Category Archives: Happening Now

Is there a support group for those of us not ready for technology?

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My DVR was really pushy.  It controlled my life.  On its own, the DVR decided what shows it would allow me to watch.  On Wednesday evenings, I have both Criminal Minds and Law and Order: SVU set to tape at eight o’clock CST.   However, once college basketball season started, there were often games that evening.  I have a first world problem: I can tape only two shows at the same time.  For that reason, I had to decide that I wouldn’t tape Criminal Minds so I could tape basketball.imagesThe DVR disagreed.  As soon as I set the timer, the DVR would change it so I was taping  Criminal Minds and SVU was put on the conflict list.  Every time.  Often fifteen times a week.  FInally, I had to wait until eight, delete  Criminal Minds, and record SVU.  

Last night, the DVR said, “Not so fast, lady,”  Yes, being a very polite unit, it always calls me “lady”.  It took me seven minutes to stop  Criminal Minds and start recording SVU

And it seems that my particular box has a time limit:  I can only keep programs for forty-eight hours or they will be erased–unless I do a six punch process to save the program until I can watch it.  For that reason, when I taped something Friday evening and planned to watch it Monday, it would be gone when I was ready.  In fact, between Friday evening and Monday morning, the DVR usually deleted fifty percent of the programs I wanted to save to view on later.  Perhaps the DVR felt as if it were helping me, telling me I should be writing, not watching televisionimages

Other than the efforts of the DVR, there were other problems with the machine. Dana–the woman I talked to–told me to go to the the business office and pick up a new box.  I did.  It took me ninety minutes, but I got a new DVR and rushed home to hook it up.  Took fifteen minutes for it to download everything and get itself ready.

And the first thing I saw was a black screen.  Printed on it was this message:  Your recorder state-board-of-regents-roles-responsibilities-1-638has not be cleared for use.  Please call the cable company at 800 xxx-xxxx.  Found the phone and dialed.  I reached the State of Utah DIvision of Higher Education.  Twice.  I was not happy.  Yes, the Utah Department of Higher Education.

Well, all in all, I got it fixed, have tried to remember the programs I watch and have set them.  Was it worth the time and energy?  Yes, I must confess, I’m addicted to television and do love my DVR, unless it overrides my choices.

Do you have a story about technology fails?

Courtesy at the H-E-B

kindness-is-contagiousI went to the H-E-B grocery store yesterday.  As sometimes happens, I was really tired and drove the little electric cart around to pick up the items I needed.   This happens a few times a year–when I hurt or exhausted–and every time I think I need to write about how rude people are to the handicapped.   So, here I go.

Many able-bodied people (a pejorative in some circles) see a person in a wheelchair or the electric mobility aid and think, “Slow.  Must get ahead of.  Must get around.”   I have seen shoppers actually hurdle the feet of people in wheelchairs or dash in front of me so I have to hit reverse suddenly so I don’t run over them.   It’s as if there were a race with money riding on who got the loaf of bread and carried it to check-out first.  Why?

Even worse than the shoppers who do this are the workers there who have nearly pushed me out of the way in their haste.   I’m a woman of little patience but I’ve learned it in the grocery store because otherwise I’d probably start yelling profanities.   Yes, I write the sweet books in which the characters don’t use those words, but I have heard them and I could use them.

So I beg of you, concede the right-of-way or wait and please don’t run in front of handicapped people.  It shows more about you than you might think and teaches your children a negative lesson.

What can shoppers do to help?  At first, when people in front of me in the check out lane asked if they could unload my cart for me, I was insulted.  I can take care of myself, thank you.   Now I appreciate the offer and accept it.

Also, if there’s something on a high shelf or in a freezer case, offer assistance.  I can stand on my own but getting up and down often is painful and many in wheelchairs cannot.    We can always turn you down but I’m always grateful for the possibility.

Treat handicapped people as you treat anyone else.  I have a brain.  Talk to me.  Don’t ask my friend if I want something.   Ask me.

Wander around the store to see if it seems accessible and tell the manager if it’s not.  Today I’m calling my local H-E-B because in the bakery department, many small tables had been set up to display items, so many that I had great trouble getting around.  I had to back down aisles, move back and forth to make a turn.  If I’d been going straight, the aisles were wide enough but having to turn, no.

What else can you thing of?   I’d like to add to the list.

 

Lessons I haven’t learned

About twenty years ago, I hurt my foot somehow.  When I went to the doctor’s office to have it checked, the receptionist who sat behind an open counter that was at least four feet high asked me, “Where’s the injury.”

To the amazement of the office staff,  I swung my foot up, rested it on the counter, pointed, and said, “My right foot.”

You know, that counter may have ben higher.  Maybe even five or six feet.

When I broke my toe a week ago, I discovered I can’t do that anymore.   Knowing I had to soak my foot, I put ice and water in the bathroom sink and attempted the same move at a much lower level.   I’m lucky I didn’t cause myself serious injury.   To the accompaniment of  many creaking joints and a fet grunts and screams, I was able to shove my foot into the water but worried the entire time I’d never be able to get it out again.

Lesson:   One cannot do everything one did twenty years ago.  However, I also know that one can do things that one couldn’t do twenty years ago such as publishing ten books.

This morning, I stubbed my broken toe.   Ouch!

Lesson:   people with broken toes should wear shoes.  However, I don’t like shoes and love to go barefoot which suggests more pain.

What lessons have you been taught that you refuse to accept?

Why in the world did I ever keep that?

imagesAs I sort and toss and pack, I wonder, “Has that always looked so bad?”   Yesterday, this thought came because of the breadbox which I’ve had for probably twenty years.    It’s dirty and just plain ugly.  Yes, I could wash it but ugly can’t be fixed.    Also, I no longer eat much bread, certainly not enough to take up a few feet of counter space.   George did.  He liked different flavors of bread.  But not me.  It’s in the back of the car to take to Goodwill in case they believe it’s salvageable.

Perhaps finding old stuff that has gradually become unsightly is a way of telling us, “Hey, you’re getting old” or nagging us, “Time to move on.”

Many years ago, we were attempting to sell our house.  We’d had the sofa for a long time and knew the fabric underneath and concealing the springs had torn and brushed against the carpet.  Probably a cat had enjoyed pulling herself along with that.   For whatever reason, the dangling cloth didn’t bother us.   It DID bother the real estate agent.  As soon as he walked in, he said, “Get rid of that sofa.”   I asked, “Won’t the room look odd without it?”  He said, “Not as bad as it does now.”

And perhaps that’s a positive outcome of a move: we can get rid of the stuff that shows wear, that reminds us time is passing but also reminds us for a few minutes of good memories.

Writers of the world. . . meet me in San Antonio

toenailsI got a pedicure Thursday and now look down at bright coral toenails that don’t look a bit like mine.   During that hour of pampering, I discovered my feet are a great deal more ticklish than I’d realized.   Everyone in the shop was laughing with me because–for a few minutes–I couldn’t stop.

Why did I have this, only my second pedicure?  Because I’m leaving for RWA  2014the national conference of Romance Writers of America today where I’ll join 2,000 of my best friends in San Antonio.  Probably half the writers in Texas and many from the rest of the US plus members from Canada and Europe and Australia and other places will gather there for days of networking, workshops, greeting old friends and making more.  I’ll be participating in two signings, several parties and will be “doing” breakfast and dinners with friends I’ve known through RWA for fifteen years or more.  What rwa book signingfun!

When I went to my first RWA conference in 1995, I entered the ballroom for the book signing.  Saw rows of tables, hundreds of writer with their books stacked in front of them  and hoards of readers  wandering through.  At that time, I vowed, “I’m going to be here someday.”  Six years later, I was.   After ten books, it’s still fun.

I’ve rested up for this and have nap time scheduled so I won’t wear out before I have to drive home, but I’m ready!   Just have to pack, take the kitties to the spa, and take off!

Hope you all have a wonderful week.  Hope to see some of you in San Antonio.

 

Things I do not understand

imagesMy blog was down for a few days until Cheryl Rae, who does such a great job taking care of technical stuff I can’t figure out, got me back on.   This morning, when I sat down to write this blog, I couldn’t get on again.   So I restarted.  When the screen came back up, there was my WordPress login box and here I am.  I guess I’m going to have to restart every time I want to blog which seems unhandy, to say the least.  I don’t understand this at all.

However, because I logged on this morning with absolutely no idea what to blog about, I’m thankful for that glitch.  

I have an iMac which I like although there are some oddity which still confuse me.  That’s why I’m getting another training session this week.  As I type this, a large white arrow pointing to the top of the screen flashes on and off with some key strokes.  I don’t understand that either.  [Wow!  I figured it out.  That means my cap lock is on!  Now I understand something!]  There’s also a symbol like a cloverleaf ramp on an interstate that comes on and makes everything go crazy (I know that’s not exact but I can’t explain it any better) and I cannot type.  Yet one more thing I do not comprehend.images1

And my bank.  I left our automatic bill pay in the system George set up.  Now I need to change some of those.  One is  $56.89 payment which is deducted every month.  The next month I get a check for this exact amount which I deposit.  I’ve called the company and they have no record of either receiving the money or sending me the check.   Seems like sloppy bookkeeping but I can’t do anything about that.  What I CAN do is take that item off the bill pay.  But I can’t.  Although George is no longer on any accounts, this one keeps running along, paying bills and not letting anyone into it.   I’ve used his codes and get an “account closed” message.   I’ve spent hours on the phone with the national tech people for the bank.   The only suggestion they have was that I set up an account of my own and enter the bills to be paid.  This means, of course, that everyone except the $56.89 guy will be paid twice.    They offered to make the changes for me but, you know, I think I should be able to get into my account.    I don’t understand why a bank cannot delete that but they can’t so I’m going to have to withdraw my funds and go to another bank.

This is why I think it would be easier to dig a hole in the yard and bury all the money there.  However, the apartment managers have told me not to do that anymore.

What don’t you understand?  I always feel better to know I’m not alone.    And if you know what the cloverleaf symbol means, please let me know.

No blog today–too busy doing the happy dance

I sat down this morning to complete the blog post I’d started for today–and received a call that The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek is a RITA finalist.   For those of you who aren’t members of Romance Writers of America, the RITA is an award for the best books for 2012.   It’s a wonderful honor that I’ve dreamed about getting for years and years and years as has every romance writer.   That call completely blew my plans for the morning.  I’ll have something up Friday when I can regain my poise and settle down in a chair.

What happens to research when it doesn’t end up in a novel?

We used to live in Buchanan Dam, TX, a town of three hundred about ninety miles northwest of Austin in Llano County.  Twenty miles further west of our house on highway twenty-nine,  every fall a pair of bald eagles built a nest in a large tree about fifty yards from the highway.  This used to be the furthest west nest (sorry about that rhyme) in the United States.   The site became so popular, the county had to put in an off-road parking area.

What I learned both from that nest and reading is that eagles mate for life and that they return to the same nest every year to lay eggs.  The most interesting fact I read was that every year they add to the nest—branches, straw, anything they find.  After a few years, the nest may weight one-hundred pounds or more. 

I write this because I’m going to Buchanan Dam today to eat lunch with a former neighbor and her book club.  As I write this, I remember the sight of those adult eagles watching over those fuzzy headed little one that peeked over the edge of the nest from time to time, and I remember the sight of the adults against the horizon as they glided on the air currents. 

And I also write this because I researched the eagles’ nests for my novel Second Chance Bride.  In that romance, I was able to use the in to use the information about mating for life but that huge, heavy nest didn’t fit in.  Not a bit romantic for the hero to share that information.  However, I hate to let research got to waste so I’m using it here.   

What happens to research that didn’t make its way into a novel?  I blog about it. 

The Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt Is On!

THE WINNER IS Sharon Miller.  Thanks to all who stopped by, liked and/or friended me! 

Welcome to the Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt! If you at any time need to read the instructions for the hunt, please visit www.christianfictionscavengerhunt.com

AND, welcome to my site.   I’m Jane Myers Perrine.  Delighted to be part of this scavenger hunt!  Hope you’ll have fun here!

You may know me from my books at Love Inspired:  The Path to Love, Love’s Healing Touch, Deep in the Heart, and Second Chance Bride.  I loved those books and hope you’ve read some or all of them!

I’m now writing a series for FaithWords about a young, inexperienced minister who is called to serve a church in the beautiful Hill Country of Texas.   This series has been so much fun to write because my husband and I are both ministers.  We’ve met some of these (carefully disguised!) people and experienced many of these event in churches we’ve served.

The first book in the series is The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek which is now available and has had great reviews.  It’s been compared to both Jan Karon’s wonderful Mitford series and Phillip Gulley’s Harmony books..

The second book in the series is The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek which will be out in late November of this year.

What should I tell you about myself?  First of all, I love to write humor and have really loved using it in these novels.  Second, as well as being a minister, I’ve taught Spanish in high school and college.  Third, George and I live in central Texas with two spoiled tuxedo cats who rule our lives.

I have a contest on this blog for an advanced reader’s copy of The Matchmakers as well as a set of magnetic bookmarks with scriptures.   You’ll get one point for posting here on this blog, one for TWEETING (@perrinejane  Please mention Butternut Creek so I know to count you) and one for liking me on Facebook  (Jane Myers Perrine).  Due to postage, I can only send this prize to readers in the USA or Canada.

About the book:  The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek picks up after The Welcome Committee ends.  Peoples have asked me if the minister, Adam Jordan, gets married in the second book.  Maybe.  Miss Birdie, the Widow who runs the church is back.  Even if you haven’t read The Welcome Committee, you know her.  She’s the lady who runs the church but only because she loves people and is sure everyone will be better off and happier if they do things her way.   The other Widows appear and one is added.  Leo and Nick still pull stunts and life goes on in Butternut Creek.  The parsonage is that Victorian house next to the Christian Church.  Sit down, pour yourself a glass of lemonade, and chat a spell.

Each of the books starts with a letter from Adam.  Here’s the letter that begins The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek. 

 From the desk of Adam Joseph Jordan, M Div.

I continue to be a sad burden for Birdie MacDowell. Since I arrived at the church in Butternut Creek seven months ago, I’ve attempted to lift that weight from her shoulders and to correct the many errors she expects me to atone for.

If she were to comment on the first paragraph of this letter, Miss Birdie would point out that I wrote a run-on sentence and ended it with a preposition. Despite my earnest efforts, I have failed her again, at least grammatically.

When I first arrived here in Butternut Creek, called to serve the Christian Church, she saw me as too young and too inexperienced for almost everything. She was correct. She believes she always is. Personally, I’d hoped the passage of time would take care of both of my flaws, but Miss Birdie is not one to wait around and hope for change.

Although she’s never expressed this, an odd omission for a woman who prides herself on her speaking out fearlessly, she knows that a man of my age (too young) and with a sad lack of piety could never act as her spiritual guide.

She’s probably correct. I am woefully incompetent to lead another person to faith when I struggle daily with my own flaws. Thank goodness for grace from the Lord if not from Miss Birdie.

I have discovered a few things in the months I’ve been here. First, I fell in love with this small town in the beautiful hill country of Texas the moment I arrived: the friendly people, the Victorian houses, the live oaks shadowing the streets, the downtown square surrounded by coffee shops and gift stores and antique malls with a few businesses—the barber shop and the diner where Miss Birdie works–sprinkled in.

Secondly, I found out I do possess some skills. I preach a good sermon, teach an interesting adult Sunday school class, have an active youth group, and make much appreciated hospital calls and evangelistic visits regularly. I’ve also improved my basketball game.

But there was one area in which Miss Birdie still found me lacking: finding a wife and producing children to populate the children’s Sunday school classes.

Yes, she wanted me to find a bride. Wanted is an inadequate word here. Even determined doesn’t approach the level of her resolve. Add to that adjective single-minded and unwavering and the total comes close to her desperate need to marry me off. Do not add choosyto that list because she’d marry me off to any single woman still in her child-bearing years who lives within a fifty-mile radius of Butternut Creek. Her task is made nearly impossible by the dearth of single women in small central Texas towns.

Could be she expects God to create a mate from my rib, but that hasn’t happened yet. Nor do I expect to wake up, as Boaz did, to find a bride lying at my feet. Of course, if a woman should appear in my bed, whether at the foot or cozily snuggled next to me, her presence in the parsonage would create a scandal from which neither the church nor I would recover.

Because Miss Birdie has renounced these biblical approaches to finding me a wife, I shudder to imagine what schemes ARE in her fertile and scheming mind. All for my own good, of course.

For the protection and edification of all involved, I decided to document every one of the efforts she and her cohorts, the other three Widows, have made in their attempts to find me a mate. In addition, this book will cover my next year as minister in Butternut Creek, my search for experience and a wife as well as the joy of living here with the wonderful people who inhabit this paradise.

I send it off with my love and my blessing and in the desperate hope that someday Miss Birdie will smile upon me and say, “Well done, Pastor.”

For your next clue, go to  http://vickiemcdonough.com/www.vickiemcdonough.com/CFSH.html

Surgery + 3 days

I’d hoped I’d be better to see by now but still can’t write or watch much television and cannot read at all (so please excuse any spelling errors here) and I hate that!  I am a bookaholic.  Fortunately, my darling husband of forty-six years showed me the marvel of the talking Kindle.   Now I listen to my books.  The voice mispronounces words; for example,   chapel becomes chapelle, but it’s less boring.  I have convinced George that I cannot see well enough to cook or vacuum or load the dishwasher.  He knows I can.  He’s just to nice to mention it and he loves take-out.   I have increased font size on my computer so will be able to get some writing done today–thank goodness.  I have left Hannah and Gabe (book three:  The Wedding Planners) alone in the wreckage of the tornado and need to get them out.   

George took a picture of me a few minutes ago and I think the surgery turned out well although I’m not sure I’m happy with the lips.  What do you think?