On Saturday evening, my great aunt Mary died. I met her only once, in Upper Peninsula Michigan on the family farm where my Grandmother Sturm grew up. A sweet soul, she lived a very difficult life with handicaps and great joy. She is not the last of her nine siblings to die. There is one left – my Aunt Julie. The last of a generation and a forgotten age.

In the back of my mind for the past two years, I have had a scene to a story dwelling in vivid color. Sometimes I think it will be my bestseller – if it ever becomes a complete story and I not only write it but sell it. The scene is of an attic. In the attic sits a row of old chests – maybe two, maybe three, maybe more. Inside those chests are stories. Stories of a family, of love, of loss, of joy, of sadness, of anger, of forgiveness, of conflicts never resolved. The story of my life – the stories of the lives of others. All contained in a chest.

Chests disappeared along with corsets and pinned hair with the Victorian era. With them went old letters, worn journals, collections of a lifetime that held memories of joys and sorrows. I never thought I would find a chest of my own, but on the Sunday after Aunt Mary died my grandfather asked me to move one. I discovered a treasure.

The chest has sat in the office of my grandparent’s home for who knows how long. I’ve seen it before – probably laid stuff on it before. Grandpa has been cleaning out the office and he wanted it moved a little further into the room. For the first time I gave it more than a passing glance and asked what was in it.

“It was your great-grandparents. It came from the farm. I’m not sure exactly what’s in it,” he answered.

Well, I had to make sure the lid could still be opened from where I pushed it along the wall, so I took a peek. I only glanced among one stack of letters for Grandpa said we could go through it some other time. But I found a letter to my Aunt Paula – a love letter Grandpa said. (My Great-aunt Paula never married.) There was an old insurance policy for Sister Melania (another great-aunt who became a nun). A ziplock bag contained an old coin purse and small pair of binoculars owned by my great-grandfather and Uncs (his brother). All that in only a passing look. I can’t wait to search through the other treasures.

“Want to write a book?” Grandpa asked me as I closed the lid.

Yes, I think I do…

Highlights from my Week

I got the office organized. Not only did I work Monday to do so, but it was wonderfully slow this week, so I got it all done by Friday. I feel so much better having the office neat and organized. Now I can really work.

On Thursday evening, I stepped outside to find a brisk wind bringing the temperature down to the 70s. And a rainbow graced the sky. I rolled down the windows of my car and enjoyed it. It didn’t last long. Less than two hours later, it reached back into the 80s with no breeze and more humidity.

Met with Haley for coffee Thursday night – great catching up with her. And an old friend from the summer I worked down at the Dallas Training Center called this Saturday. Hopefully we can get together soon.

Actually got some writing done! But it wasn’t very good. As I went to sleep that night, I thought of a much better way to do it. So now to go back…

Allyson had her baby Thursday evening!!!! Did I already mention that to everyone I know? But just in case, his name is Silas James. He weighed in at 6 pounds, 5 ounces and stretches 18 ¾ inches long. I talked to Allyson this afternoon, and she and Silas are doing well.

Opened a Twitter account. I still don’t do the Facebook thing, but I thought Twitter might actually be informative as far as publishers, news and history goes. Haven’t had a great deal of time to figure it all out though.

Rain. It rained Friday night a bit and then Friday morning on my way to work. Texans don’t know how to drive in rain. It might as well be snow to them. Then it rained most of Friday night and all day today. A messy day to be out, but it reminded me of when I was a little girl down here and Dad would take me to the hardware store on rainy Saturday mornings.

Attended a writer’s group this morning. Much more formal than the one in Indiana. As a chapter of the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers), they have business to conduct, dues to pay, motions to make, and minutes to keep. A little odd. They also have a speaker every time – this time the husband of the Vice President of the chapter who is an insurance claim adjustor for natural disasters. He should write a book! But I was told they have smaller critique groups as well, and I got pointed in the direction of a possible children writer’s group. I’ll have to check that out.

And I think I have found a church. Actually, the Lord led me to it the second Sunday I was down here, but I visited one other church and then went back to it this last Sunday. I’ll go again tomorrow. It’s 40 minutes away, but worth the drive. You can find them on sermonaudio.com if you’re curious (which is how I found them). The church is called First Baptist Church of Richland Hills. The funniest thing last week was the choir sang the hymn Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven the “right way”. (If you attend Grace Free, you’ll know what I mean…)

I know it's not good to use lots of exclamation points when writing, but I just can't help it today...

My dearest friend Allyson had her baby yesterday afternoon!!!!!!!!!! A healthy little boy!!!!!!!!! His name is Silas James!!!!!!!!!!

I wish I could jump into an airplane and fly up there and see them right now. Sigh.

I’m sure homesickness is a considered a real mental disease by some psychologists. It certainly does hit some people harder than others. I think I’m on the low end of this mental disorder. I have bouts of it, but it goes as quickly as it comes. I’ve realized this weekend, though, that it’s a little hard to be homesick when you’re not sure where home is.

I was talking to a friend in New Hampshire this weekend who told me she couldn’t wait until I got home for the holidays and could we get together then? As I won’t be going home to New Hampshire for the holidays, a cup of coffee together might be a little bit difficult. But don’t get the idea she’s crazy to think New Hampshire is my home. I think that, too. You don’t know how often I almost ask my mom or one of my siblings how someone in New Hampshire is doing as if they saw them yesterday. Or I think I will be flying there for the holidays and can see my friends. At church yesterday, I had another twinge of homesickness for New Hampshire. The choir sang Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven during the offertory – and they sang it “the right way”. Which means they sang ladies on the second verse, men on the third and everyone on the chorus, first verse and last verse. We usually sung it that way in New Hampshire.

But then some days I’m homesick for my family which I know is in Indiana. (I can’t say I’m exactly homesick for Indiana – although at least it’s cooler there!) I miss walking into a house and being greeted by dogs. I wasn’t there when Abby earned her learner’s permit this Saturday and Grace posted a sign on the driveway that reads “Abby’s Speed Limit: 5 MPH”. I miss my pale purple bedroom (bright yellow isn’t very similar…). I especially hate living in a room with no bookshelves and only about a hundred books piled on my floor or bed frame.

I’ve often thought it quite unfair that I can never really be homesick. That’s because my home is always changing. Nine years in New Hampshire was a record – now it seems I’m on the road again. In fact, I calculated up the other day that I am now averaging a different address every two years again. I wonder what its like to have a home for a long time – and I wonder if I would like it.

So, I go through my days humming the old gospel song I used to listen to as a kid:

This world is not my home; I’m just passin’ through…

And some days I can’t wait until this passin’ is over!

Only in Texas...

…do you walk into your bathroom and there is a lizard crawling on your mirror. Thankfully it falls into the rinse cup so you can take it back outside to its natural habitation. It’s not exactly a lizard – more like a two inch gecko creature. Maybe it was trying to sell me insurance.

…do trucks rule the roads. Pick-ups everywhere! My favorite is the one that says on the back “Silly little boys…trucks are for girls.”

…do people say when for two days it just hits ninety degrees (although it sits there all day long), “Isn’t it nice out? Fall is in the air.” Apparently my definition of fall is quite wrong.

…do you answer the phone and the reply is, “Do you speak Espanola?” I want to say, “No. I live in America, and in America we speak English.” Kind of scary that I need an interpreter in my own native country. Of course, Texas isn’t my native country.