3/28/22 3/28/22

Blog My Special Radio

I was an active child. I loved wandering the hills behind the parsonage in Wyoming. I loved riding horses. I loved reading, but also loved being outside working on one project or another. Six months after we moved to a rural church in northern Kansas, I contracted juvenile rheumatoid arthritis—though I wasn’t diagnosed for several months. JRA was something new to the doctors and they didn’t really know how to treat the disease in young people.

My parents took me to different rehab centers. Some helped me in different ways. Some not so much. One left me with nightmares for months after I got home again. When my folks took me down to Hot Springs Arkansas to an outpatient clinic for treatments, I was in pain and in a wheelchair. I could not walk, could not even wheel my chair.

My folks had little money, but my dad felt so bad for me. As we wondered in downtown stores before an appointment, I must have indicated my liking for a small transistor radio. It was small, blue, and cool. I didn’t expect anything to come of my checking it out. Small radios like that weren’t in our budget. Nevertheless, dad bought it for me. I could hardly believe it. I wanted to cry. I knew he sacrificed to get me that radio.

For the next few years that radio helped make time go faster and engage my attention when I wasn’t reading or otherwise engaged. I could be outside and listen to the Triple Crown races that held my attention in the spring.

Most of all that radio stayed with me long after I had massive surgery to get me up and walking, long after I grew up and married. How could I let go of what reminded me of something so important, especially when I needed encouragement during those years of frustration and pain--my father’s love?

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3/22/22 3/22/22

Blog Bio It has been a long journey to my latest book

As we contemplated whether or not to offer this series as individual books or as a collection, I decided I liked the idea of offering my readers one book for the entire series. I am glad I went this direction. Who knows what tomorrow might bring with health and other issues? The full trilogy is now published, and I am happy with the result.

Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle has been released. It is a collection of three complete inspirational Regency romance novels that make up a series. We decided on this direction because it takes enormous effort not only to write and prepare a book for publication but also to market a book properly.

As a child, I loved listening to Dad read everything from Alice in Wonderland, the original to books about people from Martin Luther to Bible storybooks and Bible passages. Those characters on the page fascinated me. Long before I entered school, I learned the alphabet. I learned to put letters together At, Bat, Cat on down, even little rhymes.

How exciting to actually read in school and to be able to take home my very first book. I became a voracious reader. My imagination flew. In elementary school, I began writing some stories. By third grade, I dreamed of being a writer.

Once my parents read my writing, they encouraged me. In Kansas, I contracted Juvenile Rheumatoid arthritis and soon rode a wheelchair, not my horse. Those years were filled with pain and frustrations, I poured out in my writing.

In high school, I placed in some writing competitions. When dad took a church in Iowa, we discovered a published author in the congregation. She showed me how to format my work, research, and send my work to appropriate markets. With her assistance, I began selling children’s stories and features. Features led me to pursue a comprehensive degree in journalism from UNK (then KSC). In fact, we moved to Kearney so I could attend college--at a time no one was too concerned about wheelchair accessibility.

By the time I graduated, I regularly sold features and program material (skits, recitations, plays) to several different markets. I also had extensive surgery to walk again. After I married, I continued to freelance. For my birthday one year, my friend Gloria gave me a novel. She challenged me, “You can do better than this.”

I took the challenge. It was ten years of learning my craft, effort, and time before I sold my first novel. I wrote several books for Barbour Publishing’s Heartsong Presents line before moving to Trebleheart Books where I released several more books—including my first complete series.

I also worked with several small publishers, had some good agents, and finally landed contracts with Harlequin--the publisher with all those books in Walmart, Target, etc. Then a company bought Harlequin and forced them to delete some lines. One was the line I wrote for. After I had a severe fall my writing was sidelined. When I returned to writing, I worked on updating books for which I’d received back my rights. Some I resold. Others I brought out under my own imprint. I also wrote the draft of a new series. I worked on it now and again, while I released other non-series books.

In 2021 I returned to my series Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle. This time I rewrote, reworked, and edited. It took most of the year, but it was done and ready for release before the holidays. It was such fun to give away this book to friends and family. For now, my attention will be on my novel and my Hub columns. We’ll see where my writing takes me after that. Who knows, I may be more surprised than anyone else.

Have a dream? Don’t let it go. Take the steps needed in practice, education, and growing—including the willingness to accept suggestions and constructive criticism--to make that dream come true.

Published Hub Column 3/21/2022

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3/13/22 3/13/22

Devotion Matter of Trust

Who am I to get mad at God when life gets difficult, tragedies happen and things don't go as planned? Jesus was God. He didn't have to go along with His Father's program for humankind.

Jesus didn't have to leave Glory to live in poverty, be ridiculed, and have no earthly home. He didn't have to allow Himself to be tortured and murdered and treated like a common criminal.

He did it out of trust in His Father and love for us. Nothing that happened to Jesus was His fault. Can we say the same? Nothing that happens to you or I rises to the level of what Jesus went through.

He took responsibility. He lived without recriminations, or turning His back on His Father. He trusted, and in that trust offered a way for you and I to know life—now and forever.

Jesus was, is a victor, not a victim. In Him, we can be victors, too. It's a matter of trust—and obedience.

Joshua 24:14 Now therefore fear the LORD, and serve him in sincerity and in truth: and put away the gods which your fathers served on the other side of the flood, and in Egypt; and serve the LORD.

FromFirst I Bow
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3/10/22 3/10/22

Bio Book Press Release Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle

Author Carolyn R Scheidies Latest Novel is a Historical Romance Collection

“Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle” is the title of Carolyn R. Scheidies’ latest novel series released late fall last year 2021. The Inspirational Regency Romance collection is now in Public and church libraries across the Midwest.

Sheidies who lives in Kearney, Nebraska said, “Most of my book series have been released one at a time. This time we decided to release a volume with all three full-length novels of the new series included.”

That means the “Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle” volume is a three-book collection all in one. Easy to take along to read, easy to store, and, always, all three novels are available together.

Scheidies said, “I’ve been working on this series on and off for several years, writing and reworking the stories until they felt like a cohesive whole.”

The books are a good balance of plot and character-driven that allows the depth required to create memorable characters that stay with you after the final page is turned.

The Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle collection includes:
Book 1: The Solicitor and the Marquis’ NieceBook
2: The Earl’s Brother and the Healer Book
3: Sara and the New Marquis

Synopsis: Three sisters have been raised by their loving Uncle Rupert, the Marquis of Stanhavon, since the death of their parents. Though Stanhavon Castle is a crumbling ruin, and the war with Napoleon left the family coffers practically empty, the Marquis raised the girls with an independent spirit and faith. On his death, they are left to fend for themselves.

Jerusalem (Jerri) is the oldest. At 19 she wonders how she’ll care for her younger siblings, especially when their new, handsome, lawyer has few helpful ideas.

Bethlehem (Beth) only a year younger, is a healer, but what is she to do when the new doctor doesn’t believe a young innocent woman should be in the medical profession?

Younger sister Sara struggles with her health, but she is determined to save the castle. What will she do when an heir suddenly shows up, furious at the wrong done his branch of the family generations earlier?

But there is a legend about a hidden treasure. Would discovering it change the heir’s heart about the castle’s future? And what about other strange things happening in the Castle?

The three very different young women deal with their situations in various ways as three unique men enter their lives. They must deal with misunderstandings, danger, and more as they learn that God’s plans are very different from theirs. Will those plans be revealed in time to save their home, their hearts…and their lives?

Scheidies writes for those who enjoy books that lift up and are filled with love and faith and hope.“Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle” can be ordered through Amazon and most book outlets. Available in print and Kindle versions. http://idealinhope.com/books https://booklocker.com/books/12085.html

2/28/22 2/28/22

Blog Bio There are a few bright spots during tax season

My birthday is in January. That used to make January a special month for me. My mom always made birthdays special, so it is no wonder I anticipated the first month of the year. Then I grew up.

Oh, I still enjoy celebrating my birthday, but much has changed. As an author, January is the time I need to do a book inventory and fill out the state form itemizing how many books I withdrew from my inventory for gifts, promotions, or discards. I need to figure out how much sales tax I owe from books I sold personally--as opposed to those sold through brick-and-mortar and online bookstores.

As soon as the new year begins, I gather my information and start putting everything together because documentation is due mid-month. Much of the information will also be used to complete our regular federal and state taxes.

Though I can gather much information online, I do need to wait for tax documents on my book royalties and revenues. Because I don’t trust my math, I usually recheck my figures several times. It is always a relief when I finish and send in the sales tax documentation.

After a deep breath, I start going through the saved receipts I will need for completing federal and state taxes. Each month as we donate to charities, I print out a receipt. At the end of the year, I gather those monthly statements to calculate how much we gave to the different charities.

Usually, these monthly receipts are replaced by a single receipt, documenting what we spent the whole year. At that point, I shred the monthly receipts. (Keith isn’t happy with how many times he has to empty the shredder during January.)

Over the years, I created a tax template that I fill in each year. As I receive information, I add the information to the template. I also start a file for documents I need to keep for tax purposes. Other papers get shredded. I’ve looked toward the end of January because I understood all business and government entities had to send out their tax documentation by the end of the month.

Only February came and we still had not received some needed documentation. When I mentioned to our financial advisor we hadn’t received some of our investment documents, I learned things have changed. Now, these entities have until mid-February to send out that documentation. Sigh!

As frustrating as doing taxes can be, I look back and realize I finally have all my information. Another week or so, I hope, I’ll be able to hand this off to my daughter who takes my information and actually does the taxes. Then I can breathe again.

But, you know, I can handle tax frustrations in January when I think not only about my birthday but the birthdays of loved ones I care about, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, niece, Most of all I look forward to January when we celebrate the birthdays of two very special persons--our granddaughters whose birthdays are thirteen years and one day apart. Makes tax frustrations almost worthwhile.

Meanwhile, I will continue to carefully keep receipts until the tax season starts all over again--next January.

2/15/22 2/15/22

Blog Bio Adulthood definitely not what I thought it would be

As a child, I believed adulthood meant security and doing what I wanted to do. It was better than having to be told what to do all the time. That viewpoint was skewed since my parents treated my siblings and me with respect, never laughing and making fun at our expense. They shared their faith through reading God’s Word, prayer and their daily lives.

We also had consequences for things we did that we shouldn’t have said or done. I saw consequences, and learning from mistakes, as part of childhood. It was learning to be responsible as well as learning to treat others with kindness and respect. Love, respect and kindness were part of our faith.

Jesus created and loved me just as I was, but making wrong choices, hurting myself or others in some way, brought consequences. I learned about someone who loved me even more than my dad. Jesus loved me enough to take the consequences for my bad choices.

I wanted to accept Him into my life. That too, I figured, was growing--learning how to live and love like Jesus. I knew I needed to learn a whole lot to make that happen, considering I was a scrapper who gave as much as I got on and off the playground.

One day the learning stage would be over. I’d be an adult and no one would tell me what to do. Then I got so sick I ended up in a wheelchair I was unable to wheel myself. My future seemed a black hole of pain. Only my folks kept telling me God loved me and had a plan and purpose for my life.

I hung onto those words and kept fighting during my teen years. I fought to be as independent as possible. Eventually, that led to massive surgery once I graduated from college, braces, crutches and a year of relearning how to walk. It meant continued surgeries to keep walking as I married and we raised our family. My life was anything but simple or static.

Growing up wasn’t something one simply attained. It was using experiences to deal with real life. I looked back and was thankful. God had given me so much, especially in good loving friends and family. Adulthood wasn’t security. At any stage of life, there are no guarantees.

I realized problems faced mattered less, than how I dealt with them. Attitude matters. Choices matter. I realized my parents and others in my life modeled something very important--lifting up instead of tearing down, reaching out instead of wallowing in anger, selfishness or pride. It was taking my faith and, as did my parents, living it out in my daily life.

My idea of adulthood was far from realistic. Yet how many dream of some ideal life rather than living each day to its fullest? At my stage in life, I look back, realizing what I’ve gone through isn’t some tragedy.

All I’ve experienced has helped me become the person I am today. Adulthood doesn’t stand alone. We are the sum of our past. Our choices make the difference in how we see not only the past, but today, tomorrow and beyond.

I look back and am grateful and look forward with anticipation knowing my faith will sustain me.

Life is waiting. What choices will you make today?

12/20/21 12/20/21

Blog Bio Christmas, Jesus and Santa

When I was a preschooler, my pastor father served a church in Clitherall, Minnesota. Originally, we lived in a house too small for our growing family. The church bought the bank building on main street to use as the church until they bought a church building, moving it in onto some property they owned.

The bank building became our new home. It was a beautiful red brick building with double entry doors and a fancy ceiling. Several rooms were created on one side for three bedrooms--right next to the still functioning vault, my folks were careful to keep locked. There was a room at the far end that was turned into our kitchen. It also held a large fireplace.

Since this was in the 1950s, the building had no indoor bathroom. We had an outhouse out back. But come Christmas, the fascinating aspect of our house was that fireplace. I don’t think I ever saw it lit. However, we knew the story of Santa Claus and the need for a fireplace so Santa could leave gifts.

With our Swedish heritage, Christmas was Christmas Eve for us. Early on, our folks started traditions that included Dad reading the Christmas story before we each gave thanks for our blessings. Only then did Dad hand out our gifts--one at a time so we could appreciate each one and the giver.

Back then, we did not have much, and every gift really was appreciated--mostly homemade. Our folks were careful to make sure we understood the true meaning of Christmas was Jesus coming to earth to live, and die a martyr’s death--sacrificing His life for all the wrongs we did. Then He rose again conquering death itself to offer life in Him both now and forever as we bowed before Him.

But that was Christmas Eve. My sister and I (our brother Paul was born when we lived in Minnesota and was way too young) went to bed excitedly anticipating our gifts from “Santa” the next morning. Early the next morning we rushed to the kitchen area to see what was by the fireplace. Yes. There were gifts. I remember a huge coloring book and some smaller items. It was exciting to think that Santa remembered us.

Karin was older by 3 ½ years and didn’t want me to have illusions about what Christmas was all about. “Mom and Dad actually gave us these gifts,” she told me. What! Even at my young age, I knew it was difficult for our folks to buy us gifts. And these were extra gifts--not from Santa?

Karin explained that Santa was fun, but not real. That Jesus was real and the true reason for Christmas. Some families are all in about Santa and Jesus plays only a minor role. Other families ban Santa altogether.

My folks took a different approach. They helped us realize Santa is a fun myth and allowed us to embrace that aspect of the holidays. But, they also made sure we understood the center of our celebration remained on the truth that a very real Savior did come to save and set us free for one reason--because He loved us.

What helped me put our traditions in perspective was a graphic that circulated some years ago. It was a picture of the manger, with Santa on his knees before the baby Jesus.

As the angels told the shepherds, “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord…” Luke 2:10b-11 NKJV

Let us worship at the manger this Christmas.
Merry Christmas!

11/8/21 11/8/21

Blog Bio Dogs, fosters, adoption and love

Recently my seventeen-year-old granddaughter told me she’d been cleaning up the backyard because they planned to foster a Husky dog. She was so excited to bring home a shelter Husky named Bear. I could tell she was already loving that dog.

I can’t blame her. Several years ago, our daughter Cassie had a friend who fostered dogs. She told Cassie about a little dog foster that had been rescued from a puppy mill. The young dog had spent his life in a cage.

Cassie ended up adopting Melvin who proved to be a sweet dog without a mean bone in his body. His main anxiety was not wanting Cassie out of his sight. She had Melvin for many years, giving him special attention as he aged.

She married and Melvin adopted Kurt as part of the family and then included two children. When he died, the family grieved.

My brother pretty much always had dogs—usually larger dogs. He brought a dog into his marriage with Lorene and throughout their marriage, they adopted several dogs from the shelter. Their dogs were their kids. Finally, they decided not to get another dog.

At least, they thought they both decided that only to discover both were, on their own, checking out dogs at the shelter. That did it, they adopted another dog who needed them.

This dog was big, gentle, and huggable. He also thought he was a lapdog. When they settled in their recliners, Franee would jump into a lap and snuggle down. Paul walked the dog up to our house, but often they walked Franee at Yanney Park. They loved that dog.

Then Paul had a massive heart attack and was gone. The love she and Paul shared with a needy animal came back to sustain Lorene as she dealt with Paul’s loss. Because they were willing to adopt, she received a gift of Franee’s love that has helped her through her grief.

We usually had dogs and often cats when we grew up. Since dad was a minister, we moved every few years. Some places were more conducive to pets than others. Wyoming was a great place for pets, but we didn’t buy them. They came to us. A dog or cat who needed a home found our place. If they looked hungry, mom fed them.

Some moved on. Others stayed and became part of the family, though the restriction was that their main home was outside. (Dad built a dog house.)

One of my best memories is the day we moved to Lance Creek Wyoming. Mrs. Wilson who ran the motel for truckers just down the road had the key to the parsonage. We walked over with her. Mrs. Wilson pointed out the huge dog on the stoop.

She started explaining most were afraid of the animal, but he had refused to leave with the last pastor. Members threw food over the fence for the dog. She wasn’t sure what to do, but Paul, a toddler, before anyone could stop him, opened the gate, marched up to the dog, and hugged him.

I followed, leaving the adults stunned. Skipper had adopted us. He proved to be a wonderful dog. When he died, he left us with many good memories. I could tell many more stories of dogs who met a need for those who adopted them or whom they adopted.

Looking for a dog? Instead of paying through the nose for some fancy breed, consider a shelter pet. These dogs are so ready to give love and are often brave, smart, ready to love the individual or family who reaches out,

10/25/21 10/25/21

Blog Bio Home, mice, snakes and perspective

I loved cowboys and horses. So, when my minister got a church in Wyoming when I was in elementary, I was thrilled. I didn’t much care about the house. Mom did. Especially when she began hearing persistent scratching behind their closet wall. My mom freaked when a rodent emerged. Turned out to be one huge rat.

Dad quickly dispatched the unwanted visitor and made certain that would not happen again. Except for that exception, mice stayed away from our house well-guarded by several cats that considered our place home.

When Keith and I married we first lived in an apartment house. One day I found evidence of an unwanted visitor in the kitchen. We bought traps and I put food in plastic containers. I was in the kitchen when our visitor dashed across the floor. I screamed for Keith who rushed in and stomped on the mouse--in his socks. Grossed me out. Mice became a problem.

I was relieved when we moved to another, larger apartment on the other end of the mouse-infested one. Then we moved to an older house that had any number of insects and rodents, Traps became a way of life. Mice made me cringe.

Thanks to a government program, my brother Paul was able to build a house geared toward my limitations. Nice, clean and accessible. Yet, in the fall, mice seemed to find a way into the house, probably from the attached garage. Again, traps were a way of life. At least only one or two got in each year.

After our kids were in elementary, Chris got a dog and Cassie got a cat named Cutie. With Cutie in the house, mice had no chance and they disappeared from our lives. Unfortunately, our mice problem turned into a snake problem.

In fact, for many years I wrote at least one article each year about my adventures with snakes that found a way into the house. Eventually, the snakes also disappeared--at least inside the house. Then we had some siding work done.

About that time, we discovered a mouse in the house. This time we got traps that held poison. The traps took care of that mouse. So much for the mouse problem.

Recently, my sister called early in the morning as I walked into the kitchen from the bedroom. In the semi-darkness, I noticed movement on the ground. At first I thought it was a cricket, Then I scared my sister when I started screaming for Keith.

That movement was a mouse crawling along almost flat against the floor. Gross. Gross. Keith rushed in, took a look and slammed his cane down. I had to explain to my sister as Keith got rid of that dying mouse.

I was thankful, we’d never picked up the poison traps we’d put down last year. Thankfully, that seems to be the only mouse that managed to get inside. Over the years we have had either mice or snakes.

As much as I dislike both these creatures, when I see what is going on in our world I realize how small my problem with mice or snakes really is. Those bigger problems put things in perspective. I guess I can deal with snakes and mice—especially if Keith is near.

10/11/21 10/11/21

Blog Bio My sister, my sibling, my friend

On September 21st, Karin turned 75. Karin’s retirement is as busy as when she worked for Senator Pat Roberts. She is actively involved with her grandchildren, her other family, and many friends. Faith, family, and friends are the most important things in her life.

Karin, born in 1946, is the oldest sibling, I followed in 1950. Our brother Paul was born four years later. As adults we visit, call, and email regularly. However, Karin and I weren’t always friends.

More often than not, we had to share a bedroom. (Our father was a minister who got called to a different church every few years.) Karin wanted a room that was tidy and always looking good. She’d stuff things in the closet or under the bed.

I like organization. If things aren’t perfectly aligned or in place, as long as long as I knew where to find everything, the rest didn’t matter. She pulled shades at least partway down on the windows, preferring a darker room. I love sunlight. I zapped the shades up. We glared at as we tugged the shade furiously up and down until, invariably, the shade broke, and we were in trouble.

Due to how and when we moved, Karin ended up in grades above her classmates. (She was fifteen when she started her high school senior year in a new school.). I preferred the outdoors. Karin was all girl—except she could smash a baseball out of the park. We fought. We argued.

I pushed Karin through a wall Dad was repairing. She kicked me off the bed during nightly devotions with Dad. Oops! We lived in Kansas when Karin left for college. For all our wrangling, I missed her.

Then my life took a turn downward. I contracted Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and within months was in a wheelchair that I did not escape for almost ten years. Those years were difficult years for my family as my parents sought prayer, answers, and medical care.

During those years, Karin was my encourager. Paul was confused with my up-and-down moods due to pain, and frustration. Karin married after college and remained in McPherson, Kansas where she’d gone to college.

We moved to Iowa for a pastorate where I finished high school and started college. In my second year of college, our folks moved to Nebraska so I could attend a four-year college. Though I was in a wheelchair and often required assistance, I graduated.

Mom and Dad bought a house in Kearney planning to retire in this welcoming city. When Dad was called to a church in Canada, this time, Mom, Paul and I stayed in Kearney. After all, Paul and I were in college.

Unexpectedly, at Christmas, Mom died my senior year of a stroke that left Dad and Karin, Paul, and I devastated. In time, Dad married a Canadian lady and settled in International Falls, MN.

Paul and I settled in Kearney. By then, Karin, Paul, and I had become friends. We were close enough to visit now and again as we married and raised our families. Always Karin and Paul were there for me through my many surgeries to get me up and keep me up and walking.

Each of us had to deal with first Mom’s death, then dad’s death when our children were young. We walked through life's difficult circumstances lifting each other up.

Paul’s death in January 2019 of massive heart failure left a huge hole. He was our younger brother. Yes, we have our family, our kids and our wonderful grandkids, but it isn’t the same. Three became two, but with the loss, Karin and I talk more, make sure to pray for one another and each other’s families.

We are different individuals in so many ways and yet we share a heritage of memories, faith, and love. Gone are the days I fought with my sister. Instead, I give thanks each day we still have our faith, our families—and the blessing of one another.
© 2021 Carolyn R. Scheidies
Published 10/11/21 in the Kearney Hub Column

9/27/21 9/27/21

Blog Bio Time, family and a memorial

2017 April 25 Uncle Mark with great niece Ellery at Spring Scheidies gathering

Few of us had any clue that 2020 would become such a watershed in our lives. Covid-19 spread and, for better or worse, much of the country shut down. Celebrations such as birthdays and anniversaries, holiday gatherings such as Thanksgiving and Christmas just didn’t happen—at least not with large, noisy, happy family get-togethers.

Families stayed isolated, at home, and alone. Some, like my husband’s family, did some Zoom gatherings which was certainly better than not getting together at all. Yet video gatherings are exhausting and don’t completely fill the need for personal, face-to-face interaction that is so required for human health and well-being.

Weddings were small with receptions put off until this year. (We attended one.) Most difficult of all were remembering those we loved with a funeral. Getting together to help families grieve were restricted to only a few, leaving family and others who cared unsatisfied and unable to move forward. We lost two members of Keith’s family last year. We lost his brother Mark to a freak accident in April of 2020.

In June we also lost my father-in-law, also not to Covid. Thankfully, restrictions had eased for a time, and we were able to hold a regular funeral for members of LaVern (Jiggs) Scheidies’ family and his many friends. Since we had not been able to go to Colorado to grieve with Mark’s family, they came to Minden. We included a memorial to Mark in the funeral. It gave some closure.

However, in early September this year, the Scheidies siblings and families headed to Longmont Colorado. It was a time of greetings, hugs, fellowship, eating out and even swimming together. (Keith and I napped while the rest swam.)

Most importantly, we gathered not so much to say goodbye to Mark, but to hold a Celebration of Life in a beautiful outdoor setting with sunshine and a hint of a breeze. His wife Jenni shared precious memories of her soul mate. She and two nieces sang a song.

Keith, the oldest sibling, contributed his memories of his first-ever friend and brother. (He and his next youngest brother Mark discovered cardboard boxes did not float, among other shared learning experiences as they grew up together on the family farm.) Friend Linda shared memories and prayer. There was music and memories, tears and smiles from those who loved Mark, a gentle and kind giant.

It was a time, as family and friends, to make new memories, being thankful, this time, we could remember Mark together. No matter what happens, let’s make sure to stay connected.

Since we don’t know what life will bring tomorrow or the next day, brush off the small stuff, work through the big stuff, keep short accounts and don’t be afraid to say, “I love you.”.

8/30/21 8/30/21

Blog Bio Full circle, renovations and Collins Park

Before we started having children, we wanted to be settled. Our rental sold and we found another until my contractor brother built a house suitable for my many limitations.

Paul had several plots of land. We chose one on the land that had been a Nazarene Campground in south Kearney. We chose it because it was south of Collins Park and South of Bryant School where our children would one day attend.

When our kids were preschool age, the park was a blessing. I couldn’t chase after our very active kids. Letting them loose at the park was not an option. Back then, I had another option.

At the park, there was the usual play equipment for everyone else. For the very young children, there was a kid’s play area. Enclosed within a round fence, was play equipment suitable for our little kids. I could stand in the entryway, keep an eye out for our kids, and know they were safe.

We went to the park often on those hot summer days. As our kids entered school, the city decided to expand the baseball area. They ripped out the young child’s area to expand the ballfield and surroundings with bleachers.

The child’s play area was never restored. I felt sad about that, especially for other young parents. However, by then our children had outgrown that play area anyway. While our kids were never into baseball, they still had lots of play equipment they could use at the park.

As children do, our two grew up, left home, attended college, married, and had children of their own. Except for gathering with friends for picnics once in a while, we seldom crossed the street to the park. Nevertheless, I enjoyed hearing the shouts, screams, and laughter as children enjoyed the park.

During the Covid pandemic, the park was silent. Way too silent. I was glad when the park opened up again to children and families. A few months ago, the noise level from children decreased dramatically while the growl of big equipment, saws, hammers, and more echoed.

Once more, Collins Park underwent a major renovation. A splash pad surrounded by play equipment has been unveiled. Once more, I smile as I hear the shouts and laughter of children running through water guns and are splashed from equipment that provides a fun and quick cool down in the heat.

Things come full circle. My two youngest grandchildren beg to go across the street to the park when they visit. While the kid’s play area is gone, in its place is a fun alternative. Love to hear the laughter as my youngest grandchildren enjoy the same park that once captured the interest of their mom and uncle.Thank you Kearney for updating Collins Park.

8/3/21 8/3/21

Blog Bio An Adventure, a storm, stairs and attitude

***Photo by*** ***JuniperPhoton*** on ***Unsplash***

Our daughter Cassie, husband Kurt, and our two youngest grandchildren live in Papillion. Cassie’s brother-in-law Grant, wife Tami, and their three children and one--Liam, Hannah, and Max, as well as Tami’s mom Julia, visited them recently from Virginia.

They consider Keith and I bonus grandparents to their children, so of course, we wished to see them. We babysat the four older kids Friday night while the couples went out to dinner. (Julia took care of little Max.)

After the parents got home, we visited a bit before we headed to the Fairfield motel where we were staying. Those who know me know even a curb is too much for me without assistance. Stairs are avoided because they are frustrating and exhausting. To say the least, I like that there is something called elevators.

Friday night a major storm hit the Omaha area. When I got up during the night everything was dark, very dark, and silent. What happened to the bathroom light? It dawned on me that the power was out. Keith also woke up. We were thankful the toilet and water still worked.

We went back to bed, hoping the electricity would be back on when we awake. It wasn’t. Then came the realization. The elevator didn’t work, and we were three floors up.

The room phone was dead. We dressed wondering exactly what to do. Though Keith can do stairs, it isn’t that easy for him either. The cell phones worked more or less. Cassie heard on the news that the length of the outage was unknown and might take a couple of days.

That was not good for us. Cassie and Kurt came to the rescue. Cassie grabbed some smaller bags, but we left the suitcases. They’d brought a flashlight that lit the way down a long, dark stairway.

Kurt helped me down three flights of stairs, one stair at a time, Scary, but with his help, it went better and faster than I thought it would. Still, I was thankful to be on the ground floor and so ready to sit down.

Street lights were out so Kurt took us on a backroads route to their house. I could see all the damage from downed leaves, branches, and trees. Wow! I was very glad to get to their home even though they also didn’t have power. Still, we weren’t stuck three floors up. The kids didn’t care. They had lots of adult attention.

Meals were interesting. I don’t think I want Fritos again anytime soon. (With my allergies, choices were even more limited.) In the evening, Cassie found an open Walmart and brought home food.

She told us, “This was all that was left. The shelves were stripped of everything else.”

As the power was still out later in the day, Cassie and Kurt went to the Fairfield, packed up all our stuff, and checked us out. Now there would be twelve staying in the house. But Cassie found a place for everyone to sleep.

Before then, between 8 and 9 pm, we heard a click, lights flickered and came on. The refrigerator began to hum. We had power! We never appreciated it more. Early on, I chose to consider the whole thing as an adventure--even going down the stairs with only a flashlight for light.

In fact, I didn’t hear complaints from anyone in the house, only ways to make things work and be thankful for what we had, a safe place to hang out, food to eat--even if not our choice, and loving family with which to share our adventure.

Sunday morning, we headed to Lincoln after lots of hugs and goodbyes. Power or no power, we’d made good memories--because we choose positive attitudes. And, isn’t that really the best way to live?

7/12/21 7/12/21

Blog Bio Becoming an author not easy, but you can do it

Some time ago I participated in the multi-author book signing hosted by Sequel Bookshop. I hadn’t done one since my bad fall in 2014, though I continue to write.

It was great to touch base with writer friends, meet other authors, and buy books from these authors. It was so much fun. It made me remember how my love of books and writing began.

Before I started school, I learned my alphabet and rhymed words with “at” –bat, cat, etc. By third grade, I wanted to be an author. I told stories. By fifth grade, I wrote them down. I was learning my craft by reading and writing.

Once my parents read some of my writing, they encouraged me. In high school, I entered a few contests and received some honorable mentions and positive feedback. When my family moved to Iowa for my dad to serve a country church, I met a published author who was part of our congregation.

She taught me about formatting, writing for the market, and how to submit. Under her guidance, I not only submitted my first pieces but also received payment for my work. I began writing for Sunday School papers as well as program pieces used in churches for their programs—and received regular paychecks.

I also wrote features but the effort to market was exhausting and the mountain of rejections for every sale—discouraging. Still, I continued to write, even getting a comprehensive degree in journalism from UNK (then KSC).

Now a resident of Kearney, I focused on short stories and nonfiction. A few years later, my friend Gloria gave me a novel for my birthday. She said, “You can do better than that.” I took up her challenge. I wrote and rewrote. Others, including Gloria, critiqued my writing. My transitions were rough. My character names didn’t always work.

Writers are told, “Write what you know.” What I knew was disabilities and how that changes the equation. Some feedback was, “Like your work, but we’re no longer doing fiction.”; “Has possibilities, but we just went into receivership.” This one floored me. “Nice story, but readers aren’t interested in heroines with disabilities.”

I wrote and rewrote a mystery novel over a ten-year period. (I am thankful my husband encouraged my writing.) Finally, an editor from a traditional publishing house took notice. She promised to get back to me. I waited. Before a decision was made, another editor took her place. I had to start all over again promoting my book to the new editor.

Eventually, the book was accepted, and I received a contract. Six months later, I held my first book in my hands. It had taken ten years of writing and over two years of marketing. With my very nice check, I purchased my first PC computer and went on to sell several more books for the Barbour Publishing Heartsong Presents line—two of which won awards.

Since then, I have worked with small presses all the way up to Harlequin Books—those romances you purchase in Walmart and Target and large bookstores. I have written both fiction and nonfiction and even a few books for children. I didn’t leave my journalism behind as I continued to write features and news articles.

For many years now I’ve written a column for the Kearney Hub. Though there have been huge changes in traditional publishing, it still takes effort, knowing the business, and a solid manuscript, time, and frustration to receive notice from an editor and a contract.

I still write my column, I started doing a newsletter each month for Kearney Christian Women’s Connection (KCWC) and I tried to publish a book a year while promoting older books. I have come a long way from the little girl who worked so hard to rhyme her words down the ABCs.

Most of all, I am thankful for the editors, writer friends, and my many friends and fans who’ve encouraged me over the years. As I slow down, I look back, thankful for the gift God gave me. I seek to use that gift to share truth, faith—and hope.

Over the years I lectured to writer’s organizations, at writer’s conferences, and assisted writers who wished to learn their craft and be published. Eventually, I redrafted my lectures into the well-received book for writers Especially for the Christian Writer -- How-to's, tips, information, and inspiration. It was one way I could give back for all the assistance I’d received along the way.

Every one of us at the signing were once want-to-be authors. Some had published only one book, others more. But we were invited to the signing because we persevered from idea to the finished book.

You, too, can reach others with your writing. It takes good ideas, patience, and learning the basics of writing and marketing. It takes perseverance, writing, and rewriting until the material shines and a willingness to listen to constructive criticism. Most of all, it means sitting down and writing.

Have an idea, think, research…and write. Maybe I’ll see you at an upcoming book signing.

6/23/21 6/23/21

Blog Bio Memorial Day Remembrance 2021 & Family

So thankful for those who served—including my dad and father-in-law.

I sat in the car not far from where individuals and families, including the Scheidies family, gathered to honor those who fought, and many died for their country.

After a very cold, rainy, muddy Sunday, Monday was warm with enough breeze to show off all the American flags decorating the Minden Cemetery. A few puffy white clouds floated in the blue sky, a change even from the darker clouds showing on our drive to Minden.

At times, the only sound was the flapping of the huge flags and the soft, reverent voices of those searching for graves of loved ones. A variety of flowers on most of the graves added color to green grass and brown, off white, and gray marble grave monuments. I watched parents point out graves to younger children and adults stooping down to carefully place flowers. Memorial Day was solemn, but also peaceful.

The Scheidies family has gathered for years twice a year the last weekend in April and the weekend after Thanksgiving. Last year we had no large gathering as a family--except one, In June we laid to rest LaVern Scheidies, my husband’s beloved father. We’d also gathered, at that same time, to remember Keith’s next oldest brother Mark. Neither died due to Covid 19, but both deaths were unexpected and difficult.

This year, we chose to get together, not in April, but in May, Memorial Day weekend. We’d already spent Sunday together at the Scheidies’ farm--eating, laughing, playing games, crying a bit, and, finally, hugging one another. It was a comfort to be together.

We chose Memorial Day weekend because Keith’s dad was a veteran, and proud of it. A couple of years earlier, two of Keith’s brothers took Dad’s letters and other information and items from World War II and created a book for each family. We have that reminder of him now.

What made this Memorial Day special was on this day, a flag would be dedicated in LaVern’s honor as a veteran. I stayed in the car because the walk to where the service was held would have taken far too long and been too tiring. I couldn’t actually make out the words spoken by the speakers, I heard the background hum and later got to view the new flag flying in the gentle breeze.

In the quiet of the late morning, I thought about those from around the country, my dad included, who answered the calls to fight, many long ago in the World Wars, to leave behind family and friends to protect the country from a horrifying menace of evil, torture and death. These brave men and women accomplished what they set out to do. America survived because of those willing to fight evil. I closed my eyes and gave thanks.

We still have those in the military and on the police force doing their best to protect and serve. Yes, some make wrong choices. Most do not. We must not paint them all with the same brush. Instead, let’s support and give thanks for the many, many who keep us safe.

6/8/21 6/8/21

Blog Bio New hope as pandemic gives way to hugs

It’s a new day. More and more individuals are leaving masks behind, along with their fears. Others are no longer afraid to greet family, neighbors and friends. Six feet is too far away these days. Hugs are back in though most ask before making that move.

Do you know how good hugs feel after a year without them? Hugs, time together, and face-to-face conversations are not only something humans do, but an essential part of being mentally as well as physically whole and healthy. We haven’t been healthy as a culture for over a year, a year given over to fears and wondering what and whom to believe about our medical well-being.

Spring has brought new hope and sunshine as well as needed rain. It has opened doors for us to reach out to one another again. We had close friends drop by for a few moments to say “hi.” and to give us a loaf of homemade banana bread bought on a jaunt out of town.

Another neighbor who was walking by with her little dog stopped in when she saw our friend’s car. Not much time then, but we checked out schedules and made plans to meet at Perkins in a couple of days. That was the beginning of the evening.

Two days later, Keith and I got out of the house for haircuts. Got out to buy pots of flowers for cemetery plots for Memorial Day. Got out to meet our friends for supper. We ate, laughed, talked and simply enjoyed each other’s company. After last year we valued our time together.

After supper, we met back at our house and gathered around our card table to play a game Keith bought that had us using words from songs we recalled. It was one of those games in which coming up with songs from the trigger words was fun even if you were in last place on the board.

Again we laughed, talked, and checked up some songs on cell phones. No one cared who moved the pieces on the board. We were friends from long-standing, who knew each other, trusted each other and had always been there for one another. Now we were able to enjoy being together as we hadn’t been able to do during the last year.

We played two games filled with songs, conversation and laughter. Overhead, the sky thundered. Rain fell. It was time to break up and for our friends to head home. We said our goodbyes and watched them go.

For some, it was a small thing, friends getting together. I saw it differently. Friendships had been renewed and deepened. My lips curved into a smile and my heart filled with joy as I filed away a brand-new and precious memory.

My husband and I decided to make this evening a beginning for friends, fellowship, fun--and the making of positive memories. Is it time for you to do the same?

5/10/21 5/10/21

Blog Thankful for people, park, laughter

We live across the street from Collins Park. Keith and I have lived here since the early days of our marriage. The house is built for my limitations by my brother Paul Fredrickson who was a local contractor. Having the park across the street has been a blessing in so many ways.

I am a bit claustrophobic, but with the park across the street rather than more houses, I don’t feel hemmed in. When our kids were small, we could go hang out across the street at the park on nice days. Over the years, family friends have used the park for any number of get-togethers and picnics. We’ve even attended an Easter Sunrise Service at the park.

Every Spring the cars started filling the roadway as baseball practice got underway. Then came the games throughout the summer, lights on till long after dark, and individuals yelling and cheering until we couldn’t wait for the game to end. My kids would beg money to spend on candy, etc. at the canteen. Once in a while, I even gave in.

In the early days, some thought nothing about blocking our drive with their cars, keeping us from getting out, but this pretty much stopped after a while. (I’ve wondered if my article about the problem made a difference.)

Other than game times, kids and families used the park all summer long. Families had reunions and other gatherings. Sometimes we didn’t have far to view fireworks when families shot them off at the park on Independence Day. During the summer, the park was filled with excited yells and laughter as children played on the equipment meant for their enjoyment. The laughter made me smile.

Then in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic, all was silent. The park was off-limits to the children who needed activity and fun. When the wind blew, I sometimes heard the rattle of swing chains, but it was a lonely sound without the children.

The next year, I once again heard laughter at the park. Many walk by with their dogs at their heels. Kids ride by on bikes with friends. Even baseball is gearing up. More cars line the streets and baseball calls echo across the ballfield. At times in past years, the lights, sounds, cars, the overall noise level irritated me.

After the silence of Covid restrictions, I am glad to hear the laughter emanating from across the street. It almost relaxes me now. I smile and give thanks that despite the heartaches and frustrations of fear-based restrictions, Americans are strong and resilient, and we will not only survive—but also thrive.

4/13/21 4/13/21

Biographical Blog We appreciate instant access with cellphones

I don’t leave home without my cell phone. Having the phone, especially since we’re geezers, gives me confidence that if we have a car or health emergency, we can quickly summon help.

I have a reason for being uneasy. Years ago, after our daughter graduated from college, she spent a year south of Branson working with at-risk youth in a leadership program. She was in charge of putting together a weekend for parents to come and learn about the program.

It was a long drive from Kearney, but we planned to do it all in one long day. However, our car died south of Kansas City. Without my cell, we would not have been able to contact AAA for assistance. Our car was hauled to a nearby town.

We hoped it wouldn’t take too long to fix as we were on a tight timeline. After carefully checking over the car, we were told the car was dead. No amount of “fixing” would make that car go. The garage helped us get ahold of Enterprise.

Thankfully, the garage agreed to keep the car until we returned in a couple of days. (We ended up buying a car to get home.) We made it to the opening function in Branson while everyone was still eating.

When we lived in Wisconsin in the 1950s where my father pastored a church, we were thankful to have one phone in the house. When my father took a church in a dying oil town, Lance Creek, Wyoming, north of Lusk, there were no phones when we arrived.

The town consisted of small settlements named after the oil companies that owned them. Other than housing, there wasn’t much more than a filling station, a garage, a café, a bar, a Walmart-style store (groceries and much more), a Catholic church with a once-a-month service, “downtown.”

Our church, next to a lumberyard and another grocery store, further west in another enclave, served a wide area. Even further west was an elementary school, a lumberyard, and an IOOF Hall.

If we needed to contact dad at the church where he had his office, one of us had to walk or ride a bike the uphill mile and a half to the church. Mom didn’t drive and dad had the only car. We were often out of contact with dad when he visited the ranches in the area. He’d be gone the whole day.

A few times I got to go with him. We went from paved to gravel to almost footpaths at some points. We found few bridges. We crossed streams that during rainstorms would become impassible.

The ranchers were glad for a visitor. At times Dad comforted, counseled, or simply listened, finally offering a passage from God’s Word and prayer. What if it had stormed while he was gone? What if he’d had an accident? No one would even know where to look for him.

I viewed those trips as adventures, never considering the possible risks Dad took back then. It did not matter to him. He was a pastor who cared about the needs of people, even if they never darkened the door of the church. For many ranchers, Sunday attendance was just too far and complicated.

I look back with a shiver as I slip my cell phone into my purse before heading out the door. I can’t help but wonder how today’s generation would handle the inability to readily connect. I am thankful for my memories because they remind me to be thankful as I turn on my cell and let our daughter know we’re on our way.

3/15/21 3/15/21

Blog Bio: Finally, a doctor helps me, a maskless patient

Has fear erased the need to accommodate those with disabilities?

Those who know me, know I am put together with artificial joints, metal, plastic, glue, and screws. I have lots of limitations. My throat is compromised. I can only touch my face with one hand. I also have any number of allergies and sensitivities to medications and food.

In this era of masks, I am part of a subset of persons who cannot safely wear a mask—and that’s according to both ADA and CDC. As long as everyone was masking. it meant I pretty much stayed home.

However, I still had doctor appointments. I needed to see my regular doctor at Family Practice and have my yearly labs. I called my doctor’s nurse and, talked to her about my problem. My doctor said to come in.

When Keith took me in, a couple of ladies in the entry let us know we needed masks (Keith already had one on) and to use the hand sanitizer. I said I could not do either, but that I’d already called. They checked and let me go in. Not one person stopped me or even glared at me during my appointment. They made a reasonable accommodation.

More recently, I tried to set up an appointment with a podiatrist at Platte Valley Medical Group. However, when I let them know I couldn’t wear a mask, you would have thought they’d never heard of such a thing. After 15 or more minutes, I was passed onto another person who asked why? I explained. I was treated with politeness, but nothing I said mattered. No mask. No seeing a doctor.

The next day someone else called and, nicely but firmly, grilled me as to why. It didn’t matter. They made absolutely no accommodations for people who like me can’t wear a mask but who wish to see a doctor.

Yet, not being able to wear a mask is very real. According to this Disability Issues Brief Developed by the Southeast ADA Center and Burton Blatt Institute (BBI) at Syracuse University entitled The ADA and Face Mask Policies, “The CDC states that a person who has trouble breathing, is unconscious, incapacitated, or otherwise unable to remove the face mask without assistance should not wear a face mask or cloth face covering.”

Other reasons include claustrophobia, PSTD, and severe anxiety. What about businesses? According to the above article: If a person with a disability is not able to wear a face mask, state and local government agencies and private businesses must consider reasonable modifications to a face mask policy so that the person with the disability can participate in, or benefit from, the programs offered or goods and services that are provided.

Platte Valley Medical Group offered no accommodations, which means they were not ADA nor CDC compliant. This medical establishment made no way for me to see the doctor. No mask. No medical care. No accommodations for those who require medical treatment.

I tried another clinic in Kearney with a podiatrist. The woman at the front desk who answered my call took my information, but before we settled on an appointment I explained I couldn’t wear a mask.

She reiterated what became the party line. “Everyone has to wear a mask.”

However, she offered to have the manager call, which she did. She offered a semi-reasonable alternative—to stay in the car until called. I accepted and made the appointment. Since the appointment was in early March, I hoped for a day that wasn’t freezing cold.

Still, though I still felt like a second-class citizen again, I am thankful this medical establishment was willing to follow ADA guidelines to make reasonable accommodations. Let’s hope others, medical establishments as well as stores and other businesses, start doing the same.

1/19/21 1/19/21

Blog Bio Feeling Welcome—Even Without a Mask

These days, I don’t go out often, but before masks became mandated in Kearney, there were a few places I felt comfortable going. Now I just stay home. Why? I am one of those who cannot wear a mask.

I am thankful that Kearney considered this and wrote into the mandate exceptions for people like me. Though the exception exists, going without a mask does not engender positive responses from others encountered when out in public. Unlike for some, my case wouldn’t be difficult to prove.

However, others may not look as though they have a respiratory problem or are unable to put a mask on or off on their own, We live in a society etched in fear and fear breeds anger. Americans have been told over and over that masks are some sort of magic bullet to the point that those who are unable to not wear masks are not always treated well.

Anger lashes out. “Wear a mask, already!!”

There are the looks, the edging even further away than regular distancing allows. I don’t need that, nor do I wish to make anyone else uncomfortable. I find the situation sad. Still, I recently had a taste of freedom and welcome on January 2nd.

Since Keith and I were married September 2nd --more than two kids and five grandkids ago, the oldest of which turns 21 this year—we have a tradition of going out to eat the 2nd of each month. We did that until the mandate. Then Keith brought dinner in. It is not the same.

Keith knew I wanted to go out and he found a way. Odessa doesn’t have a mask mandate and the Apple Barrel Restaurant doesn’t require masks. I called and asked. We entered the restaurant and were given a cheerful welcome. The menu was filled with a variety of food items I wished I could choose.

Still, even with all my allergies, the staff made sure what I did order met my many needs. The hamburger was 100% beef with no pepper spice. No tomato. No ketchup. No bun. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with lettuce and onion and with cottage cheese on the side. The portion was just right for my needs. Keith’s portion was so large, he had to take it slow and easy.

Our food was delicious and we’re ready to return. As individuals came and went I could tell this was a hometown, family restaurant where most of the customers were regulars who were greeted by name.

Our service was great, and we spent time talking to our waitress who is a student at UNK. We even spoke with a patron who shared a Star Wars picture with Keith on his phone, when Keith commented on a conversation. The biggest surprise came as we finished our meal. The waitress stood at our table and told us someone had paid for our meal, and when we were finished we could just leave. That made our day. (And we still left a tip for our waitress.)

It was such a relief to feel welcome—even without a mask. Our monthly anniversary experience gave me a positive memory I won’t soon forget. Maybe, next time, we’ll pass forward the blessing we received.

I plan my life out a day at a time, so my posting schedule can be erratic.

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