What's on YOUR Bulletin Board?

The receipt of a pretty card from author Deborah Raney in Kansas (whom I deeply admire for her garage sale hunting and home decorating skills almost as much as for her books) prompted me to contemplate my bulletin board. The one with the twisted frame. It hangs flush to the wall across the top, but its bottom right corner sticks out two centimeters from the wall. Every time I pin something to it, the whole shebang tries to hit the floor. I’ve become adept at catching it.

I betcha Deborah Raney would never hang a warped bulletin board in her house.

They say you can tell a lot about a person by what’s on their bulletin board. Well, okay, maybe “they” don’t say that. I’m saying it. I wonder what my warped one says about me.

If I care to wax philosophical, I can see that everything on my bulletin board fits into one of three categories: organization, encouragement, and inspiration. In the organizing category fall two things. The wildlife calendar came from author/photographer/singer, Sally Meadows in Saskatchewan. Next to it, I’ve pinned a flow-chart I created to guide myself on how to manage limited writing time so as not to miss a deadline. It’s brilliant and I should probably follow it.

In the encouragement category hang two actual hand-written cards of appreciation that arrived in the actual mail from actual readers, both senior citizens. (Not because my readers are all senior citizens, I tell myself, but because senior citizens are the only people who still hand-write anything.) I treasure those cards.

The top left corner features a certificate of congratulations from our member of parliament, the Honourable Candice Bergen, on the release of my first novel. It even has one of those fancy gold seals like the kind I frequently use at my city hall job. Except Ms. Bergen managed to stick hers on straight.

Near the top right hangs a card I received from my daughter years ago that still makes me laugh and comes in handy when decision-making. It features a vintage black and white photo of a lady dressed in finery, about to deliberately step off a curb into a mud puddle. The caption says:

Ever notice that "what the hell" is always the right decision?

It’s a quote from an unknown Hollywood scriptwriter, so that should tell us something.

In the inspiration category hang quotes from the prophet Isaiah and from Max Lucado, and now, the card from Deb Raney.

One of my favorite items, though, is a place card that says, “Reserved for Terrie Todd.” At a writer’s conference in 2013, I was invited to sit at author Jerry B. Jenkin’s lunch table. (He’s written hundreds of books, among them the bestselling Left Behind series.) I earned the privilege in a writing contest, but I keep the place card to remind me of another, far more important meal yet to come. A place is reserved for me there too, but I did not earn this one. Jesus bought it for me, with his life. It’s called the marriage supper of the Lamb and you can read about it in the book of Revelation. There’s a seat for you, too. Have you replied?

On good days, that special reminder calls me to do my best and make my time on this planet count for something. On difficult days, it serves to remind me there are far better things ahead than anything we leave behind.

What’s on your bulletin board?

Gitcher Own Gitch!

So I was all snuggled down in bed with my late night mug of tea, reading Deborah Raney’s Another Way Home (Book 3 in her Chicory Inn series), when I quite literally laughed out loud. The scenario between the middle-aged characters, Audrey and Grant, could have been a page out of my life and I had a funny suspicion something close to it may have played out in the Raney household as well.

Grant has just returned home with bags of household supplies from Walmart, requested by Audrey.

He returned a minute later with another load of department store bags. “I saved you the trouble of buying me new skivvies.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

The scene gets funnier, but I won’t spoil it for you. The part that triggered my memory was Grant’s doing his wife a favor by purchasing his own underwear, and her response, which—although not stated—could only be interpreted by my wifely mind as dripping with delicious sarcasm. 

Having married at the ripe age of 18 and 19, Hubby and I never lived on our own. So when we took up housekeeping and life together, we each automatically assumed the role our same gender parent had played and depended on the other to do the same. I guess his mom had always bought his gitch and it took me only thirty years to start questioning why I was doing this for him as well.

One day when he announced his underwear was full of holes and needed replacing, I declared my freedom.

“You’re a big boy. You can buy your own underwear from now on,” I said. Or something to that effect. I may have included a rant about how I worked full time like he did and wasn’t it enough that I washed, dried, and put his gitch away?

Well, technically, we have a machine to wash and dry them. But still.

He didn’t argue.

But as the weeks went by, I kept noticing the same old ratty gitch showing up in the wash and no new ones making their appearance. I didn’t mention it, but I refused to give in. I don’t know how many weeks went by. Maybe it was months. Neither of us mentioned the underwear situation.

Then one day I was in Walmart for some other things. I must have been in a particularly benevolent mood that day, because as I passed by the men’s section, it occurred to me that it would take ten seconds to grab a package of the underwear Hubby liked and toss it into my cart. Was this really a hill worth dying on? Surely I could be the bigger man and swallow my pride this once.

I did it, proud of myself for conquering my own stubborn spirit.

When I got home late that day and walked into our bedroom, Walmart bag in hand, I thought I was losing my mind. On top of Hubby’s dresser sat a brand new package of underwear—the exact duplicate of the package I’d bought. 

Without a word, we had both surrendered on the same day.

Hubby was good for underwear for a long time after that. And I can’t help thinking God had a good chuckle.

Author Richelle E. Goodrich said, “If you think the most courageous and difficult thing you can do is stubbornly stand your ground, try graciously giving in.”

 

 For a hilarious three minutes of comedy that only a Canadian can truly appreciate, listen to this Gitch/Gotch sketch from CBC Radio.

What's on Your Summer Reading List?

I'm officially on vacation. When people ask what big plans I have for my time off, it sounds nerdy to admit what excites me most: having time to sit on my deck, reading. Last January I started keeping track of the books I read, lest my aging brain forgets and I waste precious time starting on one I’ve already read. I average a book per week, hardly enough given the gazillions of volumes waiting to be ingested. Makes me wish I’d paid more attention in those high school speed-reading sessions. At the time, I thought it made me sound sophisticated to say I didn’t want to read fast because I wanted to “savor” every word. Horse feathers.

I picked a few from my reading list from the first half of 2014 to share with you. None are brand new and all are available at our local library. (God bless whoever invented the public library!) If you’re blessed with an e-reader, you can download them as well.

Fiction

Left Neglected by Lisa Genova is a fictional account of an actual neuropsychological condition called Hemispatial Neglect, made especially fascinating because it’s told from the victim’s viewpoint. A traumatic brain injury completely erases the left side of Sarah Nickerson’s world, and for once, Sarah relinquishes control to those around her. Without the ability to even floss her own teeth, she struggles to find answers about her past and her uncertain future. I couldn’t put it down.

I became a fan of Christian author Deborah Raney after meeting her at a writers’ conference last year. Face of the Earth presents a dilemma for its main character, Mitch Brannon, when his beloved wife Jill doesn’t return from her conference. He enlists the help of Jill’s best friend, Shelley, in the search. Months go by, with no inkling of what happened to Jill. As Mitch and Shelley’s friendship grows closer, Mitch must decide how he will honor his vows to a woman who may never return—or who may walk through the front door tomorrow. Deb’s other books are equally intriguing.

Nonfiction

For this category, I chose one local and one formerly local writer. Rusty Rutherford’s autobiography, A Steep Climb, recounts his years growing up as a British war orphan sent to boarding school and then foster homes in Canada and follows through to the present day, including his earning of the Queen’s Jubilee medal. Whether you know Rusty or not, you’ll find his story truly interesting. 

I Am Hutterite by Mary Ann Kirkby opened my eyes to much I didn’t know about our Hutterian neighbours. I’d heard it said that Hutterites never have a childhood because they’re made to work hard from the time they’re small and never play. While it’s true they learn to work, Kirkby’s experience points to an idyllic childhood rich in community, security, and fun. Only upon leaving the colony did life grow difficult, as she struggled to belong in a strange new world at an age when fitting in means everything.

The Good Book

With my morning granola, I read a chapter of the Bible. To be honest, many days the words on the page seem to make little difference. But frankly, that’s true for the granola as well. I must simply trust that little by little, both are nourishing me in ways I cannot see, making me stronger, wiser, healthier. And frequently enough, mornings come when I read exactly what I need for the day. Or God sends a little joke my way, like these words from Ecclesiastes 12: “Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body.”

Enjoy your summer reading!