Month: September 2018

Back to the Land of Ruth

On By Betty OwensIn Betty Thomason Owens4 Comments

Happy Thursday morning! Coffee needed and keep it coming! We’ve had an extremely wet week in our neck of the woods. I’m hoping for sunshine and maybe a little more summertime.

I’ve spent several weeks in memory mode, contemplating my future writing. Now, it’s time to return to the story of Ruth. Once again, I’m immersing myself in the beautiful Biblical story. Once I’ve studied it, I’ll re-read Annabelle’s Ruth and Sutter’s Landing.

This past week, I’m also researching my setting for the third and final book in the Kinsman Redeemer series. Something caught my interest, and may find it’s way into the story line. If you are of a certain age, and lived in the southeastern region of the United States, you may remember what happened in the late fifties/early sixties.

Jackson, Tennessee, just a short drive south from my rural setting, was often in the news in those days. It’s the home of Lane College, a traditionally all-black college (during that time), associated with the Methodist Episcopal Church. Several brave young men and women took it upon themselves to force the desegregation issue by staging “sit-ins” at area drug store soda fountains (like the one in my stories).

This, and several other “powder-keg” events happened during the timeline of book three. So, of course, I need to find a way to incorporate it in the story.

Back to the present: the church I attend is culturally and racially diverse. Though comparatively small, our congregation has a wonderful balance. Right now, under the leadership of our pastor, we are studying The Third Option by Miles McPherson. It’s a book about honor and respect, and learning to love your neighbor without prejudice.

The timing couldn’t be more perfect. One of the main reasons I’ve been able to handle the racial issues in the first two books in this series with grace, is the balance in my life. I believe it is directly tied to interaction and fellowship with my church family—a vibrant group of men and women united by their love for God and each other.

At one time in the south, it didn’t matter whether a person was Polynesian or Haitian, or African, or even Latin or Native American. They were considered a lesser race. Even a person of mixed race was denied the privilege to marry a Caucasian at one time. So my main character in books one and two had a couple of hurdles ahead of her.

Why even include this in my story? Why did I need the racial element in Annabelle’s Ruth? Consider the original story. If you’re familiar with the book of Ruth, you’ll remember that she was a foreigner, a Moabitess. She left her home, where she was in the majority, and traveled to Naomi’s homeland, where a Moabite was definitely a minority, and subject to prejudice. It is obvious from content that a Moabite looked different.

Ruth earned something dear—God’s blessing—through her loyalty to Naomi, one of God’s chosen.

As I complete this series, I need to finish with a bang and tie up all the loose ends. I believe I’ll find what I need in the pages of the original story. I can’t wait to find out what happens!

Coffee with a Pioneer?

On By Betty OwensIn Betty Thomason Owens2 Comments

Hello, Thursday morning friends! I hope you’re enjoying a successful week.

It’s been an interesting one for me. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need a vacation. I haven’t had one of those in a couple of years.

But not yet.

Lately, I’ve been reminiscing here on the blog. There’s a reason for that. I’m working on possible plots for future stories, and wondering which path to take first. I have a couple of ideas and the freedom to choose.

Some of you may have traced your family and found interesting folks and stories along the way. I haven’t done that, but some of my cousins have. My mother’s family traces back to Scotland in the 16th century. They came to Virginia and raised tobacco. Some of them moved west to Missouri. One was a Union sympathizer with a beard down to his waist. I read that he was not a popular guy. But his son dressed like a cowboy. He went to Arkansas and later, to Texas where he settled in the panhandle.

He was my grandpa’s grandfather. His son married and had four sons, but died in his forties. His wife, my great-grandma Christy, married her late sister’s husband. Think about that one. I suppose there were children involved that needed both parents to survive. Or, maybe they were in love.

I always admired my Great-Grandma Christy. She was a pioneer, and pioneers were tough. This time, I do have a picture. That’s Grandpa in the middle. He’s the second-youngest. His two older brothers were twins. Redheads, and don’t they look like trouble?

The Christy Family, circa 1911-1912

Folks didn’t smile for their pictures back then, but sometimes personalities shone through. Just as you can easily read the mischief in the faces of the twins, you can’t miss the hint of a smile on Great-Grandma’s face.

I wonder what it would’ve been like to visit her at home in those days? Would she offer coffee? Not in a Texas summer, I’ll bet. But in winter, she’d have a roaring flame in the cook stove and maybe brew coffee in an enamel pot.

This photo has always fascinated me. The first time I saw it, I wondered how my younger brother Ed could be in such an old photograph. That man on the left, my great-grandfather Christy—looks a lot like my younger brother—even the way he combed his hair.

I may be finished traveling memory lane. I really don’t know what’s up next. I’m reading a really good book. If I finish in time, I may write a review.

If you’re in the area, I hope you’ll join me on Saturday at the Plainview Barnes and Noble. Here’s an official invitation:

 

Real Life and Romance

On By Betty OwensIn Betty Thomason Owens

Hello, Thursday morning! Have you had your coffee yet? No? I thought you looked a little bleary-eyed. Oh, wait—that’s a mirror—I’m the bleary-eyed-one. Be right back.

I don’t think there’s any way I can top last week’s post. It was a winner. It’s apparent to me, my readers like real life stories, especially when it involves romance. Which may be why I especially enjoyed one of the reviews I found on my latest release, Rebecca’s Legacy:

Thank you, Caroline Gabor!

As a young reader, I enjoyed biographies. The real-life stories of some of my favorite people interested me. That’s the appeal of writing non-fiction, I suppose. Getting to know folks better, especially when extraordinary things happen.

Which is probably why I was always fascinated by my maternal grandmother’s life. I was only two when she died, so I have no memory of her. Only snippets of stories my mother told over the years. For some reason I was never privy too, my grandfather left her and his two daughters behind in Seattle, and moved to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, he cleared out their bank account before he left.

Right off, you’ll probably think how horrible that was, and figure the family hated him afterwards, but that’s not really what happened. He was angry when he left, because he wanted to move, and my grandmother didn’t. So he took all his hard-earned cash and went away, probably thinking she would relent.

He should’ve known better.

Grandma and Bernie Alonzo, 1952

Audrie Leon Packnett Christy (Alonzo), my grandmother, was of Austrian/native American descent (both came from her father). I hear she had a strong will. “Sit up straight, Joan.” My mother told me how she’d demand that her girls stand tall. Straight shoulders. No slouching. Walk like a lady. Maybe some of those demands are the reason my mother left home at an early age. She was still in high school when she went to live with a friend in a small downtown apartment.

Mom married at seventeen, her sister married at fifteen. My grandmother remarried around the time my mother left home. There are a lot of blanks in this story. My mother never talked about that time, and I’ve never pressed her to tell. I wonder, though, because my step-grandfather said of my grandmother, “She was the love of my life. I will never forget her.”

I know he was the one who drove my mother to the hospital when I was on my way into the world. My grandmother named me, and was the first, after my mother, to hold me. I think she created a bond that’s never left me.

I look through Mom’s old photographs and dream up stories to fill the holes. One day, I’ll tell the stories.

Henry Earl Christy, my grandpa, lived in Southern California until he died at the age of 75. His health was bad, but every photo shows him smiling, and most photos include a dog. He also remarried. My step-grandmother’s name was Viola, and that’s what we called her. Never Grandma, or any variation of it, just, “Viola.”

She smoked a lot and usually had an alcoholic beverage in her hand. She had a low voice, and she laughed easily. But, she also dictated where they would live. When Grandpa wanted to live in the Santa Monica mountains to be near a hot springs (relief for his Rheumatoid Arthritis), she put her foot down. It was too cold there. She preferred the valley, so they moved to Paramount.

In Paramount, Grandpa met some of the “movie stars” when they visited the hospital. There’s a picture somewhere, of Grandpa with Betty White. I hope I inherit that one someday. 🙂

He spent a lot of time in hospitals, sometimes as a patient, other times, as a volunteer. Volunteering helped pay the hospital bills. He also became a guinea pig, allowing them to try new procedures, hoping to help others overcome RA and Emphysema. After his death, he left his body to research. I try not to think about that. I’m sure he joked about it. Maybe they’d call him “Joe.” He’d hang out with the other cadavers.

That was my Grandpa. I didn’t know him well, because most of my life, I lived over here, and he was over there. But, he wrote almost weekly letters to my mother, so we knew about him.

Maybe someday, I’ll write that story, too. There’s a romance in there somewhere, I just know it.

An Anniversary on Labor Day Weekend

On By Betty OwensIn Betty Thomason Owens13 Comments

Hello, Thursday morning readers—

Is there anything better than that first sip of that first cup of coffee of the day?

On this first Thursday in September, I thought I’d share a little something personal. We’ve just celebrated Labor Day, which is the Forty-Fourth anniversary of a first date.

It wasn’t a traditional date, however. I wasn’t actually with the guy I ended up married to. But we were on the same date.

I guess you might be wondering what I mean by that. Well, I was on a double-date. It was sort of a double blind date. Now I know for sure you’re wondering about it. 🙂

At the time, I was living in Columbia, Tennessee. I decided to visit a friend (Pam) in Louisville, Kentucky, and I thought it would be nice to invite one of my Tennessee friends (Carol) along for the ride. When Carol and I arrived, Pam told us she had a date on Saturday night, and hoped we wouldn’t mind. Being a kind and very attentive hostess, she couldn’t leave us unattended, so had been trying to set us up with dates of our own.

I was dubious, especially when I heard she’d only been able to secure a date for Carol. How humiliating was that? Pam explained that most of her friends my age were in college or seminary. Since it was a holiday weekend, they’d gone home to visit family. That was her story.

Her plan was for us to go to an outdoor concert at the Iroquois Park Amphitheater. It was a Christian event, and was supposed to be really good.

Carol was shy. Really, really, shy. So she didn’t care if we just hung out in our hotel room for the evening. But Pam was persistent. Once she decided on something, she was going to make it happen.

Mid-afternoon, Carol’s “date” rang the doorbell. Pam confessed to me that he wanted to “get a look at” her before going out. Hmm…

I accompanied Pam to the door, and as it opened, revealing Pam’s friend, Bob, something happened inside my heart. Something like a little bell ringing. No, I’m not kidding—it really happened. Well, either that, or an alarm went off somewhere in the house. I’m sticking with the “bell ringing in my heart” theory, though I didn’t really pay much attention at the time, other than to note it.

The guy at the door didn’t ring my bell. No way. His hair was too long, he had a mustache and “chops” (long sideburns for those unfamiliar with that term). Way too much hair, y’all.

Pam & Bob standing, Donna & Brenda seated. Not sure who the dog is.

I will admit, he had a nice smile and a great personality. We were soon joined by his best buddy, Rick. I knew Rick from school. We’d sat across the table from each other in Physical Science class, and spent a lot of time laughing. The class was taught by one of the school’s favorite teachers, who liked to take us on nature walks in spring. The smokers liked those nature walks, because they were allowed to smoke.

Back to the double-blind-date in process: I suggested we go out with Bob and Rick, and it not be a real date, just four friends going to a concert in the park. The plan was accepted, so Carol and I returned to our hotel room to get ready, and wait for our “non-dates” to pick us up.

When they arrived, Carol and I headed out, but there seemed to be some confusion at the car. Bob was in Rick’s face in some kind of low-voiced discussion. I heard a few words.

(Bob) “What do you think?”

(Rick) “I think we should leave it the way it was planned…wouldn’t be right…”

(Me) Hmm….

Bob opened the door for Carol, Rick opened a back door for me. So far, so good. We arrived at the park, the concert in progress. We sat, Bob and Carol, me and Rick. Bob kept leaning forward and talking to me in front of Carol. I thought it a bit odd.

The next day, Pam took me aside (actually took me into the bathroom and shut the door so no one would overhear). She told me Bob liked me. A lot. And wondered if I was interested.

Gee. He was younger than me. He had a lot of hair. He wore raggedy pants. And really, really short shorts. Actually, those were once blue jeans that had frayed back to almost nothing. The pockets were longer than the shorts. His tennis shoes had holes in them, too. I know, it was the seventies, and it was the style, but I had never really liked that look. Still better than droopy pants, though.

Before I left town, he asked if it would be all right if he wrote to me. I said why not. I think I actually did say that. I was a big believer in God’s perfect will and God’s perfect timing. If God was in a thing, it would come about.

The rest is history, as they say. Bob and I married on December 21st of that same year. Yes, I know that was only a few months later. It was crazy. But don’t ask if it was love. Bob will tell you one thing, I’ll tell you another. That’s because he’s a pragmatist, and I’m a romantic.

All I know, is we’re still a couple and pretty happy about it. And we’re still friends with Pam.

Bob & Betty two years married.
Christmas a lot of years later.
Not so much hair these days…