisory position. Her day is scheduled to start at 8:30 AM. She (and all her colleagues) were expected in at 7:15. (She’d already scheduled and participated in the equivalent of 48 hours worth of professional development the two days prior—AFTER she wrote the workshops that were to be taught, most likely on her time.) A “15-minute” meeting was called during her scheduled lunch, at around 12:30 PM. That lasted until 3:30 and followed by one that lasted until 5:00. She spent the next 2.5 hours in the office doing more prep work and rolled home about 8 PM, all so that she could go home and spend some time with her family over the weekend. And that doesn’t include the work she brings home, often sleeping four hours or less to stay on top of what she needs to get done–for school that is.

“I’m on a mission,” she told me. (The numbers of that district reflect her dedication, I’m sure.)

Ran into another friend just the other day. She left a Director of Special Services position. She’d attempted to take on THREE smaller districts (part of the job description). Found herself leaving the house at 5:30 AM to be in place by 7:00 and not getting home until about 10:30 PM, only to start the cycle over in just a few hours. Really?????

I too, work with teachers. I’ve seen the overhaul on education my state seems to be demanding. That though, has translated into an astronomical amount of work on teachers to get a job done–most of the time, to insure higher standardized test scores, which is what all this seems geared toward, no matter what the higher-ups say.

My teacher-friends’ stories aren’t all that different from my cousin’s.  Maybe some before them didn’t care. Others however, always have done their job and done it well. Now they have to mess with data, outcomes, centers, computer applications/programs that the kids have to complete in addition to the academic curriculum they still have to teach—and one that seems more complex and not necessarily targeted to a kid’s developmental level, especially the special needs’ crowd who are often operating at a lower developmental/emotional age than their regular ed peers.

So without further ranting, I ask you again: when is enough, enough? And what might actually happen if enough of the workforce put fear of losing the job aside and stood up as a whole to cry, “Done!” and refuse to accept any more unacceptable demands on the part of the employer?

Just sayin’ and thank you for indulging me. (I so appreciate the time you spend here–I really do!) BTW, the questions in the preceding paragraph are not meant to be rhetorical. I’d love your input on this subject!

Have a great day,

Joanna

One Tuesday Morning: Karen Kingsbury

Good day, friends. Hope all is well. Wrote this one a while back and kept looking for the best time to post it. I usually share my opinion of a book near the weekend but today seemed most appropriate. My thoughts and prayers go out to any/all of you touched in any way by the events of 9/11, especially since this 11th anniversary falls on a Tuesday.

Wow. Wow. Wow.

As has typically been the case whenever I fall in love with a book, this one found me, marked ‘Free’ in the library of the little church around the corner of my house. I’d never heard of this author, but the back-cover copy easily caught my attention:

I’m a firefighter, God, so I know I’ve been in some tough places before. But this . . . this not knowing the people I love . . . this is the hardest thing I can imagine.

The last thing Jake Bryan knew was the roar of the WorldTradeCenter collapsing on top of him and his fellow firefighters. The man in the hospital bed remembers nothing. Not rushing with his teammates up the stairway of the south tower to help trapped victims. Not being blasted from the building. And not the woman sitting by his bedside who says she is his wife.

Jamie Bryan will do anything to help her beloved husband regain his memory, and with it their storybook family life with their small daughter, Sierra. But that means helping Jake rediscover the one thing Jamie has never shared with him: his deep faith in God.

Jake’s fondest prayer for his wife is about to have an impact beyond anything he could possibly have conceived. One Tuesday Morning is a love story like none you have ever read: tender, poignant, commemorating the tragedy and heroism of September 11 and portraying the far-reaching power of God’s faithfulness and a good man’s love.

I’ve read many books. I’ve been touched and moved in so many different ways, but this one…a potent piece of (modern) historical fiction… The emotions Ms. Kingsbury evoked are the kinds I aspire to as I continue my own writer’s journey.

ONE TUESDAY MORNING kept me turning the pages—and putting pretty much all other life activities on hold to do so.

And I cried.

At the beginning, while I relieved the 9/11 tragedy through the eyes of someone inside the inferno and of their loved ones who had no way of knowing more than what came to them via the media. (I was blessed that day: being far enough away and having had no loved ones anywhere in that vicinity.) As I approached the story’s climax, I cried and cried more. I kept a box of tissues handy and had to take periodic breaks so that I could see. I stayed up into the wee hours to finish so that I could rest my eyes via sleep. (Shedding even one tear in the morning results in all-day irritation that rarely dissipates, even if I use eye drops.)

I went to bed thoroughly moved and even haunted by the story events. I wanted to email the author on the spot, but couldn’t begin to process the magnitude of what I’d read. And I woke up haunted more the next morning, almost the way I did eleven years ago, on the morning after. I couldn’t get the story hero out of my mind.

Yes, ONE TUESDAY MORNING had some formulaic components. What kept it so riveting though, were all the possibilities it could have taken; each a reasonable, relatable outcome that might have worked for all the major story characters. Yet, there was only one way it should have ended. That’s the way the author went, keeping it poignant and real; spiritual enough to transcend, in a way, the boundaries of our physical world.

Not that this was a paranormal in any way. Nor, as a Christian/inspirational book did it feel overly preachy. The author’s faith is obviously strong and comes through in the story. Unrelated real-life events involving another couple and at least one similar theme (about whom a feature film was recently released) gave credence to the story’s premise. Through it all, the terror and devastation of the day the WorldTradeCenter disappeared from the NYC skyline was treated with the respect and honor due those we lost and those who get to live with the memory.

I love too, that the author has a sequel to tie up the most important story question of all. (I won’t share that lest I give away anything about the ending.)

Ms. Kingsbury also inspired me with the direction she allowed her story to take—a huge risk—but doing what she had to do for the story’s sake.

Among the reasons ONE TUESDAY MORNING has found its keeper-place on my shelf, and this author due for a trip to my local retailer for the sequel, BEYOND TUESDAY MORNING.

Thanks for indulging me.

Joanna

Does Andy Murray’s Olympic Gold Count?

The 2012 Olympics are complete, flame’s out, flag’s been passed and the athletes gone.

Hi all. Just beginning to catch up after a week away and a very busy weekend. Hope all is well and that y’all missed me terribly while I was ‘out.’

Okay, I had to go here. This one wouldn’t leave me, and I’m sorry, but it’s a bit of a rant. (Besides, US Tennis Open qualifying action starts in a few hours. I’ve got tennis on the brain, lol.)

Until Wimbledon 2012, Andy Murray was, simply put, a top-five player. I respected his game—you have to have some skill to be the world’s Number Four—but he didn’t excite me as a fan. The tennis world didn’t seem to consider him a major contender either. Recent slam wins were reserved for Rafael Nadal (Rafa), Novak Djokovic (Nole or Djoker) and “the great” Roger Federer (The Fed).

Well, go figure. Andy signs on former champion (and very stoic) Ivan Lendl as coach and is now hanging in much tougher at the big venues. He made it to this year’s Wimbledon’s final and held his own big-time against The Fed, who’s earned many a trophy there. Murray played a great match, took second place and gained a tremendous amount of respect and fans that day.

Fast forward to one month later: Centre Court, Wimbledon, London 2012 Olympic gold medal tennis match. Andy vs. Roger, in a rematch of four weeks before. This time, Andy emerges with the title.

And what do the commentators say?! “Does this count?” (As in, is this title big enough to be the equivalent of a slam?)

REALLY?!

I mean:

REALLY??!!

Andy Murray wins his first REALLY big tournament at a venue that takes place ONCE every FOUR years. He claimed gold at Wimbledon, in his home court of London, representing Great Britain as he has since he joined the circuit. The addition of pros to Olympic competition—especially in tennis—kind of makes it REALLY hard for any non-pro to medal at all, let alone take gold.

So, essentially, Andy Murray won the gold Olympic medal against his peers, the elite of the elite when it comes to tennis. (BTW, let’s not forget Roger walking away with silver and Juan Martin DelPotro taking the bronze from—OMG!—the world’s Number One player, Djoker! You think DelPo’s not proud of THAT achievement? And while we’re at it, let’s recall that DelPo beat Rafa in the semis to beat The Fed in the 2009 US Open Tennis Championships. Nuff said.)

Unfortunately, since the days of Nancy Kerrigan taking silver (God-forbid) for her figure-skating grace and poise, anything but a gold medal seems glossed over and almost non-important. (Geez, Louise! I took second place in a writer’s contest and was every bit as excited as if I’d taken the top spot. Soon as I opened that email, I started shouting, “I’m the first loser in the contest!!!” all over the house. That’s hubby’s line, btw.)

Back to tennis: I do not pretend to understand pro rankings, but I do know playing in the Olympics “counts” toward rankings. Guess what: the commentators know that too. Perhaps they were being facetious and I heard the words and missed the tone? I suppose anything is possible. But, uh, commentator guys—you know who you are—let’s not downplay Olympic gold. No one’s forgotten Rafa’s (garnered in Beijing). I’m thinking most tennis fans—and especially Murray’s—are all going to remember well Andy’s first ‘BIG’ win.

Whew. Done. Thanks for letting me vent.

Here’s a link to a great photo of Andy sporting his gold medal! (No fun not being able to post a picture in the blog, what with copyright nightmares another blogger is dealing with.)

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Have a great day and TTFN,

Joanna