Tag: amwriting (Page 5 of 6)

The Empty Nest – Hope in Front of Me

May 30, 2017 / Chiara

“The Chronicles of Esther and Mel – The Last Chapter.”

To catch up on the previous chronicles go to:

For the past month, Esther, my “mother-to-be” duck has been my writing muse – becoming a friend and confidant, bizarre as it may seem.

From the moment I found out that she had moved in on our property, I made it a point to check on her and talk with her. I prayed for her safety daily from squirrels, raccoons, and coyotes. I lent Esther my ear when she wanted to vent and I was there to comfort a nervous, first-time mother.

I knew our time was short. And, when all three of her ducklings hatched on Mother’s Day, minus the one egg that rolled down the grassy hill and died, I never expected what happened next…

The very next morning, Esther was gone. The only things left in her nest were empty, cracked egg shells and feathers. I was stunned. Certainly, I thought she might have stayed a few more days, or even given me a heads up that she would leave. But, Esther didn’t.

It was all a surprise and I was saddened. I had gotten used to her for the last thirty days, seeing her sitting on her nest of eggs. Even my daughters were happy she was there at our home.

The day Esther left, I stood over her empty nest, puzzled at the quick disappearance. I was reminded of a scripture passage in Luke 24:1-12 the day after Jesus was crucified on the cross. Early the next morning, Mary, the mother of James, Mary Magdalene, and other women went to the tomb to bring spices and oils so they could anoint Jesus’ body. However, when they got there, the tomb was empty and Jesus’ body was gone.

The scripture goes on to tell us that the women were “greatly perplexed“. I can only imaging their shock, disappointment, and fear of what might have happened to Jesus’ body.

Now, it may seem silly that I am comparing Jesus’ empty tomb scripture to Esther’s departure, but as I stood there, my sadness began to lift. Instead, I became filled with hope. Hope that this courageous duck mom would know where to take her babies, and give those little ducklings life skills to thrive in a very dangerous world.

In light of the recent terrorist attack in Manchester, England, the fatal assault on the Coptic Christians in Egypt, and remembering our Veterans this Memorial Day Weekend, my heart bleeds in constant worry of what kind of tomorrow we have to look forward to with so much violence.

And then, I read one of the most important lines of the scripture, verse 8: “And they remembered His words.” The Lord’s promise for us.

I certainly don’t have control over the worldly things that happen each and every day, but I have control over how I spend my day. Doing good, serving others, and keeping my eyes fixed on the things above. Praying regularly for continued salvation for myself and the rest of the world, so that we can have…

A better place…A peaceful place…For our children.

Today’s blog has been inspired by the song: “Hope in Front of Me” by Christian Artist, Danny Gokey. See the YouTube video here.

Where ever you are my dear Esther, I hope you and your little ducklings are safe too.

Until next time…

#MissyouEsther #DannyGokey #HopeinFrontofMe #TheEmptyNest #amwriting #PrayforOurNation #PrayforOurWorld #MemorialDay #Aducklife

Resources:

“Holy Bible” New King James Version (NKJV). Scripture: Luke24:1-12.

Don’t Mess with Momma

May 14, 2017 / Chiara

“The Chronicles of Esther and Mel.”

EXTRA…EXTRA…THIS JUST IN…LATEST UPDATE

Esther sighting. Taking a stroll the day before Mother’s Day.

On this glorious Mother’s Day, one little duckling hatched.

A FEW DAYS AGO…

We had a scare. Esther was gone. Several of her feathers were strewn all over the red mulch, and one of our solar lamps was cracked in half. It looked like there had been a brawl of some sort. The worst of it; a broken piece of egg shell lay near the nest.

There was more. I followed the trail of shell pieces on my lawn. At the bottom of the hill, the remains of a cracked-open duckling egg.

I ran to it and bent to inspect it. There inside, I saw matted black feathers and a little yellow beak peeking out. There was no movement and I knew it was long dead. I stood up and turned my head, it was a gruesome sight, too gruesome for pictures.

I walked back up and peered over the nest. It looked like the other eggs were still there, and they appeared intact.

Phew. Thank God! But, where was Esther?

I prayed she was okay. The problem now was who would take care of the rest of the eggs if Esther was not around?

My daughters came home from school and I had to tell them the news.

My older one bawled her eyes out. “Esther’s babies will die! She won’t have a Mother’s Day.”

My younger daughter had a different perspective. “What did the baby duck look like? Was the egg bloody? Can I see the egg, Momma?”

On and on, the girls went. Each with their own analysis of what might have happened.

What if a coyote had gotten her and her egg? What if she was hurt? And, where the hell was Mel? He’s the protector.

I spent the remaining afternoon trying to distract my girls from thoughts of Esther. Truly, I was just as sad. She chose our house to create her nest, and she didn’t mind us walking by and peeking at her. It was cool to visit with her too.

Gosh, it was just the other day I had witnessed a lesson in love.

It had rained for days and finally the sun came out. I was inside with the windows open when I heard a lot of quacking. I came rushing out to check on her.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

She quacked. “Mel is supposed to be here and he’s not.”

“He’ll come, don’t worry.”

Esther huffed. “He probably went ponding.”

Ponding???

I crouched down beside her. “What’s ‘ponding’?”

Esther kicked up her webbed feet. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “Yes, seriously. I have no idea what ‘ponding’ is.”

She proceeded to tell me that it was male-duck game played on a pond where the ducks have to balance wet leaves on their beaks without dropping them, and then paddle to a make-shift basket in the water. The first duck with the most leaves in a basket wins.

I started laughing. Strangely, it reminded me of golf because most male-humans play the game.

Esther snorted. “It’s not funny. He’s supposed watch the eggs while I go and do my business, and he’s still not here.”

I was about to say…maybe he had good reason, maybe he was running behind…maybe he forgot…maybe…when suddenly, we see Mel fly through air and land a few feet away. He strode up all dapper and manly.

Esther began quacking loudly and pacing. It startled Mel and he hurried over.

“Where have you been? You’re late!” She blurted.

Mel puffed out his chest. “Ponding, like I told you.”

She shouted back. “You did not!”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did not!”

Mel looked at me as if noticing me for the first time. I happen to be standing between them when the shouting match began. Aware of the awkwardness, I quickly got out of the way. It’s not good getting in the middle of couple fights.

Mel snuggled up against Esther’s neck. She seemed to relax. “I’m sorry for making you upset,” he whispered. “But, I did tell you, yesterday.”

Esther put her head down. “You’re right. I just remembered. You did tell me. My mind has been fogged lately. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Me too. You’ve got a lot on your mind.” Mel then nudged her away. “Get going. I’ve got the eggs.”

“Are you…”

“Yes, now go.”

Esther quacked and flapped her wings and away she went.

I gave Mel a thumbs up. “Good hubby.”

I momentarily closed my eyes and wished Esther would come back. This was her home.

“Momma, Momma, I’m hungry. Can I have a snack?”

And, just like that, I was back to reality.

Later that evening, after dinner, I decided to go for a walk. It was almost eight, but still light out. I strolled around our block. I couldn’t get the vision of the little cracked duckling egg out of my mind.

Just as I approached our house, I thought to look at Esther’s nest again. As I approached, I saw Esther making her way towards me.

Oh, my Goodness! I marched up to her.

“Esther, Esther, you’re back! Are you okay?” She looked alright.

The duck ignored me and went to her nest where she was squatting to get comfortable.

I waited until she was settled.

“I’ve been worried about you. Where have you been?”

Esther lifted her head toward me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, but, you little egg? You feathers?”

“Leave me alone. I’m really tired.”

I nodded and took it as my queue to leave. “Okay, okay, I understand. We can talk another time.” I didn’t want to mess with this Momma. She gave me the look, you know…

I turned and left. A pain had been lifted from my heart. Esther was back. She’s okay. The girls will be relieved. And, it will be a wonderful Mother’s Day, after all.

As to what happened to her? I don’t know. Whatever it was, it had to be.

The Nature of Life

April 27, 2017 / Chiara

“The Chronicles of Esther and Mel.”

Today, I met my new neighbor. It was by accident. Hidden behind a bush and sitting on top of red mulch, I noticed a female duck. I must have startled her as I strode past because her feathers fluffed up and she squawked, or quacked. I couldn’t tell the difference, for I too, was taken by surprise, and jumped back.

We acknowledged each other and politely said our hellos. I proceeded to tip-toe on by, when she called after me to come back and sit with her awhile.

I hesitated. This is weird. What if she bites me? But, then I obliged and sat down about a foot away, on one of the retaining wall’s stone pavers. Didn’t want to crowd her.

It was windy and warm out, so I brushed aside the bangs from my eyes. I could smell the White Callery Pear Blossoms, and rain. It would rain later.

At first we just sat there, gazing at one another. We were strangers of course, and trying to figure out what to talk about.

It was awkward, but not really. I turned my attention to my feet. I adjusted the toe strap of the right flip-flop and then began to scrutinize the pink color on my toe nails, when she spoke.

“Thank you for joining me. I haven’t had an opportunity for any ‘grown-up’ conversation, in well…quite some time. You see, I’m expecting the hatching of five little ducklings, soon.” She chuckled. “It kind of gets lonely out here, if you know what I mean.”

I smiled. “Well, congratulations are definitely in order. This is exciting news.”

She ruffled her feathers. “I appreciate it. Oh, I’m Esther, by the way.”

“I’m Chiara.”

I looked around my property, having strolled around it often, and wondered. “How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks.”

“Hmm…Never seen you before. You camouflage pretty good.”

Esther quaked. “Ah…that’s my job.”

We talked some more. She was originally from Ohio, but her “duck” husband, Mel, was born in Chicago. They met down south and together, migrated back here in December. They married, and well, the rest is history.

I told her about my daughters, but Esther already knew about them; having seen the girls running around the backyard.

She shook her head in disgust. “Your children are loud and rambunctious.”

I apologized, embarrassed for my wild little kids. Esther quacked again, admitting she was only kidding.

We became quiet again, and I went back to studying my toes. Gosh, I have to get my toes done soon.

Esther spoke up. “Ah…silence is golden.”

I snorted. “Get your rest because it won’t be quiet for long.”

She sighed. “You’re right.”

“In fact,” I continued, “do all the sleeping now because once those little ducklings are out, forget about ever sleeping.”

Esther quacked. “I remember the good ol’ days of freedom.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Freedom, huh? It’s so long ago. But then I gestured with my hand. “It’s all worth it. Bringing life into the world.”

“I’m scared,” she revealed.

I shrugged. “I understand. I’m scared every single day too. There are no guarantees in life. You do your best in protecting, and loving and feeding your children. The rest is up to God.”

Esther turned away. I could tell she was emotional.

She looked back at me. “I’m sorry. My hormones are out of whack.”

I laughed. A duck having hormone issues. “Having ducklings will do that to you.”

We giggled.

I then wondered about something else. “Do you get up? Walk around? You know, stretch, and go to the bathroom?”

Esther fluffed her feathers. “Are you kidding? Of course. My butt feels like a rock after sitting here all day long, not to mention my legs are so stiff.”

I nodded. “That’s good. What about the eggs? Are they okay being left alone?”

She stretched her neck. “Mel comes and guards the nest while I go and do my personal affairs, if you know what I mean?”

I grinned. Yes, private time is important.

Silence fell upon us again, and I was getting antsy. My own butt was hurting from sitting on the retaining wall.

Esther yawned. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, it’ time for a nap.”

Got it. So, I stood up.

She quaked. “I liked our conversation.”

I waved. “Me too.”

“Hope to see you soon. Please, stop by again.”

I said my goodbye, and strutted away.

The conversation left my heart filled. Filled in such a way one feels after having enjoyed the company of someone else. Content. Did I really just talk to a duck?

I realized fiction or not, one point was true. We were different, very different. Esther was a duck, an animal, and I was a human. However, we held a common bond—motherhood.

In the daily grind of managing a home, nourishing the young, handling of the homework duty, and being a referee, comes the rewards of nurturing life and sharing wisdom with the ones you love.

Raising children is one of the hardest duties of a woman’s life. Sometimes, we too, need a good conversation with another being.

That evening, I peeked out my window and saw Mel standing guard. Esther had gone out to do her duties.

I snickered. “Good Mel. Take care of your bride, buddy.”

And, that’s the nature of life.

#motherhood #raisingkids #momconversation #momsdayout #natureoflife #amwriting #readlocal

Call Me – The Telephone

April 11, 2017 / Chiara

Just off of I-65, about forty miles from downtown Indianapolis is an ordinary McDonalds. There, I was greeted by this pay phone. Remember these? Immediately, two songs from my childhood pop in my head.

“867-5309/Jenny” By Tommy Tutone. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WTdTwcmxyo

“Call Me” By Skyy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYpNQXK6lpM

Yes, I’m dating myself here, but that’s okay. You see, ironically enough, both songs were from 1981. The early 80s was an era where disco was slowly fading, hard rock still dominated the music scene, and electronic dance and funk were coming on, as well as a new kind of music, soft rock. Go figure.

And, I got to tell you, the wonderful mix of music was very influential to my coming of age. Ah, the good ol’ days…Okay, back to task…

So, let’s fast forward to McDonalds. I’m humming the tunes. Each taking their turn in my brain, while I’m standing in line to order a medium coffee and oatmeal to go. Finally, with the bag of my paid purchases in hand, I pass by this dinosaur of a communication machine again.

Pushing the songs in the background of my mind, I got to thinking. Today, we are living in such a fast world where technical companies are at war on who can make the fastest, sleekest phone with all the gadgets from tracking your steps, food intake, and mood modeling, all at your fingertips, 24/7.

In my youth, one had to drive, walk, or ride a bike to find a pay phone. They were usually at gas stations or grocery stores. If you look back at some of the television shows/movies of the 1980’s, you’ll notice that secret conversations were often held at pay phones, rendezvous happened near the pay phones, and arrests and burglary heists were made at those spots.

These days, I just have to pull out my cell phone out of my purse, and I can make a call, read a book, and track the happenings of the world, with just a few clicks.

Are we better off as a result of this great technology? Are we more connected to family and friends? Are we more available to those in need? The biggest question currently rocking in my brain (ha, did you get that, “rocking”) is: are we more sincere in the time we give of ourselves to others?

The pay phone reminds me of the lack of relationship-building we’ve lost due to things being instantaneously available. People at that time made an effort to call someone. They spent the $0. 25 cents or more to talk and hear someone’s voice, and really listen. They had to physically get to the pay phone, maybe grab a snack or buy food on the way in or way out of the establishment, and usually their mood would change as a result of a good or bad conversation.

We can’t go back, but maybe the next time you see a pay phone, let it be your reminder to connect with others in a way of sincerity and compassion for the human race because that’s all we got left.

There Goes My Life

September 2, 2016 / Chiara

“…There goes my life, there goes my future, my everything…”

It’s that time of year again. Summer is winding down, the weather is changing, fall clothes are already in department stores, and many kids are in school already, or returning back to school this week.

Another grade, another year of growing, and another year of homework. Ugh…

Some parents are breathing a sigh of relief; their children needing routine and discipline after a summer of freedom and fighting.

For me, the worries are just beginning. Call me a “mother hen” but I’ve felt the most secure while my girls are in my care.

Yes, I need time for myself. Who doesn’t? The noise of life and children’s chatter can overwhelm anyone.

However, I know my kids better than anyone and I pray every day for their well-being and safety, as well as for those teachers and grown-ups who are taking care of my loved ones during the day.

Nowadays, the world is not as safe as it once was. And maybe, we weren’t as safe twenty, thirty, or even forty years ago, as we thought we were.

For those short hours that I am alone, my little girls are never far from my thoughts. Yes, I have more time to write and take care of me, but still…you know…

For every picture drawn…there goes my life
For every tear shed…there goes my life
For every giggle…there goes my life
For every silly story I am told…there goes my life
For every tantrum…there goes my life
For every hug and kiss…there goes my life
For every single “I love you, mama”…there goes my life

Cherish them while they are little.

Cherish them while they are older.

Give them guidance while you can because life is fleeting, so I’m told.

Lord, protect your precious treasures…please keep all the kids, your children, safe during this school year.

Until next time…

Be well. Be safe. Be happy.

Today’s inspirational song: There Goes My Life, by Kenny Chesney. You can click here to see the video. The lyrics to the song are below.

All he could think about was I’m too young for this Got my whole life ahead Hell I’m just a kid myself How’m I gonna raise one

All he could see were his dreams going up in smoke So much for ditching this town and hanging out on the coast Oh well, those plans are long gone

And he said

There goes my life

There goes my future, my everything

Might as well kiss it all good-bye

There goes my life

A couple years of up all night and a few thousand diapers later

That mistake he thought he made covers up the refrigerator

Oh yeah…he loves that little girl

Momma’s waiting to tuck her in as she stumbles up those stairs

She smiles back at him dragging that teddy bear

Sleep tight, blue eyes and bouncing curls

He smiles

There goes my life

There goes my future, my everything,

I love you, daddy goodnight

There goes my life

She had that Honda loaded down

With Abercrombie clothes and fifteen pairs of shoes and his American express

He checked the oil and slammed the hood, said your good to go

She hugged them both and headed off to the west coast

He cried

There goes my life

There goes my future, my everything

I love you

Baby good-bye

It’s a Beautiful Life

August 25, 2016 / Chiara

My heart is ablaze, my soul is on fire.

An earthquake of 6.2 magnitude struck central Italy. Hundreds have perished.
Flooding and devastation in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Hate crimes against Police.
Constant shootings and killings in neighborhoods.
Lawmaker support for abortion and late-term abortion procedures rampage.
Corruption and deception in politics everywhere.

Everything seems to be going to pot, lately.

What’s the matter, World?

Why is there no value on human life anymore?

Every day, I read various online newsfeeds. On this particular day, I get up from my chair in the office and grab a soda. I’m in need something to zap me out of my rapid feeling of depression-away from the madness and sorrow enveloping our world.

I return, set my Coke can on the desk, and continue reading. Distracted, I open the top. Something silvery catches my eye. It is then that I notice the following words etched on the side of the can: “It’s a beautiful life”.

Huh? Really?

Are these words…A diamond of hope in sand filled with sin?

Many won’t cry out, even though they are hurting. But for those few who do, this prayer is for you. Because today and every day, we need to cry out to God…

Dear Lord,

I’m listening. It’s been awhile. You’ve been calling me and it seems like I’ve been getting farther and farther away. But now you’ve pushed me to my knees and I’m here now. Yes, I believe life is beautiful. You see, I have air in my lungs, eyes to see, and a tongue to speak. YOU gave me life. “It’s a beautiful life”.

I know the world is not perfect. Only YOU. Give me courage to do what is right for you. Give me courage to be what is right, and give me courage to live fully, sharing your love with others.

Help all those who are hurting and suffering today. Take away their anxiety, take away their pain, show them who you are.

Thank you for all you have done for me. Thy will be done for YOU.

In Jesus name we pray.

Amen

Today’s inspirational music is by Third Day: Cry out to Jesus.

The Facebook Dare

August 14, 2016 / Chiara

What do country artist, Tim McGraw, and Facebook have in common?

I admit I enjoy social media. For one, it’s addicting, and secondly, there are lots stories to scroll and read through. But, it’s what I like to call, “A time sucker”. Just when you think it will take ten minutes to read and browse, ends up turning into an hour of wasted time.

I remember the ‘good ol’ days’ when reading a local paper, or thumbing through the Time magazine sitting in the waiting area of the dentist office was the “your time consumer”. You go into a doctor’s office now, and all the magazines and newspapers are untouched because everyone is on their phones.

Even more so, regarding Facebook, someone posts something on their wall and tons of comments follow. Some jokes, lots of personal opinions, and silly derogatory remarks. And frankly, I’ve gotten reeled in reading those commentaries.

The truth is, I’m tired of Facebook. It’s not because I’m on other social media like Instagram, Pinterest, Snapchat, or Twitter, but rather, I’ve been feeling out of touch lately. Something has been missing. Because while I have been busy “reading” the news feeds on Facebook, I have been missing the happenings of NOW.

It took me a while, but I realized I had to do something. I walked away from my Smartphone, PC, Tablet, and left Facebook. And then,

“I went skydiving,

I went Rocky Mountain climbing,

I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fumanchu…”

Okay, not exactly that. I exercised, which I normally do, but didn’t stop when my phone beeped with news feed updates. I finished reading a book in three days rather than three months, I danced, I napped, and I played with my girls.

I didn’t feel the tug of grabbing my phone to read what I have been missing because what I was missing was time spent with my family, and time for myself.

If I want news, I can just turn on the TV. It’s not the greatest source of information, but I could catch what’s happening in a few minutes, rather than being glued to a chair in front of a screen for hours. It’s also easier to hear the news while multi-tasking because I’ve become a pro at doing just that with small children around.

Most importantly, I didn’t feel the pressure of wanting to be connected all the time. I think and this is my personal opinion, this “connection-thing” that people fear they may lose if not following or commenting is just a fear for not associating with others on another level—i.e., face to face communication, or phone conversation. Remember that?

Humans aren’t wired to be connected all the time. We need downtime; we need quiet, and an opportunity to hear our thoughts.

STOP BEING PLUGGED IN and PLUG OUT every so often.

Because, then you can go…

“I went skydiving,

I went Rocky Mountain climbing,

I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fumanchu…”

Even, if it’s only in your mind.

So, take the Facebook challenge. Walk away and walk away without…Facebook, or any social media for a time.

Then, drop me note and let me know how that works out for you.

Connection is only as good as being in the moment of that connection.

Lyrics and Music Credit: Tim McGraw, “Live Like You Were Dying.”

The Night She Gave God Away

June 28, 2016 / Chiara

It was a starry Tuesday evening in June. My family and I were at an outdoor venue. It was Country Music Night in the Park with fireworks afterwards.

The lawn area and sidewalks were jammed packed with families and couples relaxing and enjoying refreshments from local vendors. Children danced and summersaulted to the echoes of banjos and tambourines. Everyone seemed to be having a real great time.

As I looked around though, I noticed the very visible police presence. We had been to this venue a few times last summer, and I could swear there weren’t that many cops around. Ah, but that was then, and things have changed. Increased random shootings and “terrorist” attacks have become the norm in this world. The most recent in Istanbul, Turkey, and Orlando, Florida.

I wondered to myself about the potential threat here. We were in an open area. Just sitting ducks. While the young singer on stage belted his last song, Tim McGraw’s “Something Like That,” I kept my eyes fixed on the law enforcement.

When the concert was over, and we started packing our things, my two daughters who are almost eight and six asked if it was okay to go and say thank you to a group of officers standing under a lamp post. You see, my youngest has recently declared she wants to be a Police Officer when she grows up. I could tell the thought of being near an officer thrilled her.

She twisted about, excited, “Yes, please Momma. Can we go by the officers?”

I nodded. What a nice gesture. “Sure. Why not.”

My oldest turned around. “Wait! We should give them something. What can we give them, Momma?”

Caught off guard, I chuckled. “Ah, I don’t know.” What could we them? A bottled water? I didn’t know what she meant.

Her eyebrows crinkled. She was deep in thought.

I drew the purse strap over my head. “Listen, you don’t have to give them anything. Go over there and say thank you for keeping us safe.”

Suddenly, my eldest jumped up and down. “I have an idea. How about this?” She pulled a blue plastic bracelet off her arm, the one she received this week from Vacation Bible School; it read…WATCH FOR GOD.

My younger daughter squealed. “Yes! That’s perfect. How about that?”

I shrugged. “Well…”

My insides churned like a blender blade on “Chop” mode. One side of me felt joy. This is cool. My kids have such a pure rooted love for God. I couldn’t be happier. But, the other side of me was a little leery. We have become a society where talk about God and religion is frowned upon. What if they told them to beat it? It’s just a bracelet. But, it says GOD…

They waited for me to answer. Their eyes glowed with happiness. They were standing up for their faith. It’s what I’ve been teaching them all along. And, they wanted to share that and say thank you to those who put their life on the line every single day. It was the right thing to do.

I smiled and took both their hands into mine. “Okay. Remember though, you won’t have a bracelet anymore. Are you sure you want to give it away?”

My oldest grinned. “I’m sure, Momma. It’s good to give God away.”

Joy filled my heart like running water into a jug.

And with that, my two sweet babies dashed over to the group of officers. My oldest eyeballed the clean-cut, dark-haired one with the dimpled right cheek, whom by the way was very cute, and I heard her say thank you as she handed him the bracelet.

He smirked, might have been slightly embarrassed but then took the bracelet anyway, just as the girls turned and ran back to me. I crouched down and gave them both a big hug.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. I thought about that officer. What did he end up doing with the bracelet? Did he put it on his wrist or shove it in his pocket? Did he toss the bracelet in the nearest garbage can? Did he even take it home? Regardless, I prayed for him.

Because in the end, all I know is that…”It’s good to give God away.”

#thankanofficer, #policerock, #giveGodaway, #PrayforPolice, #PrayforPeace, #Pray, #amwriting, #writing, #promocave, #raisingkids

Somewhere on a Beach

June 10, 2016 / Chiara

It’s after five. The sun still burns bright in the cloudless Florida sky where the temperature is a cool 99 degrees. In this kind of heat, the air is heavy with moisture, the salty wind softly glides across your constant perspiring face, and the ocean is like a wavy steam caressing your skin.

I can sit here on a tan lawn chair, under a blue umbrella, number 519, forever, while watching foamy-white waves cuddling the sand, listening to excited giggles of children and deciphering the multi-cultured languages of the surrounding adults.

I don’t want to leave here. I just want to stop the time and live in this wasted moment. Yes, wasted moment. Moments that I’m not rushing to check off “to-do lists”, laundry, grocery shopping, and rearing two very energetic little girls. Oh, not to mention, writing in the middle of the night.

I’ve been waiting for this recharge all year-long, and now, I know it’s going to end. Soon, I’ll be heading back to my “normal” hum of life. And I’m okay with that, slightly, even as I push my feet deeper into the sand, letting the granules massage my toes.

With every blink, I am visually snapping images of this place and locking away the sounds and smells of the ocean. So, at any given time, whenever that be, I can close my eyes, and come here in my mind; this God-created and awe-striking nature, where the Earth and the Sea hold hands somewhere on a beach…

Reaping What You Sow – Young Authors Program

April 19, 2016 / Chiara

Last week, our elementary school where my two daughters attend, hosted an Arts and Literacy Night. Part of the event was a Young Authors Program. An opportunity for all students, Kindergarten through Sixth grade to write and illustrate their very own books. Out of 425 students, 341 participated in this program, and I was the coordinator who led this incredible initiative.

It has taken the last three months of preparation and organization to get this program off the ground. I’ve had the backing of the Principal, and wonderful support of all seventeen teachers in the school. Most importantly, it was the children’s enthusiasm that truly made this a fantastic experience, not just for me, but for everyone involved.

As a published author and voracious reader, this program was near and dear to my heart when I was asked by our PTA committee, to run it. There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted this project to happen.

During the pre-launch, I felt it was important to encourage the kids and get them excited, so I made it my priority to visit each and every classroom and share with the students how I became a writer. It all started in elementary school when I first read the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books. From there, I took a try at poetry writing. In high school, I discovered Danielle Steel and immersed myself with all her novels. My poems became longer, and more complex, and suddenly, I was writing short stories. I did this for a while, until I started writing a very “long” short story, which finally became my first published novel. It only took nine years to write a novel, which included tons of editing and re-editing, three title changes, and twenty-seven versions of the same story. I’ve kept all my hardcopy versions too—in an extra-large plastic bin. Yep, the kids got a kick out of that one. Poor trees.

Blank booklets were ordered and I distributed them to the classrooms. In the meantime, the students began writing a rough draft of their stories with the teachers overseeing the task. I checked on all the classes two weeks later, some students had already finished and were transferring their content over to the booklets, and some hadn’t even started. I talked to the kids about procrastination and distraction when it came to writing. No one person is immune to that, one just needs to sit their butt down and well, just do it.

A couple of weeks later, the students saw me again in the hallways. I was starting to become a recognizable face. This time, I picked up all the completed booklets from the teachers.

From there with the help of a couple other moms, we organized the booklets by teacher/grade, and utilized one mother’s graphic artist talent for a poster and communication flyer to the families regarding the Arts and Literacy Night with the Young Authors Program.

Throughout the process, I communicated regularly with the teachers via email on next steps and expectations.

I distributed Certificates of Completions and Excellence stickers to the teachers. Then, it was the day of the event—organizing the booklets on tables for display. The families and students got a chance to view and flip through all the beautifully created books. It was a sight to see. The families were pleasantly surprised and the children were very proud of their efforts.

And, when it was over, I picked up all the books, reorganized them again, and then the following day, passed them back to the students in the classrooms.

It was a team effort all the way the around. I’m grateful for the support of the school. And, I’ve just learned through the grapevine my new name is “Mrs. YAP”, short for “Mrs. Young Authors Program”.

As a writer, we get consumed in our daily writings that we forget to share those gems of experiences to others who are just as enthusiastic about the written word, as you might be. Community involvement is not as difficult as one would expect. All you need is a little bit of creativity and a desire to pay it forward. After all, who knows where our next best seller will come from?

Until next time…

Be well. Be safe. Be happy.

Tag: amwriting (Page 5 of 6)

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Reaping What You Sow – Young Authors Program

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