The Nativity

Christmas has passed and I am once again putting things away until next year. That activity means I get to stir up memories of each of the treasures collected over the years. That includes a growing collection of nativity scenes.


Our first acquisition was a small, rather traditional portrayal, complete with an angel who stood on a staired shelf in the stable. We book-end it with another traditional set that shows all the figures in silvery porcelain.

Since then, we've gathered a few others. I've been fascinated by the many ways different artists portrait the story. A few years ago, our church sponsored a Creche Festival. (That's when I learned that a nativity scene is a creche.) People brought their prizes in over a four-day period. The creches were artfully displayed on white tablecloths amid poinsettias and lights. I was astonished by the range of styles and interpretations.

One of the interesting aspects is the way different cultures have appropriated the story to make it their own. In Cochabamba, Bolivia, I found a set portraying the holy family and their visitors as Aymara natives. In Tuba City, Arizona, just inside the edge of Hopi, we found a set that cast each of the well-known characters as members of  Four Corners nations. The rug trader, naturally, is Navajo. Other figures are Hopi or Santa Clara Pueblo and the scene is set inside a typical Hopi pueblo.

Other portrayals are traditional, but in such varied media and design that their differences are more notable than their similarities.










There's the one that includes a light for the star. Another is made in crystal. One of our favorites was a gift from a friend who paints miniatures. My finger is included there for scale. In a craft class, a daughter-in-law created a minimalist portrayal of the Holy Family. We enjoy that, too. We displayed them all this season.

We may find others we like in years to come. We may be honored with gifts from other friends and family. Although it seems we're running out of room, we will always find ways to portray them. They are part of what makes Christmas.







Look for the first three books in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, available for pre-order now. All three are due to be released on January 6. The fourth book will follow later in January. In order, the four are: Paris in the Springtime, Sunny's Summer, Amber in Autumn, and Winter Skye. Hope you enjoy! 

The Perfect Gingerbread House

Thanksgiving in our home is much like the holiday in many other American households. We have the turkey with all the trimmings and invite any of the family who live nearby. This year we had two sons with their combined families who joined us for the day.

Our youngest son, a talented though amateur chef, prepared a "flying pig," his own creation. It began with a turducken (boned chicken inside boned duck inside boned turkey), but then added layers of ham and sausage. He packed different kinds of dressing between the layers of meat. My favorite was the wild rice with sausage, although the fruit stuffing came in a close second. The total  concoction weighed 37 pounds before it went into the oven.

Each of the families added one or more yummy side dishes and everyone brought pies. That gave us a delightful Thanksgiving feast. It also gave us six adults and eight children to enjoy the day. The two eldest grandkids, cousins born two days apart, turned 10 that same week; the baby was 15 months old.

We intended to keep the group through the afternoon, enjoying leftovers and pie into the evening hours. So the challenge: How to keep eight little people entertained through the afternoon, especially considering the weather getting chillier and the darkness coming sooner each evening. That definitely narrowed the chances for outside play. What to do?

We started by having the kiddos decorate the Christmas tree, which we set up the day before. They covered it thoroughly, all the while making sure to keep the breakable and edible ornaments out of the hands of the one- and three-year-olds. Decorating the tree kept everyone busy for the first hour after dinner, but we still had several hours to go. We decided to  build a gingerbread house.

I knew better than to start from scratch. I love gingbread and enjoy making it from a recipe, but with eight assistant cooks in the kitchen? Not a good idea. We planned ahead and bought a kit.

In no time at all, we realized the standard approach of carefully following the lines and decorating according to the design on the package was never going to work. We passed out the parts of the house, one per child, and gave them the freedom to decorate however they liked. We also quickly saw that the frosting that came with the kit wasn't going to do the trick. There wasn't enough and with only one frosting bag to go around, seven little people waited and fussed while one took her (or his) time with the frosting bag.

Our resident chef made some royal icing which he divided into several bags and we passed them around the table. When the candy that came with the kit ran low, I scrounged up some leftovers from Halloween. In the end, every child except the youngest got an opportunity to decorate something.

The resulting house is nothing like the kit's designers intended. Each half of the roof looks quite different from the other. The front wall is nothing like the back wall, and the two side walls are even more different. The tree in the front "yard" is nicely decorated, thanks to one of our five-year-olds, but the gingerbread man who is supposed to reside here is gone. The three-year-old made him so enticing that he ate him on the spot.

Our gingerbread house has become a permanent centerpiece for our dining room table since Thanksgiving Day. It may not be what the designers planned, but we think it's perfect.


Susan is the author of 20 novels. Her newest series explores the four seasons in nearby locales.  Paris in the Springtime and Sunny's Summer are available now. Look for Amber in Autumn and Winter Skye, both coming early in 2020 in e-book and paperback. 

November roses

One of the joys of living in the California Central Valley is the beautiful bounty that grows here. It's among the great blessings I appreciate at this time of year when Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. Traditionally, this celebration came at the end-of-harvest. Where is that more meaningful than in a place like this where almost anything grows and where harvests are rich and plentiful? Where agriculture is the base of the local economy?

I'm also blessed that, while many of my friends in other places are already under snow, I am still enjoying my rose garden, the one planted just outside my office window, the one I can enjoy as I sit here writing. We haven't yet experienced a hard freeze and the roses love the cooler weather that has come with the autumn. They're thriving.

I often have roses from mid-March through early December, and I try to take the time to enjoy them. "Stop and smell the roses" has become such a cliche catch-phrase, but it can be real, too. When unexpected events arise, as events will, my roses can be a place for peaceful reflection, a quiet removal from the chaos to allow me to find my center and refresh.

At this time of year, I'm grateful for so many things. Among my great blessings is the beauty of nature, starting with the rich beauty I can see and enjoy, right outside my office window. 


May you also enjoy a beautiful launch into the holiday season.

Many kinds of thanks

This is the time of year for gratitude. Traditionally, it ended the harvest season and people could feast. Most of us celebrate now by feasting way too much. Still, however we celebrate, we try to remember and count our blessings.

My blessings come in chunks. As a citizen, I'm grateful for a land where I can pursue goals I choose, worship how and where I choose, and daily make choices for myself, my loved ones, my career and future, all based on what I think will be best and serve the most good.

As a wife and mother, I'm grateful for a faithful husband who has stayed by my side for decades. I thank my children for growing up to be wonderful people, all healthy and contributing, and I'm deeply grateful for the beautiful children-in-law they've brought into the family and the amazing grandchildren who've been born to them. My family is right at the top of my blessing list.


As a person who loves my creature comforts, I'm thankful for a warm, safe home, for heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer, and pleasant surroundings. And I'm grateful for good food, not just at end-of-harvest time, but throughout the year.

Finally, as a writer, I'm thankful for the other wonderful writers around me who support my career, for the family who encourages, and most especially, for you, our readers, who give us a reason to keep writing. Thank you all, and happy Thanksgiving!

A day to remember

As I write this post, on Friday, Nov. 8, I'm doing a great deal of remembering. First, I'm thinking of my dad.

Anthen Hugh Hubbard was born on November 8, 1922. If he were still with us today, he'd be 97 years old. I feel blessed that I had him until seven years ago. My children, all adults now, remember him as one of the kindest, best people they ever knew. To me, he was Dad. His unconditional love carried me through all kinds of childhood and teenage crises, and strengthened me when the more serious adult challenges came. I always knew I could turn to Dad and he'd be there. I miss him.

The other memory associated with today is harder. It's also much more raw. Missing my dad can bring me to tears, but thinking about a year ago today is a whole other ball game. A year ago today, the most destructive and deadly wildfire in the history of California galloped through the county where I live. It wiped out the towns of Concow and Paradise, left 50,000 people displaced, and changed our county forever.

Many of our friends lost their homes and all their possessions. Some lost loved pets, a few lost relatives, friends or neighbors. 85 people lost their lives. The impact wasn't so great in my town. Although the fire burned within five miles of our home and threatened us with evacuation warnings, we were spared the flames. We were not spared all of the shock and horror. There's a hymn frequently sung in my church. The third verse begins:



     When dark clouds of trouble hang o'er us, and threaten our peace to destroy,
     There is hope smiling brightly before us, and we know that deliverance is nigh.

I can't sing it without tears. Any time I think of dark clouds of trouble, I remember stepping outside my home last November 8 and watching the black smoke, thousands of feet high, rolling toward us at 50 miles per hour, blown by the same winds that fanned the voracious flames. We lived in hazard masks for three weeks, doing our best to render aid to others while we all worked through shock.

My book, Sunny's Summer, the second book in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, works with characters who experienced that day as so many did. It takes place in the aftermath of the Camp Fire. In it, I've tried to give others the visceral sense of what that first day was like, and what the past year has been like for everyone who experienced it, each of us in different ways. Maybe, for me, it was a form of therapy, or working through the enormity of it all.

People here are recovering. Folks wear t-shirts that proclaim they are #ButteStrong or #ParadiseStrong. The first game of the Paradise High School football team this fall saw the stands overflowing with people who were moving back, or had sworn that one day, they will. Still, every community in Butte County has felt the impact, and nothing will be the same again.

Paradise may indeed rebuild, but it will take ten years before it begins to look like Paradise, and probably 30 years before the population numbers return. The population once here will not return, as displaced people scattered across the map, taking root elsewhere. Speaking of roots, most of the beautiful trees that did not burn died because of the toxins in the air and soil. The forest that went with the town may not fully regrow for a century or longer.

While November 8 means little to the people of the world, for me it's a private memorial day as I think of my dad. To the people of Butte County, it's a day that will live forever in memory, a memory we hope to make happier as life goes on.

Taking my cue from the sun

We're going solar. Again. The first set of panels, put up a few years back, have cut our energy bills so remarkably that, when we were given the chance to put more panels on our roof, we jumped for it.

We've been pleased with the solar company we chose. (Contact me privately if you'd like to know which one.) They own and service the panels, we generate power which we sell to the public utility, and we buy back power from the solar folks. So far, it's reduced most months' bills to a quarter of what they used to be, and the contract we have cost us nothing down.

Our public utility here in northern California has become something of a curse-word since the devastating fires a year ago. The fact that they're cutting power to households all over the state even as I write has not endeared them to any of us. My daughter put that whole question into perspective: "They say they want to avoid wildfires, so they have 900,000 households using candles." Uh-huh. It makes about that much sense to most of us.
 

There's no way to escape said public utility, but by becoming "co-gens" (makers of electric power), we feel we are fighting back, if only in a small way.

The first step in getting the new panels was some electrical rewiring. That happened last week. Abraham and Jesse were here for most of one day and they did a fantastic job. Soon the second crew will arrive and a bunch of healthy young people will crawl around on our roof, making said roof increase its usefulness and reducing the depth to which the utility company can reach when sinking its hand into our pockets.

It's one small step for humankind. I'm eager to take it.

Susan loves to hear from readers. Write her at susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or visit www.susanaylworth.com or her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming early next year. Books 1 and 2, Paris in the Springtime and  Sunny's Summer are available in e-book and paperback formats. Winter Skye will follow soon. Who knows? Stay in touch for updates. 

Not my fave

Everybody has a favorite holiday, and most of us have at least one that we'd rather do without. I feel that way about Halloween.

I didn't when I was a kid. I can remember some of the fun costumes I wore. (Yes, kids, we wore costumes even in the dawn of time.) In those days, moms still handed out homemade popcorn balls, cupcakes and candy. The idea that we'd give out only store-bought candy with each piece individually wrapped, goodies parents could feel secure about letting their kids eat, hadn't occurred to any of us.

Maybe that's part of what's soured me on the occasion. As the years pass, it seems Halloween becomes increasingly focused on the dark side. Parents have to walk the streets with their children even in their own neighborhoods, just to be certain they'll be safe. My husband, a photo-journalist, shot pictures of some of the cute kids at our door one year and ended up explaining that to the police. Suspicions are high--for good reason. No one dares bite into an apple taken from a stranger any longer. We've learned we can't trust each other.

I still enjoy seeing the kids dress up, especially when there's cleverness to their choices like the twins who came as Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr. Seuss, or the time my daughter's whole family dressed as characters from The Wizard of Oz. The cowardly lion was adorable!  One favorite was when our son and his family did a redux of one favorite video game.

Still, among the princesses and pirates who grace our doorway, I see too many zombies, blood-covered walking corpses, or hockey-masked serial killers. The emphasis on the violent and gruesome wrings out the joy and the innocent childhood delight.

Okay, I'm a stick-in-the-mud, but I find that from one year to the next, I dread the coming of October 31. My husband has suggested that this year, we take the advice of one candy commercial: stock up on plenty of goodies, then turn off the lights, sit in the dark, and eat it all ourselves. There's an appeal to that, but I do see potential down sides, especially the next time the doctor asks me to weigh in.

I've been thinking that, instead of bingeing, I might look for somewhere else to be. Does anyone know of a great place for a stick-in-the-mud to hide out this Thursday? I'll bring candy.

Oh, those deadlines!

I've been Missing in Action for much of the last month. My family wonders where Mom has gone. My neighbors may be asking if I've moved away. Social media connections almost certainly believe I've unfriended them. I've been on deadline.

This particular deadline crunch began with a challenge. I attended a writers' conference in mid-September. A woman I've known for years and have worked with frequently, managing editor at a publishing house that has produced some of my books, attended the same conference. She issued a broad challenge to anyone willing to accept it: The publishing house had a contest going involving three different genres. They sought novellas in each of the three categories, with the best entry in each to be published next year. One of those categories is historical romance and my friend, the editor, challenged me to send her a manuscript.

The problem? She showed me the flyer for the contest and issued her personal challenge on September 14. The deadline for all entries was October 15. Could I write a novella start to finish in a month?

Now you understand why I've been MIA. I've been pushing that deadline. The good news is, the novella is complete at 36,000 words. Three lovely readers and an editor gave it a once-over for me, even when I gave them a two-day deadline to get it done, and I submitted my complete manuscript last week, on October 14, actually one day early. It's a good story, too. I did it! But that's about all I've done lately.

What has this experience taught me? For one thing, I can be stubborn about taking on a challenge, even if it doesn't seem realistic. Also, I can write a book in a month if I'm highly motivated. Those are good things to know. Not so good are some of the other lessons, like realizing I can disappear so completely into the black hole of my fictional world that I can practically vanish from the physical world we inhabit. Not good. Not good at all.

I'm back now, remembering where I live and reconnecting with the actual, flesh-and-blood people around me. I'm even working again on my other deadlines, which got pushed back or snubbed altogether during my month of publishing panic. Today, I appear to be just like other people with other jobs, people who work given hours and live the rest of the time with family and friends.

I'm not cured, however. Deadline Fever will surely strike again. One day soon, I'll realize I've spent so much time playing with my imaginary friends that my actual, physical friends wonder what has happened to me. Or maybe not. After all, my friends know I'm a writer, .

I love to hear from readers. Write me at susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or visit www.susanaylworth.com or her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming early next year. Books 1 and 2, Paris in the Springtime and  Sunny's Summer are available in e-book and paperback formats. Winter Skye will follow soon. Who knows? There may even be an historical romance novella to add to the mix. Stay in touch for updates. Happy Autumn!

Fringe benefits

The writers' conference I attended a week ago met in Gilbert, Arizona, in the Phoenix metro. I was born in the bordering city of Mesa and lived there until I was nearly 12. After my family moved north into Navajo country, we continued to visit Mesa several times a year to see grandparents and other relatives and to take care of the kind of business we couldn't do in Navajo County.

My two remaining uncles, my dad's younger brothers, and my husband's one aunt, his mother's sister, all live within 12 miles of the conference center. Seeing family again became a fringe benefit of attending this particular conference. It's a bonus gift I will always treasure.

My Uncle Gary still lives with his wife, Aunt Lynn, in the home I remember from girlhood. Neither of them is in excellent health, but--considering they're in their late 80s--they're doing rather well.

Uncle Harold, who just celebrated his 90th birthday, may be doing even better. He lives in a home he bought a few years ago, on the east side of the Valley of the Sun, drives his own car, and does most of his own cooking. Although he's outlived two wives, he doesn't lack for female companionship. He's dating a widow named Rita. I remember her from the first time they dated, decades ago, before he met the "cute blonde" (his words) who became his first wife.

My husband's Aunt Geniel, who is also 90, isn't doing as well--at least, not lately. A couple of weeks before our arrival, she fell and broke her shoulder. It's irreparable, but Geniel has an amazing pain threshold and says it doesn't bother her much. It does bother the rest of her body, which is reacting to the stress of the physical insult even though it does not register as pain, rising blood pressure being the most obvious sign. We spent some time with his cousin, Donalyn, and visited Aunt Geniel in a rehab hospital, where Donalyn did her mother's hair and Geniel shared stories about her family and girlhood. Despite the injury, she was in good spirits, and we enjoyed our time with her.







What a pleasure to see these wonderful people again! We don't know if we will have the chance in the future. It's a long way from northern California to the Valley of the Sun, and--although each person born comes with a lifetime guarantee--there's no guarantee as to how long that will last. We felt privileged to visit them this time. Call it a fringe benefit.

As an added benefit, I took my spouse on a tour down memory lane, visiting the homes where I lived as a child. At the second home, the place where we lived for a couple of years before moving north, the owner came out, saw us parked at the curb, and invited us in to tour the place. Everything has changed over the decades, but it's still much as I remember it, some of the major features left exactly as they were. We also saw schools I attended, parks where I played with friends, and a church building, now a school, where my family worshipped.

"You can never go home again." So said Thomas Wolfe and the man got it right. It wasn't home and hasn't been for a long time. Both my grandparents' homes, side by side, were long ago knocked down. A large church building stands where their homes once stood. My old church has become a private elementary school and my other schools have changed so much I recognized them only by their locations. Still, I felt the nostalgia of seeing it all again and remembering, just one more side benefit of showing up at last weekend's writers' conference. Thanks again, ANWA.

When writers gather

Writing is a lonely vocation. Most of it is done either alone in an office or with a cadre of imaginary friends inside the author’s own head. Occasionally, that cycle is broken and a group of writers gather. That happened for me this past weekend in Gilbert, Arizona, just outside of Phoenix. 

I belong to a few different writers’ organizations, each with its own purpose. The conference this weekend brought together members of the American Night Writers Association or ANWA. Founded in October, 1986 by Marsha Ward and five other women, the group served mommies with young children. These mothers also aspired to be authors; some were already published and others saw themselves publishing one day. They wrote at night, after the children were asleep, hence the name/

The group that started 33 years ago in a living room now includes 350 members. About half are published authors; the rest aspire to be. Many members have years of publishing experience, multiple book contracts, and designation as best sellers on some impressive lists. Creative energy abounds. It practically buzzes in the air all around us. 

When we combine large numbers of writers—who, by nature, are introverts—with the opportunity to network, teach, and learn, beautiful things happen. I attended workshops on everything from how to create emotional resonance, to writing inspirational non-fiction, to book marketing and taxes; met some multi-talented people, shopped in a store stocked with members' books, and had the opportunity to share some of my own experience in the publishing industry. The weekend inspired, thrilled, impressed and exhausted us all, but it was a lovely kind of tired.

One highlight came when I sat at a table with Marsha Ward, whose vision created ANWA and whose books—dozens of them—grace a number of different publishing platforms and top-seller lists. (That's Marsha in black.) I’ve been to conferences before and I plan to attend more. Every one sends me away refreshed, invigorated, and eager to sit down and write. I can hardly wait to finish Winter Skye. Any day now. . . .

Susan loves to hear from readers. Write her at susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or visit www.susanaylworth.com or her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming near the end of September.  Books 1 and 2, Paris in the Springtime and  Sunny's Summer are available in e-book and paperback formats. Winter Skye will follow soon. Stay in touch! 

Visiting the Neighbors

Here where we live in northern California, we boast the largest municipal park in the nation. Parts of it look like deep wilderness, until you hear a car horn from just a few dozen yards away. Other parts are truly wild, inhabited by bobcats, eagles, lynx, bears, and cougars. Some of our favorite and most frequently glimpsed wildlife are the deer.

For reasons I can understand (I'd feel the same way if I were a deer), they like to hang out on the golf course in Upper Park. The grass is well-tended and hunting is unlawful. Thus, the deer have little to fear from humans and, although not at all tame, they are unafraid if we don't approach too closely.

One day last week, my hubby and I decided to take a short drive. We wanted to visit the neighbors. It didn't take long to discover them. We found the yearling girls grazing peacefully together with the Boys' Club slightly removed. A few minutes later, they wandered nearer and we got an even better view. 

That's when I chose to pay our friends a more personal visit. One of the young bucks lifted his head and twitched an ear, letting me know he was keeping an eye on me, but other than that, they behaved in a neighborly manner and we had a pleasant time.  This is just one of the things I love about the beautiful place where we live.

Susan loves to hear from readers. Write her at susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or visit www.susanaylworth.com or her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming near the end of September. 

Sometimes, a mom has to brag

Sometimes a mom just has to brag. I'm enormously pleased with and proud of each of my children. I've shared their successes in this blog more than once. Today my brag is about my son, John, and what he has recently accomplished.

At the end of August, we celebrated the ribbon-cutting for Xytogen, the BioTech company John founded four years ago in Silicon Valley. This ceremony fulfilled a dream our son has long harbored to bring his work back to his hometown. He couldn't have been happier.

The event turned out to be rather a big deal. Staff members from our state assemblyman's office presented a certificate thanking John for bringing BioTech to the north state. Professors who taught John in his MBA program came, as did the dean of his department and the university provost, scientists and physicians, and about 80 others.

We always knew John was bright, creative, and driven, but we could never guess what he'd do with all of that. We certainly didn't expect this.

Our son took a winding career path to find his way into BioTech. After working several years in orthopedics, he became interested in regenerative medicine. He was especially curious about the potential for stem cells, ethically derived from adult fat tissue, to soothe and heal. He began working with highly skilled scientists to investigate the possibilities.

What developed was Factor Five, a "pharmaceutical." Stem cell proteins form the basis for a serum, a cream, and an eyelash treatment scientifically proven to slow or even reverse the aging process in facial cells and increase the length and volume of eyelashes and brows. 

The company has taken off. The products, now available mostly through dermatologists, plastic surgeons, and estheticians, have been hugely successful. For John, skin care is a way in to the field. His goal is to develop burn and wound treatments to reduce suffering throughout the world.

At the official grand opening, I learned new things about stem cells. John's staff conducted tours through the building, introducing the company and the products in the large reception/conference room and then taking visitors into the lab. There, with the delicate stem cells carefully sheltered, post-doctorate PhDs who work with Xytogen explained something of the science for how and why the treatments are so effective. It's impressive.

I'm pleased for my son and for his family, who now have Dad working closer to home. I'm thrilled for the community to have the burgeoning field of BioTech growing here in our backyard. Mostly, I'm one proud mama, not just of John, but of each of my children. Stick around. I'm likely to share more of that pride in the future.

When Susan isn't bragging about her kids and grandkids, she writes swoon-worthy small town romances. Her latest series is "Seasons of Destiny." Watch for Amber in Autumn, coming soon. 

They're All Grand!

Our newest grandson turned 24 last week. Please note I didn't say our youngest who has his first birthday this week. Callum (we call him Cal) joined our family this past February when he married our eldest granddaughter, Samantha.

Cal brings a number of firsts to our clan: (1) He is our first grandson-in-law; (2) He married our firstborn granddaughter; (3) His new dad-in-law is our first son; (4) Because we could not attend the wedding (they were married two states away when I was days out of surgery), we first met Cal last month when Sam brought him to our family reunion, dubbed AylaPalooza. (See the family portrait below.)

Probably the biggest first he brings? He's a citizen of the U.K., born in Dumfries, Scotland, and studying at the University of York when he and Sam met through mutual friends. We've never had a Brit in the family until now. Because he needed a special visa to come to the U.S.A., and because things were a bit . . . shall we say, impacted? . . . at U.S. Immigration Services, Cal and Sam were engaged for almost 18 months before they could marry. It's the sort of sweet love story I may one day write.

Sam is delighted. She's been waiting for Mr. Right (not Mr. Wright; he married our daughter), and Cal fits nicely. Sam graduated a few months back and now has a high-powered job with Dell. She can support them in style while Cal attends university here to complete his degree. Until he's accepted, he is working as a teller in a bank near their apartment. That fits well into his plans; he's earning a degree in finance. He has also lived in Hong Kong and speaks Cantonese, so we can foresee an interesting and prosperous future for this cute couple.

They couldn't appear happier and we are all happy for them. For my part, I'm thrilled to have a new grandson, even if he's already several inches taller than I am. My grandchildren are all truly grand, no matter how they join our family.

Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming near the end of September. 

Making Lemonade, MCO in NYC

Some months ago, my baby girl, Rebecca, and her eldest son, Caleb, signed up with a wonderful group for an amazing opportunity. In becoming part of the Millennial Choirs and Orchestra (MCO), they looked forward to several important concerts, their summer season culminating in a highlight performance in Carnegie Hall.

Titled "Nearer, my God, to Thee," the concert began with an astonishing and deeply moving arrangement of "A Mighty Fortress" and consisted mostly of sacred music. Since the performance was scheduled for mid-July, they also offered a patriotic segment.


Five groups of choirs and orchestras from around the southwest studied the same music, preparing to divide into three casts, each of which would have one big night on the stage in the renowned Stern Concert Hall. Becca and Caleb were in the "blue" cast, scheduled for Saturday, July 13.

With a once-in-a-lifetime experience ahead of them, and a sold-out concert hall awaiting, Becca and Caleb endured an intense rehearsal schedule, costume fittings, and all the expected preparation. That wasn't all. The rest of the family wanted to see them in concert, and since they were going to be in Manhattan, they certainly wanted to take a few bites of all the Big Apple had to offer. Months of work, planning, and saving led up to the big day.

There they were, rehearsing on the concert stage, when the lights went out. At first, they didn't let it bother them. Accustomed to having the lighting technicians at work while they were, they continued on, using only the battery-operated lights on the orchestra's music stands to continue. When the blackout did not ease, the group became restless. This wasn't just normal light-testing, was it?

Soon the Hall officials came in to report that something had happened, blacking out all of central Manhattan. Yes, their scheduled performance was on that night, the night the lights went out throughout the central city on the exact anniversary of the 1977 Manhattan blackout. July 13 also came during Manhattanhenge, the one time annually when the setting sun lines up with the downtown streets.

For a short time, the musicians continued to rehearse, hoping and praying that the power would come back in time for their concert as scheduled. The Hall's staff knew when their fail-safe point occurred, the hour when it would be too late to load in an audience even if the power did return. When that time arrived, they came in to deliver the bad news: For the first time in its history, Carnegie Hall canceled a performance due to technical problems.

Imagine the heartbreak. This concert had been the focus of months of work, not just for hundreds of musicians, but for thousands of people among their family and friends, many of whom had traveled to NYC to enjoy the experience with loved ones. The disappointment was tangible for them all.

As they exited the hall, one woman announced, "I came here to sing. Let's sing." Most of the orchestra members could not participate, given the difficulty of setting up instruments on 57th Street, but the singers quickly organized and an impromptu concert began. Soon their director came up with a makeshift podium and began leading the group.

As the sun set between the skyscrapers of Manhattan, the Millennial Choirs sang. Though they missed their opportunity to perform to the 2,800+ people who would have heard them inside the hall, they ended up singing to hundreds on the streets of Manhattan. Several million have now heard their performances recorded on YouTube. (See #MCOINNYC I Stand All Amazed Carnegie Hall - NYC Power Outage, I Believe in Christ -

The Millennial Choirs and Orchestra went to New York to sing praises in a famous hall, but ended up singing to the world. It's a story I will always remember when stuck with lemons and making lemonade.