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Love, Faith and the Fifties: Treasured Memories Published by Outskirts Press | PRLog

2012-01-29T17:13:00.001-06:00

Love, Faith and the Fifties: Treasured Memories Published by Outskirts Press PRLog

Thank you for clicking on the link above to learn all about the release of our latest book:
TREASURED MEMORIES: A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES.

The following is a review by Rebecca Johnson
one of Amazon's Top 50 Reviewers...

Now that it is getting colder it is fun to snuggle up in bed with a good book. Vada M. Wolter and Joseph A. Zapalac always write books that warm the heart. In this short story collection they have found stories that bring a tear to your eyes and also make you laugh. Many different authors are featured in this book so it gives you a lot of different perspectives to consider. Some of the stories are about living in the Great Depression and include tales of working on farms and going on hay rides. I really loved the story about the coconut cream pie and the visit with God that included root beer and Twinkies. While this is mostly a book of stories there are also some jokes, poems and prayers. This book is mostly positive but there are a few stories of war, betrayal and divorce. I feel that having sad and happy stories makes this a well-rounded collection that is emotionally satisfying.

~The Rebecca Review

OUR BOOKS

2011-12-19T01:06:00.004-06:00

The following is my attempt to make a short video advertising us as authors and our books. I am pleased to say that all the covers, with the exception of The Caregiver's Story are my work as photographer and cover designer.

Our books are available at Amazon.com.

THE BICYCLE MAN

2011-12-13T21:59:00.000-06:00

It was a wintry Christmas morning. A young pajama-clad boy stood in the doorway of his dilapidated wood-framed home, watching a heavily-clad man walking up the sidewalk. His face lit up and a smile spread on his face at seeing what the man had in his hands. “Mommy, Mommy, its Santa Claus,” he exclaimed.

***

I completed my tour in the military in 1965. As destiny would have it, I landed in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, working for a major oil company. Within months, my job relocated me to White Bear Lake, Minnesota, a small community just outside St. Paul.

I quickly adjusted to the move. With sheer persistence from a friend, I joined the local Knights of Columbus—a Christian organization.

"Joe, we are having a meeting of the KC tonight. Would you like to come along with me?" I can't the number of times I heard this from my good friend, Jerry.

One night I had reached my limit. “Jerry,” I said, “What are the Knights of Columbus all about anyway? Why should I join?”

"The KC helps families obtain economic security and stability through its life insurance, annuity and long-term care programs. It also contributes time and energy worldwide to service in communities. I think you'd like being part of this."

It stirred me when he said service to communities. Yes, I wanted to share faith, hope, and charity by being part of something that helped the community. "Alright, Jerry, I'll accept your invitation and joining the Knights of Columbus."

I worked whole-heartily in the KC but felt the organization needed publicity. Word had gotten out that I was a writer—a poet to be exact. The members felt I would be valuable as Council Activity Director, reporting activities and promoting membership.

The most heartwarming part of being a member of this organization was carrying on the tradition of providing toys for the needy children at Christmas.

I grew up the adopted son of a sharecropper, and times were tough. I've memories of the cotton stalk Christmas tree, we had when I was a young lad, so I've always understood hardships. Therefore, as I rose through the ranks, I became active collecting toys for the needy children.

The fire department felt that junk was being donated. This presented a crisis. Therefore, I volunteered to take charge of donations and placed an article in the local newspaper, requesting donations of tricycles and usable toys to be brought to a vacant school.

The article stated tricycles, but bicycles were being donated as well. Soon I had so many bicycles that I became known as The Bicycle Man. Many of the bikes were in need of repair, so I brought them to my garage. Before long, I had fifteen to twenty bikes in my garage.

Knowing I needed help, I prayed. James, a sixteen-year-old son of a KC member answered the call. This invaluable young Christian man worked to get the bikes repaired in time for Christmas delivery.

It was a wintry Christmas morning when I loaded my Chevy with bicycles for needy children and drove to an older neighborhood. I parked my car, took out a bicycle, and began walking up the uneven and cracked sidewalk.

A young pajama-clad boy stood in the glass-paned doorway of his dilapidated wood-framed home, watching this heavily-clad man walking up the sidewalk. His face lit up and a smile spread on his face at seeing what this man had in his hands. “Mommy, Mommy, its Santa Claus,” he exclaimed.

Only once in a lifetime this could have happened that I could feel the smile on the young boys face. It was my most memorable experience and one I'll never forget.

"Thank you, Santa Claus." Tears of joy filled the mother's eyes.

Once again, my job transferred me, so this was my last year to serve in the Knights of Columbus. In spring, and my time to leave, the headmaster of the council had an appreciation social for me, following mass.

During a time of enjoying refreshments, I spotted a friend. "Jerry, I can never thank you enough for talking me into joining the KC. It's been a pleasure."

"Joe, the pleasure was mine. Just seeing how you had a heart for the needy and worked hard at making their Christmas special--it warmed my heart. I'm going to miss you." Interrupted by the headmaster, our conversation ended.

"Joe, will you come up here for a minute?"

Setting my punch and cookie aside, I made my way to the front and stood near the headmaster. To my great surprise, he presented me with a plaque engraved The Bicycle Man.

“Thank you Bicycle Man for your heart-felt service in our organization and for being a shining example of what the Christian faith is about.”

Tears filled my eyes and emotion filled my throat. "Thank you. It's been an honor to serve in this wonderful organization. I'm happy for the good I've done and pleased to wear the title The Bicycle Man."

(Treasured Memories www.outskirtspress.com/treasuredmemories)

Joseph A. Zapalac, Author

THE SMILE

2011-12-10T16:58:00.000-06:00

The feeling of Christmas is in the air. People are shopping for those special gifts for everyone on their list. At least one hundred booths are lined up, displaying various items.

A young woman enters the craft show, wearing a shimmering as-if-dusted-with-stardust white dress and a holly-wreath pin on her left shoulder.

Just inside the entrance is a table that catches her eye with it's display of five attractive books. She does a double take as if she recognizes the man sitting behind the table, but says nothing.

Sitting center stage on three metal display frames are Treasured Memories, Rockin Chair Cowboys, and The Caregiver's Story. On each side, Reflections and Ribbons and Roses, the two poetry/prose books lay. Balancing out the table is promotional material, consisting of business cards, bookmarkers, flyers and a few other speciality items.

As she glances at the table and starts to pass, he says, "Merry Christmas," and hands her a bookmarker. As their eyes meet he thinks to himself...she looks very familiar. She reminds me of someone...but this woman is much younger.

"Thank you. What a lovely bookmarker," the young woman says.

"My very talented writing partner, makes them. She's also a photographer and is responsible for all the covers you see on these books...with the exception of this one. He points to The Caregiver's Story.

"Oh, my; she's very good." She picks up the book Ribbons and Roses with the cover of a rose, small picture frame, and potpourri...all resting on some lace fabric.

"Do you like poetry or prose?" He asked. She doesn't respond. Perhaps she didn't hear? She slowly turns the pages of the book, letting her hand rest occasionally. A story titled "Red and Green Tissue Paper" catches her eye.

She begins reading silently to herself. Was it his imagination or does there seem to be a glow about her head...almost like a halo. It's only the lightening, he reasons to himself.

"Oh, this reminds me of the stories my grandmother told me of when she was a young girl, living with her parents in the country." A smile crept across her lips and her blue eyes had a sparkle in them. "How much is this book?"

"Sixteen dollars...or any two books for thirty, or any three for forty-three." She picks up several other display books and looks through them.

"I know my daughters would love these books of short stories and I would like this one," she said, holding out the book with the "tissue" story.

The excited booth operator, and author, is pleased to have made a sale. After collecting the forty-three dollars, he asks, "How would you like them autographed?"

"If you would be so kind to inscribe this one to Mary, the other to Annie. That would be wonderful."

Sitting at the table, the local author inscribs the two books and then reaches for the book in her hand. "What about that one?" He knows it is for the women standing in front of him; he just doesn't know her name.

"Helen. Make it to Helen," she says.

Hearing that name sends a tingle through his spine. He once knew a wonderfully sweet lady named Helen. She used to sit next to him in church. However, Helen was much older than this woman, and she no longer walked this planet...but streets of gold. She now breathed celestial air, and sang in a choir of angels.

With shaking hand, Joseph writes "To Helen...Your presence today blessed me. May joy fill your heart upon reading this book. Best Wishes, Joseph A. Zapalac"

The angelic lady turn to walk away when he picks up a ribbon rose from the table, "Wait. I want you to have this rose."

She turns and reaches her hand to take the pastel pink ribbon rose. She smiles. It's then that he notices...it's Helen's smile.

~Vada

A CHRISTMAS WRECK

2011-12-09T13:18:00.000-06:00

HE HEALS THE BROKENHEARTED AND BINDS UP THEIR WOUNDS.

Psalm 147:3 NKJ

You may experience, as I do, Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). It is a type of depression that tends to occur (and recur) as the days grow shorter in the fall and winter. No matter how hard I try to overcome, I find myself sad at this time of year.

Yes, I know this is the season to remember the reason for the season--Jesus Christ. I know that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son as His Greatest Gift to mankind. I know this Gift was packaged in a tiny, innocent baby...swaddled in clothes and placed in a manger.

Yet, sadly enough, it is the season when many are discouraged, downhearted, and broken. Many can't face brokenness and depression. Many find it depressing to think of all the commercialism of the season, the buying of gifts for those on our lists with whom we have lost touch with, and the expense of it all.

I think of my paternal Grandmother, how she never bought me a gift at Christmas. She'd say, "Vada, it's not your birthday...it's Jesus' birthday." And that was that.

I've tried carrying on her tradition of buying birthday gifts during the year for everyone...a gift for "their" special day. However, when Christmas rolls around, I find myself in the same dilemma...what to buy everyone. I suppose I got that from my Mama; she found great joy in giving gifts for every occasion.

With my mixed background of traditions, I'm a Christmas Wreck. However, I'm thankful that I can still appreciate the Christmas carols...and lean on God's Word.

Our Children Christmas 2010

Rhonda, *Crystal, *Gale, *Kurt, Scott, Dawn, *Sanee, and Katrina

*Step Children

~Vada for...

Vada and Joe

JOURNEY IN PHOTOS

2011-12-08T10:52:00.000-06:00

In place of today's post, I worked on one of the pages. Journey in Photos takes you on our journey as writing partners and also shares some of my photography.

~Vada for...
Vada and Joe

THE RAILROAD STATION

2011-12-07T03:42:00.000-06:00

The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 entering the United States in World War II. Young men and women from all over were going off to war, never knowing if they would come back...or not. Frightened out of their wits, they donned the uniform and fought to defend our country.

Ten days following the attack on Pearl Harbor, there was a train coming through a quaint town of 12,000 people. The word got out that it was this little town's own National Guard. [So] Some of the people got together and baked cookies and cakes and went to the train station to give to them.

When they got there with their cakes and cookies and look in in the train windows, it turned out it wasn't any of their guys. It was the Kansas National Guard.

They stood there wondering what to do with all the food they had brought until one woman said, "Well, I'm not taking my cookies home."

Ray Wilson, a drug store clerk, stepped up to the train and gave her cookies to one of the guys. Soon all the others began doing the same thing. It wasn't long afterward that the military started moving Army troops through this little town.

That drug store clerk organized some women and decided to meet the trains as they moved through Nebraska, carrying boys to war. Over the next four and one-half years, those women met every train, sometimes up to thirty-two trains a day.

Eventually, the Union Pacific Railroad gave that station to the women serving the men; they named it North Platte Canteen.

These young men on the trains had ten minutes to run into the canteen to grab hot coffee, donuts, a sandwich, or cookies. Then they'd get back on the train...many never to return.

Six million men and women came through that station over the course of the war. One guy said, "I graduated, enlisted, and rode three days and nights. The train stopped at a place called North Platte, Nebraska. I jumped off the train, and I saw girls who could be my sister. The women reminded me of my mom. They hugged us and gave us food. We got back on the train, scared out of our mind, but for ten minutes...that fear went away."

Sitting in a foxhole with bullets blazing and death all around, someone said, "Wouldn't it be great to be in North Platte for ten minutes?"

This eighteen-year old boy had tasted the food and felt the love and kindness of those young girls and women at the Union Pacific Railroad station...and for ten minutes, he felt loved...and safe.

A young woman wondered if her grandfather had gone through North Platte when he was in the military. She makes a visit to the home, and sitting in his room...she holds his hand, and said, "Grandpa, does the name North Platte, Nebraska mean anything to you?"

The ninety-year old man, who prior to the question sat staring out the window, wondering where time had gone...his thoughts are cloudy. He suffers from dementia, but her question, like a spark, brought him back.

"North Platte...you bet it does! They gave me coffee and donuts...and they shined my shoes. You bet I remember North Platte, Nebraska.

Just as quickly as the mind drifted to that place, it now was like a dying ember. For an instant he remembered, but now the memory fades into nothing.

You ask...what is it that many years after the war would bring a ninety-year old man out of dementia? It's when you are eighteen...and scared...and going to war...and someone loves you and is kind to you.

~Written by Vada M. Wolter, taken from our book "Treasured Memories"

Thank you for reading our blog,

Vada and Joe

CHRISTMAS BELLS AND PETTICOATS

2011-12-06T15:12:00.001-06:00

(From our book Treasured Memories)

Back in the late fifties, when I was in the seventh and eighth grades, all the girls would wear very full skirts and lots of petticoats…or crinolines. The heavy petticoats had to be held up with a tight stretchy belt. The skirts were so full that only one girl could get through the door at one time.

Two weeks before Christmas, all the girls would use safety pins to pin jingle bells to their many petticoats. If you didn’t have bells on your petticoats, there was always someone who had extra bells and pins to share with you.

When the class bell would ring, you couldn’t hear anything in the hallways…except bells. The teachers had to use whistles and blow very loudly if someone was misbehaving. I know the teachers were relieved when Christmas was over.

Lillie Cook

Lillie Cook, born and raised in Wharton County and the younger of two children. She is mother to five children, grandmother to seven, and great grandmother to five—four living. Her time is spent being caregiver for her husband.

RED AND GREEN TISSUE

2011-12-04T19:30:00.001-06:00

A week before Christmas, Mother started cooking cakes, pies, and, of course, plenty of her cornbread dressing--cooked with the fattest hen.

Daddy and the older boys would butcher the finest hog...our mother usually supervised the sausage making. I can still hear her say, "It needs a little more sage!"

There was lots of ham, bacon, sausage, and lots of relatives and neighbors to share it with. The house was usually full of people from Christmas until after New Year's Day.

The perfect Christmas tree, which Daddy, the older children, and I (the youngest of eight) had walked for hours to find, stood in the old house with its top reaching the tall ceiling. (The time to go choose a Christmas tree is when it's very cold, sleeting, or perhaps snowing a little.)

The decorated three (a beautiful holly tree with red berries or perhaps a cedar tree) was decorated, for the most part. We used a little silver rope for icicles. The last thing to do was to tie big red apples in the tree. We decorated the tree as a family group. Though times were hard--my parents always managed a bushel basket of apples, one of oranges, and one of nuts.

Our stockings were usually hung near the old wood heater. And Santa without fail (nearly always) came through. And always, there in top of our stockings, we found our Christmas present from Santa wrapped in red and green tissue paper.

To this day, seeing red and green tissue paper or holly trees takes me back to those Christmases of long ago.

I remember a few times, our mother worried, "The creeks may rise, and Santa's reindeer won't be able to get across!" When that happened, once or twice, there was always an extra big gift of love and warm family feelings. Mother always say to that.

From the old family Bible, Coyet and Lillie McKey found encouragement and faith to raise eight children through some very hard times. Today the old family Bible (pages like parchment and badly worn) is put away (wrapped in red and green Christmas paper).

My parents and five of those eight children have gone on. But...I wonder, do they still come for Christmas at the old house with the tall ceiling, a warm fire, and beautiful holly trees with the red berries? Do they hear the laughter of small children and do they remember the red and green tissue paper?

I am thankful for loving parents, a good home life, and those red and green Christmas memories.

(Published in Ribbons and Roses)

Contributor: Elsie McKey Overstreet was raised in Lavaca Counjty near the Navidad River, the youngest of eight children. She Graduated head of her class in Vocational Nursing from Del Mar College in Corpus Christi, Texas...now retired. She is a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. Her writing comes from a "burning in her heart" and she has a great love for animals.

WHEN HEAVEN SMILED

2011-12-04T14:58:00.001-06:00

(Taken from Treasured Memories)

One early morning after awakening, I dressed, did my morning routine, and prepared to leave for my daily church service. I knew my spirit needed uplifting.

Several days prior, I had undergone surgery to remove a growth on my face. What I thought would be a simple burning of the area resulted in an agonizing one and one-half hour surgery and seventeen stitches along the left side of my nose and underneath my eye. The days of waiting for test results were tense. Upon learning I was cancer free, how joyful I was.

Following the thirty-minute mass, worship and prayer, I came away with such peace and contentment, knowing God would help make my day. Driving home, I pondered on the day’s activities and decided on a course of action.

Several tasks came to mind...a visit to the nearby Post Office and a trip to the local dollar store. A very important package had to get in the mail before noon, and I needed supplies for home maintenance.

I changed from my dress clothes. Breakfast, for me, was some left-over coffee and a bagel on the run. Rushing into must-do tasks isn’t feasible, but I had chores around the house that need tending to upon my return.

Upon my arrival at the Post Office, I step out of my car with package in hand. I take a number. Within ten minutes, the Post Office has my package.

When leaving, I notice a young dark-haired woman about twenty-four years of age, assisted with a walker, walked slowly toward the door. My heart felt pity for her. Although she was capable of opening the push-button door, I rushed ahead to open it for her.

“Thank you sir, but I can manage,” she said, giving me a friendly smile.

Walking behind her, watching as she descended each step and then stepped over the curb. I breathed a deep sigh as she safely entered her car. God’s love was shown to a stranger by my good deed.

Next stop was the discount store to purchase supplies needed for in-home repairs. I parked my silver Honda and made my way into the store where I found the cashier stocking shelves.

The path I took led me past a greeting card department where an elderly lady stood. An eerie sensation swelled inside me; I smiled and thought, "She certainly reminds me of Grandmother." I continued on my path to the items of interest.

Suddenly, the elderly lady appeared next beside me. She wore a kindly smile on her time-worn face. Without a word, she held up two greeting cards.

She must not have enough money for the cards. I gladly handed her a dollar for the two cards, and she gave me a beautiful smile.

With my items selected and in a basket, I make my way to the checkout counter. With my transaction completed, the thought came to me that the elderly lady probably didn’t have change for the sales tax. I step back to get one last glimpse of the lady who reminded me of my grandma and found her in line. I tossed a dime, telling the cashier, “That’s for the tax on her cards.”

“Dobry rano,” I said to the elderly lady, and she smiled. Walking away was not easy; I hated to leave. Was this a test from God? I feel it might have been. Now, I’ve done two good deeds in a row.

With two errands, and two good deeds, accomplished, it was time to return home and begin my in-home repairs. However, it would be with a lighter heart than expected.

Waiting in the wings upon my return, I had to make a visit to my next door neighbor.

I rang the door bell and waited.

The door opened, and my neighbor greeted me with a smile, “Come on in,” he said. “Let’s go to the dining room upstairs, so we can talk.” I followed him to the dining room. He and I share a bit of sparing and trying to outdo the other with jokes.

Glancing at my watch, I knew it was time for me to get to the repair work at hand. Before leaving, though, I wanted to learn how the family that was in dire straits was doing. The news was not good, and it saddened my heart to learn of the seriousness of the situation.

Slowly, I reach for my wallet, pulling it from my pocket and reached inside for my contribution.

“Eddie, I know the misery this poor family is facing. I know what it’s like to endure pain and suffering. I hope this contribution will be of help.” For the third time today, my small contribution helped someone else.

I tell this story of one significant day, March 1, 2011, where my day began with attending church and ending with heaven’s smiling face upon me. My fervent hope is that kindness, hope, and charity will always prevail.

“Thank You, God. Heaven will always glow in my heart.”

Joseph A. Zapalac

THE SHACK ON CHESTNUT HILL

2011-12-03T16:24:00.004-06:00

The following story by Lora Mitchell comes from our latest book, Treasured Memories. We hope you enjoy the story and will purchase our book from amazon.com.

No one had to tell us we lived in a shack. We knew we lived in a shack. Sitting in plain sight at the bottom of Chestnut Hill, it was in sorry shape and ugly to look at, but we loved it.

Six of us lived in that rundown shack; Mom, Pop, Granny and three wee ones; Joey, Lucy and Sasha. Everybody called us The Three Shoos; Big Shoo, Middle Shoo and me, Little Shoo.

Granny, who grew up in the Old Country, became frazzled when we got underfoot or in her way, so she waved us away with the only English word she knew, “Shoo. Shoo. Shoo.” And so it stuck.

Some townspeople wanted our rundown shack condemned and torn down because it was an eyesore, but Pop promised we would live in it until they kicked us out. That is what we did, and we were secure and happy.

All around us were fancy three-story houses. They had wrap-around porches, tall brick chimneys, gabled roofs, balconies, manicured lawns, landscaped shrubs, and pretty flower beds. My favorite house had beautiful race horses fenced in and grazing in the backyard. We watched them from the sidewalk because we were forbidden to set foot on the property.

Pop said these houses were well-kept Victorian mansions, and some were over a hundred years old. Mom worked inside these fancy houses during spring cleaning and told us wonderful stories. She talked about the deep velvet sofas, heavy satin drapes, oriental rugs, delicate china teacups, silver candlesticks, cozy fireplaces, and indoor toilets with bathtubs. It all sounded like a fairytale.

Our cozy shack was actually a two-family house. We lived on the south side, and a stooped, birdlike Babushka lady lived on the north side with her grandson named Boogie Boy. He got that name because he was not right in the head and was as scary as the Boogie Man. When he was young, he spent three years in a reform school for giving his teacher a black eye.

One day, he went crazy and started a big fire in his bedroom. His grandma cried when the state police took him away. We never saw him again. A few weeks later, his grandma died. Mom said she died of a broken heart. We three Shoos were sorry for the Babushka lady but happy Boogie Boy was gone. We were finally free to come and go as we pleased, without worrying if he was going to spook us, interrupt our play with crazy talk and chase us back inside.

We enjoyed Chestnut Hill. After a snowstorm, few cars drove by, so we spent the days tobogganing and sledding. Some lucky kids owned Red Flyers, while others used tin washboards or flattened cardboard boxes. Big Shoo had an old wooden sled with steel runners, long enough for Middle and Little Shoo to ride behind while he held a piece of Mom’s clothesline and steered with his feet.

The hill was also perfect for roller skating. At the first peek of warm weather and the birth of budding apple blossoms, we took turns using Big Shoo’s roller skates. He clamped the metal skates to the bottom of our shoes and with a key hanging around his neck, he cranked the skates smaller for Middle Shoo and even smaller for me. A few scraped elbows and bruised knees didn’t stop us from sailing down our wonderful hill.

A cranky farmer named Cybudski, who lived on top of the hill, had a large fruit orchard. He chased other kids away, but because Big Shoo was his paper boy and mowed his lawn, he let us roam free to fill up our little baskets. We loved the sweet, plump cherries, and he offered us a nickel each to chase the pesky birds away. No matter how early we raced up the hill, the birds always beat us to it.

During cold months, the coal-burning stove was our only source of heat. Pop put chicken eggs behind the stove to incubate baby chicks. We babysat for hours, then squealed with delight at the first sign of a crack and watched almost breathless as the brittle shells fell away. Skinny, pink, furless legs struggled to break free, followed by bald heads with beady eyes. These funny looking, newborns grew into soft, yellow fuzz balls; so tiny they fit in the palms of our little hands. Fully grown, they were penned in the chicken coop to lay eggs. It was a shocking and upsetting time when we learned that some of our pet chickens ended up on the Sunday dinner table.

We had a small, brown, shortwave radio, which sat on the kitchen table. While ironing or crocheting, Mom listened to her daytime soaps, Guiding Light and Ma Perkins and swooned over Gene Autry’s cowboy singing. At night, we huddled around and listened to shows like Fibber McGee and Molly, Abbott and Costello, Amos and Andy, and Jack Benny. Big Shoo’s favorite was The Lone Ranger, and we laughed ourselves silly listening to Baby Snooks. There were two scary shows, which made us shiver with fear and hide behind Pop’s chair; Inner Sanctum with its squeaky door and The Shadow’s creepy laugh.

The radio was also our door to the real world. We listened to Gabriel Heatter and Edward R. Murrow who reported the news of people suffering because of a Great Depression, with hungry people out of work and standing in line for apples. We heard about a big war happening over-seas. We learned strange names like Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, Nazis, and a place called Pearl Harbor, which put fear in our hearts. President Roosevelt held fireside chats to tell us we had nothing to fear and heartwarming patriotic songs lifted everyone’s spirits. Songs like “My Buddy,” “Over There,” “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again,” and Mom’s favorite, “I’ll Be Seeing You.”

Mom said most poor people were foolish pipe dreamers. Because we were happy and had plenty to eat, I didn’t think we were poor, but we did a lot of dreaming, especially for things we didn’t have.

Every year, we waited for the new Sears and Roebuck Catalog because only then were we allowed to tear up the old one and cut out pictures of things we dreamed about. Big Shoo tore out a Red Flyer, Babe Ruth’s glove, Ted William’s baseball bat, Hopalong Cassidy’s cowboy hat and Roy Roger’s cowboy boots. Middle Shoo and I snipped out pretty party dresses, Buster Brown and Mary Jane shoes, Sonia Henie figure skates, Shirley Temple baby dolls, and furniture for our cardboard box doll house.

We saved pictures of toys for Santa’s wish list, but that’s all it was, a wish list. Even though we had a kitchen chimney and left cookies and milk, Santa never stopped at our house. Big Shoo said Santa emptied out his toy sack for the kids in the fancy houses, so there was nothing left for us. Middle Shoo thought Santa passed over because he got his belly full from their rich hot cocoa and sweet honey cakes. Since Santa’s toy sack was empty and had no more room in his belly, we ate the cookies and hoped that he would pack extra toys and remember us next year.

Nobody knew if Pop had a dream, but we all knew Mom’s dream. She wanted us to have our own house one day. There were no fancy Victorian mansions in her dream. She wanted a simple, modern, ranch house, just like the one Patty Ryan’s daddy built, down near the river. It would have a large, sunny, picture window, wall-to-wall carpeting, because she hated our linoleum floors, indoor plumbing, and heat in every room. It would also include enough land for a vegetable garden, apple trees, and lilac bushes.

Pop promised he would buy a house but Mom only laughed, saying it was another one of his big whoppers. Big Shoo had to explain to me what a whopper was. Middle Shoo said Pop’s promises never came true, but I wanted this whopper to come true. We all did.

One night, while decorating a small Christmas tree, Pop climbed down the rickety, uneven attic stairs. He carried two large green-tinted pickle jars filled with shiny, golden-brown pennies.

He poured the pennies over Mom’s bed. Jumping with glee, we Shoos took turns making penny snow angels. Tossing pennies in the air, we shrieked, “Mom, look. We are rich. We are rich. Pop can buy us a new house now.”

Mom laughed, and said, "Papa will have to fill a few more pickle jars before we can afford that new house."

Right then and there, we promised to save every single penny that came our way to fill those extra pickle jars. Big Shoo even promised to give up his favorite Bazooka bubble gum.

One chilly Harvest Moon night, a knock on the door changed our cozy shack life forever. The Big Bad Wolf, with a huge, purple-veined, bulbous nose and a fat, bubble-bottom lip, appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a piece of paper in his hairy, claw-like hand. While reading the paper, Pop’s shoulders slumped over, his hands shook, and his face turned stone white.

The townspeople voted. Our shack was condemned, and we had two weeks to move out. Mom screamed; we Shoos sobbed and Granny, confused and scared, blubbered toothless in her foreign tongue.

Pop borrowed Uncle Max’s large produce farm truck. We Shoos rode in the back among packed boxes, furniture, chicken crates, and Uncle’s burlap bags filled with onions, cabbages and potatoes.

With Mom and Granny riding in front with our precious radio, Pop drove slower than usual because of his extra heavy load. As the truck pulled away, with sad little hearts as heavy as the low valley fog and eyes as misty as the morning dew, we waved goodbye to our beloved shack at the bottom of Chestnut Hill.

Lora Mitchell, former actress and model, grew up in a small Western Massachusetts town; she now resides in New York City. A published writer, Lora’s, Getting Together, won the first prize for the best poem in the anthology titled Love in New York. Cabaret singers performed and showcased her songs, and she has also written several plays. Lora continues to write short stories and is currently working on a memoir trilogy and a novel based on a nursing home daily journal.

(Thank you for reading. You are invited to post a comment and/or reaction below. vmw)

THE WONDER OF ADVENT

2011-12-02T14:02:00.000-06:00

Advent begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas Day, which is the Sunday nearest November 30, and ends on Christmas Eve.

Advent is one of the few Christian festivals that can be observed in the home as well as at church. In its association with Christmas, Advent is a natural time to involve children in activities at home that directly connect with worship at church. In the home an Advent wreath is often placed on the dining table and the candles lighted at meals, with Scripture readings preceding the lighting of the candles, especially on Sunday. A new candle is lighted each Sunday during the four weeks, and then the same candles are lighted each meal during the week. In this context, it provides the opportunity for family devotion and prayer together, and helps teach the Faith to children, especially if they are involved in reading the daily Scriptures. It is one of the few Christian festivals that can be celebrated in the home as well as at church.

It is a spirit of expectation, of anticipation, or preparation, of longing. There's a yearning for deliverance from the evils of the world, first expressed by God's Chosen in Egypt as they cried out from their bitter oppression.

Advent is a time, marked by prayer. Advent prayers are prayers of humble devotion and commitment, of submission, and for deliverance.

Many churches and families acknowledge the Advent with the Advent Wreath. It is a circular wreath with five candles...four around the wreath (usually three purple and one rose) and a white one in the center, which represents Christ. The wreath is symbolic and a vehicle to tell the Christmas story.

The circle of the wreath reminds us of God himself...he is never ending. The green of the wreath speaks of hope and the renewal of life. The candles symbolize the light of God coming into the world by the birth of His son.

The four outer candles represent the waiting period during the four Sundays of Advent...which symbolize the four centuries of waiting between the prophet Malachi and the birth of Christ.

On the first Sunday, the first purple candle (Hope) is lit. On the second Sunday, the first candle and second purple candle (Love) are lit. On the third Sunday, the first two candles and the third purple candle (Joy) are lit. On the fourth Sunday, all three purple candles and the rose (Peace) candle is lit. All candles plus the white Christ candle are traditionally lit on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.

If our hope is only in our circumstance, we will always be disappointed. That's why we hope, not in circumstance, but God. He has continually revealed Himself to be a God above all gods. The best example: His crucifixion and resurrection. He is our Hope.

Those who have suffered and still hope understand far more about God and about life than those who have not. Maybe that is what hope is about: a way to live, not just to survive, but to live authentically amidst all the problems of life with a Faith that continues to see possibility when there is no present evidence of it, just because God is God. That is also the wonder of Advent.

~Vada for...

Vada and Joe

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

2011-12-01T16:21:00.003-06:00

How wonderful it would be to be able to go home for the holidays. Since that is impossible for many, let's enjoy a little holiday music and the feel of home. http://youtu.be/rjUDwQBM2KA (click on the link and enjoy)

***
As a young girl growing up in the country, Mama and Daddy made sure "Santa" made his visits to my younger sister and me. It was always a fun time of the year.

As we grew into adulthood and had families of our own, Mama made sure her home was decorated to the hilt and the tree was decorated just so. Christmas was her favorite time of the year.

Her very last Christmas was 2004. She was living with me and my husband because of her health. I was weary from caring for her and didn't want to put up a tree.

"Can't we just put up a tiny tree so we can look at the lights," she said.

I gave a sigh and said, "I guess so, Mama." I went to the nearest Hobby Lobby and bought a four-foot tree with lights already on it. The decorations were simple . It mattered not; she loved the lights.

To this day, that tiny tree has stood in my den...never taken down. Our two-year old grandson, Braden, likes to rearrange the teal, gold, and magenta colored ornaments...or try to bounce them like balls, making it necessary to re-decorate the tree once again.

It's a sad looking tree. What do you expect after being up for seven years. I just don't have the heart to take down Mama's last tree. Today's goal is to remove all the decorations and redecorate...after all it is December 1. May the sights and sounds of this season bring joy to your hearts. May the true meaning be expressed to each and everyone.

A Note from Joseph:
I am appreciative of my grandparents for making it possible in achieving life's goals. I owe them much and for what they have given me. This is the best Christmas present I could have--the gift of life, love, friendship, and all that seemed so impossible from long ago. What more could I ask for?

P.S. This photograph shows that I did accomplish my goal for today. I opted for gold this year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

~Vada and Joseph

JUST ONE OF THOSE DAYS

2011-11-30T19:02:00.002-06:00

Have you ever had one of those days where nothing seems to go right? Today was my day. Come to think of it...maybe it's a continuation from yesterday.

My goal for today was to write an inspiring blog about the approaching Christmas season. No matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to gel.

I decided to work on my photography blog but my 'sick' laptop kept freezing up. Each time I'd edit a post, I was unable to publish it. Finally, I did the best I could and gave up.

Verse for the Day:

“But the day of the Lord will come as unexpectedly as a thief. Then the heavens will pass away with a terrible noise, and the very elements themselves will disappear in fire, and the earth and everything on it will be found to deserve judgment. Since everything around us is going to be destroyed like this, what holy and godly lives you should live,”

2 Peter 3:10-11 NLT

~Vada for...

Vada and Joe

IN SEARCH OF...

2011-11-29T14:44:00.002-06:00

Hi everyone,

I've spent most of today searching for a new laptop. Not an easy task!

Like any smart shopper, I did a lot of internet searching and comparing to get the best deal. This being cyber week, I thought it's time to replace my sick three-year old HP.

Oh the choices...HP, Dell, Sony, Toshiba, and the list goes on and on. For the most part, I've always stuck with HP. However, QVC had an easy pay deal on a 17.3" Dell that I could not pass up. The only thing...it won't be delivered until December 23! Geeze. I've never been known for being patient when it comes to new gadgets--like computers.

Today I saw online where Costco had a HP 8GB 750GB Hard drive for right under $800. Sounded good to me. The only problem, when I got to the store they said, "Oh, that price is only for online shopping."

I buy a few items I was needing and made my way back toward home...only stopping in at Sam's Club to check on getting my prescription for new glasses. AGAIN...problems arise.

Ok, so no new glasses (I'll just muddle my way through life.) I think to myself, I might as well look at their HP laptops. Great, I found just what I wanted and the price was right. Again, a problem arises. I would have to buy the DISPLAY MODEL. Not for me.

As you can see, I've not had a day where a lot got accomplished. However, I was thrilled to see that two people were now following our blog via email...AND a new member.

Thanks to Tasha Werner for being member #12. Tasha is the sweetest young wife and mother who is working hard at her newly established photography business Tasha Werner Photography. You can check her out at:
http://www.tashawernerphotography.com/default.h7tml

That's if for now. See you tomorrow.

~Vada for...
Vada and Joe

A DAY IN OUR LIVES

2011-11-28T05:38:00.004-06:00

It's 4:36 a.m. and my day has begun--a little earlier than usual. Since the forming of our partnership, three years ago, Joe and I have begun our day at 5:00 a.m., but today I'm up a little earlier. I wanted to work on our blog before his arrival. Presently, he is suffering from a bad cold, and our chat session will be brief. However...this is how a normal day goes for us.

He awakens from a restless sleep and with tousled hair makes his way to his downstairs study. He puts on his "bubble" pot, as he calls his noisy coffee pot, of Teeccino (herbal coffee)http://www.teeccino.com/, sits down at his desk, turns on his computer, and logs onto Yahoo Messenger.

After quickly checking his mailbox and deleting some of the junk mail, he joins me as I've just propped myself up in bed and placed my hard-working laptop on my lap.

"Good morning, Joe."

"Good morning, Vada. Happy Monday to you," he responds. Our day has begun.

After each of us reporting how our night went, he offers me a cup of cyber-Teeccino and a cookie...or banana. We sip and slurp our morning away as we make plans for the day and work on ways to promote our recently published books.

The following is what my screen looks like as our conversation moved to a new idea. (Please overlook the typos; Joe is a one-finger typist. Also, the caps are so that we both can see the text. We both suffer with poor vision.)

I'M ALSO GONG TO CONTACT STACEY IN NEIGHBORHOOD AND ENCOURAGE HER TO BECOMAS A PARTY OF OUR PUBLICITY TEAM
Vada Wolter (11/27/2011 5:50:59 AM): DOROTHY LEARNED ABOUT THE BOOKS THROUGH A FLYER I SENT HER.....HOW BOUT THAT?!?!
Joe Zapalac (11/27/2011 5:51:07 AM): WE NEED TO HAVE A DAILY NEWS LETTER GOING OUT IN THE MAIL TO OUR SUPPORTERS
Vada Wolter (11/27/2011 5:51:31 AM): DAILY? HMMMM MAYBE A WEEKLY ONE...
Joe Zapalac (11/27/2011 5:51:41 AM): WOWW > O GOTTTA GET THESE F:YERS PRINTED AND SENT OUT IN CARDS TO MANY PEOPLE.

We continue our session, sipping and munching our way to 7 a.m. when we break and move into our daily routine. I usually go back to bed while he does his 7 to 8 routine and works his way through the day.

Our second session begins around 3:00 p.m. We report on how our day went, what we accomplished...or didn't accomplish. We find it beneficial in our long-distance partnership to keep in close contact.

Before long, two hours pass and we each prepare for the dinner hour.

"Good night, Joe. Rest well." I type on the screen.

"Good night, Vada. You're the best, " he responds.

~Vada

GOLDEN SILENCE

2011-11-27T12:17:00.003-06:00

By clicking of the following link http://www.sugargrove.org/audio/2011/20110828v_wm.html you will be taken to a sermon that speaks of making time to be still and know God. How to be transformed from a caterpillar to a beautiful butterfly.

Please take thirty-five minutes and listen to what my pastor, Mark Howell, has to say. Furthermore, you might be interested in purchasing my book "The Caregiver's Story" available on amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/Caregivers-Story-Memoir-Struggle-Survival/dp/1432776428/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322757506&sr=1-1.

God Bless You.
~Vada

BEING THANKFUL

2011-11-27T09:28:00.001-06:00

Thanksgiving is the time of the year when one reflects on the many blessings given to us by our wonderful Creator and God. Some things we, such as the very air we breathe, we never consider, yet how important it is to each of us.

Joseph had cataract surgery on September 23 and I had mine on October 12. I find it strange that writing partners 1100 miles apart shared the same problem. Until my recent cataract surgery, I had never thought about blinking. I do now!

My surgery went as planned but has left me with a slight problem, and I've come to be thankful for lubricant eye drops and being able to hold my eye open properly. The eye doctor now wants to operate on my lids to open my eyes more. I admit...I'm not anxious for this. There are risks each time one has surgery, or so I have learned.

Yet, in spite of the personal trials I'm experiencing I'm still thankful for how things work for good. Take for example how my sending out a small amount of flyers telling others about our recent published books and the signings I would be doing.

My aunt in San Antonio, Texas was interested in one of the books and bought the kindle version from amazon.com. She loved the book so well, she had my uncle read it. He, too, loved the book. I know this because she called my cousin, Margaret, and asked if she'd read my book "The Caregiver's Story" to which she said, "No, but I'll sure buy it!"

At our annual family Thanksgiving Reunion I was surprised at how everyone was coming to me, asking for a copy of my book. This thrilled me beyond words. Not only did I sell them a copy of my book but one of "Treasured Memories" the latest book Joseph and I have published.

Writing is a passion that requires a lot of work and a disciplines lifestyle. Yet, when an author gets positive feedback, it makes all the work and discipline worthwhile...and WE ARE THANKFUL.

~Vada and Joseph

BOOK SIGNING ON NOVEMBER 12, 2011

2011-11-07T21:22:00.010-06:00

ST. PHILIP'S PARISH HALL
204 W. CHURCH STREET; EL CAMPO, TEXAS

PLEASE USE THE ENTRANCE ON DEPOT STREET

LOTS OF PARKING ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

AND AT THE PARKING LOTS ACROSS THE STREET

GOT HEARTACHES? FACING HURDLES?

THERE IS HOPE...AND HAPPINESS!

ROSIE KREJCI GIESIE AND VADA M. WOLTER HAVE GONE THROUGH THE HEARTBREAKS AND FACED THE HURDLES. HOWEVER,THEY BOTH HAVE FOUND HOPE AND HAPPINESS.

COME SUPPORT FORMER ECHS GRADUATES AND PUBLISHED AUTHORS

IN ADDITION, VADA M. WOLTER WILL HAVE FOR SALE JOSEPH A. ZAPALAC AND HER NEWEST BOOK OF SHORT STORIES: TREASURED MEMORIES.

DUAL BOOK SIGNING PHOTOGRAPHS

This is the flyer used to advertise our dual book signing; however, the location of the book signing had to be changed. Rosie's cousin Father Gary of St. Phillips Church was gracious enough to let us use the Parish Hall. This turned out to be the best place.

One of two signs Rosie made for our signing. Great job! I do appreciate all the work put forth. I have to let you in on an inside joke. I met one of her cousins online and we had a discussion as to how she knew my cousin.

She told me she'd met him at a singing function and that he had also sang at her daughter's wedding.

I told her that I did come from a musical family. Then, teasingly, I asked, "If I sing for you, will you buy my book?"

She laughed and said, "We'll see." Now back to the signs.

Without Rosie's knowledge of the said conversation, she accidentally wrote "Wolter and Giesie SINGING..." on one sign. Of course she corrected it, but I found it funny.

Now let's walk into the parish hall as seen in the next photo.

Our spouses, Gene Giesie and Truman Wolter, and her cousins were there to help and greet those arriving. The first three of my and Joseph's books published were on display.

Closer look at Vada M. Wolter's display

Rosie Krejci Giesie and Vada M. Wolter

"KEEP DANCING" by Rosie Giesie and "THE CAREGIVER'S STORY" by Vada M. Wolter are about heartaches, death, grief, and bereavement. The books speak of their struggles and how they found hope, happiness, and how they survived the difficult challenges in their lives.

Vada M. Wolter and Helen McKey

Helen is excited to have Wolter autograph her two copies of "Treasured Memories: A Collection of Short Stories". Several of the stories in the book were written by McKey's relatives: Erin Braddock and Tasha Werner.

It was a beautiful day made more beautiful by family, friends, and new acquaintances purchasing books. Thanks to everyone for their support.

Vada

TREASURED MEMORIES excerpt

2011-08-21T10:26:00.004-05:00

BEST FRIENDS

Johnny and I were the best of friends for many years. We practically grew up together. We maintained our friendship in our teen years, when dating others. Those treasured years of our lives were simple and lifestyles less pressing than they are today. My feelings for Johnny remained even after high school.

In the turbulent sixties, Uncle Sam’s draft board was busy selecting many young men—especially those out of school. Vietnam and the draft changed everything as Johnny and I knew it would.

I will always remember those precious moments when we shared our love for each other before he shipped out. Our families knew and they understood. Johnny and I were the lucky ones because of the love, laughter, and happiness we shared for each other over those years.

Johnny arrived shortly before transportation arrived, which would take him to the nearest induction center in the area. He stepped inside my parents' home. His lanky arms enveloped me, drawing me closer to his muscular chest. Tears welled up in both of our eyes as we gazed at each other’s sad faces.

Gentle was his tender loving touch. Sweet, his memorable kisses as he whispered softly in my ear and I caressed his curly, blond hair. Savoring every precious moment as he spoke gently in his uneven voice, “I love you…always and forever. Don’t cry for me, Molly. My love for you shall never die; we are meant for one another.”

Those parting words still ring in my heart. Uncle Sam had taken Johnny away. Soon he would be fighting on foreign soil. His absence would change my life forever.

As the Vietnam conflict rage, his letters were few and far between. Some letters were positive, others were sad as he wrote about the horror of watching his comrades’ fall in action. He spoke of an unseen enemy fighting in jungles of Vietnam's forests, which did not distinguish between friend and foe. Fear gnawed within me, especially when his letters slowed to a mere trickle.

The long hot Texas summer days became never-ending. The months passed slowly while I did my best to continue my college studies. Our parents grew dismayed as the 1968 conflict continued to escalate, spur-ring protests in the United States.

One day an official notification arrived at his parents’ home with unpleasant news. They called my home, letting my parents know. Seeing my mother's expression, as I walked into the living room, caused me to freeze on the spot. A feeling of dread enveloped me. After placing the phone back on its receiver, my mother approached me slowly.

Placing her arms around me tightly, she tells me not to cry as she revealed the news about Johnny’s unit. It had been ambushed in enemy action and there were only a few survivors.

I could not hold back the tears as the shock coursed through my young body. I gasped, “Why, why, why?” Shock, horror, and anger engulfed me as I broke away from Mother’s arms and flung myself on the living room couch where I released my tears.

Dad came over and sat down beside me as he gently held my hand. He continued from where my mother had paused during my emotional outbreak.

"Molly, dear,” spoke my dad, “Johnny is one of the survivors, but this is all that we’ve learned.”

Stunned, I picked myself up from the couch, and walked slowly about the living room. Anxiously, my parents watched my every move while I tried to regain control of my senses.

Slowly, and steadily, I regained control of my mixed emotions. The three of us breathed sighs of relief, but it wasn’t over. I was in a family way which also doubled my heartache. “Oh, Johnny, Johnny, my love, please come back to all of us.”

A few days passed; further word arrived saying Johnny had indeed survived and his discharge was eminent once his recovery was complete. He would not be the same, and he would never go to war again.

Gone forever was the sweet, simple, and innocent young man I had once known. He returned as a wounded warrior on crutches. Only time, healing, and love would help ease his pain.

Upon his return, he would be greeted with love, family—and fatherhood. Johnny’s heart remained full of love despite the war.

We were all there when our beloved Johnny arrived at the Houston International Airport. Yes, there were a few protesters, but security was tight as the plane arrived on time.

Johnny was given priority to disembark because of his crutches. The pilots saluted him, and stewardess kissed and hugged him. He turned to walk slowly down the boarding ramp leading downward. A small lad at the bottom of the ramp was waving an American flag. “God Bless America,” he said.

“Johnny, Johnny,” I shouted jubilantly, as I rushed toward him, forgetting the crowd. I threw my arms around him, kissed his weathered lips...erasing all loneliness. I helped him walk slowly toward those who had come to welcome him home.

Johnny returned to his hometown with honor and glory. He continued his recovery, which wasn’t easy. How can one forget a horrible memory? Only time would help ease the pain. Each year...sometimes in the fall, he would visit the cemetery.

Johnny and I remember our youth and celebrate our mutual love, our happy marriage—and Johnny Jr. We remain the best of friends—always will.

~Joseph A. Zapalac

SWEET SIXTEEN (STORY FROM TREASURED MEMORIES)

2011-08-20T22:01:00.003-05:00

Uncontrollable tears flowed from the young girl’s eyes. She had promised herself to another; why had she been so foolish? It had been a perfect celebration until that moment—the moment in which she gave in to her emotions. Now…now the tears and the feeling of guilt overwhelm her.

Evelyn was the same as any other girl about to turn sixteen—excited. She considered it a milestone in her life…a happy time. Her parents felt as Evelyn did and were planning a big party to celebrate.

Handwritten invitations had been sent to the guests one week prior. Evelyn's mom drove the eighteen miles to town to buy everything needed for the cookout. Her dad worked hard with the outside lighting and hay ride.

White Christmas bulbs strung in the massive oak trees would supply good lighting for the guests. Soft drinks iced down in a galvanized tub would quench their thirst. Hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill would fill their stomachs.

Evelyn knew the kids loved music, so she hooked up her record player in the garage and had an assortment of forty-fives vinyl records available. There was ample room in the cement-floor, double garage for those wanting to dance.

Having everything set for her guests’ arrival, Evelyn went inside the one-level ranch-style house. Wanting to look especially lovely, she bathed and dressed in her favorite outfit. Removing the rollers from her short, brown hair, which she had washed and rolled that morning, she brushes it into a becoming style. Next, she manicures her nails.

“Evelyn, I thought we could put the gifts and your birthday cake on the dining table...what do you think?”

“Sure, Mama, that would be fine. The cake is beauti-ful; can I help with anything?”

“You can put this tablecloth on the table…and those dessert plates. I think everything is completed except for grilling, but your dad can do that after the kids arrive.”

“It won’t be long now before they start arriving; I’m getting excited,” said Evelyn, with a nervous giggle.

She walked back to her bedroom, giving one last look at her appearance. “Evelyn, you look lovely,” she said to no one other than herself.

Hearing a car's engine coming up the driveway, she rushes to greet them. Other cars bringing more guests arrive and park in the assigned area. The parents go inside the house; Evelyn and her friends listen to records in the garage. “Hey, who wants to hear “Blueberry Hill,” by Fats Domino?”

After “Blueberry Hill,” there were songs played like “The Great Pretender,” by The Platters and “Don’t Be Cruel,” by Elvis Presley.

Evelyn’s dad and some of the other fathers are out back, grilling the burgers. “Evelyn, are you about ready for some burgers?”

“Sure, Daddy...boy they smell good.”

Returning to her friends in the garage, “Hey, everyone, Daddy says the burgers are almost ready so grab a soft drink. Mama has the food table prepared with all the fixings, including chips and dips. When we are finished eating, Daddy will take us for a hay ride.”

Once finished with their delicious meal, everyone began climbing into the eighteen-wheeler’s trailer lined with bales of hay.

“Birthday girl, would you like to sit by me?” This invitation came from a tall, good looking boy.

She felt flattered and shyly replies, “Sure.”

There was the usual singing, talking and kidding around. The laughing ceased after a while, causing her to cease her conversation with the nice looking boy. In the pale moonlight Evelyn saw her friends necking.

Embarrassed at first, then she found herself feeling lonely. Thoughts of being held and kissed consumed her and her eyes searched the face of the tall boy sitting next to her.

As though reading Evelyn’s thoughts, he leaned over and kissed her—passionately. She breathed in his after shave, Old Spice…the same as what her boyfriend wore. She gave in to her feelings and returned his kiss.

As the trailer pulled into her driveway, she retreated from his embrace. Why had she gotten caught up in the thrill of the moment? She wanted him to kiss her. That's true. However, she felt she had betrayed the one she had promised herself to. Guilt is an ugly thing.

She makes it through the opening of the gifts and telling everyone thanks for coming to her party. Everyone’s gone. She puts on her pink baby-doll pajamas and crawls in bed.

Now…now the tears and the feeling of guilt over-whelm her. Uncontrollable tears fall from her eyes onto her pillow. Sleep is slow to come and when it does, she dreams of a boy…a boy in the sailor uniform miles away.

~Vada M. Wolter

CHAPTER FOUR: EXPERIENCING HEARTBREAK

2011-08-17T21:56:00.004-05:00

"Virginia" and "Brian"

Journal Entry—August 8, 1996
The ringing of the telephone awoke me. “I’m calling to let you know that Brian passed away around one o’clock this morning.”

“Mom, I’m having open heart surgery tomorrow morning, and I was wondering... ” Those words will forever haunt me.

Hot, sorrowful tears flood my eyes, while guilt and regret are constant companions. My heart aches as though ripped from my chest, leaving an empty cavity. His untimely death was just too difficult to take, and the void consumes me. Why didn’t I follow my heart's desire and visit him—one last time?

He'll be okay; he has always pulled through in the past; he'll do it again, I told myself. Brian had his life ahead of him but fate, or bad luck, snatched it from him at an early age.

With his charisma, Brian won the hearts of many individuals. His talent as a poet, singer, musician, and songwriter was truly unique. I told him, “God has great plans for you and will use you in a powerful way, if you let Him.” Brian was a special individual in my life and had been for fourteen years.

From his early beginning, he had disappointments in his life—the death of his mother when he was six years old, having the large family put in different homes, and a broken marriage. All of this weighed heavily upon his heart.

The ride was rugged, except for about two years prior his death. Things were looking up, and he was getting his life straight. However, terrible disappointment swept over him and a feeling of despair consumed him. He lost all hope.

Money being scarce for Brian, I gladly accepted his collect phone calls. Each letter I received brought a twinge to my heart and a smile on my face. Listen to his heart in the following portions of his precious letters from 1994 and 1995.

Hello Mother Dearest:

I hope this letter finds you feeling better than you were when you wrote me. …I hope this letter reaches the destination of a lady with a smile on her face and peace in her heart.

I’m trying my best to take it slow, and let God do with me what He wants. I sure wish I could always have an attitude like this. I guess I can if I stay on my knees and take one day at a time.

I carry a card in my wallet that says ‘God will not put anything on me that He and I together can’t handle.’ I’m becoming a firm believer of this.

Hi Mom:

Just a few lines to say hello and let you know God is blessing. I have three or four side jobs; I should have a car by next weekend.

Good Mornin’ Mom:

As you would say, God woke me up again bright and early this morning. I was glad when you told me that, because now when I get up each day, one of the first thoughts that cross my mind is, what does the Lord want me to know this morning?

Hello Mother:

This is another of those four o’clock in the morning letters! …I want you to know that I need moral support, love, and prayers. You will always play a big role in my life and I love and appreciate you for that.

Mornin’ Mom:

…I hope you had a nice Easter. I spent mine back up in the Smoky Mountains…My band played at two churches that were so far back in the mountains you had to pump sunshine in. But you know what; God’s Spirit, power, and blessings are back there in those mountains too…. And, Mom, you ain’t heard nuttin’ until you’ve heard the echo’s through the mountains of a bunch of full-blooded Cherokee Indians singin’ and praisin’ God.

I didn’t give birth to Brian. However, our friendship was unique; I loved him as a son, and he thought of me as Mom. I wish I’d visited him in the hospital or even tried harder to remain in touch.

I remember telling his only child that he was to have heart surgery. Burned into my memory is the look on that angelic face and hearing these words—“Will he die?”

Journal Entry—1996
The guilt and heartbreak I experience are too much. I go to my heavenly father. I gain comfort knowing that at any time I can crawl upon his lap and lean against his chest. He cares for me. He heals my afflictions and he listens to my grievances—like a good father.

I picture myself as a little child, dressed in a white-laced dress. I run to Daddy. He stoops down, picks me up, and I put my arms around his neck. I give him a hug, kissing him on his sun-kissed cheek. I have no fears...only trust in…and love for—Daddy.

I’m thankful for the support from friends and family, especially from my mother, Virginia. She was there in our time of sorrow and mourned with us. She, too, was captivated by his charm and delighted in his musical talent.

Brian’s life was brief, and he faced difficulties. Nevertheless, I am certain he is singing in the heavenly choir and picking his guitar, while I am earthbound—experiencing heartbreak.

~Vada

CHAPTER THREE: LEARNING PATIENCE

2011-08-16T12:09:00.001-05:00

The Creator God has a manner of preparing certain individuals for His service or for situations in life. He saw what was ahead and allowed circumstances in my life to prepare me.

Following a visit to the doctor, my husband, Royce, tells me some shocking news. “The doctor says I have prostate cancer. We have several options, each with its own risk,” he continued.

Rather than “let it be and take a risk of it growing,” [quoting the doctor] we chose to have surgery. Our lives would change drastically, but we were willing to sacrifice those things for a chance of being cancer free.

In November 1995, Royce had surgery to remove his prostate. His eight-month recovery period was the first stepping stone to my learning patience.

Journal Entry— January 1996
The past few months have been hard following Royce’s surgery. He has problems with his left hand be-cause of a misplaced, or leaking, IV. The hand therapy exercises are painful, but he continues taking them. Be-fore he is totally healed and released to return to work, he injures himself while rummaging in our garage.

He bumped against something and made a large ab-rasion on his left chin. This injury turned into blood poisoning and put him back in the hospital. In addition, his right hand has lost all functions. It is almost impossi-ble for him to hold objects, and he can’t close his hand.
Somewhere through all of this, whether for my hus-band or me, there is a lesson.

While standing in the cold, antiseptic hospital room, I am told, “Your husband has a severe blood poisoning. We have not been able to identify the bacteria.”

The wound on his leg worsens and fear of losing his leg—or life—enters the picture. Finally, the doctors are able to detect the rare bacteria and treatment begins.

“We are dismissing him in three days. You will have to continue giving him the antibiotic IV,” said one of his three doctors.

“What do you mean? I have no training in such things. Why can’t he stay here until he is well?” My mixed emotions run unbridled with the thought of accidentally doing something to cause his death.

Isn’t it bad enough that I have to learn how to drive in Houston's traffic? Now…now I have to be a nurse!

Once again, I am being trained for the future and learning patience.

Journal Entry—April, 1996
Please give me a servant’s heart and a sweet disposi-tion. Having him in my face 24/7 is smothering me. There are times I feel I’m a prisoner in my own home. “Please, Lord, help me to spend a quiet time daily with You, to receive strength to make it through this trial.”

I’m so grateful for the privilege of attending a local Bible Institute, so I can learn how to observe, interpret, and apply Your word in my life.
I Thessalonians 5:16-18 tells me: “Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.”

Thank You for bringing this scripture to light…help me to practice it one day at a time.

Needing to get away for a little while, I treated myself to some me time by going to a Christian bookstore. I bought a CD by Andy Griffith that contained old hymns—hymns that ministered to my frayed soul.

Before returning home, I parked the car underneath a shade tree in the parking lot of a Senior Retirement Center. I spent time in prayer, crying, worship, crying, writing in my journal, and crying some more. Feeling such a presence of my Heavenly Father and His working in my life, I wept.

God’s Spirit whispered to my inner soul saying, “You need to make things right with your husband.”

“Oh, no, not that, Lord,” I said underneath my breath. However, I knew what I had to do when I got home—no matter how uncomfortable it would be.

It is now two o’clock in the evening; I’ve been gone since ten-thirty this morning. I suppose I will have to return home eventually, before Royce has a search party out looking for me.

Upon my arrival at home, I found Royce in the clut-tered garage, repairing the leg on a chair. I stood in si-lence...watching him for five to ten minutes before finding courage to tap his elbow.

“I have something I want to say to you. It's difficult because I’m not good at saying I’m sorry, but…I am sor-ry for my anger, my attitude, and my sharp tongue. Please forgive me.”

In reality, he should have apologized to me because three days prior he had hurt my feelings by answering sharply. That had put a barrier between us and a chill in the air.

He cleared his throat. The words awkwardly tumbled from his lips, “I…I’m…uh…not the easiest to live with, and…uh...I tend to be stubborn.”

What an understatement…if you only knew how stubborn you can be. I suppose I can blame his German-Swede background for this.

Journal Entry—July 3, 1996
Thank you for the precious gift of my mother and the special gifts of hers she blessed me with. I ask you continue to bless her with good health.

Just to see what she [Virginia] would say and needing to be stroked, I asked, “Mama, what are my special gifts?”

We are standing in the kitchen's warm atmosphere in the ranch-style home of my teen years. She stopped for a moment and said, “Oh, Lord. You have so many.” With a smile on her face she continues, “…crafts, preaching, singing, and fixing hair,” she said. I caught the glimpse of a twinkle in her almond-shaped, hazel-green eyes.

This was encouragement I needed after the eight-month training session I had gone through. Praise goes a long way in soothing a weary soul—especially from a mother.

Four days later, a happy Royce returned to work, thankful for many things. Topping the list would be that we didn’t kill each other during that time. Admittedly, with his German temperament and my Irish stubborn-ness, we got under each other’s skin—especially when he started feeling better and wanted to return to work without a doctor’s release.

I can honestly say that during that period I learned patience. I wonder what the next stepping stone, or boulder, will be?

~Vada

THE CAREGIVER'S STORY...CHAPTER TWO: VIRGINIA REECE

2011-08-15T22:36:00.012-05:00

"Virginia Reece"

Before dementia came a calling, Virginia Reece was very giving and warm-hearted. Family values were held in high esteem. She was a strong, take-the-rein kind of woman with the gift of hospitality and known for exer-cising that gift.

Born in 1922, in Lavaca County, the sixth of eight children, she went through difficult times. In those days, times were hard. Her parents, Isaac and Rebecca Lee, labored tediously to put food on the table, clothes on their children’s backs, and shoes on their feet.

For a long time, she and her two younger twin-siblings walked to the little one-room country school. They would leave their home by early daylight and return home near dark—wet, cold, and muddy to their knees. Isaac traded with another farmer for a big Clydesdale horse. Virginia was always at the reins with her younger siblings sitting behind her.

She survived the great Navidad flood in May 1931. Everything was lost—except the house they lived in and her family. Food was scarce; however, when pecans were plentiful in the fall season, the family filled burlap sacks with the nuts and stored them in the barn.

Tragedy struck once again, for twelve year old Virginia. A house fire destroyed everything—except the clothes on their backs and the family Bible. Against all odds, Virginia and her family stayed together, living in a barn and existing on pecans and what little food they could find.

The Lee family lived a sharecropper’s life, never owning a home or farm. They picked cotton, grew crops, and raised turkeys for market. Through it all, love prevailed in that family. Yes, Virginia grew up in tough times and worked hard for the necessities. This made her the strong woman she became, capable of surviving any situation—including their move from the Navidad River to a different county and a new life.

Even with the transition, it was expected that the children work on the farm, helping to support the family. Therefore, Virginia only finished the fifth grade, and her social life centered on local house dances.

At such a dance, she became attracted to a dark-haired, young man. His laughter and bright smile caught her attention. They began dating and before long they were married in April 1939. Virginia’s days of working in the cotton fields ended when she became a housewife. She was barely seventeen and my father was twenty.

In 1940, I came along and the honeymoon was over—so to speak. Virginia faced the challenge of motherhood with open arms, knowing she had gone through more difficult times.

"Jaclyn" and "Virginia"

“Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy, United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the empire of Japan…I ask that Congress declare that since the attack by Japan on December 7, 1941…”

Once again, tragedy struck! World War II had been declared, and Virginia feared becoming a widow early in their marriage. She tearfully prayed for her Johnny. God answered her prayer and Johnny remained home. Being content to be home and work as a farmer’s hand, he settled in.

In his spare time, Johnny hunted for fresh meat to put on their small wooden, rectangular table in their two-roomed prairie home. For added income, he processed and sold the animal pelts.

In 1944, my sister joined the family picture. Soon af-terward, Virginia experienced a life-threatening pregnancy. The procedure used to save her life prevented her from having any more children. She always felt cheated for being unable to give Johnny a son.

Virginia and Johnny settle into a life surrounded with family and loved ones. They move from their tiny prairie home into a four-roomed home out in the country. In the mid-fifties, their last move took them to the new ranch-style home they had built; it sat among many oak trees.

The family values that Virginia grew up with stayed with her. Guests entering their home felt her warmth, love, and hospitality. Her cooking and other skills re-flected throughout their home—especially during the holidays.

In 1990, Virginia faced a difficult time—perhaps the hardest of all. Following a two-year battle with cancer, her one-true-love and partner for over fifty years passed away. Now was a chance for this sixty-eight year old diabetic widow to take the reins—again.

"Johnny Reece"

After Johnny’s passing, I remained with Virginia for the first six months, and during that time we moved a portable building near the home. I painted and decorated the building and designed the interior. This ecru-colored building, with its pink shutters, became her new business: a floral and gift shop.

Virginia loved spending time in this quaint shop. The new business kept her occupied, and she earned a little money too. Amazed customers commented when they saw this beautiful Victorian Shoppe in the middle of the country.

Her health slowly began to decline. In addition to the diabetes, she learned about her heart problems. Poor circulation and painful feet came into play, as did de-mentia and TIA’s. Transient ischemic attacks cause the symptoms—but not the damage—of a stroke, and are a red warning flag that indicates you are at major risk of a stroke. Virginia's health was on a downward spiral.

Many changes evolved between 1995 and her passing in 2005—some in Virginia’s life and some in mine.

~Vada

HELPING OTHERS

2011-06-26T14:34:00.006-05:00

As a result of social networking on Facebook, I was blessed to meet someone having the same interests as mine: Photography and Writing. This person's name is Lisa M. Earnest and through our getting to know one another, I learned she had been writing on a book for four long years.

I volunteered my services in helping edit and format her manuscript for an ebook. I found it an exciting time, knowing I was helping another person fulfil a dream. Lisa's manuscript is a spiritual journey of healing.

I urge you to read her book, "Taking Time to Breathe." Your life will never be the same.

http://scatteredpiecesofmymind.blogspot.com/

IT'S OFFICIAL

2011-06-02T13:02:00.002-05:00

THE CAREGIVER'S STORY HAS BEEN ACCEPTED BY MY PUBLISHER AND I'VE ELECTED TO GO WITH THE COVER WITH DAUGHTER AND MOTHER SITTING ON THE BED AND THE CORRESPONDING TITLE.

WE ARE IN THE PRODUCTION STAGE AND PROOFS SHOULD BE COMING TO ME SOON. HOPEFULLY, THE BOOK WILL BE PUBLISHED EARLY FALL. (SEPTEMBER OR OCTOBER)

THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT. IT WAS A DIFFICULT BOOK TO WRITE AND I PRAY OTHERS WILL FIND ENCOURAGEMENT FROM READING IT.

BOOK DESIGNING

2011-05-17T22:34:00.011-05:00

So you've written a book and don't want to use the free "cookie cutter" book covers offered by the publisher. What is the next step? There are several possibilities.

First, if you are a photographer, you might try taking your own shot, making sure you have the proper dpi and balance. Don't make the mistake of overcrowding and not leaving room for the book title, subtitle, and author name.
The second possibility is purchasing a royalty free image from a reputable stock photo site online. The problem with doing this is that other authors have the same chance to select the same cover as you. This could get confusing to the public seeing two books with the same cover but different titles and interior.

The third option is to use graphic design and text to create a pleasing-to-the-eye cover. It's all about style and balance.

Making sure the title and the image compliment each other can make or break the book. For example.

I've finished my manuscript about the struggles and survival of the years I spent as a caregiver for my mama. Presently, I have three titles for the book and about four or five covers. Three of the covers are my designs and two are using images.

Cover #1: the Caregiver's Story is an image that shows the whole concept of being a loving, caring daughter/caregiver. The image fits the title of the book.

Cover #2:The Refining Fire is my own creation. I believe God allowed me to go through a refining fire to be purified and fit for His work. When I felt the heat from the challenges, trials, and struggles, I knew God had His eye on me, and would not let me be destroyed.

Cover #3: Three Wishes has the image of a small girl smelling a red rose. Mama had three wishes which came true before her passing, and her favorite flower was red roses. She loved the color red.

Now comes my problem. I love all three covers and titles. Cover #2 is my own design so no copyright problem or expense here.

Cover #1 will cost quite a lot for the image you see, but I love the whole idea of this cover.

Cover #3 is cute and the image has been purchased for under $10.

Here is where you can help me out. Vote for which cover you feel is best for the book.

Thanks for you help and I hope you've learned a bit about book cover designing.

~Vada M. Wolter

BOOK COVER DESIGNING

2011-05-06T13:19:00.016-05:00

How many of you take books for granite? You notice the title, the subtitle, and cover. An author is lucky to have the right combination that will capture a reader and hold their interest...enough to purchase their book.

The cover has to be attractive, eye catching, and balanced in harmony and color. I'm sure many readers have never thought about the type, size, style, or color of a font.

Prior to being published, I never paid attention to the copyright page. Was I ever so naive! Should a book have an introduction, preface, prologue, epilogue, or table of contents? What is right or wrong?

Sentence spacing for the interior of the book is another thing a designer has to consider. Will it be easy reading? Is the font size too small, light, or an uncomfortable style and spacing?

The author has eight seconds to grab the readers attention with what is on the back cover. Therefore the synopsis must be an attention grabber that will cause the reader to want to purchase the book.

Taking all of this into consideration, I have designed two possible book covers for our upcoming book. The book is titled Treasured Memories: A Collection of Short Stories.

The six interior categories are: Childhood, The Fifties, Love, Faith, Memorable Moments, and Special Men. For each category, a gemstone was selected that best suited each section. In order to pull the whole idea together of treasured memories and gemstones, I've designed the two covers.

The first cover is an actual photo album that was my mama's. I liked the delicate gold framing and felt a couple of old photographs, some antique jewelry, and an orchid like the one I ALWAYS gave Mama for Mother's Day would be perfect.

The second cover I've designed for the book has the idea of a treasure chest filled with treasured memories, i.e., photographs, postcards, greeting cards, and jewelry (gemstones).

For this cover I substituted the orchid for a silk corsage from my parents 50th Wedding Anniversary.

The next time you look at a book...take time to REALLY LOOK AT IT. So much goes into the writing and designing of a book for your reading enjoyment.

Thanks for reading,

Vada and Joseph

BOOK FAIR

2011-04-23T20:42:00.006-05:00

Joseph A. Zapalac, far right, was among the twenty-seven authors featured in Bolingbrook's Fountaindale Library on Saturday, April, 16. It was a great day rubbing elbows with collegues.
Other book fairs and readings are planned in the near future.
~Vada and Joseph

Two Gems for Treasured Memories?

2011-04-15T21:05:00.005-05:00

While rummaging around in a lot of Mama's many photo albums, I found a treasure that her baby sister had given her as a gift long ago.

I saw my grandparents wedding certificate. This amazed me because it was dated February 14, 1905. However what amazed me even more was the wedding certificate of my grandparents parents. Yes, it was a certificate of my great-grandparents.

As I continued to flip through the pages my heart was stirred with each handwritten note, photograph, and even some postcards from 1918. I know I have a treasure in this album.

My aunt has a way with words, and throughout the album, I saw her unique writings. Then...something caught my eye. It was eight pages of double-spaced typed 8.5x11 sheets of paper, stapled at the top left corner. The title was "My Story."

I began reading and soon realized it was my aunt's twin brother telling his story. I began reading and could not put it down. When I reached the bottom of the last page, there wasn't any clue as to had written it.

I called my aunt and she had no idea what I was talking about, so I believe she did not write this story. I read parts to her and she agreed that it should be included in our book Treasured Memories.

The last treasure I found in this album was a tribute, or eulogy, from this same Uncle's funeral. I've gained permission from the minister to use this in our work in progress.

Now, comes my question to you...our readers. Do you think it in poor taste to put those two articles in our book?

Excerpt from "My Story"

In the summertime, our mother canned a lot. Like cooking corn in wash pots outside with ashes they took from the wood stoves. After the corn cooked, we pumped water and packed it to the house until Mother got the husk and ashes all out of the corn…then we had good hominy.

Dad, at times, would be lucky enough to kill a wild hog, and Mother would fry it and put hog lard over it in stone jars. We didn’t have a freezer or refrigerator.

Excerpt from Eulogy:

Often it took a great deal of effort, and under abnormal circumstances. Yet day after day, weed after weed was pulled. Thorn after thorn was removed. Stone after stone was thrown out and what was once a wasteland of human life became a beautiful garden of sharing and caring, that enriched every other life it touched.

The time for planting has come and gone, the time for growth has taken place, and no wonder the time of harvest would leave us with an empty feeling inside.

~Vada and Joseph

Title Change

2011-04-14T15:57:00.005-05:00

Originally we had planned to do a book titled Lost in the Fifties. However, plans are now to do a sequal to our last book. The work in progress now is Treasured Memories: A Collection of Short Stories.

Stories and memoirs are separated in the six following subjects: Childhood, The Fifties, Love, Faith, Memoral Moments, and Special Men.

Excerpt from Treasured Memories (Childhood)

Smoking Behind the Barn

Born in 1932, the third of six children in Wharton County, I went through difficult times while living on the farm. My parents worked hard on the farm, as did my brothers and sisters. My youngest brother and I worked and played together. As teenage farm boys, we had lots of fun. One day we tired of playing, so we decided to do something different.

“Geeze, I’m tired of racing the John Deer and Farmall tractors in the garden. We’ve played just about every game I know. What do you want to do now?” I asked my youngest brother.

“I don’t know…what do you want to do?”

I thought a bit, and then said. “I know something we can do, but you have to not let Daddy catch us.”

***

READ THE ENDING IN OUR BOOK...COMING IN THE FALL 2011

~Vada and Joseph

He Just Wanted a Good Grade excerpt Lost in the Fifites

2010-08-10T20:39:00.006-05:00

"I never set out to design the flag of the nation.
I just wanted to keep from getting a bad grade in history."
Robert G. Heft
In 1958, while living with his grandparents, Robert G. Heft, a 17-year-old junior at Ohio’s Lancaster High School, had an assignment. His history teacher told the class to create something of their own imagination and concept.
Based on the fact that the United States flag had remained the same since 1912 and having a hunch about Alaska and Hawaii soon becoming states, Bob worked with redesigning the 48-star flag to make room for the two extra stars.
Without permission from anyone and using his mother's seam ripper, he unstitched the blue field from a 48-star family heirloom flag. He had his project spread out on the living room floor when his mother walked through.
“Bob, what are you doing?” she asked. It was evident she was shocked and extremely upset.
“Mr. Pratt gave the class a week-end project, and I’m working on it.”
“That was a wedding gift, and you shouldn’t be cutting up the family flag. What is wrong with you?” She turns and starts walking into the kitchen. “Wait until your dad gets home,” she mumbles.
Copyright2010V.M.WOLTER
~Vada for...
Vada and Joe

CALLING FOR SHORT STORIES DURING THE 1950-1959 ERA

2010-08-06T13:16:00.003-05:00

HELLO TO EACH OF YOU:

IT'S TRUE OUR THIRD BOOK, ROCKIN' CHAIR COWBOYS IS HOT OFF THE PRESS, AND WE ARE BOOKING EVENTS FOR OUR BOOK LAUNCH, BUT...IT'S NEVER TOO EARLY TO BEGIN THE NEXT BOOK.

WE ARE IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING AND ALSO COLLECTING STORIES FOR LOST IN THE FIFTIES (WORKING TITLE) THIS BOOK WILL CONTAIN TRUE LIFE STORIES DURING THE 1950-1959 YEARS. WE'VE A GOOD START BUT HAVE A WAY TO GO UNTIL IT IS PUBLISHED.

THE STORIES WILL COVER MANY THINGS, INCLUDING EDUCATION, FADS, FASHIONS, MOVIES, AND OF COURSE THE MUSIC.

PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR STORIES TO:
V. M. WOLTER
P. O. BOX 772405
HOUSTON, TX 77272

ROCKIN' CHAIR COWBOYS - PUBLISHED JUNE 30,2010

2010-07-07T13:41:00.005-05:00

Joseph and I labored over our third book, Rockin' Chair Cowboys and Other Short Stories, with a passion. It was given birth on June 30, 2010.

This new baby of ours is a collection of true short stories, recipes and various prom ises from God.

Just imagine sitting on the porch of a country home listening to someone telling a story, as the stars glitter in the midnight blue sky, and an owl hoots in a nearby tree.

We hope to bring back some of that flavor and spirit of the past, blending in a few recent stories. Some stories will speak louder than others. Some might cause you to laugh, and others to cry. Whichever the case, we hope you will ber inspired and motivated.

In addition, you will discover some recipes to whet the appetite. The Bible tells us God gives eternal life, is faithful, comforts us and numerous others. For this reason, we have included many of His promises. May you find peace, comfort and hope in the reading of them.

ROCKIN' CHAIR COWBOYS is available at: www.outskirtspress.com/rockinchaircowboys www.outskirtspress.com/buybooks www.amazon.com

After reading our book(s), we would love for you to post a review on Amazon.com.

THANKS!

EXCERPT:

Holding the Bag

I was young and naive in high school, and it gave me a sense of maturity when allowed to run with three upper classmen.
In 1954, I made a Wednesday night visit into the countryside for a hunting trip with three upper classmen. I felt honored—important—to be included with this group because they all were one year older than me.

Wilbur, Don, Roy, and I piled into Roy’s 1949 Pontiac and off we went. Roy drove to the country down a long gravel road that seemed to lead to nowhere.

"What are we hunting?” I asked, with an excitement in my voice I couldn’t conceal.

Several of the boys snickered to themselves, but no one answered me. I thought nothing about it, and it thrilled me to be with the older boys.

Roy finally stopped the car in a section surrounded by foot-high grass. It was dusk when we arrived. We stepped out of the car and proceeded to gather wood for our campfire.

Roy and Wilbur kept laughing, but I thought from excitement. I was building up images of our great snipe hunt.

“What’s a snipe?” I asked.

We’d Like To Hear From You

Your reactions to the stories in this book are important to us;we would love to hear from you. Please let us know your favorites and how they have affected you.

In addition, please send us stories you would like to see published in our next book Lost in the Fifties. These stories must be your original story and not taken from other material. They must be stories centered on the years 1950-1959. Now is the time for the baby boomers to shine.

What was your childhood like? What was the lifestyle like back when? Tell us about your first date—first kiss—prom night—the music—the cars—favorite memories.

We will not be able to contact everyone who submits a story, but will certainly notify you if your submission is used. Manuscripts and photocopies cannot be returned.

Send your stories to:

V. M. Wolter

P. O. Box 722405

Houston, Texas 77272

MANUSCRIPT ACCEPTED!

2010-05-13T21:29:00.005-05:00

Joseph and I are pleased to announce our Rockin' Chair Cowboys manuscript was accepted by our publisher. The following are excerpts from the evaluation team of OP.

"You have a great collection of stories and recipes here. Everything about it is nicely done. You have done a great job capturing your memories and committing them to paper. (This is not an easy feat.) Even though this is a personal narrative and your family is going to cherish this from generation to generation, you have written it in a way that many will enjoy and benefit from reading it."

She went on to say: "Your narrative voice is very familiar and friendly and you have a way with words. It is obvious that you have done your homework and put much thought and preparation into your work. Your book is well written. I wish more people would take the time to write their stories down like you have. I am ...sure it will be embraced by many. We can learn so much from reading the stories of other’s lives.

WHAT A GREAT BOOK YOU HAVE HERE."
Lisa C.
Manuscript Evaluation Team,
Outskirts Press

SPRING FORWARD- Excerpt from ROCKIN' CHAIR COWBOYS

2010-05-01T09:03:00.002-05:00

Awakened by the words, “Hey, are you ready for service?” I turn to look at my clock; it reads 10:00 a.m.

“What do you mean it’s only ten,” I said, thinking my smart-chip clock would spring forward.

Needless to say, my smart clock didn’t work properly, for whatever reason, so now I sit. I lost one hour of my day, never to be reclaimed. Modern technology! Who needs it?

I’m sure everyone has experienced this at one time or another. How does one address this issue? I spent time reflecting on days of my childhood, when times were uncomplicated, and smart clocks were not even a figment of the imagination.

My parents would rise with the ringing of an old wind-up clock that had lulled them to sleep with its steady ticking. The smell of Mama cooking breakfast would awaken my sister and me. If that failed, Daddy would urge us girls out of bed.

After breakfast, Daddy would go off to work in the rice field. Mama usually cleaned up the kitchen, and my sister and I took to the outdoors. It was there that we used our imaginations to dream up ways to pass the sweltering summer days in the country.

We would play house, where we’d take a stick and draw a house floor plan in the dirt. With our dolls and Daddy’s coon hunting dog, we’d pretend to be Mothers, as we took care of our rubber-faced dolls. The dolls had molded hair and their eyes would open and close as you tilted them back and forth.

Our neighbor from across the road would occasionally come over to play with ‘his girls’ as he called us. This fully-grown giant of a man stood about four feet tall and walked with the use of crutches. He was the victim of diabetes and had lost his legs to that disease.

My sister and I enjoyed his company, and I know we were company to him, as well. He would let us pull him around in our little red flyer wagon, until Mama called us to dinner, the noon meal as country folk called it. Uncle Bill would make his way home, and we would come inside for another fabulous meal Mama had prepared.

Yes, life was uncomplicated, unhurried and we never lost an hour of it. We made each hour count and lived each one to the fullest.

V. M. Wolter

Rockin' Chair Cowboys-Introduction

2010-04-26T10:09:00.002-05:00

"We do not write because we want to
we write because we have to."
W. Somerset Maugham

Introduction

It is difficult to explain the connection between this book’s title and its contents. The prose, Rockin’ Chair Cowboys, included in this book, sparked the writing of this book.

The prose is about two elderly men who sit side by side, rocking back ‘n forth in their nursing home rockers. They talked about memories and achievements with pride and shared many stories.

We pictured them much younger, in days of old, when family and friends would sit on the front porch, many in rocking chairs, telling stories. That special time and friendship carried them through their lifetime and now in their golden years they are once again sitting in rocking chairs and sharing stories.

Imagine yourself sitting on the porch of a country home listening to someone telling a story, as the stars glitter in the sky, fireflies glow, and an owl hoots in a nearby tree.

Based on that idea, combined with some informal writing style, we hoped to bring back some of the flavor and spirit of the past, blending in a few recent stories.
Some stories will speak louder to you than others. Some might cause you to laugh, and others to cry. Whichever the case, we hope you will be inspired and motivated.

Friends and families submitted some of the stories, and those stories are not in our voice, but theirs. To protect the innocent, we changed names in some of the stories.
In addition to the stories and poetry, you will discover some recipes to whet the appetite and fill the tummy. There is even one for the pet lovers.

The Bible tells us God gives eternal life, is faithful, comforts us, is always with us, protects us from harm, gives us courage, gives us rest, and numerous others.
For that reason, we have included many of His promises in this book. May you find peace, comfort and hope in the reading of them.

In reading this book, please take your time to savor every word. We spent many hours in selecting, writing, rewriting, and editing just to give you some of our best.
We hope you enjoy reading this book as much as we enjoyed writing it.

2010 EVVY AWARDS

2010-02-01T10:55:00.003-06:00

IF YOU LOOK TOWARD THE BOTTOM, YOU WILL SEE OUR BOOK RIBBONS AND ROSES LISTED AS OFFICIAL EVVY AWARD NOMINEE:

Official Outskirts Press EVVY Award Nominees
The EVVY Awards recognize excellence in self-published books. Each fall, approximately 5% of the books published by Outskirts Press become finalists for official Outskirts Press nomination by receiving an invitation to participate from Outskirts Press.

Exemplary Outskirts Press books are nominated by the Author Support Department and OP Executive Team for submission to the EVVY Awards in the fall of the year of their copyright. For example, this past November select books with a copyright date of 2009 were invited to participate in the 2010 EVVY Awards by receiving an invitation via email from our Director of Author Support.

All the books published with our Diamond and Pearl packages are automatically eligible for EVVY Award Nominee consideration, but not all Diamond and Pearl books receive an official nomination. What makes a good EVVY Award Nominee? The same thing that makes any good award-winning book: A fantastic cover, strong, well-written content, and copyediting. These are the cornerstones of any good book. Fortunately, Outskirts Press offers the optional services necessary to turn an average book into a good one, and a good book into an award-winning one!

So, without further ado, please join us in congratulating this year’s Official Outskirts Press EVVY Award Nominees:

The Young Guardians and the Genesis Spell by Grady P. Brown
The Channel by Susan Alcott Jardine
The Ghost Tree by Daphne Oberon
Let Your Innate Sing by Dr. William A. Kriva
Barnyard Babies To The Rescue by Carol Italiano-Krivinskas
Dear Sebastian by Bianca Tora
Queen Vernita Visits the Blue Ice Mountains by Dawn Menge
Pieces ‘N Bits by William Ison
The Messy Buddha by Kate McLennan, D.Min.
How I Lost Twenty Pounds N Kept It Off by Caren Wong
The Reluctant Survivor by Kathy Ferrell Powell
Heroes of Googley Woogley by Dalton James
Dose of Revenge by Rhonda Thomas McWhirt
Eddie’s Wake by C. A. Peterson
The Sara Chronicles by L. Hughes
In the Land of Cotton by Martha A. Taylor
The Mystery of the Moaning Banshee by Fritz Peterson
Mickey Mantle is Going to Heaven by Barbara Carroll
Compulsion by Jennifer Chase
Dream Chaser by P. Christina Greenaway
The Expedition by Kerry Fusaro
The Gate of Beautiful by Gerald Rasmussen
Privileged Information 101 by Rayford Lynn Butler Sr.
Christmas Treena by Carol A. Hanzl Birkas
Murdock Mystery #1 by Sandy Zaugg
As Long As He Needs Me by Mary Verdick
Life Against All Odds by Alfred Cave
The Paradise Puzzle by Ed Jones
Mysterious Magical Circus Family Kids by R. Hawk Starkey
A Bridge of Doom by Kurt Paul Hotelling
Khan in Rasputin’s Shadow by Chad Huskins
Empire of Peace by Don L. Johnson
Virginia’s Travel Basket by Sharon M. Harvey
To Rhyme Is Not A Crime by Walter Brandenberg
The Smile of a Man Lost by J. Evan Johnson
Unlocking the Poet’s Realm by Matt Wiebusch
Charlie – A Boy With Reading Difficulties and His Dream by Vassiliki Plomaritou
Both Ends Burning by Craig Juntunen
21 Bizarre Short Stories by Jose Cepeda Garcia
The Student Prophet: Initiation Rites by James Nicholas Logue
Burnarounds: Unlocking The Double Digit Profit Code by Steven L. Blue
The Wedding Palace by M. Abdelsalam Elemary
The Transition by Dennis Niewoehner
Bobby and Troubador’s Great Adventure by Ronald Raver
Robbobell by Dr. Robert F. Hill
Through The Triangle by C.P. Stewart
Ribbons and Roses by V. M. Wolter and Joseph A. Zapalac
Aurora of the Northern Lights by Holly Hardin
Rainbow Bed by Glenna S. Edwards
Mr. Emotions & Friends by Glenna S. Edwards & Karen Henriques
From an Otherwise Comfortable Room by Roger Sakowski
Life and Times of a Ragamuffin by Russ Freeman
Looking Glass by Max Boneta, MA
Holly Hill by Scott Dahm
The Adventures of Magellan by T.L. Mann
Emerge by Ken Jibben
It’s in the Eyes by Charles Toftoy
The Breakout Year by Vicki Williams
The Bethlehem Scroll by Bill Thompson
Cash in on the Obama $3 Trillion Spending Plan! by Ed Benjamin, Colonel, USAF (Retired)
Ribbon Falls by Brad Anderson
Tirissa and the Necklace of Nulidor by Willow
Exploring the Sixth Sense by Dr. James E. Jones

The Awards Ceremony and Banquet is held in March by the Colorado Independent Publishers Association. Award-winners are announced at that time and soon thereafter our EVVY-Award winning authors are notified. Winners will also be featured on this blog.

We have an extra special announcement coming in 2010 that will involve next year’s EVVY Nominees, so now is the time to publish with Outskirts Press.

ROCKIN CHAIR COWBOYS

2010-01-25T20:50:00.006-06:00

Our book Rockin Chair Cowboys and Other Short Stories will be coming out in the fall of 2010. The collection of true stories, recipes, poetry and photographs will warm your heart with special memories of childhood, love and marriage, Grandparents, inspirational, family, everyday life, parents, animal lovers, care giving, and holiday.

We are writing partners who graduated together, lost track of each other, and were reunited after fifty years. Since becoming writing partners in Oct 2008, we have had two poetry books published--Reflections, Memories Past and Ribbons and Roses. We were able to do this with 1,100 miles between them.

Rockin’ Chair Cowboys (Excerpt)

There they sit, two old men side by side,

Talking about memories and achievements with pride.

They are known as the Rockin’ Chair Cowboys!

As they rock back ‘n forth in their nursing home toys,

These two old fellers who’ve seen better days,

you know they’ve experienced life’s different ways.

Every morning when they get up and meet in the hallway,

Biggy R. and Mickey M. wish each other a happy day.

After breakfast, together again, they return to their rockin’ chairs and once again resume their conversation man to man.

* * * * *

With two poetry books published,we felt we wanted to do branch out. So a third book is in the works. If you would like to contribute stories for our upcoming book entitled Rockin Chair Cowboys and other short stories Please send them to the following address:

V. M. Wolter

P. O. Box 722405

Houston, Texas 77272

These stories must be your original story and not taken from other material. They must be stories that touch the heart and soul with the flavor of ‘remember when’.

For each story, please give your name, address, and phone number. We will not be able to contact everyone who submits a story, but will certainly notify you if the story you submit is used. Manuscripts and photocopies cannot be returned.

~Vada and Joe

REFLECTIONS, MEMORIES PAST

2010-01-13T08:42:00.009-06:00

Ever want to take a journey back in time? To smell Mom's apple pie? To see the old home place? To relive memories of the past?

Step inside the covers of Reflections, Memories Past, a book written by Joseph A. Zapalac, and you will find yourself thinking of yesteryear and childhood days. Take for example the following excerpt from the book.

Of the Fields I've Crossed

As I reminisce,

Of the fields I've crossed,

Seems like it was yesterday,

In reflecting upon the past

Of the fields I've crossed--

My dog and I,

Enjoying the solitude,

Of a tranquil countryside.

It was a special time...

When I think

Of the fields I've crossed,

The rabbits I've chased,

And the fences I've slid under

To pursue my youthful curiosity.

It was a simple time, but a pleasant life.

I enjoyed the innocence of youth,

The life of a country boy

At peace with his surroundings.

When I think,

Of the fields I've crossed,

I thank God for the memories.

Maybe someday

I can do it again

Before the sun sets

On my horizon.

For now, pleasant memories

Of the fields I've crossed

Will always remain.

Can't you just picture this blond-haired country boy in coveralls running with his dog as he crossed the field on his way to his friend's home?

If you like reflecting on the past and a country life, you will certainly enjoy reading Reflections, Memories Past by Joseph A. Zapalac. The book is available at Amazon.com or Barnesandnoble.com. ISBN #9781432724191. It is a perfect bound 135 page paperback book that sells retail for $15.95.

We welcome comments.

~Vada and Joe

Christmas Memories

2009-12-25T20:57:00.002-06:00

As I reflect on Christmas past, I think of those spent at my parents home as a young child and later as an adult with children of my own. Mama always had a way of making Christmas special and she worked so hard at having everything just right. This was from having the perfect tree, having it decorated just so, and selecting the perfect gift for each person.

There was always plenty of food to go around and for family to carry home with them. I think everyone agrees with me that Mama's have a way of knowing. My mama was famous for having numerous sweets available.

I know everyone has their own memories of what Christmas was like as a child; there were many not as fortunate as my sister and I were. There are some families with children that had barely any food for the table and no gifts under the tree.

For those having memories like that, Christmas feelings for them are perhaps not as happy as the ones I remember. I do know, however, that whether we come from well-to-do homes or from barely making it by that everyone can equally share the real meaning of Christmas.

It is because of the commercialism of Christmas that we all sometimes forget the real reason for the season...the birth of Christ Jesus. God in flesh came to earth in the form of a wee little baby and grew to be a young man who gave of His life for each of us so we all may be with Him forvermore.

Being Thankful

2009-11-19T23:36:00.000-06:00

The cool fall air is upon us and so is November. It is the time of year that our thoughts and hearts turn toward Thanksgiving and family gatherings. This year is no different.

We find there are many things to be thankful for; heading the list is the Holy Trinity: God, the Father; Jesus, the Son; and the Holy Spirit. It is with much gratitude we lift our eyes to the heavens and give praise and honor to all the blessings we receive daily. Without His Love, Mercy, Grace, Forgiveness and so much more, where would we be?

We are thankful for our family and the love and support given by each family member. The discipline and dedication it takes to be writers takes a lot of time away from family time. Therefore, it means a great deal to us, as writers, to have support from family and friends.

Friends are not to be slighted in our list of things to be thankful for; they play an important role in our lives. The long-time friends, new friends, and friends we have yet to make are important to us. Friendship is a something to treasure for a lifetime and more precious than gold...it's priceless.

Being able to paint beautiful pictures with words from the heart that can bring laughter, tears, and melt the heart is a gift from God. It should not be taken lightly or abused. Having the skill to write is a gift from God; how we use it for His Glory is our gift to Him.

As Thanksgiving draws closer, let each of us look into our hearts and see the many blessings we have been given, let us give thanks for each one and show the love of God to all.

Happy Thanksgiving to All from the writing team of JoVa...Joseph and Vada.

INSPIRATION BY PHOTO

2009-11-17T01:10:00.001-06:00

Joseph taking photos during his Texas visit in October. (His subject: a dead, twisted tree) He gets inspiration from photos and then writes poetry or prose. His love for nature has played a big role in many of his writings.

~Vada and Joe

OFFICAL EVVY AWARD NOMINEE 2009

2009-11-04T10:23:00.000-06:00

JOE AND I RECEIVED THIS EMAIL FROM OUR PUBLISHER REGARDING OUR BOOK RIBBONS AND ROSES. NEEDLESS TO SAY, WE ARE VERY EXCITED.
"I have some exciting news for you! Your book is eligible to be officially nominated by Outskirts Press for the 16th Annual EVVY Awards. Since books must have a 2009 copyright date for consideration, this is a limited-time one-time opportunity that cannot be repeated, and time is short, so please read this email in its entirety for important information.

For the fifth year in a row, Outskirts Press is officially nominating only its very best titles of the year to participate in this Independent Publishers Association book awards event. The EVVY Awards recognizes the highest quality of alternatively and self-published books.

Fewer than 5% of the books we publish each year are nominated, so congratulations! Just receiving this email is an honor.

Congratulations, you book represents the very best Outskirts Press
offers."

A WELCOMED TREAT

2009-11-04T09:49:00.000-06:00

Halloween night found Joseph and I in Hallettsville, TX at a family-birthday celebration. To our surprise and great delight, we met these two sisters. Read what one sister writes.

"My sister Audrey and I really enjoyed meeting you and Joe this past week end at Irene’s 80th. She and I took turns reading to each other your books. We feel asleep reading and read them on the drive home. What an impression you two left on our hearts. I’m looking forward to reading every page of those precious treasures. Keep up the good work and may God bless you and this wonderful adventure you are on.
Until we meet again.
Denise"

These two girls impregnated our lives and I know they will be an inspiration for us to, not only continue writing, but to write even better than before.

Meeting a Fellow Writer - Oct 17, 2009

2009-11-04T09:37:00.000-06:00

During a recent book tour, Joseph met one of our contributors to our book Ribbons and Roses.

Elsie McKey Overstreet was raised in Lavaca County near the Navidad River, the youngest of 8 children. She graduated head of her class in Vocational Nursing from Del Mar College in Corpus Christi, Texas—now retired. She is a mother to one daughter, grandmother to one granddaughter and great-grandmother to two girls and four boys. Her writing comes from a “burning in her heart,” and she has a great love for animals.

Her Red and Green Tissue Paper story about her childhood Christmases will warm your heart. In addition, you will find her Tribute to Edna a must to read. You will see why Joseph and I have decided to donate a portion from sales to the homeless and hurting.

Look for more stories by Elsie in our forthcoming book Rockin Chair Cowboys.

BOOK TOUR IN OCTOBER

2009-10-01T13:18:00.000-05:00

During the month of October Joseph A. Zapalac and Vada M. Wolter (writing partners) will be promoting their new book RIBBONS AND ROSES.

In addition to research for future books and taking photographs, Joe and Vada will be doing signings and readings. See schedule below:

OCTOBER 17 - 10 - NOON
EL CAMPO BRANCH LIBRARY
BOOK SIGNING EVENT *

OCTOBER 24 - 11 - 2 PM
FILL YOUR CUP COFFEE SHOP
RICHMOND TX - HWY 90A
BOOK SIGNING EVENT *

OCTOBER 25 - 1-4 PM
EL CAMPO MUSUEM
HWY 71
BOOK SIGNING EVENT*

OCTOBER 31 - 10 AM
FEATURED POET READING
FILL YOUR CUP - RICHMOND, TX

* SET OF REFLECTIONS & RIBBONS AND ROSES....$30 TO FIRST 20 CUSTOMERS!

IT'S OFFICIAL!

2009-09-15T22:05:00.000-05:00

Ribbons and Roses is published! It published date: August 31, 2009.

REKINDLE THE SPIRIT OF LOVE IN YOU HEART

...with the collection of heartwarming poetry and prose that carry deep emotion and affection that tug at the heart. A sprinkling of God's Word is scattered throughout the book, much like the delicate fragrance of potpourri. This heartfelt collection will help readers to revisit time-honored values, to remind them that their lives are a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God, and to encourage them to journal their thoughts and feelings on pages provided as they see God's plan unfold in their lives.

While writing this book, we were moved to do something to help those less fortunate--the homeless and the hurting. Our publishers at Outskirts Press are joining us in donating 25 cents from each book sold, to organizations and support the homeless and the hurting. By purchasing this book you have contributed 25 cents to worthy causes across the United States. Thank you for your participation in this work.

COUNTRY MEMORIES

I walked through many fields in youthful days.

My dog and I crossed many pastures.

Through wooded groves and cotton fields,

we'd roam under a hot Texas sun.

We'd bask in the peaceful countryside

while hunting for small game.

I enjoyed watching the flight of a lone eagle

soaring above in a clear blue sky,

his sharp eyes scanning the ground for prey.

What a pleasure it was to listen to the crows

chatter nosily in the distance, and to hear

the clear, whistling song of a meadowlark.

How I long to relive those golden days--

a time when life was simple on the farm

and youthful innocence grew with nature,

in fields, pastures, and woods of home.

I recall the muddy creeks and blueberry patches

where my dog and I once roamed.

It's nice to enjoy memories of the past,

of a time that never seemed to last.

Some things in your heart will change,

but, deep inside is that youth that

never forgets those country memories.

RIBBONS AND ROSES GONE TO PRINT

2009-08-24T14:32:00.000-05:00

August 23, 2009 at 3:03 PM..our second book, Ribbons and Roses, has gone to print. It should be on the shelves soon middle of September! ISBN 978-1-4327-4445-8. Available http://www.amazon.com/ and http://www.barnesandnoble.com/ or ask bookstores and give them the ISBN #.

EVEN WRITERS HAVE TO EAT

2009-08-09T10:43:00.000-05:00

DURING MY TEXAS TRIP IN MAY 2009, I ENJOYED COMPANY OF NEW FRIEND, TRUMAN, AND GOOD FOOD AT FUDDRUCKERS. THANKS, VADA, FOR SHARING THIS PLACE WITH ME.

SUMMER COUNTDOWN

2009-08-01T07:16:00.000-05:00

Today begins countdown for summer and the approach of the fall. I love fall; it brings out the best in me as I breath in the fresh air and feel it nipping on the back of my neck. Of course, a bit of imagination is being used now with this Texas heat, but isn't that what a good imagination is all about. How many of you love the fall as much as I do?

DEVOTION FOR THE DAY

2009-07-28T16:38:00.000-05:00

"Cast they burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee." Psalm 55:22

Have you ever told the Lord that he could save you, but you would carry your own load? This is how I felt today with the major editing job I had to accomplish.

WHAT A DAY!!

2009-07-28T16:33:00.000-05:00

DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU THAT BEING A WRITER IS EASY. I TAKE THAT BACK! THE WRITING IS EASY; IT'S THE EDITING THAT WILL KILL A PERSON. I RECEIVED OUR MANUSCRIPT BACK FROM THE PUBLISHER AND SPENT ALL DAY LONG EDITING THE COPYEDITOR.

IT SEEMS I SENT THE MANUSCRIPT IN THE MS WORD 2007 VERSION AND THE COPYEDITOR OPENED AND SAVED IT IN THE MS WORD 2003 (COMPATIBLE MODE) WITHOUT LETTING ME KNOW. WOW! WHAT A DAY I'VE HAD!

MIRACLES DO HAPPEN

2009-07-27T13:33:00.000-05:00

Hello Everyone:
We have been asked the question how we became writing partners so settle back and get comfortable as we tell our tale.

We attended high school together and even graduated the same year,1958, from El Campo High School. Following our graduation, we each went our separate ways and to living our own lives. We lost track of each other and even with the school reunions that followed it seemed we never attended them at the same time.

It was at the 50th class reunion in October 2008 that fate, luck, or the hand of God brought us together. The class had a silent auction and I was the lucky bidder of his three-ring binder of poetry and prose.

I emailed Joe, using the address he had written in the book to let him know I, was the lucky winner. Weeks went by and after much communication between us, we learned a lot about each other. You see, the only words ever spoken between the two of us all through our years in school were "Hi, Joe" to which there was never a response...except for a smile.

One thing we learned over a few weeks was that we that we both have a great love for writing. It wasn't long before he asked me to be his writing partner. When I finally said yes, the wheels began turning.

To make a long story short...within five months of my becoming his partner, we were able to learn the ins and outs of publishing and were able to have our first, Reflections, Memories Past published March 2009.

Reflections is a collection of his writings and my photography that centers on our hometown, country life, love of Texas, and tales of childhood.

Our second book, Ribbons and Roses, is scheduled to come out in late September 2009. It is a collection of both our writings, with splashes of God's Word throughout, and even space for the reader to write his or her thoughts.

We are very excited that a portion of the sales for each book of Ribbons and Roses sold will be donated to a non-profit organization for the homeless and hurting.

With two poetry books published, (almost) we felt we wanted to do branch out. So a third book is in the works. If you would like to contribute stories for our upcoming book entitled Rockin Chair Cowboys and other short stories Please send them to the following address:
V. M. Wolter
P. O. Box 722405
Houston, Texas 77272

These stories must be your original story and not taken from other material. They must be stories that touch the heart and soul with the flavor of ‘remember when’.

For each story, please give your name, address, and phone number. We will not be able to contact everyone who submits a story, but will certainly notify you if the story you submit is used. Manuscripts and photocopies cannot be returned.

“Father, I pray that you will bless our readers and keep them; that You will make Your face to shine upon them, and be gracious to them; that You will lift up Your countenance upon them, and give them peace.”
Amen

REFLECTIONS, Memories Past

2009-07-27T11:57:00.001-05:00

Reflections, Memories Past represents poetry written with homespun values of love and friendship. ISBN 978-1-4327-2419-1 Perfect bound paper back available at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.outskirtspress.com/memoriespast.

Joseph A. Zapalac's love for writing began in the early fifties as a young boy while writing letters to pen pals and he's been writing ever since. He currently resides in Illinois, but his heart remains deeply rooted in his home town of El Campo, Texas, and is reflected in his writings, allowing readers to revisit yesteryear.

Life's Crossroads

Life’s crossroads are many. They are filled with twists and turns. Lost are the few who are uncertain of which direction to go. Wiser they will be once they know they’ve found the right way.

Life’s crossroads will not be difficult to cross once there’s a sense of direction. It’s a common fact that everyone makes a wrong turn; no matter what or where that crossroad might be. It behooves us to stop, look, and listen before we venture into unknown paths. It’s then, and only then, you’ll have learned well the lessons of life and life’s crossroads