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The automakers decided to travel by car to Washington this week to beg for their handout.  That’s much better than the mode of travel used a couple weeks ago when they arrogantly flew in by private jet.  That sent the message that they expected us to buy one of their cars for our traveling, but that they were above that.  (Pun not intended, but applicable.)  Of course, this week they upped their request from $25 billion to $34 billion. 

The UAW also condescended to make “major concessions”.  They are willing to sacrifice job security provisions and financing for retiree health care to keep the two most troubled car companies of the Big Three, General Motors and Chrysler, out of bankruptcy.  I think most of us out here watching this fiasco wonder why they can’t cut the $70 hourly wage.  A heck of a lot of us work harder for much less money.  If they can’t do a better job of getting their house in order, why do they expect us to support their wasteful habits? 

This bailout is getting way out of hand.  There are too many hands out asking for the government to pay (that means us and our tax money, people) for their irresponsibility over the years.  American automobile manufacturers should have taken a hard look at how other companies can built excellent cars in the United States at a much more reasonable cost.  Not only do they employ Americans, they provide well built cars which don’t cost a week’s paycheck for a fill up. 

Many people would prefer to see the big three go into bankruptcy and come out better reorganized so that they can make us proud to drive one of their cars.  You can read more about this in the New York Times.

So, where has everyone been?  I just now received a breaking news alert from the New York Times.  It seems as if investors had no clue that our economy is going down the tubes and that we are in a recession.  The Dow Jones industrial average dropped 679.95 points or 7.7 percent today as the announcement came that we have been in a recession for nearly a year now.  The Dow closed at 8,149.09 today and the European and Asian markets are down as well.  Wake up, world.  It’s past time to tighten your belt and open your eyes.  Money, goods and jobs are not unlimited.

I just received a news alert from The New York Times.  We have been in a recession since December, 2007.  I wonder what made it so difficult that it took a year for this group of economists to finally decide that.  I don’t suppose it was because the government wanted to keep us in the dark about it, do you?  It’s amazing the way our government seems to think the average citizen is so stupid.  I think most of us had this figured out quite some time ago.  If you want to read the article about this economic revelation, you will find it here.

Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth.  Worship the Lord with gladness; come into his presence with singing.

Know that the Lord is God.  It is he that made us, and we are his; we are his people, and sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise.  Give thanks to him, bless his name.

For the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.

Psalm 100

Today, let’s think about creative gifts to give our talented, creative family members and friends.  We can play to their many talents, whether they are artists, create music, do various forms of needlework, crafts, scrapbooks, stamp art or any other form of creativity.  Nearly every one has innate creativity and unleash it in many ways.  Let’s focus on these talents while we create gifts.

Some of the easiest people on our list are those who are creative in the kitchen.  You can give a muffin tin or cookie sheet wrapped with some mixes or cookie ingredients.  You can also give items you’ve created like an apron, hot pads, machine embroidered kitchen towels and there’s always the gift in a jar.  You can find a good collection of recipes for these at AllFreeCrafts.com. 

For the artist, you can make a smock or cover up for them to wear while creating.  You can give a box or basket of supplies such as brushes, sketch pads, charcoals, paints, or other supplies geared towards their artistic niche.  There’s a tutorial for an artists paint brush roll over at Bored and Crafty.  For a crafter, you could select a wooden box with lid filled with crafting materials.  Not only will they receive the gifts inside, but also a box to decorate as they might wish.  You’ll be able to find a lot of crafting supplies hidden amongst your sewing supplies.  I know my granddaughter always likes a box of craft supplies from Granny Nanny.  I include bits of scrap fabric, buttons, trims, laces, odds and ends of leftover yarn and beads, sequins, etc. 

What can you make for the writer or journalist?  How about a fabric covered journal?  You can personalize it with some machine embroidery or trim appropriate to the writer’s personality.  You can bundle up pens, pencils and erasers to include.  Give the gift of a calligraphy book along with pens and inks.  You can find patterns and instructions for the journal cover at Home Made Simple and a series of instructions at tangled thread.  At the end of the article, scroll to the related stories for links to the rest of the tutorial.  You could also cover the sketch pad for the artist on your gift list.

Moving on to those who are creative with the sewing machine, knitting needles and crochet hooks.  There’s always a need for traveling case for the needles and hooks.  You know that people who express their creativity with yarn like to carry it with them and knit or crochet whenever they happen to have a little extra time on their hands.  Craft Leftovers has a pdf download for a crochet hook clutch.  You could also give them a personalized bag to carry their supplies.  The seamstress would appreciate a chatelaine.  You can find patterns for a chatelaine and scrap bag at Sew Thankful.  This is another group who likes to carry supplies when they are on the move.  A good gift for this person would be a zippered bag with lots of little slots and pockets in which to keep their goodies.

I have a son who expresses his creativity out on the golf course.  I’m thinking of gifts such as an embroidered golf towel and knit covers for his golf clubs.  I could also make a nice masculine looking bag for his golf shoes.

How do your family members and friends express their creativity?  How are you going to express your creativity when you make gifts for them.  Feel free to share your ideas with the rest of us.

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book’s FIRST chapter!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

and the book:

IN THE SHADOW OF LIONS

David C. Cook; 1st edition (September 2008)

Ginger Garrett is the critically acclaimed author of Chosen: The Lost Diaries of Queen Esther, which was recognized as one of the top five novels of 2006 by the ECPA, and Dark Hour. An expert in ancient women’s history, Ginger creates novels and nonfiction resources that explore the lives of historical women.

On September 11, Ginger’s non-fiction book, Beauty Secrets of the Bible, based on the historical research that began in her work on Chosen was released. The book explores the connections between beauty and spirituality, offering women both historical insights and scientific proofs that reveal powerful, natural beauty secrets.

A frequent radio guest on stations across the country, including NPR and Billy Graham’s The Hour of Decision, Ginger is also a popular television guest. Her appearances include Harvest Television, Friends & Neighbors, and Babbie’s House. Ginger frequently serves as a co-host on the inspirational cable program Deeper Living.

In 2007, Ginger was nominated for the Georgia Author of the Year Award for her novel Dark Hour. When she’s not writing, you may spy Ginger hunting for vintage jewelry at thrift stores, running (slowly) in 5k and 10k races, or just trying to chase down one of her errant sheepdogs. A native Texan, she now resides in Georgia with her husband and three children.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $ 13.99
Paperback: 311 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; 1st edition (September 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0781448875
ISBN-13: 978-0781448871

This novel is set during the reign of Henry VIIII and is based on the story of Ann Boleyn.  This story is about Ann and another woman named Rose, their guardian angels and the mysterious book that launched the Protestant Reformation.  This is an exciting book that I did not want to put down.  Be still and listen to God as you read about the Ann Boleyn you never knew.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

now I have it all firsthand…

I’ll never again live

on crusts of hearsay, crumbs of rumor.

Job 42, The Message

CHAPTER ONE

Tomorrow, someone else will die in my bed.

Someone died in it last month, which is how it came to be called mine.

The infernal clock moved confidently towards 1 a.m., and I turned my head to look at the window. The window of this room is a miserly gesture from the contractors, producing more fog than visage. I watched the gold orbs—the lamps on the lawn of the hospice sputtering off and on in the darkness—that dotted the fogged glass.

That was the last moment I lived as an iver, one whose eyes are veiled.

One orb did not sputter but moved, gliding between the others, moving closer to the window, growing larger and brighter until the light consumed the entire view. I winced from the searing glare and tried to shield my eyes, but the IV line pulled taut. Wrestling with the line to get some slack, I saw the next movement out of the corner of my eye. I bit down hard on my tongue, my body jerking in reflex, and felt the warm blood run back to my throat.

Outside, a hand wiped the fog away from the glass, and I watched the water beads running down the inside of my window. There was no searing light, only this mammoth hand with deep creases in the palms wiping down the window until we both could see each other. A man’s face was against the glass, but no breath fogged his vision. He was a giant, grim man, with an earring in one ear and dark glasses, and he was staring in at me. Even through the morphine, fear snaked along my arms, biting into my stomach, constricting around my throat. I tried to scream, but I could only gulp air and heave little gasps. His expression did not change as he lifted his hands, curling them into fists. I flinched at the last moment, thinking him to be Death, expecting to receive the blow and die.

Then I grew suddenly warm, like the feeling you get stepping out from an old, dark city library into the busy street and a warm spring sun.

Death didn’t even hurt, I rejoiced. I could slip into it like I slipped onto that street, eyes down, my thoughts my own, and simply turn a corner and be gone. I lifted my fingers to beckon him. Yes, I thought. I saw the beautiful Rolex on my birdlike wrist, and saw that it had stopped. It is time.

When I looked back up, he was beside me, staring down, not speaking. I wasn’t dead. His frame was monstrously large, hitting what must be seven feet tall, with a width of muscle strapped across it that was inhuman. As he watched me, his chest didn’t move, and his nostrils didn’t flare, but heat and warm breath radiated from him. When he laid his hands across my eyes, I was too scared to move my head away. His palms covered most of my face, and a sharp buzzing drilled into every pore. He began to move his hands elsewhere, touching and bringing to life every splintered inch of my body. When he got to the cancer, with one swollen lymph node visible even through my stained blue gown, he rested his hands there until the swelling sighed and he swept it away with his hand.

“Wait!” I screamed.

I didn’t want to live. I hadn’t known that was going to be an option. I deserved to be damned. To return to my life was too much to ask of me. I was finished.

“You’ll still be dead by morning,” he reassured me. His voice was deep and clean, no tell-tale dialect or inflection. Taking off his glasses, I saw he had enormous gold eyes, with a black pinhole in the center that stayed round and cold. There was no white in them at all, and they were rimmed all the way around the outside with black. I stared at them, trying to remember where I had seen eyes like this. It was years ago, this much I remembered.

I had to shake myself back to the moment. Clearly, morphine was not setting well with me tonight. I wanted to die in peace. That’s what I paid these extravagant sums for. My hand moved to the nurses’ call button. Mariskka was just down the hall, waiting for her moment to steal my watch. I knew she’d come running.

He grabbed my hand and the shock seared like a hot iron. Crying out, I shook him off and clutched my hand between my breasts, doing my best to sit up with my atrophied stomach muscles and tangled IV.

He leaned in. “I have something for you.”

“What?”

He leaned in closer. “A second chance.”

Second chances were not my forte. As the most celebrated editor in New York City, I had made a killing. I loved the words that trembling writers slid across my desk, those little black flecks that could destroy their life’s dream or launch a career. I bled red ink over every page, slashing words, cutting lines. No one understood how beautiful they were to me, why I tormented the best writers, always pushing them to bring me more. The crueler I was to the best of them, the more they loved me, like flagellants worshipping me as the master of their order. Only at the end, lying here facing my own death, did I understand why. They embraced the pain, thinking it birthed something greater than themselves. I saw how pitifully wrong they were. There was only pain. This is why I was ready to die. When you finish the last chapter and close the book, there is nothing but pain. It would have been better never to have written. Words betrayed me. And for that, I betrayed the best writer of them all.

“Burn any manuscripts that arrive for me,” I had ordered my nurse, Marisska. “Tell them I’m already dead. Tell them anything.”

“I’ll let you write the truth,” the man whispered.

“I’m not a writer,” I replied. My fear tumbled down into the dark place of my secrets.

“No, you’re not,” he answered. “But you’ve coveted those bestsellers, didn’t you? You knew you could do better. This is your second chance.”

It caught my attention. “How?”

“I will dictate my story to you,” he said. “Then you’ll die.”

Taking dictation? My mouth fell open. “I’m in hell, aren’t I?”

He tilted his head. “Not yet.”

I pushed away from the pillows and grabbed him. Blisters sprang up on my palms and in between my fingers, but I gritted my teeth and spat out my words. “Who are you?”

“The first writer, the Scribe. My books lie open before the Throne and someday will be the only witness of your people and their time in this world. The stories are forgotten here and the Day draws close. I will tell you one of my stories. You will record it.”

“Why me?”

“I like your work.”

I started laughing, the first time I had laughed since I had been brought to this wing of the hospice, where the dying are readied for death, their papers ordered, and discreet pamphlets on “end of life options” left by quiet-soled salesmen. I laughed until I was winded. He rested his hand on my chest, and I caught my breath as he spoke.

“Let’s go find Marisska.”

Yesterday was Thanksgiving in the U.S.  Did you all enjoy your day?  Did you spend it eating the huge meal until you were absolutely stuffed and then sit around and watch TV and talk?  Did those of you who visited someone else for the meal feel as if you had to roll out the door and hope you could still get your seat belt buckled up?  Come on, fess up.  You ate your way through the holiday and now you’re feeling guilty.  Okay, raise your hands if you did what you swore you would not do.  You ate too much, didn’t you?  And now it’s time to think about the health aspects of your day.

Did you eat all the healthy stuff?  Did you then go on and have just a little of the not so healthy stuff?  Did that one or two bites turn into one or two servings instead?  Did you hit the “Well, I blew the diet, so I might as well eat whatever I want now” point?  Are you beating yourself up now because your will power disappeared when your sense of smell kicked in?  Are you thinking about all the artery clogging cholesterol and out of sight carbs you ingested?  Well, just STOP IT!!!  You proved you’re human right along with the rest of us.

These are the questions you should be asking yourself.  Did I kick back and enjoy the day?  Did I unwind and let go of the stress?  Yes, I know a lot of us have family members who get on our nerves and some of us have families that are down right dysfunctional.  But you can still enjoy your family get togethers.  After all, you can leave and go home afterwards.  If that’s the kind of family day you had, didn’t you feel the stress beginning to leave as you walked out the door?  Didn’t you feel relieved to know that you did your family thing for the year and now it’s over and done? 

If you’re one of the majority of us who really enjoyed our day, forget about the food and guilt trip.  You had a healthy day.  You relaxed.  You laughed.  You probably laughed a lot.  You felt love and acceptance.  You had a chance to look at the many ways you’ve been blessed.  And most importantly, you were thankful for those blessings.  Believe me.  That all far outweighs the bit of damage from one day’s pig out.  You can start back on the road to increased fitness today.  Don’t feel guilty about yesterday’s meal.  Feel thankful instead.

Courtesy of the Library of Congress

Oh, my.  The aromas of Thanksgiving have filled my kitchen and are escaping into every nook and cranny.  Consumer Man and I had an early Thanksgiving as he had to return to his job on the east coast today.  Of course, we had some of the traditional dishes including the turkey, corn bread casserole and sweet potato pie.  I caught a great deal on turkeys and bought two this year.  I baked one ahead of time and warmed it up in the oven yesterday for our “feast.”  After the meal, I cut off the turkey and simmered the carcus along with celery, onion and seasonings to make broth.  By the time it cooled, I was tired and didn’t care about it.  That baby went straight into the fridge.  There’s always tomorrow. 

I was more interested in watching one of my former Bucs favorite, Warren Sapp, on Dancing with the Stars.  Consumer Man indulged me both Monday and Tuesday nights because he knows how seldom I watch TV.  Since this was the week of the finals, I’m afraid I would have had to do bodily harm to the man if he hadn’t been so sweet.  Warren didn’t win, but my man was one of the last two remaining couples.  I’m happy with that.  But I digress.

Today I was faced with that huge pan of turkey carcus juice and stuff plus the second turkey that was living in the bottom of my fridge while he thawed.  So, out came the handy dandy turkey roasting bag and I got that big boy in the oven. Then I pulled out the turkey stuff, took off the lid and then put the lid right back on. Have you ever looked at congealed turkey stuff?  I needed another cup of coffee before dealing with that.  I put it on a burner on low and let it warm up and turn into something nicer looking.  The fun began after it cooled a bit.  I had all the equipment gathered up and in front of me.  A couple bowls, big slotted spoon, big ladle, measuring cup, ziploc bags, black Sharpie, two damp sponges, a couple hand towels.  Now the fun began.  Dip up some of the turkey stuff and let the juice drain out, pick the turkey off the bones.  That was deposited in one bowl and the bones, skin, fat and yuck deposited in the other bowl.  Man, that felt as if it were taking forever!  Eventually, I ended up with a quart bag of turkey and 8 cups of turkey broth for the freezer.  I also ended up daydreaming of turkey and homemade noodles.  Yum! 

That took long enough and made me hungry enough to look at the clock.  Dinner time.  Big boy was out of the oven by that time and cooled enough to cut off a couple nice slices for my meal.  I didn’t feel like having any salads or side dishes, but I did spy the remainder of the two sweet potato pies.  Consumer Man took one and I planned on freezing the rest in small individual slices for whenever the mood struck.  Well, the mood stuck and a small slice of that pie went quite nicely with my turkey.  No whipped cream, but what the heck.  I just put that piece of pie in a bowl, grabbed the eggnog and added a little.  Hey, don’t laugh until you try it.  It’s every bit as good as whipped cream.

Now to my bed with dreams of Mr. Tom Turkey waiting to be prepared for my freezer meals.  Oh, yes, more of that turkey yuck, too.  I’m thinking turkey tetrazzini for starters.  Any more ideas on what kind of casseroles and turkey dishes to make up for my freezer meals?

Clap your hands, all you peoples; shout to God with loud songs of joy.  For the Lord, the Most High, is awesome, a great king over all the earth.  He subdued peoples under us, and nations under our feet.  He chose our heritage for us, the pride of Jacob whom he loves.

God has gone up with a shout, the Lord with the sound of a trumpet.  Sing praises to God, sing praises; sing praises to our King, sing praises.  For God is the king of all the earth; sing praises with a psalm.

God is king over the nations; God sits on his holy throne.  The princes of the peoples gather as the people of the God of Abraham.  For the shields of the earth belong to God; he is highly exalted.

Psalm 47