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All About COVID-19

Like many newspaper writers and editors these days, the bulk of my writing at work lately has centered around the novel coronavirus.

Here is some information I've shared from submitted content. This includes health information and ways the community is responding to the crisis.

The only post not directly related to COVID-19 is the first one.

However, these animals still need a home, perhaps now more than ever. If you have room in your house and your heart, consider opening up both to a special dog or cat.



Pets of the Week: April 13

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/10/pets-of-the-week-april-13/dwkau7p/


When do you need to be hospitalized for coronavirus?

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/06/when-do-you-need-to-be-hospitalized-for-coronavirus/a93bwid/


Community blood drive in Minooka a success 

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/06/community-blood-drive-in-minooka-a-success/apisx0t/


Morris Hospital postpones select services

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/06/morris-hospital-postpones-select-services/appb10z/


Minooka Community High School provides meals and laptops

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/03/20/minooka-community-high-school-provides-meals-and-laptops/assy78r/


Plainfield-based Friends for Charitable Giving now accepting grant applications

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/08/plainfield-based-friends-for-charitable-giving-now-accepting-grant-applications/avl1ec6/


TOPS offers tips for staying healthy while staying home 

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/06/tops-offers-tips-for-staying-healthy-while-staying-home/awsfuw2/


Workforce Center of Will County still providing help for job seekers

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/08/workforce-center-of-will-county-still-providing-help-for-job-seekers/ah1zhvz/


Illinois Early Intervention providers will be able to provide services through live video visits
Services continue for families with infants or toddlers with disabilities or delays 

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/08/illinois-early-intervention-providers-will-be-able-to-provide-services-through-live-video-visits/apvg16s/


Recovered COVID-19 patients may aid in fight against virus

 https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/10/recovered-covid-19-patients-may-aid-in-fight-against-virus/agh6622/


Past clinical experience, new facts guide medication choices for COVID-19

https://www.theherald-news.com/2020/04/10/past-clinical-experience-new-facts-guide-medication-choices-for-covid-19/ay4bl7y/

Illustration by Christopher Gleason for "Staked!" Follow him at artworkbytopher.com.

The Ruthless Times

This was part of a post from a couple years ago from Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara.

In honor of Calkins Day (today), WriteOn Joliet is hosting a humor-themed open mic tonight from 6 to 8:30 p.m. at the Book and Bean, 3395 Black Road in Joliet.

Come out to read, come out to laugh, or come out for both. The cafe has wonderful food and beverages for purchase (the open mic is free), and if you don't know what Calkins Day is, skim through the blogs of this past week and, again, come out tonight, and you'll see and hear from yourself.

Keep your serious hat at home. We seriously aim to make you forget troubles and angst.

For those with previous obligations or who live too far away, wait a few weeks for the video recaps.

WriteOn Joliet member Duanne Walton has recorded every event since 2013 and posts them, along with the fruits of his other intrepid videography projects, on his YouTube page.

My Dearest Mistress of My Immortality (MOMI):

Through my many years of delivering newspapers, I had one favorite publication, which I'm thinking of reviving: The Ruthless Times.

This was a freestanding newspaper existing from about 4050 to 3099 B.C. Even though, it wasn't very informative, as back in that day nothing really changed, it was both ruthless and amusing. In fact, in its fifty-one years of existence, I don't think it actually had a single story that could be actually counted as news. Mostly, it was simply the happenings of the prior two hundred years.

Now the publisher, who was also the distributor, could hardly be blamed for this. Back then, births were not quite as newsworthy as the invention of naming your children.  Also, now and then, it was the notion of journalistic integrity or simply telling the truth. 

Since that at this time humanity was spread entirely over the globe, the first edition was never completely delivered. Perhaps the papers most endearing feature was it's "this day a thousand years in the future."

In an age when journalism has suffered such diminishing returns, perhaps it's time to bring this paper back. Maybe a website would like a copy.

Ruthlessly yours,

Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara

P.S.: The Ruthless Times was always a free publication, which is another reason why it went out of business.

Laboring on Labor Day Weekend

For some people, Labor Day weekend is the last weekend of summer, a time to enjoy summer activities a final time before putting them away until next year.

For others, it's the first weekend of autumn, a time to start unearthing Halloween decorations, readying the yard for winter, and planning fall activities over a cup of pumpkin spice something.

For some, it's another working weekend, either by default or by choice.

I worked this past weekend. By choice and on purpose.

Writing is my job and my hobby. I love both.

When I was part of the weekend editor rotation, I always offered to work Labor Day. It was my way of expressing thankfulness for working a job I love. Not everyone is so blessed.

Now that I'm out of that rotation, I still work, although not all of the work is job-related.

For instance, I spent part of Friday afternoon presenting an abridged journalism seminar to area youth who are creating a newspaper with positive messages for other youth.

I spent most of Saturday and Sunday working my way through the remaining notes of eighteen months of interviews. The interviewee is a Joliet woman in her nineties. Her family hired me to ghost-write her memoir.

Those were two extremely productive days. I only need two more interviews, one more weekend of writing, and I'll have a draft she can read. She has already seen how the book will look in a template. It looks like, well, a book. And she cried when she saw it.

I updated an editing client on his novel.

On Monday, I worked all day on odds and ends of work-related projects.

Some were the ones that take time to complete but are impossible to tackle on deadline, and so keep getting pushed back.

Some were projects I normally handle on Monday.

Was the long weekend all work? No.

I visited a friend who has lung cancer on Saturday.

We had family financial meeting on Sunday.

I spent time time talking with Rebekah on Monday.

I called Sarah and talked with her, too, the first time since we came back from Raleigh.

I took two walks each day.

I stayed up late reading on Sunday night.

Today is my writing day, and I'm in good shape for it. That means, all my main interviews for this week's feature stories are done, and I spend the day writing drafts for all of them. It's an intense day, but it makes for a more streamlined week if they only need editing and layout.

It was a wonderful three-day weekend. I hope yours was just as good or better.

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: Newspaper Jokes for Timothy's 17th Birthday

Friday, August 8, 2014

Newspaper Jokes for Timothy's 17th Birthday

Along with the discarded novella version of Bryony, the jokes below were part of the birthday package.

Yes, I know number four is missing, deleted on purpose, a bit insulting (aka Ed Calkins), not fit for print. 

Anyway, these are just another example of my re-entry into creativity after many decades, before I went completely to the dark side. ;)

1)      Q: On Sunday, why did Timothy stuff more papers than anyone else?

            A: He was on a roll.

2)      Knock. Knock.

Who’s there?

Sun Times.

Sun Times who?

Sun Times I just don’t want to deliver papers.

3)      Q: Why did the daily bags not mind papers being stuffed into them?

A: They were hooked.

 5)      Q: Why did Ron get old fast by delivering papers?

A: Because he worked for man-agers.

6)      Q: What kind of bags are good to eat?

A: Sundae bags.

7)      Q: What kind of a raft will not keep one from downing?

A: A paper buoy.

8)      Q: When business got bad for the newspaper company, what did it do?

A: It folded.

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: My First "Bryony" Photo Shoot!

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

My First "Bryony" Photo Shoot!

Ah, children! Boy, do they keep you humble.

My seventeen-year-old daughter Rebekah accompanied me yesterday to the P. Seth Magosky Museum of Victorian Life in Joliet where a photographer from the Morris Daily Herald took pictures of me in Victorian dress and on the location where we shot the Bryony trailer and music video.

While I changed in a cold upstairs bedroom from my nice warm jeans into a cold satin gown and tied on my tulle-filled bustle, I graciously accepted Rebekah's well-meaning comments of, "You don't look bad for fifty," and "How could you do this without me?"

To prove her point, Rebekah clasped my borrowed jewelry around my neck and balanced my hat atop my head. Next came the hard part: descending the polished wood stairs in a pair of slippery-soled shoes. Pat Magosky, museum curator, stood at the bottom, shaking his head and laughing at my careful, halting steps.

"If I fall down and break my neck," I told him, "I promise to haunt your house forever."

Pat's wife Andrea Magosky entertained us with stories of Joliet's past until the photographer arrived. Then the real fun began. The photographer decided that, for the first picture, she would position me on a small couch near the grand piano. That's when I heard the soft giggle.

"Stop laughing," I warned Rebekah.

The photographer draped my skirts "just so," which elicited another muffled snicker from Rebekah and additional chastisement from me. We repeated that routine several times.

"My kids aren't used to seeing this side of me," I said.

The photographer smiled in understanding.

Next, the photographer snapped a few pictures of me standing between my "Bryony" displays. Rebekah chuckled, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

"Do I have something taped to my back?" the photographer said looking around her.

I glared at Rebekah.

"Since it's such a key part of the story, let's take a few at the piano," the photographer said.

I sat on the bench and placed curved finges over the keys (Note to self: Have James show me a real chord or two for future shoots). Rebekah fled from the room, laughing, laughing, laughing.

The photographer smiled too and good-naturedly finished up with some additional shots of me on the couch.

"I don't take very good pictures," I said.

"These are fine," she replied, still smiling and snapping away.

She selected two interior "Bryony" illustratons and asked me to email them to her, along with the cover and "Bryony" logo. I thanked the photographer for her time, as well as her patience with the peanut gallery. The photographer, who doesn't have children, graciously dismissed it.

Back upstairs, while I switched back into street clothes and Rebekah repacked my costume, we wondered how messy the warehouse might be on a Monday and whether or not any recycling boxes had arrived. I mentally reviewed the story I would finish writing while she worked and hoped I had brought the right notes.

"Did you pack my flash drive?" I asked.

Rebekah shook her head in mock exasperation. "What would you do without me?"

We had returned to common ground.

The Ruthless Times (First Edition of Ed Calkins' Free Newspaper)

For the backstory of The Ruthless Times (not to be confused with The Munsonville Times), read last week's post HERE. 

Weather: 

Ruthlessly hot, cold, mild, raining, snowing, earthquakes, hurricanes, lava flows, or any number of things depending on where you are. (hint; look up at the sky.) 

No major Ice Ages since the last publication, and only one major flood.

 No major life-as-we-know-it-ends meteor showers in the last 20k years, but hey, we're due so have your Utopian underground city built, stocked, and ready. (You should let Ed Calkins know where it is.)

Top Stories: 

Nothing really. 

A bunch of wars and stuff. 

The Fountain of Tooth was never found (the Spanish mistranslated concept (Fountain of Youth) sounded good. Actually it was merely a stream of with a high concentration of fluoride that native American dentists where rumored to have stolen. (More likely, it was the IVA as tooth decay can be a problem.)) 

Egypt got rid of its pharaohs, Rome got rid of its empire, Barbarians got rid of the Romans, and China started drinking tea.

New Zealand (pronounce new 'Z' land) and Nazis (pronounced 'not Zs') both had unrelated unimportant wars, but the names were made up to incite mythological relief from the boring truth. 

Some people went into outer space, but they came back. 

A few went to the moon and found it so disappointing they left without picking up their stuff. Since then, no one has gone back.

Recent stuff: 

Again, nothing much. 

The ruthlessly independent state of Texas undid its 'second largest' static by leaving the Untied States and joining the larger-then-Alaska Gulf of Mexico. 

In Florida, a president had to cancel his tee time, and the weather there came northward thus revising the habit of northern people going south for that weather. 

North Korea has become a problem with its new intercontinental launching accuracy. Its rockets still can't hit the right continent, but every time they launch a threat it hits the White House between the ears. 

Aliens are in the news largely because they're because unwelcome for some reason. (Hint: just impose a tax on flying saucers).

On this date one thousand years from now: 

Lets see, 3017 right? The Twitter-Face Book Global War rages on leaving anarchy and lawlessness across the once civilized world but its not all gloom. There is a lot of doom as well. 

With more the 60 per cent of the world's population living in the catatonic state of post-apocalyptic insults, the reminder of people are reduced to using AOL and Prodigy (as predicted by the education "How to Sacrifice a Virgin" piece once posted) 

Some cold wars between nations are more traditional. The Rocky Islands and the Alp Islands fight limerick-laced differences on global warming. Both sides disbelieve it, but each claims the other is propagating its heresy in an effort to incite panic. Both sides promise a nuclear solution to the war as soon as a way to haul ballistic missiles from the ocean floor, dry them out on the surface, and build new missiles site to launch them can be completed. 

McDonald's presents its civil case against the Bryony crop. for using the signage "Over "# million sold" over its bookstores. (the # here is used to mark an unknown amount. Who wants to spoil the surprise?)

Steward Setback Saturday: Justice (By Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara)

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Justice

By Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara

In Bryony, when Melissa first meets Ed, he shares with her the secret to his ruthless reputation: enemy conquest through limericks. Below, the steward offers an example of his approach.


While doing his route in a van, a newspaper carrier, Howard, was attacked with a baseball bat. Although the van was filled with newspapers, it's believed the thief's intentions was to steal the vehicle. Howard was completely unarmed; he knew that he had a route to complete.

Although much older than the delinquent assaulting him, Howard resisted and was able to maintain possession of his van, even after taking a hit to his sternum and ribs. Though the strike of the bat probably broke some ribs (Howard doesn't know for sure, because he doesn't have medical insurance) he finished the route without a single complaint.

This cowardly act should not go unpunished!

I call upon all who read this to think badly about the thief with a baseball bat. Don't hold back in your negative thoughts towards this truant. As for the heroics Howard, now known as Howard the Brave, I have composed this limerick.

You and I would've probably just ran
Told the thief "take the papers and van."
But Howard our hero,
Whose complaints number zero
Faced the thung with the bat like a man.

I invite all of you to let justice be done. Send this would be robber down through timeless infamy for this cowardly act. If you are so outraged as I am, compose a limerick immortalizing this delinquent's cowardice. Posted on the it on the Internet or write it on the bathroom walls, but let the rhyming and meter become immortal.

One hundred years from now, an ancestor Howard the Brave need only mention that he is such in any bar and he will be rendered free beer. All descendents of the other one will have to bear the shame.

Ed Calkins Reports on the First Outdoors "Calkins Day" Parade...and Gives a Nod to "Bryony"

Dear MOMI (Mistress of My Immortality):

It was a long holiday season with the release of THE book running into Christmas and the of course, Calkins Day, which saw its first out door parade. I, because of my duties connected to newspaper delivery, was unable to attend, but my wives (current count is eight), most of whom are teachers that had the day off, assured me that they conducted it at three a.m.

They started at Resurrection Cemetery and processed down the middle of Archer Ave, past the distribution center in Rockdale, and ended, twelve hours later, at the Desplaines River. I was disappointed and confused by the lack of press converge... Maybe next year.

Anyway, I tried to organized a extended family group discussion of THE book in January. The problem was, with so much to celebrate, nobody had finished it yet (including me), but I have a good reason. I’m carefully search within the text justification of Calkins Day.

Even my wives are only through the first three-fourths, (excluding the wife I sleep with, who enjoyed the whole book in two days and is currently rereading to keep up with my insights). Anyway, I've giving my inner circle till St Patty's to read. We will hold the discussion on that day. I'll report back on what was said.

Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara

The Return of Family Chores

Up until a couple of years ago, when I began hiring other people to roll my newspapers, everyone in my household rose at midnight, ate breakfast, packed a lunch, and then departed to the distribution center.

When you have six kids, it's a simple, although highly organized process, to get fifteen hundred newspapers out the door seven days (nights?) a week. So even as my children grew up, moved away, married, etc., younger ones readily filled the gaps, that is, until Timothy began college, and the work crew began to thin out.

For a long time, midnight at my house resembled the early morning rush at others. Dishes clattered; the vacuum hummed; I was shouting to make sure everyone had been through the bathroom so I could clean it; lunch coolers and coffee thermoses were packed; and litter boxes were scooped. If it was winter, the van was warming up.

Not only did we have to get out the door when the rest of the world had comforters pulled up tp their noses, we had to complete all household chores first, since writing deadlines and homeschool assignments would be awaiting our return. Besides, few things are more demoralizing than braving the elements to throw hundreds of newspapers only to arrive home to a dirty, messy house.

As schedules shifted, I became the only one still tumbling out of bed at midnight. Even though Ron now brought my bagged papers home, I kept the routine, just in case someone called off, and I'd have to come in.

Besides, with the world asleep, the witching hour was the perfect writing time, since I wasn't fielding phone calls and emails (although my publicist and I had some incredibly productive three-thirty a.m. phone chats). I did the chores alone, reveling in the blissful quiet and the jotting down of mental notes for whatever story was on the monitor at the time.

Lately though, that routine has once again begun to shift. The last paper cut (Get it? Paper cut? Knee slap and chuckle) forever altered our paper carrier ways. We no longer could afford to put two large vans on the road, and the few newspapers Ron still delivers hardly feels worth his effort, not compared to the money it takes to run them. Still, even Ron is rarely up at midnight, although I still enjoy many hours of silent darkness before the rest of the world greets the new day.

Between working as a banquet cook and negotiating a full schedule as a culinary arts student, Timothy is coming home later and later, and Rebekah will get a taste of this schedule for the Spring 2012 semester when she embarks upon a four-hour cookie class. The candlelight breakfasts and noon hour Bible studies over farm-style dinners have morphed into Bible study over lighter candelight dinners, with chores following.

Now I would rather do housework at the top of my day, even if it is two a.m., than at the end of it, when I'm uncaffeinated and dragging, yet the advantages of tackling it at this hour exceed my natural inclination to ignore the clutter and proceed to shower and bed, and this is why.

It gives us an opportunity, as new ones outside our home increasingly beckon, to move together as a unit for a common purpose, and to delight in each other's company and the conversation that naturally ensues when hands and feet are occupied. Yes, we have our fair share (and then some) of grumbling and arguing (which can be accompanied by loud and strong language), for our days our long, and we are weary.

But there's something invigorating with moving about each other's orbit for an hour or so, before we again pull back into our individual rooms for the night. We're able to greet the new day with the house in order, no undone work staring you in the face, and knowing it was the combined efforts of the people that dwell together under one roof that accomplished it.

Candy Canes and Irish Vampires

Yes, Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, dressed in an Old World Father Christmasy hat and carrying a bucket of candy canes, was already making his jolly rounds when I, huge mug of coffee in MY hand, arrived at the distribution center at one o'clock this morning.

It's been over a year since Ed last worked at this particular location and just several months since I've stopped delivering newspapers, yet the return was a joyful one for both, especially me, since I'm still in withdrawel. I have these moments, suppressed, of course, where I want to ride around at night--windows down and radio cranked up--throwing things (ideally newspapers) out of windows.

Ed and rival supervisor Dan resumed their plans to take over certain countries with insulting limericks, and one female carrier entered to the loud cry from Ed she (mistakenly) assumed she'd never hear again: "All, hail, Audrey the Magnificent!"

Of course, Ed showed the proper respect by virtue of his former nickname for me (Newspaper Goddess), by genuflecting, head bowed, to offer me a candy, the very pose assumed every day when he brought me my route book.

Now, having immortalized him and all, my nickname is Mistress of Immortality or MOM. Yes, I know it doesn't match, but Ed is horribly dyslexic, so it works for him. FYI: Any blog postings he sends are thoroughly edited by me, keeping in mind my copyediting skills are less than stellar.

Saturdays are a notoriously slow day. Carriers, the ones that still run on Saturdays, arrive late and leave late. Ed still had to drive an hour back to HIS distribution center to run a route. Still, I sold, and he signed, a few books. To catch the attention of sleepy carriers pushing grocery carts full of inserts back to their tables, Ed would stop them and point to his picture on page one hundred and ninety-three.

Periodically, he would stop, grinning, and excitedly say, "We're really doing this. Remember when we only talked about signing books at the center?" Before I could do more than smile and nod, Ed was showing a carrier where his name appeared in Bryony, then add the exhortation to look for the parade in his honor some thousand years hence.

I chatted to a couple of carriers who were a little envious--in a good way--of my having completed an entire book. One, a musician, is writing his autobiography, but got stuck one hundred and fifty-five pages into it. The other, a former Chicago teachers, has an idea for a screen play, but can't get the words out.

Both marveled how I, with homeschooled kids, other writing assignments, and throwing papers at night, managed to write an entire book. I told them my lap goes with me everywhere I go.

"Oh, so you wrote it all the computer?"

Well, yes, eventually. I also wrote bursts of inspiration on backs of old envelopes, margins of books, and myriads of tiny notebooks, really any form of paper within reach. I also had to utilize random bits of time, which is the way I really dislike to write, but when it's the only available time...well, that's when you have to stay true to your goals.

Ed then told me a story about how is granddaughter is beginning to not believe he is REALLY Santa Claus and wondering if his credibility will be shot if he tells her Santa is also a vampire.

"Especially the first Irish vampire," Ed said.

One of the supervisors, who is generally quiet and whom I did not expect to wander near our make-shift work station book "store," spent some time flipping through the Bryony, noting the research, and asking me how long it took me to compose it.

Even better, he made a couple allusions to the distribution center being "one of the seven levels of hell." Later, he referenced something back to "the library of Alexandria." Now my curious was piqued, and I hope an opportunity for conversation with him the next time I bring my teens down to stuff inserts. There's so much more to people than meets the eye, right?

And yes, he bought a book.

Ed took five back with him for family Christmas gifts this weekend and is coming back for twenty more next week. These will be a huge surprise, he said. Although he's told everyone in his large extended family that he is in a book, when you identify yourself as a ruthless dictator and create Celtic myths about yourself, your family tends to dismiss your other claims.

I jubilantly waved a book before him. "And now you have the proof."

He laughed. "Yes, now I have the proof!"

At three-thirty, Ed packed it up, worried about making HIS deadline, then paused.

"Can I hug you?" he asked.

LOL! Why, of course! Merry Christmas, O Ye Steward of Tara!

NaNoWriMo Day #12 and a Plea from Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara

Bryony Prequel, Section One, et., etc.: No check.
Word Count: 0.

Still struggling with the hand, so saving energy reserves, etc. to regular assignments, which are mounting. Still, have full intentions of returning to that prequel sooner than later.

In the meantime, I received an email from Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, concerning "voter fraud" surrounding his annual Queen of Christmas contest.

You see, one of Ed's "community-building" projects in the newspaper distrubution center where he currently works is buying and giving Christmas presents to all of the carriers' children in his agency.

As part of this project, Ed asks the carriers to submit names of women carriers they feel would make an ideal Queen of Christmas. The winner collects the childrens' names, ages, and general interests for Ed; they also distribute the presents he purchases.

So what's the problem? I'll let you read it for yourself.

Hard as it may be to believe, I have been accused of unethically influencing the Queen of Christmas nominations. Naturally, I promised a full and speedy investigation from an independent, fair, and reputable investigator.

Only after making that promise did I wonder if I knew anyone like that! But, of course, I do. You, Denise, have the journalistic chops that should impress even the most sceptical of my critics.

  

Your mandate is simple! Look for evidence of corruption or misdealings in the nomination process of 2011 on my behave. Remember, I promised a full and speedy investigaion, so you must respond with your findings within my deadline.

Also, you must grant as full of review as can be made on a post 2008 budget, which, if you've opened this email, you're already over. (Sorry, you will not be reimbursed.)

Be fair and inpartial, but remember you're not getting paid for this, and it's not worth your time. When the deadline (five minutes after you receive this) has expired, you need not respond if not a shred of evidence is found; your silence will be understood that way.

However, if you do find wrong doing, you must report it to the proper authorities, unless you consider me as too prejudiced to receive your findings.

P.S. Should you actually look in to this, do not be concerned about the ballots found in the garbarge, as poor handwriting clearly disqualfied them.

Of course, I remained silent (except for a few hearty chuckles while reading). Would you have done otherwise?

Play Day

Yesterday, I did something I rarely do. I took nearly an entire day off.

A few weeks ago, my mother mentioned something regarding the river walk in Naperville. I nodded politely, and she noticed, perplexed. So, I told her I’ve never been to Naperville, which is about forty-minutes from home.

Stunned silence from my mother, than a shocked, “What?”

I reminded her I spent the first half of my adult life broke and raising six home-schooled children, so our activities were family-oriented (with other families in the same boat) and very creative.

Then I spent several years working from home delivering newspapers and writing) as a single parent. I remarried eleven years ago, but still work many, many hours from home, generally seven days a week. Plus, I’m still home-schooling two teens. My world opens from the computer screen out.

Because my fiftieth birthday fell on a Friday (warehouse day), we delayed the official celebration for two days. Our pastor baked a raspberry cheesecake, and Rebekah baked a piano-shaped cake.

My old asthmatic, but power-walking, lungs blew out all fifty candles to a giant cloud of choking smoke. Then I retreated to the attic and deadlines. Rebekah brought a slice of cake to me. I ate it while I typed.

So my seventy-five-year old mother decided to celebrate my half-century mark with a day in Naperville for a nice lunch, a walk by the river, and the browsing in shops.

I ate chocolate, flipped through books, got some ducks going by quacking at them, and added a crayon picture of bryony vines to a bulletin board of children’s art in a spice shop.

While driving back, my husband Ron called and told us to go straight home; he had already cleaned the warehouse. Christopher had made dinner. Then while I was checking mail, Daniel did all the chores. All that was left was shower and bed.

The best part, is that my sister and her youngest daughter joined us for the day and booked me for another day next week off BEFORE we said our good-byes. We’re going back on Wednesday for a day at Naperville’s beach-like pool area.

My sister is smart, too. She not only asked me while I was there, she had confirmed it by email by the time I was online, before I could schedule interviews and stories for Wednesday.

It’s been so long since I’ve been swimming (and I LOVE the water), that I don’t even own a swimsuit, so my sister’s checking to see if she has anything in my size. I feel SO relaxed right now, I might do this again once or twice in the next fifty years.

Missing Midnight

No, not my adorable seven-pound black cat by the same name, but rather, my former rising time.

Since last August's surgery and subsequent hive flare-up, as well as the loss of my husband's job, my schedule has taken a subtle shift that has its pros and cons. I go to bed later and rise later (although I'm still delivering newspapers), but I'm missing the quiet, productive hours that came with greeting the new day at the stroke of midnight.

To be sure, the plusses are there. My children, now all teens and young adults, are leading more independent lives, so an early bedtime cuts shortens our dwindling time together. It also means a few helping hands for the housework (Choretime is now in the evening) which had increased proportionately after we added a few members to the house. Also, because of conflicting work schedules, some people can only be interviewed for stories in the evening, a previously impossible task when I'd hit the sack at four o'clock in the afternoon.

And yet...there was something subtly magical about the hissing of the coffee pot in quiet house, the sounds of the night floating through my office window, and the thumping of my cats as they scampered across the roof (My office is in an attic).

That was the perfect time for housework (no interruptions, and no family members making additional messes as quickly as I cleaned up), editing of the previous day's work, and writing vampire stories. Occasionally, now, I'll wake to dawn's early light with the sinking feeling I've wasted half the day.

I'm thinking there might be a way to compromise here. I just have to figure out how to do it.

In the Midst of Chaos...

...is joy.

Staff changes, job uncertainty, financial woes, challenging health issues, housework back-up, and skittish technological devices. They clamor for front row life billing, but only because they scream so loudly, like a two-year-old in a tantrum fit.

Yet today has been full of sweet blessings: a personalized song link on Facebook, throwing newspapers to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, a quick ride to the grocery store with my husband, a pleasant voice on the other end of the phone, a mid-morning chat with a good friend, a purring cat jumping into my lap for some loving (and another one, jealous, trying to edge her out), my grandson trailing after my fifteen year old youngest son and chatting away in his pretty toddler voice (and remembering how my son did the same to his oldest siblings), a hot cup of coffee, and a cold mug of ice water.

Life is good. Have a terrific day!!!
Have a wonderful day!!!

Have Flashdrive, Will Travel

Newspaper routes thrown, two meetings accomplished, voice mail, email, and Facebook messages checked, I read the thunderstorm warning in my News Feed from the Joliet Weather Center. I glance out my attic window. Humid, but sunny. By the time I finished one story on deadline and an interview, it would be too hot for a walk.

Shoot!

Timothy was driving Rebekah to a weeklong culinary class at Joliet Junior College and had just pulled out of the driveway when the sky blackened and the wind kicked up. I quickly called him. "Bad weather coming in. Be careful."

"Sunny skies where I'm heading," Timothy said.

Good. They would beat it. I opened "new document," typed the first letter and felt a huge blast through my window. Then all went black. We had no power. Great. Staff changes at the newspaper over the weekend meant my new contact's number had not yet made it into my cell phone. It was on my office phone, yes, but that one was dead.

After Timothy dropped Rebekah off at school, he called to let me know she had made to class on time. So, I asked if he could send email from his new phone. He could, but didn't really know how. So I called Bryony's web administrator, Sarah Stegall, who lives out of state.

"Can you email my editor?" I asked.

I gave her the address and a few bullet points, then called my mother who lived in the next town. She still had power and was more than happy to share her electricity and internet service. So I packed my notes and flashdrive and headed over.

After I met the most immediate deadlines, I spent a deligthful afternoon catching up on an editing project, free from phone calls, instant messages, texts, and compulsive checking of my news feed. Later, my parents invited me to dinner and even made sure Timothy and Rebekah ate when they returned from cleaning the warehouse. I called Christopher and asked him to buy dinner for everyone else. Daniel even assumed my household chores.

With an editor going on vacation and needing her upcoming pages filled before she left, the last couple of weeks were busier and crazier than usual. Then I learned my new contact would be on vacation next week, so she needs her stories stockpiled, too. Throw a few family emergencies in the mix, tack on several thousand extra sets of weekend inserts (It's vacation time  for newspaper carriers, too), and, although thankful for much work, my mind felt flat and body longed for a break.

It came today in the form of a power outage. Coincidence or providence?

You can be sure that God will take care of everything you need, his generosity exceeding even yours in the glory that pours from Jesus. Philippians 4: 19.

Making the Bryony Videos, Step Two: Finding a Mansion

While I was writing Bryony's initial drafts, I wrote a series of stories for the Herald News in Joliet(http://heraldnews.suntimes.com)/ about the P. Seth Magosky Museum of Victorian Life and Joliet History.

Since its owner, Seth Magosky, died in 2007, his parents have struggled to fulfill Seth's dream of renovating the museum, so they were eager to show it off to me. I declined for two reasons: lack of time and an unwillingness to wander around Victorian mansions until my story was finished. I wanted Bryony's ideas to come from my imagination, not from an actual house.

Once I began querying agents and small presses, I was ready to see the mansion. Amazingly, the layout was exactly as I pictured it, a much smaller and somewhat adapted version of Simons Mansion. It's an interesting place to visit, as it is full of period clothing, furnishings and accessories. One room is devoted to antique dolls; the third floor ballroom has a pipe organ; and the main parlor has a full concert grand piano.

In January, I approached the Magoskys about using the mansion for filming the Bryony videos. They not only enthusiastically agreed, but offered to stage any room with any props we wanted and open up the museum anytime we wanted to film.

Their only request was for me to tune the piano, if James Onohan, Bryony's composer and pianist, felt it warranted it. Stephen Tuplin, our filmmaker, didn't think it was necessary because he wouldn't be using the audio, unless an out-of-tune piano would mess up James' playing. I didn't want to take any chances, so the day before shooting, the piano was tuned.

So, in February, Stephen shot some "B" footage, and in March, when Sarah Stegall was in town for the Big Brothers Big Sisters' Bowl for Kids' Sake (proceeds from the Bryony cookbook will be donated to Big Brothers Big Sisters), Stephen filmed her interview inside the mansion.

Then came a flurry of emails to coordinate filming of the trailer and music video. But before we could do that, we needed pajamas and a makeover for my seventeen year old daughter Rebekah, who would be playing Melissa, and Victorian suits for both our John Simons.

You'd think with four theatres in the Joliet area and one Victorian mansion, period clothing would abound, but we couldn't locate a single one. Blond wigs were even harder to scrounge up and frustration and panic were mounting. Actually, it was Dulcinea Hawksworth, my publicist, who saved the day.

In the eleventh hour, we contrived what we could not find. Our tools? Headbands, human hair, and earrings, along with creative shoppings and pairings. More tomorrow.

Ever Been Confronted with a Life Changing Event?

I’m sure just about everyone could answer “yes.”

Yet, when I read this post on indie author Serena Diosa’s The Beginnings of Tinkey’s Goldfish Facebook page, I remembered an event from 1997 that didn’t seem particularly life-transforming on the surface.

However, as it happened, I felt an odd “shift” in myself. I recognized it as such, although I didn’t know at the time where it would lead me.

This is what happened: The pastor at the church where I belonged at the time asked me to accompany him to a three-day young adult ministry conference in Chicago. He could only stay for the first day. I was to attend break-out sessions all three days and submit a report, which would be forwarded to our bishop.

While it sounds like no big deal, it really was. I had not done anything like this since college, and I was thirty-six. I was married to my first husband and was raising and homeschooling six children between the ages of two and fifteen. I had not even had a proper vacation since I lived under my parent’s roof because money was so scarce.

Not until day two of the conference had ended, and I was checking into my hotel room did I realize I had never spent the night in a hotel without my family. Before I headed down to dinner, I kicked off my shoes, turned on some music, and literally reveled in the unseen change that had entered my life. Something was going to happen; I just knew it.

I enjoyed a nice dinner (accompanied by St. John of the Ladder’s The Ladder of Perfection, which I had always wanted to read) and spent the following day taking notes, meeting people, and networking with others in my denomination. On the last morning, I had breakfast with one of the session leaders.

Shortly thereafter, this same priest taught me the basics of writing on a computer (I didn’t own one) and assigned me stories for the diocesan newspaper. I was already writing two free columns a month for the local newspaper, and I do mean writing. I didn’t even own a typewriter anymore, but the opinion page editor liked my work (writing the columns was his idea), and I figured it was good experience.

Six months later, I was a single parent and writing for that newspaper. My resume? A happy fan who was also the manager at the newspaper's distribution center from where I delivered newspapers and clips from those columns and church newspaper.

The Case for Calkins Day

In Bryony, Melissa encounters an Irish vampire, Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, a ruthless dictator who relies on limericks to build up or tear down, depending if the limerick is about him or his enemy.

Ed is convinced that his February 13 birthday will one day be celebrated as a national holiday, initiating a three-day celebration, since it falls smack between Lincoln’s birthday and Valentine’s Day.

I think an official Calkins Day celebration is an excellent idea, and if Ed ever produces the mythical petition to suggest it, I’ll be one of the first to sign it. Here’s why: laughter, imagination and generosity.

Laughter: The benefits of a single smile last for an entire year, at least according to a paper published several years ago in the British Medical Journal. It said that happiness is contagious and that people pass on their good cheer even to total strangers. Such transferred happiness is good for up to a year.

Several years ago at Christmastime, the Herald News asked me to find and interview local people who illustrate that study. Naturally, Ed Calkins was one of them. He not only consistently hosts a Calkins Day Parade on his Feb. 13 birthday (where Ed rides a pallet jack and tosses candy to the bleary-eyed adults who are rolling newspapers), he organizes occasional pallet jack races and newspaper bagging contests.

“It’s true that I’m a ham,” Calkins had said. “But I also believe that good cheer is contagious. Delivering newspapers is a tough job and this helps keep morale up.”

Imagination: My four year old grandson believes he is a super hero, and prefers eating only green foods, so my daughter keeps a ready stock of green food coloring when he must eat foods (such as oatmeal) that lack that natural pigment. My three year old grandson, by turns, is a monster or a bear.

Somehow, as we grow past childhood, we stop allowing ourselves to dwell in a world of our own making, but where is the rule that says we must? If dubbing oneself a ruthless dictator, soliciting writers to create a newsletter, and spreading the spirit of Christmas makes another day bearable, why not?

Ah, yes, the Christmas season. Here’s how I led that laughter story.

Looking suspiciously like the jolly old elf himself, the grey-bearded, bespectacled Ed Calkins performs his managerial duties at a Rockdale early morning news agency while donned in a red Santa Claus cap.

But his resemblance to St. Nick doesn’t end there. Each morning, he distributes candy canes to the newspapers carriers and makes certain that his current “Queen of Christmas” (a female newspaper carrier who receives the title by popular vote) gets the age and sex of each of the carriers’ children under age 12 so Calkins can buy each an appropriate gift.

And that, dear reader, is the third reason why we should celebrate Calkins Day: Ed’s generosity. That doesn’t end with the packing away of the reindeer hats. Calkins annually cooks an entire steak dinner for his carriers (He bestows nicknames on them, too, such as “Viking Warrior” and “Goddess”). His wife makes the garlic bread for the annual steak dinner Ed grills, right in the parking lot of the distribution center. And, yes, Ed buys the steaks.

Would the fictional, ruthless Ed Calkins be dismayed at being remembered in such a positive way? Ed himself, in the earlier interview with him, Twenty Questions with Ed Calkins, said, “The ruthless dictator would say, ‘Look, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’ King Midas is much better off than King Midas the Second, even though he was portrayed in a bad light, because nobody remembers King Midas the Second.”

Case rested.

Read more about Ed Calkins, including his interview, at http://www.bryonyseries.com/. Click on the link, The Steward of Tara.”

Who's Your Crush?

A couple of weeks ago at the distribution center, my teen daughter was playfully teasing another teen girl about someone she liked.

The latter, of courser, would not reveal his name, but I figured it out yesterday when the young man in question passed me in the aisle pushing a shopping cart full of newspapers. Of course, the girl was convinved I had noticed her staring at him or trying to hide a smile, but that wasn't the case, at all. It was simply intuition.

Then she surprised me by asking, "Who's your crush?"

Without hesitation, I answered, "He's imaginary."

The girl looked puzzled.

"He doesn't exist."

The confused look persisted.

"I write fiction," I said. "I have a book coming out this year."

Another carrier interrupted us at that point, and that was the end of it. This morning, being Valentine's Day, I'm recalling another conversation out on the route when, as we threw newspapers, my teens rattled off the names of the various couples featured in Bryony. Everyone, for their own reasons, had their favorite (Of course, we couldn't pair Henry with anbody, but that's another story).

I knew I had done an acceptable job with the story when I realized I was becoming jealous of Melissa. Despite my answer to the girl, in truth, I am "in love" with all of the characters, as well as the storyline and the ancillary details: the line drawings, the music, the recipes, and yes, even the editing, because it's through this last that I erase the subtle and not-so-subtle wrinkles from my prose, which then positively influences my other writing, too.

On Valentine's Day, many people will celebrate romance and still others will focus on the sacrificial love that is the hallmark of the Christian faith. I propose a third, which I hope all my readers will find, if they do not yet have it.

And that is a driving force, a passion for something that consumes you, shapes and spurs you forward--an art form, a cause, ministry--a reason for tumbling out of bed early, lighting the lamp late at night, and making the minutes between these poles, bearable, enjoyable, and filled with a satisfaction so tremendous it defies definition.

Happy Valentine's Day!