“Momma, Justine stole a cookie.”
“Momma, Delia colored all over my homework.”
“Momma, Dani’s stuck in the slide.”
Anna Turner wished for just this once that someone else named Momma lived in the house, and then she almost cried. Because someone else named Momma did live in the house. She was just in the middle of a crying jag and wouldn’t get out of bed.
She knew she needed to try talking to her mother, but her kids needed her first.
Running a frustrated hand through her cropped blonde hair, she counted to ten and blew out a frustrated breath as she left her mother’s bedroom door and started down the back steps to see what had her baby girls in such an uproar.
Stuck in the slide sounded worst.
She hit the door and heard the commotion at the same time.
There, stuck between the first two steps on the ladder, baby Dani smiled, her toddler legs—one shoe on, one off—dangling from the backyard slide. Gran’s Chihuahua, Killer, was dancing around barking his head off. Justine had one of Dani’s arms. Delia the other. It looked like the girls were going to pull their baby sister apart.
Sighing she started through the yard, side stepped Killer’s dog doo. She reached the slide and pulled Dani up into her arms.
“Justine, no dessert. Delia, go get your sister’s homework and let me see it. I swear, if you made too much of a mess you’re gonna be in trouble. Do you understand me?”
Delia’s bottom lip trembled as she ran into the house.
Justine crossed her arms over her chest and let out a sigh that was far too old for her seven years. “I was hungry. It was just a cookie.”
But it was more than that and Justine was old enough to know it. Those cookies had to last. Anna scrimped and saved and clipped coupons so they could have those cookies.
She started to remind Justine of how much effort went into making sure they could have that cookie after school when her eyes caught the scar on her oldest daughter’s shoulder. The one that started there, matched by twins and triplets of puckered skin, skin that would never know perfection, all the way down to the top of her hip.
Guilt nagged at her even though Anna knew she’d done everything in her power to make it up to her girl, her oldest, her dear sweet Justine.
But nothing was going to erase the awareness in those big chocolate brown eyes of hers. And nothing was ever going to put the innocence back.
What harm was an extra cookie? Justine’d earned that and more.
Anna tried to hold Dani close, to use the soft touch of the baby to give her a moment’s peace, but by the time she’d caught a whiff of her No More Tears Shampoo, Dani was wiggling free.
Anna sighed at the same time Justine did, and she smiled. “Yes, sweetie. It was just a cookie. I bought the cookies for you and your sisters. One a day after school. That’s the deal. You had two, so you skip tomorrow’s.”
Justine started in on the “Mom” rant at the same time Delia brought out the homework sheet. Yep. Colored. Bright red and orange scribbles marred the perfect printed spelling words beneath.
“I was just trying to write, Momma. I was helping Justine.” Delia looked up at Justine with unadulterated hero worship and Anna tried to stifle her smile. Mr. Andrews would still take it on Monday. He’d understand. No damage done.
“You leave your sister’s homework alone, Delia. If you want to help, ask her first.”
Delia’s bottom lip quivered. “She never lets me help. She hates me.”
Delia didn’t remember, thank God, how very untrue that statement was.
Anna grabbed the homework, shook her head and didn’t bother answering.
“Your sister doesn’t hate you, Delia. She just needs her space. And her homework is important. Go get Dani and we’ll have supper in a minute.”
“Mac’roni and cheese?”
Anna shook her head. “Yep.” Third day in a row. This time they had french fries and weenies to go with.
Delia whooped with glee—the girl could eat her weight in macaroni and cheese—and chased after her baby sister. Their soft brown hair with golden highlights seemed to sparkle in the late afternoon sun. Sparkle just like Cass’s had once upon a time.
Turning to go back in the house, Anna knew she had to call Cass. She couldn’t keep doing this alone. Momma needed help. Help maybe Cass could give.
Help Anna’d been trying to give all by herself for eighteen years. But it wasn’t enough. Not any more. Cass had to come home.

One week later

Cass took the last exit into Standridge, Texas, and resisted the urge to turn the car right around and head back to Kansas City.
She rubbed a sweaty hand on her pants and scanned for a radio station until she finally settled on the only one that seemed to be working. Country 101.
Just like old times.
But it wasn’t.
Anna’s desperate call for help had come at an opportune moment.
Cass was desperate enough to get away that she’d clung to the excuse.
But now that she was here, passing the royal blue and red sign proclaiming Standridge the home of the Standridge Dancing Ranglerettes, she realized she’d made a huge mistake.
Eighteen years was a long time to be gone.
She’d never planned on staying away, but it had just happened. One year had become another and another until it seemed okay.
But Cass knew the truth. She hadn’t come home because it was easier to avoid the truths she’d run away from.
Now it was easier to face those truths than the ones she’d left at home with John.
God help her, she was a mess.
She pulled the car over into the Shell station on the corner. It used to be a Texaco. Before that a Gulf. But back before she’d escaped Standridge, it didn’t matter what its name was. Everyone knew the man who ran the whole full-service show was Old Man Swenson. Surely Lord by now he was doing something else. Especially since the Shell didn’t seem to have a full-service area anywhere in sight,
Grabbing a dollar from her purse, she stepped out of her Camry and started into the store. She should probably get on to her mother’s house, but she couldn’t make herself go just yet. The Coke break would settle her nerves. Maybe.
She pushed open the door with the come in we’re open sign and a tiny bell rang sounding her arrival.
Inside, nothing much had changed. The scent of fried burritos and coffee still mixed with oil and gasoline. Where the cigarettes used to line the cabinets, lottery tickets now enticed customers with promises of instant millions.
The young cowboy behind the counter greeted her with a Howdy Ma’am and she swallowed her nervousness. How strange to be called Ma’am. How weird to know she really was old enough to be ma’am now. Eighteen years had passed and she’d felt every one of them until this minute. Suddenly she felt like the same mixed up eighteen-year-old senior she’d been the night she’d left town.
This had been her last stop then. Funny it was her first stop now.
No Old Man Swenson so far.
There in the corner she saw the Icee machine and smiled. Sure enough, it still churned its cherry on one side Coke on the other mixture. She pulled a medium cup from the holder, snapped on the plastic lid, her taste buds dancing at the idea of the sweet treat, and nearly jumped right out of her skin when she heard the loud, long whistle followed by the tobacco scraggled voice. “Lordy me, is that Cass Deason I see over there at my Icee Machine?”
Cass bit her lip, said a quick prayer asking for help and pasted a smile on her face as she turned toward the voice.
Old Man Swenson hadn’t changed a bit in all these years, and she wasn’t about to tell him Cass Deason had ceased to exist a long time ago and not just because her last name had changed to Myers the day she got married.
“Mr. Swenson.” Her voice shook. She hoped he didn’t hear it.
The man made his way slowly across the station floor, and she saw that yes, something had changed. The cane and the slow gait made him seem older. But his denim overalls and white cotton shirt were exactly the same as they’d always been. So were his twinkling blue Santa Claus eyes.
“You surely are a sight for sore eyes, Gal. ‘Bout time you made it home for a visit.”
Cass swallowed past the guilt. “You’re definitely right about that.”
His smile turned to a frown and he leaned in close. “You home to help your momma?”
She started in surprise before she remembered that in Standridge everyone knew everything about everyone. Just one of the reasons she’d left that night. “Yes sir. Anna called, and here I am.” She sipped her Icee, the explosion of sweetness camouflaging the sour taste of regret and something else she didn’t want to identify.
He grunted and then coughed. Whipping out a red handkerchief from his pocket, he blew his nose. “’Bout time that fool sister of yours called you for help, too.”
Cass tamped down the anger at his words for her sister. Anna hadn’t had an easy time of it, Cass knew. But she was no fool.
“Anna was giving me time to come home on my own.”
Old man Swenson shook his head. “Well, it don’t much matter. You’re here now. You better get home. Your momma needs you and so does your sister. I figure you need them just about as much if not more. You got a sadness in those eyes that didn’t used to be there.”
Good grief. There was such a thing as too much honesty.
Cass didn’t know what to say to his words so she held out her dollar. “I’m sure you’re right. I better pay…”
He waved his hands through the air and wouldn’t hear a word about paying. “Consider it your welcome home. And here,” he grabbed a pink peanut pattie off the counter next to the register and threw it to her. ”I seem to remember you liking these too. You come see me if you need a break.”
With that he turned around and scooted across the station’s black and white cracked tile floor and through a back door.
Cass looked at the confection he’d thrown her. She hadn’t had one of these since the night she’d left town. Just touching it brought back memories of that scared girl she’d been.
The tiny welcome home bells rang as Cass left the air-conditioned station and walked into a breathless combination of gasoline fumes and heat so heavy you could almost taste it. The sun dipping down in the west burned bright red and gold and orange. A dust storm was blowing in from Lubbock. Maybe the dry brittle heat would help her get her head on straight. Lord knows something needed to.
She climbed in the bug splattered Camry and sat for a moment dragging her finger through the sweat on the outside of the paper Icee cup.
She was stalling and she knew it. She didn’t want to go to her mother’s home. Didn’t want to get all involved in things she couldn’t fix. Didn’t want to remember.
But she couldn’t go back either. Not yet. Not when everything was tumbling around in her brain making her feel like she was losing a part of herself, losing all of herself.
No. She had to do this. Anna needed her. So did Momma.
She closed her eyes and prayed for peace. But, as always, the peace proved elusive.
She took a few deep breaths and chastised herself for the prayer. Peace hadn’t come around with all the prayers in the last eighteen years. No way was it going to make a sneak appearance now that she was back in Standridge. So she changed her prayer to the one thing she knew God had given her plenty of. She prayed for strength.
When she opened her eyes her heart was lighter. She could do this. She didn’t have a choice.

I sincerely hope this book finds a home some day. Out of all my works, it’s the one I love most.

New year, new semester, fresh starts, blank slates.
I love new semesters and I can’t wait to see what this one has in store.
Advising publications has changed significantly over the last 15 years. The digital revolution has made everything easier, but the sheer amount of information makes it more difficult, too.
Kids are far more comfortable IM’ing, chatting, texting than they are talking. Interview electronically and you get great quotes. But you lose the body language, the setting, the intensity.
You also lose a bit of the reality. Because people will write things in an e-mail or in a chat they’d never say in real life.
I wonder where we’re headed with communication. Five years ago I would’ve never imagined students telling me they’d rather text than talk on the phone. This year most of my kids told me that was the case.
And it’s contagious, I guess. The other day I was trying to text on my old non-backlit phone while DH and I were running errands, and I couldn’t see the text. Instead of calling the friends I was trying to reach, I closed the phone and decided I’d try later.
I never tried. No telling what I missed out on. All because I didn’t want to talk.
When I first started teaching, we’d read the book 1984 and my kids would say that would never happen. These days we worry about WHEN it will happen.
I love the movie Wall-E. But it’s disturbing that the whole time I watched it, I wondered if that’s where we’re headed.
I hope not.
I love words. Explicate is my favorite word because of the way it feels to say it. That just doesn’t work in text speak.
I love the digital revolution, but I hope it doesn’t destroy us.

One of the kids in the newsroom on her iPhone. You can't see it because she wasn't supposed to be doing it, but I know. I never saw her talk on the phone. Not once in the whole time I had her in class, but I saw her text and play games all the time.

LA
Rink side seats.
Gretzky on the ice.
Life was good.
I don’t know who she was. A player’s grandmother maybe.
She sat beside us with her crochet on her lap, her needles working away, creating while the puck sliced by.
Rink side seats are different than others. You hear the ice, the players, the game. You see sweat dripping and tired eyes from a long road trip.
Rink side seats are amazing.
I certainly wouldn’t spend my time in them crocheting. But then this was a first for me. I get the feeling she held season tickets.
She interested me. I’m not sure why. Maybe because she was so different from everyone else. During fights, she calmly placed her crochet to the side, stood and yelled
“Kill Him, kill him, kill him,” like a warrior of old.
Fight rink side are different too. You hear their brutality, and the crowd noise makes you feel like you’re part of the battle.
The first fight I didn’t catch her movements, just heard the little old lady voice turn into that of a dragon slayer. But she intrigued me, and I couldn’t help but watch as the next fight broke out, and then the next, and then the next.
And always, calm, place, screaming banshee.
Back then I wasn’t writing. I was busy reading 25 novels a semester for the multiple upper level English courses I was taking. The only writing I did consisted of 10+-pg papers about Kurt Vonnegut, 100 Years of Solitude and Howl to name a few. I didn’t even remember the old dream of writing fiction. But it was there, lurking, as I watched people and wondered about their stories.
Who was she, that woman sitting rink side?
I don’t know. But I sure hope I get to use her one day in a book.

She's not the woman from the LA hockey game, but my Grandma is certainly a Dragon Slayer!

Last summer was one of the hottest on record. So how come NOW it’s going to be one of the coldest winters on record also?! The blizzard was bad enough. But 9 or lower REAL temps?!?!?!?!? Come on Wichita Falls weather, get back to normal!

Hi, my name is Mary Beth and I’m a bibliophile.
I love books. Love the smell, the fell, the sound of books. I love old books, new books, electronic books, paperbacks, hardbacks, Trade.
It doesn’t matter.
If it’s a book, I love it.
The love affair started almost before my memories start. Maybe it’s because I was a late reader. I don’t know. But for as long as I can remember, trips to the library have made me happy. Bookstores equal hours of fun. And old books…it’s crazy how happy holding an 1880 Shakespeare textbook signed with perfect penmanship by its first owner with paper soft from age, almost to the brittle stage really, makes me. Last year my mom gave me an original copy of The Marvelous Land of Oz, the second of the Oz books. It was the perfect gift.
Unfortunately, my book habit took a hit when it no longer fit in the budget. And the budget rules now that we’re moving toward cash only and debt-free.
I could give up Audible. It’s $15 a month. But I love listening to books on my summer road trips. I could give up the Y, I don’t really go all that often, but it’s $15 a month, and I plan on going. I could give up coffee shipments, but that’s coffee for my whole department, we love it and so many people contribute, it only costs me around $10 a month, so no, that’s not the key. Those are the things that went through my brain when I realized I had to stop signing on to Fictionwise and using the all-powerful Paypal and browsing through the book aisle at Wal-Mart when I bought the weekly groceries.
Enter the Wichita Falls Public Library. A place I used to love, but kind of forgot about for anything other than the monthly writer’s group meetings held upstairs every second Saturday of the month.
WFPL is amazing. They have a fabulous selection. And I can sign up online to hold books already checked out once they’re checked in. Best of all, all it costs is a little of my time. I’ve found so many amazing books at the library the last few months, books I probably never would’ve read if I were just buying instead of browsing. Books like Bujold’s Sharing Knife series (how did I now know about these books?!?) and the YA’s like If I Stay and Looking for Alaska.
This week while snowed in I read the first of The Sharing Knife books. I’ll be getting the second when I return the books from the holiday. Bujold builds an amazing world where magic makes sense and the battle of good verses evil has real consequences. I’ve not been a big fantasy reader, but that’s changing as I find more awesome books in the library.
I also read Barbara Samuel’s Madame Mirabou’s School of Love, a book about the heartbreak of starting over when it wasn’t something you wanted. The books is actually a lot bigger than that, touching on domestic violence, race relations, sex, parenthood, divorce, military wives left home alone, conquering fear, rediscovering lost dreams, life, love, hate, acceptance, moving on. The book packs a big punch. And it helped me realize that I want to write books that ring emotion from you while reading, not just books that provide escape. Actually, several of the books I’ve read the last two months have served to tell me this, but Madame Mirabou really made the case.
I highly recommend both The Sharing Knife and Madame Mirabou. And I recommend checking out (haha) your local library.

One of my Shakespeare textbooks (I have the whole set), The Land of Oz and several library books from this month.

…if you write it in advance?
I discovered I could write my blog entries in advance and for the last month, I’ve blogged up to a week in advance about all sorts of topics. I don’t know what I think about this practice, really. It’s nice to use weekend time to put together posts about multiple topics, but there’s this lack of urgency. Years ago when I started this blog, I did it for several reasons.
•I wanted to work on my voice. Epic Fail on this one. Unless I’m passionate about the topic, I don’t really work on voice at all. I want to go back to the drawing board on that one.
•I wanted to chronicle the time DD was at school with me. Did that, and I love looking back at those stories. Those have voice.
•I wanted to update friends and family on my writing progress. Did that, but the progress has been slow to say the least this year. I do have a query out now. I thought blogging about writing would encourage me to write more. It doesn’t. At least it doesn’t the way I use this space right now. It is way cool that I’ve made “blog” friends over the years.
•I wanted to inspire my weight loss progress. This totally worked at first. (YEARS ago!) But then I quit Weight Watchers, and…see New Year’s Eve post for more on that.
•Blogs were relatively new and everyone was talking about them. Remember that time, way back, when everyone talked about Blogs revolutionizing the way we talk to each other. How if you wanted to be a writer, you HAD to have a blog. How agents and editors would look at our websites and a blog was one of the essentials?
•I wanted a place to tell classroom stories and to discuss education issues. When I do this, it’s relatively successful. One of my TAKs rants went viral. That was cool.

So yeah, those are the reasons I started the blog. I’ve added updates on good books I read. I won’t write about bad books unless they’re so bad I feel it’s my duty to warn people away.

Over the years since, I’ve seen the most successful blogs are thematic: Suzanne McMinn’s blog is fun to read because it’s neat to watch her transformation from normal city girl to real West Virginia farmer. Her photos are great, and she keeps us posted on her successes and failures. And Suzanne’s recipes are fabulous! The Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond, has turned her city girl turned rancher’s wife, home school mom, self-taught photographer and cook extraordinaire into a NYT best-selling cookbook. She’s been on QVC and on a book tour. I’ve been reading her blog for years, and it’s fun to be a fly on the wall. I don’t know Ree, wouldn’t recognize her if I saw her in a local Wal-Mart, but I cried when her dog disappeared because I felt like she was a friend. Jill Shalvis leaves me in stitches as she shares stories of living in a world where bears showing up on the front porch are nothing new. Shalvis’s world is completely foreign to me, and yet, I read each blog entry because she makes me laugh. Shalvis’s blog voice carries over into her books. I think she must write exactly how she speaks. I follow several other blogs on a daily basis: Mary’s The Bandwagon, SBTB, Dear Author, and they all have their own place online. Some are meant for huge audiences, some for friends and family and all great to read in their own ways.
I’ll be experimenting with blog styles over the next few days. Let me know what you think.

Brian and MB outside the $5 slots at Harrah's Las Vegas. We didn't win there, but we DID playing poker!

Are you kidding me?!?! I’m tired of snow. I don’t want to hear the forecast that says 2 more inches of snow. My back yard still has six inches of snow from the foot we got Christmas Eve. I live in WIchita Falls, TX. I don’t worry about snow. I don’t wanna worry about snow. BLAH!

It’s the same every year. Dec. 31 hits and I break out the resolutions, and let’s just face it, I SUCK at resolutions.
I mean, hello, I know resolution one will be lose weight. It always is. And honestly, there’s nothing difficult about losing weight. I’ve probably lost a ton over the last ten years. That’s a literal ton, not one of those tons skinny girls who have to lose the same 10 freaking ponds talk about all the time. I’ve out my body through some serious stuff whipping it into shape and then whipping it right back out into Weight Watchers R Us.
So yeah. Losing weight would be at the top of my list.
Writing would be next.
I love writing. I love the challenge of creating characters from scratch and giving them a story that ends in happily ever after. I love everything about it. And still I’ll go months without working on a book. And those resolutions I make in December and put into effect Jan. 1, don’t really make a difference at all.
So this year I’m going to go anti-resolution.
I’m going to drink my champagne, watch the ball drop, kiss my sweetie at midnight. But I’m not going to make resolutions.

Because of the snow, family Christmas had to wait this year until the roads were clear enough for family to make the trip from Burkburnett to Wichita Falls. It’s strange that the trip that usually takes no more than 20 minutes actually took more than 20 HOURS for people on Christmas Eve during the storm.
This year DD put up our tree and did the decorations while I was finishing up the massive December yearbook deadline and trying to recover from bronchitis and the flu. (blah. Hope I’m never sick like that again!)
DD’s always decorating when she gets the chance. I don’t know where she gets the decorating gene. I certainly don’t have it.
This year, we decided not to do a big Christmas because we got DD tires–her request–and we’re going to Vegas to celebrate our birthdays and anniversary and we’re committed to debt free living, so presents were few and far between. But when DD put up the tree, she had all these gorgeously wrapped presents there too. The Christmas tree room looked awesome!
Found out why during Family Christmas. DD wrapped fake presents so the tree would look balanced. Talk about dedication.
I wish I had a picture, but I don’t.
Trust me. It looked good.
It’s kind of sad that we’re taking it all down now.

I’ve never seen snow last this long in Wichita Falls. Of course, I’ve never been in a blizzard here either.
On the bright side, I’ve read tons of great books.
True Colors by Kristin Hannah is wonderful. I forgot how much I love her books.
I suggested Diana Peterfreund’s Rampant to my niece. She loved it and now that I’ve read it, I understand. Highly recommend.
Black Rabbit Summer by Kevin Brooks was a good read too. I think I’ll recommend Rampant and Black Rabbit Summer to our English teachers for book circles. Rampant can definitely be used when teaching mythology.
I’m reading the first The Sharing Knife book by Lois McMaster Bujold right now. Wow!
Being stuck inside because of massive ice and snow might not be make for the best Christmas ever, but the books have certainly made things better.
This was our first White Christmas in over 80 years. I don’t think I’ll ever wish for a white Christmas again!