Readers in the Rough Highlights

 Already this year, 2024, our book club has voted for one book that received a vocal unanimous vote. This book is a memorable ride through life in 1952 on the back of a horse. I couldn’t wait until January to give you this title. It is a must read for every woman young or old.

THE RIDE OF HER LIFE: THE TRUE STORY OF A WOMAN, HER HORSE, AND THEIR LAST-CHANCE JOURNEY ACROSS AMERICA by Elizabeth Letts.

Can you, in 2024, even imagine getting on a horse and traveling from the East coast to the West coast without a map, without a phone, no GPS, no relatives to contact in case of an emergency, and very little money? Then join Annie, Tarzan her brown gelding and her faithful mutt and begin the journey. I assure you that you will not be disappointed.

One book “The Thursday Murder Club”  by Richard Osman, intrigued the majority of us into reading all four published books in that series. For a light enjoyable series of murder mysteries filled with plot twists, character development, a setting in an “old folks home”  and a woman named Joyce who gives her two cents worth on a regular basis, you may decide to read all four books this fall. 

READERS IN THE ROUGH HIGHLIGHTS

A par rating must meet the following criteria: a solid plot showing person against person, person against self, person against society and/or person against nature. Beyond plot development it must show character changes, a theme or take away that we can discuss and understand, a point-of-view and voice that lends itself to telling the story. One underlining element is that it must be a worthy topic for our group. 

We then give the books a numerical rating:

1 bogey—does not meet the criteria but a few read it

2 par—meets the criteria 

3 birdie—meets the criteria for a par and creates a excellent discussion

4 eagle--meets the criteria for a par/birdie and is long remembered perhaps for different reasons, and highly recommended to others.

5 hole-in-one—meets the criteria above and rises to the top of expectations in plot, character development, theme and voice. This book will continue to be highly recommended to others.

2023 Highly rated books

One book received a “Hole-in-One” or 5 points and nearly a standing ovation—

LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY by Bonnie Garmus.

https://www.bonniegarmus.com/lessons-in-chemistry

Five books received overwhelming agreement for an “eagle” or 4 points:

REMARKABLY BRIGHT CREATURES by Shelby Van Pelt

MAD HONEY by Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Finney Boylan

THE MARRIAGE PORTRAIT by Maggie O’Farrell

LADY TAN’S CIRCLE OF WOMEN by Lisa See

TOM LAKE by Ann Patchett

The MAGNIFICIENT LIVES OF MARJORIE MERRIWEATHER POST received the biggest mix of votes : 3 voted for a Par, 3 voted a Birdie, 2 voted an Eagle, and 2 voted it a Hole-in-One. In the end, it received a “birdie” rating.

 

2022 Highly rated books.

No book received the highest rating in 2022. However, we did discuss and try to persuade one and another to vote this book as a hole-in-one. In the end, our votes added up to an “Eagle” rating for--

THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY by Armor Towles

Curiously enough “9” novels received a BIRDIE rating which is still quite a compliment to the authors.  Our readings took us from Africa to the Pink City of Jaipur India; from Nebraska to NYC; Oxford, England, to Iceland; Paris and to Bombay; the Sunset Strip in LA to J.P. Morgan’s vast library in NYC.

These novels received a “birdie” rating:

THE HENNA ARTIST by Alka Joshi

THE NO.1 LADIES’ DETECTIVE AGENCY by Alexander McCall Smith

THE DICTIONARY OF LOST WORDS by Pip Williams

MEET ME IN BOMBAY by Jenny Ashcroft

DAISY JONES AND THE SIX by Taylor Jenkins Reid

THE SECRETS OF THE SPRAKKAR by Eliza Reid

THE PERSONAL LIBRARIAN by Marie Benedict and Victoria Murray

A MOVEABLE FEAST by Ernest Hemingway

THE PARIS WIFE by Paula McLain

 

2021 Highly rated books.

THE FOUR WINDS by Kristin Hannah received a ‘hole-in-one” vote with one person voting it a par because the ending was so very difficult. Sometimes stories of the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression strike too close to our hearts.

The “eagle” ratings went to:

THE ROSE CODE by Kate Quinn

 

2020 Highly rated books.

LILAC GIRLS by Martha Hall Kelly received a “hole-in-one” rating.

Two book received an ‘eagle” rating:

THE TEA GIRL OF HUMMINGBIRD LANE BY Lisa See

THE DUTCH HOUSE by Ann Patchett

 

2019 Highly rated books.

No book received a “hole-in-one” rating.

Three books received an “eagle” rating:

BEFORE WE WERE YOURS by Lisa Wingate

THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE ROOM by Marie Benedict

NEXT YEAR IN HAVANA by Chanel Cleeton

 

2018 Highly rated books

BENEATH A SCARLET SKY by Mark Sullivan

A GENTLEMAN IN MOSCOW by Amor Towles

Two books received an “eagle” rating:

EDUCATED by Tara Westover

KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON by David Grann

 

Between 2015—2017 I joined two book clubs and devoured some griping novels, some of which come under the new heading of “literary fiction.”

For more information on these books click here: Intriguing Readings  https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7852702753078267542/4116389582679811196

 

Thank You, Daughter

A few weeks ago, I asked my daughter for help in rearranging, sorting, clearing, or whatever it took to give our home a new interior look, aside from painting. 

"I'm busy, Mom," seemed to be the response. Then a week later a letter arrived for me (Our tribute to Helen Stapp, grandma and mom is to regularly correspond through hand-written letters and thoughtful short notes.) 

Inside I found this picture and quote from daughter Katy.

 

I'll hold on to this picture from a magazine like I have so many others, and one day Katy will clean out my personal belongings and find these thoughts. 

Still, I wanted help, or more importantly I wanted to spend some time with my daughter.   On Labor Day weekend I attacked the hidden junk pieces that once had purpose or meaning, but now were pushed to the back of closets, crowded cupboards and bookshelves.

That was a simple chore, emptying and cleaning.

Then came the stacking, tossing, and sorting. When Jack walked by, he'd touch my shoulder, "Are you doing alright?"

"Ha!" I laughed.

Murphy hid under the dining room table and occasionally stepped out to say, "Let's go outside." 

One day later the cupboard was cleaned, refilled, and usable. Now the stacks remain to be given away. The garbage man picked up a load this morning, not knowing how many old memories were inside that green dumpster like the shot glasses we once used for a Julia Child book club dinner and discussion; The assorted yellowed napkins from seasonal parties, travels, and just for fun; The decorative pillows now faded and worn. All gone.

Once when a tornado destroyed a teacher's home in Kansas, she told us in the lunchroom that now she didn't have to worry about all of her mismatched napkins, kitchen towels, washcloths and other bits and pieces of her life. They were gone. I think I held onto to those items for her, but now I've told her story and given it all away. 

My heart felt the success of a dieter after losing five pounds in the first week.

I tend to be like a tick when it comes to completing a task. I take hold and don’t let go until it’s finished or I’m exhausted. Day two I began again pulling out decorative glassware, trophies, piles of seasonal flowers, and other decorative pieces. Now the house looked totally trashed.

On day three I began refreshing the woodwork before playing with books, bookends, and glassware. Day four continued much the same until Katy came down for lunch. Our treat to each other is a meal at The Greek House on Jenkins Street. They serve the most tasty lamb Gyros sandwiches in the USA.

With both of us full and stories shared, we returned home and looked at the surroundings. Katy looked over the shelving and made a few suggestions. She likes a more asymmetrical approach while I like balance, but we agree on colors, splashes of uniqueness, and keeping it simple.  

She took a few candles and said good-bye.

Alas, in the middle of the night, I smiled in my sleep as I pictured what I needed to do.  Funny how we look at life on this side of the hill. I have a voice in the back of my head that says, “How many more years will you be around to enjoy this moment, this item, this book, this garden?”

It is a helping voice. It helps me focus and appreciate living in the moment.

That is how it came to me that night. I’ve never displayed my golf trophies, unless they held flowers. With all of them sitting on the dining room table I realized that I’d better enjoy them now.

Days later, I am still arranging and rearranging our living room bookshelves and mantle, and I think I have it settled in my mind’s eye. With the white highlight (thank you daughter for the color splash idea) I should be able to decorate for the holidays around what I have up and not have to take this down until the next time I become tired of the scenery.

 I did express myself....and hopefully, shared bits and pieces of our family life. 

Thank you Katy. 

 

Elvis in the Shower by Murphy Doodle

Did you say shower?????

I have to take a inside shower whenever letty says I smell like a dog,  a dirty dog,  Doesn’t she understand that I am a dog? 

I have learned to walk to the shower because there is always a treat for me before I step inside and after I step out. Before she had to drag me,  but she figured out that a treat would tease me into the shower,

She is really smart for a person

I do NOT like the first blast of water. . . When she covers me with soap I begin to shake all over and this time she laughed at me 

She said that I looked like Elvis in the shower and she laughed and laughed and laughed some more ?????

 I do NOT know what Elvis is, but I didn’t think it was funny the way she laughed at me. . . I was a wet dog and shaking all over from my black head to the tip of my white tail.

 She kept laughing and then started singing something about a hound dog  I am not a hound dog. . .... I am a cute dog   That is what people say when they see me at the park. 

I decided to shake again to show her that I am a wet dog not an Elvis dog

 After that Letty said, “Murphy. Settle.”  she took a deep breath and made a long sigh and then she  began to laugh again?

 When I dropped my head, she stopped laughing and tried to talk to me like a person.  “I am laughing because of the way you shake, rock and roll like Elvis Presley in the shower.”

what is an ELVIS???  she does not hear my question when i look at her

 After she opened the shower door for me to leave, I shook as fast as I could and then wagged my tail. 

I get the zoomies when I get out of the shower.

when i am wet all over, It is more fun out of the shower.  Now, I can shake rattle and roll inside the house. It makes me feel good all over. I guess it’s ok to be like Elvis in shower. 

I think i will act like Elvis more often now since i know it makes letty laugh.

She tried to show me this on the computer  Hound Dog  

 

 

Our Shared Reality

One late toasty-warm August afternoon when pancakes baked on the sidewalk, I stood in line at the post office, enjoying the cool air while waiting to mail a large stack of my Miami Golf and Country Club History books that I self-published. I was weary that afternoon but still my adrenaline flowed from the excitement of selling nearly 100 books. 

I only printed 30 to begin with and never expected more. It took two more printings to have 100 copies. 

Stepping up to the counter I plopped the packages down with relief. With a tired but proud smile, I looked at the lady in white and blue and stated, "I'd like to mail these books in media rate, please."

She returned the smile, placed one on the weight machine, checked the location and zip code and while placing the stickers on the the package she asked, "Are you an author?"

The question caught me off guard. Two book signings, one in Miami, Oklahoma and the other in Tulsa, were most successful for me and for the people who dropped by to purchase the book, but I never thought of myself as an author. I was a writer, yes, but an author is well-known, has books in the public libraries, and makes money. 

After watching her weigh the second book and checking the address I finally replied, "Yes, I am an author and this is the history book I wrote about my hometown, the golf course where I grew up, and the people who were a part of my life."

Letty Stapp Watt, Vicki Martin Reynolds, Jonya Stapp Pry, Dobson Museum, Miami, Oklahoma

 

In full conversation by now she replied, "Oh, I wish I could write the story of the mountain in Washington state where I grew up skiing every winter and the lodge we called home." 

I saw her name "Cori" on the top left shelf of her post office station. It was a painted brick with her name engraved in stylish lettering. No one else could claim that station and her name. I liked her creative and individual taste. As she finished weighing and marking each package the doors to the post office locked, but we continued to talk about our shared histories and how people had come and gone in our lives. 

Even though we were separated in age by twenty years and 2,000 miles growing up in Washington state and Oklahoma, we found a common bond. 

Judy Woodruff said after a story she shared on PBS, 

"The need for a shared reality is one-way stories and history bring us together."

Authors, writers, journalists, storytellers, teachers, parents, ministers, historians, civic leaders......all possess the power of words to bring us together. We often look for stories that touch us inwardly, that connect us to others or another time and place.

I found this to be true, when a few days later I asked for help in the Hallmark store. I explained that I needed thank you notes for the many people who helped me publish the book and who encouraged and challenged me to finish it. The ladies looked at the various boxes that I had picked out and we talked our way through the best choice (I bought two boxes of Thank You notes.) 

One lady** asked what I had written. I replied, "I've collected stories and created a timeline of the last seventy years of the people who built my town and the golf course where I grew up."

She lite up, "Are you a golfer?" 

I laughed, "Yes, I am and have been since the time I could walk."

"Oh, you lucky girl," she pipped. "I have always wanted to play golf, but never found the time. I watch it on television on the weekends and once went to a championship in Tulsa."  We chatted a few more minutes and then she asked, "May I buy one of your books?"

"Let me bring one in for you to see," I suggested. A few minutes later, she sat down with the book and thumbed through the pages. "Where are you in this story?" 

"Starting in the early sixties," I said, then turned a few pages until we reached a decade she recalled. "I want to buy your book. How much?" 

I was stunned. This lady didn't play golf nor had any connection to it, like I might have thought. "The book costs $35."

She took $35.00 out of her purse and asked, "Would you autograph it me."

As I was leaving the store, she said, "Thank you. I want to read about others who have lived during my time and understand what it was like." 

I beamed with gratitude and felt tears well up in my heart with her kindness and soft spoken words. 

(**The one lady, a perfect stranger, at the Hallmark made a difference in my life by asking to buy my book. A book that I thought would not be read by others. She and I now know each other by first names. Thank you Sandy (Beach) Patterson for sharing your life and stories with me.)

I became a storyteller decades ago, thanks to a job at the Miami Public Library, because I saw people laugh and connect with the personal stories that I heard at the Miami Golf and Country Club, the stories my parents shared about the depression, the war, and the people who had come and gone in their early lives. (Some of the stories might be called "fishing for a good line or lie." I was never sure as a child how to take that.)

George Haralson and Thursday

One of my favorite memories to share is of an English bulldog named Thursday, who roamed the club in the late 1950's. His official home was on Yale Street and his backyard became the golf course and the clubhouse. One July 4, I witnessed Thursday run with his short legs and full body to catch an M-80 thrown by one of the club members. Oh, my... 

The rest of the story can be found on my history blog Thursday's story

The homepage for my history blog is: 

<https://mgcchistory.blogspot.com/>

Miami, Oklahoma Golf and Country Club History

If you enjoy my stories please copy and share this website with your friends. Blogging is becoming a thing of the past and I could certainly use help for my readers in sharing these stories with your friends and family.  

My Story--The Fire 1984

 

 

          It was 4am before the flames were high enough to rouse the neighbors.  Sirens rang as truck after truck sped through the streets to reach the raging fire.  The neighbors stood in nightgowns and thrown together layers of clothes, starring in awe as the 1927 Tudor structured clubhouse burned out of control like an angry lady poking a stick at mad dogs.

          With water hoses surging full blast from all angles, photographers shot pictures of the fire in the night, while word spread throughout Miami, Oklahoma that the club was burning.  Shortly after sunrise it became clear that flames had reached the fifth floor and were screaming through the roof.  Windows had exploded floor by floor, and the town had turned out to see the event, like a circus train unloading lions and tigers.

          It wasn’t known how or when the fire started on if anyone was inside.  The housekeepers from time gone by no longer lived on the fourth floor.  Cars had sometimes been left overnight by members too drunk to drive.  Had the men gone home or stayed behind to win a hand of cards?

          For me, the club was like a home, my touchstone of who I was, who I could be, and eventually who I would become.  We moved to Miami, Oklahoma in 1954 a few years after the flood of ’51.  As a child of five my greatest regret was that we missed the flood, but oh did I ever soak up the stories and seek out proof of flood lines on homes at every outing.

Ladies on the practice green on the north side of the country club.1960's

          My dad was the golf pro at the Miami, Ok. Golf and Country club  and the greatest teacher I would ever know.  In turn, I played golf and loved the fresh air, but it took hours of my life to prepare for tournaments.  Practice was my life as a teen, whereas, my sister was a natural and still has an easy flowing flawless swing. (I must confess we both worked hours on the practice tee. Golf is never easy, even for a person with natural swing.)

 

1967 South-side main entrance with our blue station wagon that would take me to college in 1967 sits to the left of the entrance.

         I went to work in the golf shop at thirteen.  Tuesday through Saturday I opened the shop by sun up in those summer months.  From 2:00 till dinner I played or practiced my golf game. By the time I was a full-fledged teenager I had very little time to drag main, shop with friends, watch “As the World Turns”, or date. What I did have were the friends I made at golf tournaments in those years and the experiences of playing at the highest level of junior golf in 1960's before Title IX.

          Part of me always wanted to be like everyone else, but the other part was willing to stand alone and just be me.  I didn’t know who me was or would become.

          At nineteen, 1967, I left home for college at LSU to complete a teaching degree. Being immature, thinking I was smarter than my professors, I came home in the summer of 1968 married and left home for Ft. Hood, Texas.  Five years later I was a mother of a beautiful child, but divorced, uneducated, and alone. I left home again, and worked my way through college and degrees.  As a librarian, teacher, and mother I began to entertain and teach through storytelling and puppetry.  And we laughed.

          The stories told, laid the next layer of asphalt for the road I would take.  I found those universal truths of stories to be healing for the human spirit.  Listening to the laughter of the crowd rejuvenated me.  Listening to my daughter mimic me as she retold those stories to her dolls and friends, also made me realize how our children watch in detail our every move.

          It was the stories that led me home that weekend the club burned.  On a Sunday July 16, 1984 I drove from Norman, OK in a green Toyota loaded with kids, puppets and books and drove straight to the club.  I needed to feel the soil of my soul and show my children a part of me.  On the horizon I saw only two chimneys.  One four story chimney stood in the center of the broken brick shell, ashes smoldering, people still standing rows deep in the drive way watching. The second chimney stood alone on the west side of the building that connected the dance floor and porches to the main building.  Fire trucks and traffic blocked my entrance.

 

North-side from the putting green.

          I parked on the street and walked quietly cautiously toward the smoldering structure, my broken lady. My children ran ahead. 

 

July 23, 1984 Dad, Johnie Stapp, myself, daughter Katy Rains, and stepson Michael Watt.

     When my father saw me, the tears he had held off since the wee hours of the morning fell down his cheeks in rivulets flowing haphazardly.  The hugs and tears came from all directions.  All any of us could do was stand, stare, until at last we began to share.

          On Monday after teaching summer school at PSU, I returned to the club and parked near the yellow tape on the south side.  I followed the tape around a giant circle to the north-side and the entrance to the pro shop.  No lives had been lost, but, oh, so many memories danced in the clouds.  I stood outside the yellow tape. Then I heard a choking voice coming from the ashes that were heaped where the golf shop once stood, supporting the lofty building. From an angry grumble I heard these words,  “Where are you?  I know you’re here.  You’ve got to be here.”

          Quickly, I crossed the line and hollered, “Who are you?  What have you lost?”

          A deep angry voice returned, “It’s John.”

          “Dad?" I rushed through the door frame,  "I thought you were at home.”  

     Stepping into the ashes of golf shop door, I saw a bent over white-haired man swinging a rake wildly at a pile of ashes.  I thought for a moment his khaki jumpsuit was streaked in blood, but my imagination was vivid and dried red paint had the same effect.   Then I realized it was another man, named John, not my father. 

          “Oh my gosh, John, this is Letty Stapp, the pro’s daughter.  What have you lost?”  I asked fearfully.  He stopped, turned at me, and hollered,  “I’ve lost my putter.  She burned up, but I know I can find the mallet head.  Come here and help me, now.  You know where my bag was stored.”

          With two of us digging, and my clothes already covered in ash, we found the mallet head, no wooden shaft, no grip, nothing else to be retrieved.  With rake and mallet in hand we walked to the outside of the ropes and behind the yellow tape.  No words were spoken as we turned to look at shell.

          At last I said, “You know she was my home, my touchstone.  I can see myself and your children, all of us up there in the attic playing and spying on the world below.”

          “It was my home, too,” he replied.  “My father, James Coleman,  and George Coleman had her built.  I grew up there.  I know every nook and corner like the back of my hand.”  One by one we shared our stories through tears and laughter that spanned six decades.  Secrets had been shared.

          Then he placed his arm around my waist and said, “I’ve always said a man is just as old as the woman he’s touching.”  I laughed, for he was known to be a fox around women, but I knew that for a few moments in life we were both younger and shared a deep feeling for a burned out building called home.

 

*A true story by Letty Stapp Watt, as told for three decades on storytelling stages throughout the Midwest. 

**Later that week John Robinson drove to the farm where my parents lived and asked dad to remake his mallet head putter. It took a few weeks before my father found a wooden shaft that would work. 

***Sadly, my mother had finished updating the Miami Ladies Golf Association scrapbooks and delivered them to the ladies locker room a few days before the fire. Without pictures in that scrapbook I thought I had lost a part of me, but the memories floated back easily. In retirement, I took up the mantle (or mallet head) and wrote the history of my club from 1916 to 1984.

****Luckily, the club rebuilt and there are more stories to share. Click on this link to read our history: Miami, Ok. Golf and Country Club Stories

Murphy's Hideaway by Murphy Doodle

i had a hideaway

UNTIL JACK CUT IT DOWN where i would run and hide my toys and self

i could tell that letty liked my hideaway, too, since she could sing her funny songs even if i do not know what the words mean

sometimes when i would hide letty would sing these words

I KNOW A DARK SECULDED PLACE

WHERE NO ONE KNOWS YOUR FUNNY FACE

IT'S CALLED HERNANDO'S HIDEAWAY, OLE!

Letty even made a funny wiggle and tossed my frisbee in the air when she sang Ole! i like to see her laugh when i run after the frisbee

One day Jack cut away my hideaway and i hung my head and pouted

still he played frisbee with me everyday and so would Letty, i kept running to my hide away and they laughed

one rainy day when i could not run and chase squirrels and rabbits and birds and frisbees and toys i had to stay inside

That was my lucky day because now i have a new HIDAWAY.

Hernando's Hideaway from Pajama Game

The Power of Words by Joyce Bump Milliser

Joyce and I met for the first time at Lincoln Elementary school in Miami, Ok. in the fall of 1952 in second grade. We were so proud to be in a brand-new building that year. 

I find it ironic how many first names I can recall and like every other super senior I forget faster than I remember. First row: Rosaline, Tony, Jackie Trask, Letty Stapp, Mike Stevens, , ??,
 Row two: Raymond, Joyce Bump,, Carol Cosby, Donald, Homa June Jamison,  ? Ronnie, ,?.
Row three: Cooper, Kay, ?, Linda Sellers, Bradley Karnes, Lawrence, Jackie Smith., ? Sue. 

Although, we never became close friends, because my family moved before I entered fourth grade, we met again in junior high to high school. Now, thanks to reunions and social media have come to know each other, and more importantly share some of our stories and laugh over our gray hair and wrinkles. 

This is Joyce's recent story, and one that many of us have experienced, as we have learned that words can hurt or be filled with kindness.

I had a yearly dermatology appointment today. When the doctor came in and started examining me the first thing, she noticed was the mole on my face. It has been there for as long as I can remember. 

She asked if I’d like her to remove it. I’m thankful I didn’t tear up. I said “No. Let me tell you why. If your dad or grandad ever watched Gunsmoke you’d know who Miss Kitty was. She had a ‘beauty mark’, my dad called it, on her face and he always said mine was my Miss Kitty mark. So I’d feel like I was losing part of me if you took it off.” 

I thought she was going to tear up. She apologized and said “Well, now you have convinced me not to take it off because I’d feel guilty.”  

Through the years I’ve been very aware of other people's reactions to my mole. Kids especially. They’d ask where I “got it” and I’d always tell them “God gave it to me.” 

One customer asked why I didn’t have it removed and I jokingly said, “because it doesn’t bother me like it does you.” She laughed, not realizing I meant it. 

I know women especially who would have it removed in a heartbeat just like wrinkles or gray hair. I’m not those women. I’ve earned my wrinkles and those gray hairs. Why try to hide something that’s so natural. My mole is very natural to me. 

I’m not upset. It just makes me aware of how powerful words are to a child and how words can influence their thinking about themselves. 

I’ll always be thankful for my daddy’s sweet words.

The Journey follow this link to another story about the power of words. 

This Journey

I have been missing Literally Letty. Her stories have taken backstage to the history research on the old country club. Searching my blog for unfinished stories sometimes helps me create new ones.  Interesting how reflectivity takes one's mind and weaves it through a maze of emotions and moments. 

"This Journey" began in January of 2021, during Covid when I often thought about life. 

I am thankful in my heart every day for the life I lead every day and the grace that God has given me to enjoy it. To my daily regret, my words and actions do not always demonstrate my gratitude and love. Then my thankfulness turns to God and my Higher Power, from which I find faith and understanding.

Such sweetness in this pillow top. 

I keep two books by my side in my studio. A small blue book called One Day at A Time, Al-Anon which guides me with understanding of what I can and cannot do. "Let Go, Let God," is imprinted in my heart as a reminder of what I face.

 "Life must be lived forward, but it can only be understood looking back." 

Looking back is what I do when I write the   Miami, Ok Golf and Country Club History. Oh my, what insights I have gained from this journey back in time. 

The second book, which I keep nearby, is so large it deserves a shelf by itself. The New Oxford Annotated Bible helps me understand the words of God as spoken through his disciples and followers. I bought the Bible about six years ago when our Sunday School class took on a project to study the entire Bible. Thanks to Curtis and Michelynn McKnight we have studied books from the Old Testament, MMLJ, and now Corinthians. 

A curious thing happened to me when I stepped in Mardell's Christian Book Store to buy the Annotated Bible. The man at the bookstore told me they didn't carry The New Oxford Annotated Bible because it contained the Apocrypha. "What!" I explained, "that is exactly why I want this book."  He calmly and monotonously explained to me that Christians did not follow the words of the Apocrypha because they were not in the accepted canon of scripture. 

I love to read "banned books" or "unaccepted books" and that fired me up. I ordered the book online and began reading, you guessed it, passages from the Apocrypha. 

Whether Susanna, or Bel and the Dragon stories are history or fiction matters not. What is important, as we often say, is the "take away." Why write those words or share the stories through oral traditions if no one can understand the reason for the story to exist. 

After reading a few of the stories from the apocrypha, and the story of Ester in the OT,  I smiled. Our lives may be longer and healthier and our daily tasks easier than a hundred or a five thousand years ago, but oppressed people still must be creative, like Brer Rabbit, to teach the world acceptance of all peoples. 

Perhaps this answers another question I have considered over the years, as to why it helped me so much to share, to tell orally with audiences "Folktales." They carry such simple messages of how best to live. 

What I have found along this journey, in the Bible, is how to live by Faith. The Golden Rule helped me understand God when I was a child, when I didn't know about storms and chaos entering my life, but faith I learned is everyday.   

Looking back, this is not all entirely true. Besides the Al-anon book and the Bible, I often go for brisk walks to allow nature to comfort me, or turn to my collection of quotes, that I keep on the "cloud" for quick reference.  When I don't know what to do, what to think, how to feel about this or that I discover through quotes that others have felt and feel the same way that I do. 

Allow me to segue to a moment when I stood in my parents bedroom and my mother handed me a pamphlet by Dale Carnegie on how to get along with people. I cannot imagine what I had said or done, but from that time on she quoted Dale Carnegie to me on a regular basis. 

And so, a thought by an old sage, Dale Carnegie, sent to me through my mother's heart.

Every day do a good deed. That will put a mile of joy on someone's face. 

I am thankful that Salvia will grow in abundance in our clay soil because their blooms attract a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

 

That Other Gurl...

 Literally, somedays I don't know who I am talking to or living with inside of me. Who is that other gurl, I ask with a southern whang, and why are you so difficult to live with?

She has been acting much like a reluctant cave bear growly mopey and willing to go back to bed after every meal. She is not me. She has even been watching television in the evenings for several hours. Today, she woke up early, fixed her tea, sat back down on a comfy heating pad and watched the entire CBS Sunday Mornings. In one sitting. Now when has that ever happened?

I am literally Letty, who normally doesn't sit for long lengths of time, except to write. Even then I take breaks by leaving my water or iced tea in the kitchen. If that is not enough, I wear a Fitbit that goes beep beep beep if I don't move 250 steps in an hour! (I do ignore it from time to time.) 

That other gurl also walks on lazy feet, in other words, her feet don't want to get up and move. To be clear, this gurl is different from my 'evil twin' who occasionally shows up on the golf course. I have learned to let her play her game and accept her for the herky jerky player that she is. I have lived with her for decades and we have made peace. 

Today, the other gurl met her problem head on. That meeting is now posted on the refrigerator door to calm my spirit and revive that laughter within my soul. 

Sitting up, staring at his feet Snoopy says, "Now look here feet!  The rest of us wants to go jogging so let's get with it! 

nothing happened

ALL RIGHT FEET...ON YOUR FEET! Snoopy commands

nothing happened tee hee hee

That struck me with a lightning rod effect, and I picked up my feet and told the other gurl to go take a nap, because these feet were taking this body to exercise for at least thirty minutes. 

Who knew that one deep breath and a laugh out loud comic strip could cure a gurl with a cave bear mentality?

Thank you "Classic Peanuts" by Charles Schulz 

Moments like today and the week leading up to my cave bear mentality occur when the weather takes control leaving me feeling gray and grouchy. 

Thanks to Snoopy and the many other colorful cartoons, I pulled myself up and exercised today. Like magic I felt cleansed inside and out. The growly grumpy gurl was gone...I had exorcised her. 

Now I ask myself, "Why is that so hard to push myself to exercise when I know 100% of the time that I will feel better after a good workout?" 

**Don't google that one, or you will plunge down a rabbit hole deeper than the day is long....tee hee hee

"Be gentle with yourself. We are each doing the best we can."

P.S. After printing this I reread it and experienced another epiphany. (Two in one day.)  The word accept is the key for me to this aging process and to the gray days that have always been in my life. Perhaps I will write the word ACCEPT on my printer.  I write it on my golf balls and it helps me to accept the inevitable golf shots in my life. 

For another short story about Two Sisters Both with Curls click on this link.