I hear you fine, I just can’t understand…

On By Betty OwensIn ebooks, hearing, Kindle, letter, phone, Writing2 Comments

It’s possible no one will ever read this. I am happy to say, it doesn’t matter. I am going to write even if no one reads what I write. 

If you’re a writer and you want to guarantee someone reads what you write, then write letters to loved ones. I still have a few family members who don’t have computers. They love getting letters, especially handwritten ones. They read mine, then they send me an answer. Instead of seconds or minutes, the whole process takes a week or two at a combined cost of nearly a dollar. 
I could just pick up the phone and call them, but I have trouble hearing on the phone and some of them have the same problem. Our conversations tend toward hilarity. “I hear you fine, I just can’t understand what you’re saying…” 

And in the end, I find I must write a letter to be sure they understood what I told them on the phone. So it saves time, if not money, to write a letter.
One dear friend who calls me a youngster was wondering when I’d publish another book. I told her I have an ebook in progress. “You should get a Kindle reader, I think you’d like it,” I said.
“I’ve seen those for sale,” she said. “I don’t reckon I could figure out how to use it.”
“Oh it’s easy to use,” I told her. “You could get your son to set it up and after that, it’s a breeze.”
“Yeah, well, it’d just be another thing I’d have to remember where I set it. Then I’d spend half the day looking for it, and another half of the day trying to remember what I was looking for.”
I couldn’t argue with that. 

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. I’ll try to do better here on out. Hope you’re having a wonderful day. 
Thanks for stopping by!

A Cherished Christmas Memory

On By Betty OwensIn California, Christmas, Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, San Diego4 Comments

Mike, Eddie & Me (Betty)
We all have a favorite Christmas memory. This is mine. The picture was taken on my first day of school in San Diego, California. The story takes place on Christmas Eve of the same year.

San Diego, California, 1959 -The house we lived in was just blocks away from the San Diego Zoo and the mission at Balboa, so our yard was often filled with exotic sounds like the roar of a lion, the call of the peacock, the trumpet of elephants.

We didn’t have much money, but my mother could always find a way to make Christmas special for us. She made many of our gifts and baked lots of cookies.
Dad had been looking for another place to live, further out from town, so we’d spend the weekend looking at houses. I liked one particular house very much because it had an upper story which fascinated me. There was even a life-sized cardboard cutout of Shirley Temple in one upstairs bedroom. 

The former owners had left a pile of trash in the yard. On that pile, I found a handmade doll cradle. It was broken and dirty, full of leaves and rainwater, but to me it was a treasure. Only rich kids had such things. I knelt down beside it as children often do, to get a better look. In my heart was a deep longing, too innocent to be described as covetous. I wanted a doll cradle like that one.
On Christmas Eve, my older brother and I were begging to stay up. “Just a little bit longer, please.” To no avail, for I’m sure my mother had a million things to do to get ready for the big day. She stubbornly resisted our pleas. Then she received a little unexpected help by way of a stiff breeze outside. The front door blew open about six inches or so. Mike and I stopped our pleading to gaze at the door, then at each other. His eyes were large and his mouth formed an “o”. Chills tickled my spine.
“See there?” Mom said, always quick on the uptake. “Santa is trying to come, but you two are still up. He can’t come in while you’re awake.” There was no more argument. We ran as fast as we could and jumped into our beds. 
Early on Christmas morning, we tiptoed out of our rooms to see what treasures Santa had left for us overnight. Oh, there seemed to be so much stuff beneath that tree. My brothers dived in at once, grabbing toys and showing them off to each other. I stood in awe, for there to my great surprise and joy, was the same little doll cradle I had seen on the trash pile. I knew it was the very same one, even though it had received a fresh coat of powder blue paint and was no longer broken.
Mom had made a small mattress and pillow, complete with embroidered sheet, pillowcase, and quilt. A brand new doll lay on top of it all. The doll could cry real tears and wet her diaper, but I barely noticed. I was enraptured with the refurbished cradle, even though I knew its last home had been a trash pile. 
Long after I outgrew playing with dolls, that cradle sat in my room. When I was finished with it, Mom (who seldom threw anything away) used it as a planter. Every time I saw it, I remembered that special Christmas. It became one of my most cherished memories. 
It’s not always necessary to spend a lot of money to make Christmas special. Sometimes a little imagination and a whole lot of love can bring the most joy to someone’s heart. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? 

Originally posted December, 2009

What the Heart Reveals

On By Betty OwensIn Happiness, kindness, scripture, Smile, treasures
When did this happen?

I looked in the mirror the other day and found someone new looking back at me. At least I hoped it was someone new, and not me. That could not be me. But it was. 

Ever had that experience? When you wake up one day and suddenly recognize the fact that years have passed and left an obvious trail across your face. Your hair has faded to gray or white and . . . well, you get my point. And why don’t we enjoy being slim when we are, instead of always thinking we’re fat? 

I was reminded of this passage of scripture:

Do not let your adornment be merely outward—arranging the hair, wearing gold, or putting on fine apparel—rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God. I Peter 3: 2-4

I pulled this segment out because these are the words that apply to my post. You may recognize the passage. It starts out with “Wives, likewise, be submissive to your own husbands . . . ” Yes, that one. But that’s a subject for a different day.

I realized on this particular day that it’s not the outward appearance that really matters. We try to look our best and keep ourselves in good physical shape, but if our main emphasis is on the outward, we’ll end up an empty shell. The shell might look good, but in times of trouble (pressure), it crumbles. 

I’m not saying you should ignore what time is busy doing to the skin you’re in, but don’t spend so much time worrying over it. Don’t spend your life’s savings trying hold back the tide. Or your grocery and/or gas money, for that matter.

Do read, study, pray, do good works, show kindness, spread happiness. Smile. In this way, you bury treasures in the hidden places of the heart. There’s no guarantee you’ll overcome all that life throws at you, but your chances are better if you’ve got a stockpile of treasure laid up for eternity. 

Late to Work

On By Betty OwensIn Betty Thomason Owens, bumper, headlights, makeup, work2 Comments

The woman in the car behind me is late for work. I know this, because she is so close to my bumper I can’t see her headlights. What I can see is her mascara brush, as she applies it in front of the rearview mirror. 
     The hair on my forearms stands up as I apply the brake to see if she’s paying attention. She dropped her mascara brush. I pick up speed again and she stays right with me. I decide to do her a favor and slow down. That way, she’ll have time to finish her makeup. She waves her hands in the air. Drying her nails maybe?
We’re driving along a winding stretch of two-lane road and I still can’t see her headlights in my rearview mirror. My gaze bounces between her and the road ahead. I hope no one pulls out in front of me or stops suddenly, since she has progressed to eyeliner. I would hate to mess that up. Now that’s skill, folks. Applying eyeliner at forty miles an hour. 
By this time, I’ve decided she’s actually connected to my car’s bumper. She’s letting me drive so she can apply her makeup. Genius. As I ease to a stop at a red light, I see she’s now applying blush. I take off slowly, so she can remain attached to my bumper. At the next red light, she fluffs her hair. That should be the last phase. I think she’s finally ready for work. I decide to do her a favor and pull into a parking lot. Unobstructed, she hits the gas and hot-foots it through the intersection. 
Feeling quite free myself, I pull out of the parking lot at the first available moment and make my way through town. Five minutes later, I see her again. She’s parked on the side of the road right in front of a police car with flashing lights. 
Oops, I think she’s going to be late to work.

A Successful Summer Slow-Down

On By Betty OwensIn Gusto, languid, Seattle, siesta, Slow down5 Comments

Help! I slowed down too much! You know the feeling. Absolutely languid. This uber-hot summer required slow movement. Or so I tell myself. But the truth is, I finally accomplished a slow-down.

One day last week, the weather was absolutely gorgeous. The humidity was low, which is rare during a Kentucky summer. So my facebook post was:

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be off work, so I’m gonna go out and sit in the sun right now. Just because I can. Yeah.

You might be thinking I’m lazy, but that’s not really true. I walk six miles a week, keep up with my housework and . . . well I don’t have to list everything I do. But my plan of action includes a few minutes every morning, when I jot down the important things I want to complete that day. When my list is either completed, or satisfactory, I feel free to sit in the sun or read a book in the middle of the day.

Gusto Takes a Siesta

So today, I encourage you not to skip your break. Take it. Enjoy a leisurely lunch if you can. Give yourself permission to rest.

It’s even been hot in Seattle where Gusto lives. He’s definitely achieved the perfect slow-down. It’s called siesta. This is the only way to truly enjoy a hot summer afternoon.

So if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll put my feet up and enjoy today’s siesta. Anyone for a tall glass of iced tea?