Jillian loves her pet chickens, and not only tenderly and faithfully cares for them but celebrates each of their birthdays with a party, balloons, cake, guests, and presents. See her story in the book, Chickens in Birthday Suits, at Amazon, free one more day as an eBook.
As Jillian cares for her chickens so our Father in Heaven loves and cares for us and celebrates our righteous growth. nancymauerman.com
The party was for Tawni Alice but she wasn’t finding the fun! She kept reminding her “friends, SHE was the special one; SHE was the birthday bird and they weren’t leaving her anything to eat! She only got one cricket leg. Tawni Alice, the chicken, couldn’t find anything to celebrate on her own birthday. It was there; she just couldn’t see it.
When my two children were both very small we walked toward a building where an Easter celebration was to begin. We crossed a flat newly mowed lawn, containing one young tree shaped like a pole with leaves sprouting from the top. We wove in and around large plastic eggs and big pink satin bows draped with limp loops around large bananas. Both kids would look up and say, “Where do you suppose the eggs are?” I’d caution them around the things in the lawn; they’d look down then walk around protruding Easter objects and say, “Mom, do you think we’ll find any eggs?”
Tawni Alice had a hard time finding celebration in her party; it was there, she simply could see it. To read her story look for the book, Chickens in Birthday Suits at Amazon (offered free as an eBook for a short time). I’d love any reviews.
To find Easter see Isaiah and the New Testament. And thank you Amazon for offering the Bible free when I purchased my Kindle. nancymauerman.com
I went to school with George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Mike (“Mike” was an assumed name).
I was the ethnic outsider in this high school. My name is Nancy, which I never thought it fit me: to fluffy. I probably was the only Nancy anyone in this gigantic school had ever met.
George and Abe were in my English class and whenever we had a substitute of my color, there was an invisible twitter running through the class. The excitement silently mounted during instruction and class work, and when we passed our papers forward it became brittle with its containment.
The poor sub would scan through the collected papers handed to her by the first kid in each row and at row three she said angrily, “Who wrote ‘Abraham Lincoln’ on his paper?” and everyone shifted in their chairs. Abe raised his hand.
“OK,” she said, “What’s your real name?” and Abe answered her honestly. When she couldn’t get him to lie she sent him to the office.
If the class had been a damn, it would have sprung a few tiny leaks, but the giggles were contained until she got to the last, my row, and the sub found George Washington was also in the class.
“Give me your name!” she said angrily and posed a pencil above his paper to correct the injustice to her dignity. George knew how to milk the scenario, so he patiently and quietly repeated his name the four times he was asked again, and was sent to the office
Now our class squirmed waiting for the punchline to walk in. Five minutes later we exploded when both boys returned, handing a note to the sub and soberly took their seats. We all exploded again.
Mike was an ethnic minority too, but of a different name- giving heritage. I was shocked to see what I thought was a phony name on his paper; Hector. In fact he had a string of names and I remember the first three were Hector, Miguel, and Louise. These were the inspiration for the plot and the roster’s name in my book, Chickens in Birthday Suits.
My friend, Jillian, named her chickens; Tawni Alice, Cherry Blossom, Emma Evangeline, and Zoey Lorain and gave each chicken her own birthday party on, what I call, their hatch days. Read the book ‘Chickens In Birthday Suits’ and let me know what you think. nancymauerman.com
Did the God of this world come only to save people who lived in a time, place, and culture where they sat in rows on chairs and put their palms together to pray?
Europeans built stone buildings pointing up to remind us of our destiny; a great symbol, but The Savior didn’t need one.
Other traditions bind families and cultures together, for instance, the Hobby Horse throughout Europe is a strong and celebrated seasonal tradition uniting communities and different ages together, but no one can remember what the silly thing originally represented and what its uses were. Traditions are important but they aren’t relgion.
When my children were small we sang along to Handel’s Messiah and talked about The Savior’s last earthly week; the events of each of those days before Easter. We also celebrated traditions with eggs, and most anything with an eggy theme so I wish we’d had the book, ‘Chickens in Birthday Suits’ at the time.
We also baked our own birthday cake, and ate it, for Jesus, remembering He was born in the spring. Traditions are good and our hearts were in the right place but I can’t help but wonder if our Heavenly Father didn’t shake his head at the noise two little kids and an off key mother made in His son’s honor. nancymauerman.com
I was feeling low because I work hard at making things to see but no one looks. Then I remember Amy’s coming to submit my art to Fine Art America. Amy generally wears a basic pair of slacks, and in this cool weather, a long sleeved, non cardigan, sweater. I look forward to her color combinations. One day, a while back, she came in looking like a Steinway! Black slacks, white top. She makes my fingers itch for an arpeggio run.
John’s working in basic black and white too but without the intent of creating a classic ambiance. He’s sewing aluminum pull tabs to a black tee shirt. “And, why?” you may be asking. the same reason I see Amy as a piano: inner entertainment.nancymauerman.com
A few summers ago when I was in and John was out. I was in the kitchen, he in the back yard, I was making fruit salad and he was, I don’t know what. I was too lazy to take the banana peels out to the compost pile. I thought, “Boy, that’s a tacky idea,” but I did it anyway! I threw them out the open window, aimed a little to the right and the beautiful yellow fliers landed on the compost pile.
John yelled,”Wow!’ I tried to ignore this because, as usual I was making food items as quick, quick, quickly as possible. I make pictures and they’re slow to construction so i need every moment I can. “Hey Nan, come out here!” John said. He couldn’t wait so he came in and drug me out the back door by the hand.
“Look up there!” he practically yelled, “Do you see them?”
“What?” I said because I saw nothing but an evenly blue sky. “What am I seeing up there?” I said, still waiting for the UFOs to appear.
“Just wait.” he assured me, “They’ll come back.”
I stared up until my neck threatened to rebel, “What are we looking for?” I insisted.
“Eagles!”‘ he said, as excited as a little kid waiting for Friday night ice cream. “Eagles! Eagles are dropping banana peels out of the sky! Just wait, they’ll come back!”
John continued to search up but I was looking at him! I simply stood in awe of a man that can see eagles behind every banana peel that flies by! “Are you sure eagles dropped them?” I said softly, half afraid to dissolution him.
“Yea they’re the only things around here to drop banana peels!” he said as if I wasn’t very smart, and continuing to look up as I looked lower. Maybe I had found an alien.
But I suppose you could say, as I looked down at him I was also looking up at him, in admiration of his beautiful mind!
To commemorate this event I wrote a book for adults and kids with pictures, called ‘Eagles and Banana Peels,’ it being free, for a short time, at Amazon as an eBook. nancymauerman.com
I know we all tend to think this, although we may not admit it, but I highly recommend empty nut shells and pineapples instead of flowers as a gift giving solution. Males giving flowers are “speaking the language of love” I’ve heard. They have a language all right! No matter what kind, or color, tflowers mean one of two things: “Look over here so you don’t realize I’ve done something naughty” or “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
I recommend pineapples. They look good, smell good, and taste better than rose petals, which can be eaten also. For variety try lining empty walnut shells in a straight row on a cement surface for your loved one. This is a surprise. And it’s without hinting at guilt. It’s decorative, lasts indefinitely and IT DELIGHTS YOUR FEET. Crunching walnut shells vibrating up through the body and nestling in the teeth. And THEY SOUND GREAT! Everybody likes nut shells and pineapples. nancymauerman.com
Meet Iva Lou, the dragon, before Grandmother does. They’re both in the book #1 ‘Leafman Who’s Beefman’ which is being offered free as a eBook for a short time at Amazon.
Anna is dropped off at her Grandmother’s and talks about her dragon Iva Lou, who was recently buried by the terrible Leafman. But luckily Iva was unburied by Anna. Grandmother hears about Iva Lou and the tunnels weaving back and forth through the secret yard that’s located between backyards, and that no one knows about except Leafman, Iva, and Anna’s family.
Grandmother listens and talks at the same time, as she tells her own tunnel story. The inside of her house is newly packed full of boxes, leaving only tunnels and skinny pathways leading from place to place. And now since Anna’s arrival piles of dirt appear amongst the tunnels. Anna blames them on her dragon. nancymauerman.com
Anna owns a dragon! There are several stories about her and Iva Lou the dragon, one of which is a free as an eBook for a few more days. Anna is my daughter’s name and did claim to have a dragon and almost had her brother, Paul, convinced of Howllua’s existence.
I’ve taken the liberty of changing the dragon’s named to protect the innocent. I call the dragon Iva Lou after my Great Great Grandma – in- law. I stayed the night at this kind, strangely wonderful, woman’s house when she was in her nineties and I was tired. I’ve told the story before, but the night I spent with her, was on the floor just inches from a heat lamp and baby chicks. The little guys sang me to sleep and I pretended I was taking a noon time nap.
The idea of a perfect companion, in Anna’s case a dragon with the added bonus of being slightly irritating to Paul when she eats raw worms on her cookies, has materialized in my own life. John’s my perfect companion. He’s a big old macho- man but does the dishes, laundry, and shopping so I can write, AND he has an equivalence of worm eating. Cooking liver is just right as a slight irritant and gives me that opportunity to grow.
Thumbs up for John and dragons! nancymauerman.com
Got a question: What do you do if you received a second prize, not knowing there had even been one. You look at the sealed box and think,”Oh boy! It must be a tiara, or maybe a long silky red dress with a scalloped bottom edge. Oh yes, most likely it’ll be a very rare mouse eating plant from Borneo, because the awarded prize came from a plant company.”
When you cut the wide glistening clear tap, excited as can be, you find terror, panic and doom! So what do you do? This happened to Anna’s Grandmother and she called The Man from the plant company and told him how stupid he was. He sent her 101 more boxes! Her house was filled with them and Anna is dropped bringing her own problems with her. What do you do? nancymauerman.com
