Category Archives: Musings

What should I get George?

A question, Holidays, Musings, , , , , , ,

I have probably the best, wittiest, and most intelligent husband in the world.  I would say “sexiest” but I write the sweet books and don’t want to shock  anyone with that word.  ANYWAY, he is also, as I mentioned in my last post, wonderful at choosing gifts that I’d never have thought I needed.  He’s also creative, choosing gifts I’d never have guessed what they were before I opened the package.  For example, one Christmas he gave me a stuffed animal–a cocker spaniel because we had several live ones as pets-with a radio in its tummy.

But I’m terrible at thinking of great gifts for him.   He has plenty of T-shirts and has told me to buy him no more University of Louisville or Houston Texans shirts.  We’re retired so his supply of ties from  when he was a minister is sufficient to last until at least 2050, should we–and the earth–still be around.   He orders and reads whatever books he wants on his Kindle.   He’s not a smoker or a drinker and has plenty of Bibles and commentaries and meditations.    He refuses to wear those onesies retired men wear and prefers sweatpants.    He plays games on his computer and hates puzzles and does make stuff.  Keep in mind we live in an apartment and have little space.

He does like chocolate but there’s a  limit to how much I can get him.  The one present I give every year is food.  I go to a store with a nice display of gourmet foods and get him cheese and pickled treats and sardines.  He has mentioned he’d like a new mattress but that’s not very Christmas-y and it’s hard to wrap.

Time is getting short.  Please help me or George may find no packages for him under our tree!

The Perfect Christmas Present

Confession, Holidays, Musings, , ,

George comes up with the best ideas for presents.  Many years ago, he gave me a microwave oven when I didn’t really want one.  He knew me well enough to know I’d use it ten times a day.   He’s also much more romantic than I.  For our anniversary many years ago he gave me a pair of peach-faced lovebirds.  Beautiful creatures.  Sadly, they hated each other–that’s another story–but the idea was lovely.

In late November, he told me he’d ordered a present, a perfect gift, for me and not to open any packages that came by UPS.

First, however, I must explain that I am a TiVo addict.  I record programs to watch later so I can fast forward through commercials or rewind to see a great basketball play.   I do record programs at the time they start but wait twenty minutes to watch them.   Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of wandering off, putting the remote down, and not being able to find it again, a tragedy when one is as dependent upon one’s remote as I am.  I’ve considered having it surgical implanted in my arm.

A few weeks ago,  a package arrived.   I  checked the label to see if it was addressed to George or to me.  When I did, I also saw the return address.  It came from a company with the name “Where’s the remote?”  That really ruined every bit of surprise.   He had me go ahead and open it.  Together, we attached the receiver to the back of my remote.  It’s about the size and shape as the remote that unlocks your car. 

I used it once or twice to find the remote when it fell off the end table or found its way under the cushions.  One day when I couldn’t find it, I picked up the transmitter.  The remote beeped from my purse.  On my own, I wouldn’t have found it until I left the house days later. 

Thank you, George.  As usual, the perfect present.   

On Thursday, I need all of you to help me think of the perfect present for George.  Please–I’m really bad at this.

 

Twenty-five things (more or less) I’ve learned about life: #2 and #3

Musings, , , , ,

I really hate it when people use sports as a metaphor for life so I’m not going to do that.  Instead, I’m going to talk about two tough young men and what I have learned from them.   They just both HAPPEN to be football players, both quarterbacks for the University of Louisville.

Will Stein is a senior who started for the Cardinals at the beginning of last season.  He came to UofL as a walk-on and had to earn both a scholarship and a position as a starter.   When he was injured last season, freshman Teddy Bridgewater took over and Will didn’t get another start–until Thursday, November 29, against Rutgers.   He started only because Teddy had a broken wrist on his throwing hand and a sprained ankle.   Now, I’m not one of those football fans who believe players should shake off injuries and play through pain, but Teddy’s injuries weren’t life  threatening.   He just couldn’t move or use take a snap under center–both challenges for a quarterback. 

However, Will wasn’t getting the job done so Teddy came in.   The most impressive play was when the Cardinals were close to the end zone.  Teddy looked ahead and had a wide-open path to the end zone but he couldn’t run.  I could read the yearning in his posture.  He hobbled a few steps forward then shuffled the ball ahead to a player who made that final and winning touchdown.     What did I learn?  To  recognize your weaknesses and find another way to do the job.

But I learned an even greater lessons from Will.   He was pulled but when the Cardinals had a third down, he was called in because Teddy couldn’t run.  Seven times, Will took the snap, rolled out to the right, and made the first down.  Then he trotted off the field and left the glory for Teddy.

Will is known for his positive attitude.  He’s called Sunny Will.  Early in the game, Will took the ball on third down, ran for the first but misjudged and slid before he reached the marker.   The coach called a time out, furious.   After listening to the coach, Will smiled and said, “It’s okay,”  At least, I assume that’s what he said as he patted the coach’s shoulder.  Then Will went back in the game, and–on fourth down–made that final yard to keep the drive going.

What did I learn from Will?  Keep smiling, stay calm, and do the job.

Thanks, gentlemen.

Election Day

Holidays, Musings, ,

With today being election day, I decided to ponder the  occasion and reminisce about the many elections I’ve participated in.n   I PROMISE not to tell you to vote or ask for a donation for the party.

Way back when I first voted, a voter had to be twenty-one.  This meant reaching that milestone truly was an entry to adulthood.  However, even at twenty-one and in graduate school, my parents’ party choice and my brother’s political beliefs guided me.   I voted for a man who  lost hugely.

But my political stance changed as I worked and joined the world.  George’s family was in the “other” party.  My parents never forgive George (actually, they didn’t hold this against him–much) for converting me.  He didn’t.  I came to the decision to change parties on my own but I’m certain that marriage and life together are easier if political beliefs line up.    We are both somewhat stubborn and vocal.   I’d hate to live with us around election time if we didn’t agree.

As we considered the candidates in the first election after we were married, we didn’t know who to vote for in the US House race.   We didn’t like either man  so voted for the candidate we didn’t know both in protest and because we couldn’t vote for the chairman of the House Un-American Activities sub-committee or his opponent.   When the results were posted, we discovered to our HORROR that we’d voted for a member of George Wallace’s racist party.   Mortifying.  Last time we went into an election that ignorant!

I believe the right to vote and protecting that are incredibly important.  A democracy encourages voting by all its citizens.   I also believe strongly in supporting and working for the candidate of my choice.   I’ve worked phone banks dozens of times, walked the neighborhood, organized districts.   I consider myself a political junkie.  George considers me slightly wacko but even when I disagree with the winning candidate, I find the process fascinating. 

Do you have an memories–good or bad–about elections and voting?   Please share.  I’d love to know.

Twenty-five things (more or less) I’ve learned about life: #1

Musings, , , , , , ,

When I was very young, my brother, younger sister and I spent a great deal of time gathered on the floor to  listen to the huge console radio because no one had a television.  When we bought our first television, we had a choice between an eight-inch screen and a twelve-inch.  My mother feared the twelve-inch might be too large.   All programs were in black and white and we had only one channel.  Our favorite program was Kukla, Fran, and Ollie in which several hand puppets—Ollie was a dragon–chatted with Fran Allison.   Programming didn’t run all day.  At midnight or earlier, the National Anthem played after which a test pattern came on and stayed on the screen until programs started the next day.

My greatest disappointment  was the programming.  I’d thought when we turned on the television, our favorite radio shows would come on:  The Lone Ranger and Jack Armstrong, All-American Boy.  But they didn’t.  All we got was Fran Emerson and, as much as I loved them, Kukla, Fran and Ollie was no Sergeant Preston of the Yukon.

What did I learn?

Technology doesn’t do everything we think or hope it will.  As exciting as it is, technology does not always change the world for the better.   Texting, for example, has brought only the ability to communication with the person sitting next to you and causes automobile accidents.  Although cell phones take pictures and, with the proper apps, do lots of other stuff, we have not learned to communicate better and more deeply and meaningfully with each other.  Thanks to social media, we get instant reports on uprisings in Egypt and slaughters in the Syria, but has that instant access made response to emergencies faster?   We can talk to people on the other side of the world, but have we learned to live in peace with our neighbors—or those people on the other side of the world?

When we instantly hear that people are starving, do we respond more quickly?

Not that we can blame the lack of response to emergencies on technology.  After all, everything, every invention, has limitations and computers weren’t expected to take the place of caring for others.

But the limitations of technology only highlight the limitations of those of us who use it.  Technology is only a tool, an amusing toy that doesn’t replace a caring heart.

Why, oh why do I love football?

Confession, Musings, , , ,

I know that not all who read this blog are sports fans.  However, because I am,  I may mention them now and then, from time to time–and this is the NOW and this is THE TIME!  

My husband–who is also a sports’ nut–always says the best thing my father did was to teach me to love football, basketball, track, and baseball.  I learned to love  a few more on my own.  I grew up in Kansas City, MO, and my father was a HUGE Jayhawk–University of Kansas–fan.  We went to every home football and basketball game starting from when I was about three years old.   A legend in our family which my older brother disputes is that there was actually a picture of him when he was very young  in the Kansas City Star, shouting during a KU football game, “Let’s score a home run!”    We went to games in good weather and endured rain, freezing weather, and snow.  In fact, we didn’t think we were having a good time if we weren’t  cold and wet and miserable.  

However, by the time I graduated from high school, I decided to enter new and–to my parents, both KU grads–hostile territory at Kansas State University in Manhattan, KS.   At that ime, the Wildcats had great basketball–Final Four my senior year–but the worst football team in the country for years!   We were regularly blown out 70-0.  We were so bad, I tell my husband, that when we actually scored a touchdown, we’d have victory dances in Aggieville.

All of which brings up my joy with Kansas State’s football this year–and last and during all of the seasons Bill Snyder has coached.  Yes, this makes me shallow and interferes with my doing worthwhile things like writing books or–ugh–cleaning house.   However,  our success this year fills me with fear.  In fact, as the Wildcats dominated West Virginia this weekend, I didn’t relax halfway through the fourth quarter although we had a huge lead.  I’ve seen it vanish too often to ever feel comfortable.

But I’m not sure loving sports is completely shallow.  When my team wins a football games, I’m happy.  Okay, I’m shallow BUT happy and I don’t see anything wrong with this.  Oh, sure, if any sports program overtakes and overshadows the importance of ethics and honesty and education, that’s wrong.   I’m not in favor of that but I do love my team.  I belt out the Fight Song over and over during games.  I have a POWERCAT magnet on the side of my car and zip through town feeling  proud and meeting other K-State fans.  I tape every sports program after the game to revel in the win.

My team is number THREE in the BCS ratings.  Not something to build my life on but something to enjoy as well as filling me with trepidation.

What do you think?  Do like or dislike sports?  Why?    Do we emphasize athletic success to much?  Of course we do but is there anything wrong about enjoying the victory of your favorite teams?  I’d like to know how you feel.

My parents didn’t teach me to hate. Thank you!

Celebrating, Family, Musings, , , , , , , ,

My parents didn’t teach me to hate

I look back over the years and realize what an amazing statement this is:  my parents didn’t teach me to hate.   Never once did I hear a word against any group or people, religion or race.   I didn’t grow up with the burden of prejudice.  I didn’t have to unlearn the lessons of racism.

You may not think this statement makes my folk sound special.  I hope your parents did the same.

What makes this fact  remarkable is that my father was born in 1904 and my mother, in 1907, hardly years of openness and acceptance of others.   I was born in the 1940’s and grew up in a world filled with bigotry and hatred, in a world of separate restrooms and in a city where the public swimming pool was closed because white people didn’t want to swim with black people.   Because of the way my parents raised me, I didn’t understand why anyone would object to this.    Thanks, Mom and Dad.  

I thought of this again about a week ago when I watched a PBS program about Oscar Hammerstein.  He was a man born in 1895, a man ahead of his time, a writer who asked questions and forced discussion on many issues, especially of race and prejudice, in the lyrics of his marvelous musicals.

In 1949, Hammerstein wrote South Pacific.   I was born in Kansas City, MO, a little off Broadway, but wonderful touring companies came through.  I saw South Pacific in the theater when I was eight.   After the show was over, I asked my mother about the song You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught.   She told me that some parents teach their children to hate other people, people who are different.  I asked her why.  She couldn’t explain.  Neither can I.

In Showboat written in 1927, Hammerstein  dealt with misogyny.  Julie, who had “black blood”,  was married to a white man, a union which was against the law.  I saw this movie when I was nine and couldn’t understand why two adults who love each other couldn’t marry.  I still don’t.

My parents raised me in church and taught me that the Gospel means acceptance and love for all,  no exceptions.  

Thanks, Mom and Dad.  

 

The importance of setting by Diane Perrine Coon

Guest blogger, Musings, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

In writing mysteries, the setting usually enhances the characters and the plot. Agatha Christie’s English village represents an entire genre of walkabout crime whereby manor houses, inns, and churchyards are often sited and cited on hand-drawn maps. It would be hard to imagine Inspector  Morse or Inspector Lewis without Oxford University as the backdrop. And the bleak rural Scandanavian settings provide Wallander with mood, characterization, and rationale. The ferocious anger and hostility and crumbling building facades within ghetto environments serves as the undercurrent to numerous police/detective series. And Clive Cussler’s NUMA series relies almost totally on understanding of the surface and sub-surface ocean dynamics and modern ship propulsion technology.

In literature, perhaps no one expresses the importance of setting more than William Faulkner, whose Yoknapatawpha County,  Mississippi, became not only the for his most powerful novels and characters, but also became a place even more concrete and enduring in the mind’s eye than the reality of Oxford, Mississippi, itself.  It was the place of giant live oaks and dark swampy forests and expansive yards in front of mammoth columns holding up porches than went on forever.  And the entire setting seemed to be decaying measurably within the pages of the novel. Not so long afterwards, Tennessee Williams chose a similar setting for his Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

For romance writers, it seems to me that setting is equally if not more important in developing characters that interact or bounce off one another. My beloved Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer’s many Regency romances depend largely on their expansive descriptions of homes, parks, shops, and costumes of London, Bath, and several villages. Behavior of the characters draws out of these settings naturally and easily.

Recently my sister-in-law, Jane Myers Perrine, established the Texas village of Butternut Creek as the setting for her romantic trilogy – The Welcome Committee…, the Matchmakers….and the Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek. In each case, the houses, the church, the schoolyard, and the public buildings provide a cozy place for her characters to meander slowly into place as they drop their troubling backgrounds and engage with each other in the present safe environment.

While it is true that cruise ships or desert islands may provide a contained setting for a romance plots, one could wonder about how much character development may occur. It is rather like a one-joke movie where the comedy seems more and more contrived. On the other hand, my all time favorite romances include the wild and expansive settings of Romancing the Stone and Jewel of the Nile that include double and triple entendres. And find me a woman of any age that didn’t love Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in the cityscapes of New York and Seattle – Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail. That valentine heart on the Empire State Building was the ultimate manipulative event in moviedom, but oh was it ever effective. It reminded me of the ice skating scene at the end of Serendipity, where you knew the impossible was going to happen right then.

And speaking of John Cusack and Julia Roberts, which, of course we weren’t, the very constrained setting of the resort in the desert, actually enhanced both the plot and characters in America’s Sweethearts. It was a throw-back to the old Agatha Christie village, a walkabout romance.

What’s in a name?

A question, Musings, , , , , ,

I started Kindergarten with the name Monica Jane Perrine.   Monica was the name of my mother’s best friend and Jane was the name of my father’s mother although they called her Jennie.   Mom hoped I’d be called Monica Jane but the school quickly disabused her of the possibility of using a double name so I was enrolled as Monica.

I hated the name because from Kindergarten on,  my classmates called me Monica the Harmonica.  I hope I do not insult any of you who believe a harmonica is truly the sound of angels;  however, I’m not fond of harmonica music unless played by  Johnny Puleo and his gang.   I decided at the beginning of fourth grade to become Jane.  I didn’t tell my parents, just made that change.  Mom didm’t know until parents’ night at school when  she walked into my classroom the mother of Monica Myers and left as the mother of Jane Myers. 

What I didn’t realize back in fourth grade was that people make fun of everyone’s name.   The joke about “Jane” that I hate most is when someone says,  “Me Tarzan.  You Jane,” then laugh and laugh as if this is the most creative joke ever made.  To be polite, I’d smile even though I’d  heard that hundreds of times.  Fortunately, the population is aging and the younger generation doesn’t know about Tarzan and Jane.  

Another nicknames I’m not fond of is Plain Jane.  Go to an on-line bookstore and search for titles with “Plain Jane” in them.  There are dozens and dozens but I will never buy one.  I’ve had people in conversation say something like, “Just use a plain Jane envelope,” and I wonder, “What’s wrong with saying a PLAIN envelope?”   And, although you may think “Jane the Brain” would be acceptable, you know if you’ve seen a picture of a brain, they are not attractive.  

All right, all right!  I’ll stop complaining.  Now it’s your turn.  What nickname do people use with you?  Do you like it or not or just learn to live with it? 

The Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt Is On!

Happening Now, Reading,

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