Kin-ship Readers

(A story in honor and memory of my Aunt on her Birthday)

Dear Daisy,
Had every intention sending a note earlier…unexpectedly, my energy was pulled to Aunt Mabel’s medical; a life-death thing. Ended up sharing days leading up to her birthday with her in hospital. Discharged back to her nursing home room Thursday only to be rushed back to hospital the next Monday evening facing emergency surgery. Very poor prognosis; she was told by surgeon if she lived, post surgery long term colon bag likely and 2-6 months on ventilator best case scenario. She had shared with me during one of my visits in the hospital the week before that she was already tired of too many months in a wheelchair unable to walk. Looking back maybe she knew then what was around the next bend. Her spirits were up and she talked about birthdays and good times with her roommate friend at the home. How you remember her is exactly who she was even those final two weeks, and especially the final days.

Mom, Dad, Nancy and I were with her in the ER when they told her the news. I was so proud of my family, her family that night. Mabel amazed me beyond belief. I suppose having to walk through this path once before this year with Uncle Eli (November thru February) gave us all the strength. Mom and Dad especially grew through all this being there every step with Eli and it was so apparent their growth now standing with steadfast love and support/nurturing Mabel and her choice.

This time around Mabel was blessed with excellent doctors and nurses. Mabel listened to every word, every detail medical presented, asked really good questions, then made her choice within five minutes and never wavered. Nancy and I were alone with her about fifteen minutes later in ER and we both agree looking back that the radiating aura surrounding her that we both witnessed; her attitude, words she spoke, confidence, conviction (true to her character as you know), something greater than Mabel and us was around. There was no doubt that this was to be her time.

Nancy and I agree we both sensed Grandpa there with Mabel as she made her decision. Who Mabel sensed or how much support she felt from them or us I can’t tell you. She never said. No need really. That she was supported was all that mattered. Her calmness and serenity told me all I needed to reassure my heart and calm my mind. There were too many signs, too many factors and coincidences that are unexplainable by any other means to not sense this as truth. It was eerie being in my space on my side standing there while time marched on and facts came in as our family There and my family here united hearts to support her.

Minutes after she made her choice her conversation to the two of us seemed “out of place”. To Nancy, “Your glasses are really tiny. Can you see out of them?” Nancy answered and smiled but I could tell she wondered why that question and especially why this time looking at her would Mabel notice such a fine detail when all just moments before had been such a massive life-altering choice.

We all just moved on to small talk, making sure she was as comfortable as possible, taking turns sitting with her, then letting her have some time alone. She wanted us to go home, get some sleep. Sleep wouldn’t come easy that night we all knew that so we huddled together in the waiting area and checked in on her from time to time. Well past midnight Mom and Dad drove home. Nancy stayed the night. I returned home to make sure Levi was taken care of and safe and returned to the hospital first thing that same morning.

Staff kept her surgery options open for the next 24 hours. Mabel was aware that each hour she waited reduced her medial chances of pulling through the surgery. Next morning, same choice. She wanted to get back “home” to her roommate and friend, Edna.

That night I went back down to nursing home to spend a couple hours. She was alone with Edna, Mabel watching TV, clicker by her side. I noticed once again that aura all around her. Given the choice, Edna had decided to stay in their room and face this together with her “best friend”. Memories flooded my mind as I sat in Mabel’s recliner looking at the TV and talking some. On my Dad's side, for all purposes in my life she had served the role of my grandmother, assuming the role at age 16 by raising the five younger children when her mother died. Sitting there with her just being, took me back to all the times when I was little when she’d babysit me and we’d watch together Petticoat Junction and The Jackie Gleason Show.

Thirty minutes into watching the show flashing on the screen I wake up to the fact that Mabel is watching an education-medical channel. I ask her if she’s really watching this show or what. Her response, “I always watch this show.” I say, “But Mabel you just came from a hospital.” Her response, “I love this show. I watch it ‘cause I might learn something.” Blew me away. One to three days from the end of her life and she knows it and she “may learn something.”

Wow!!!! So, need I say we watched how a surrogate mother was carrying a baby and the delivery…and I smiled.


That night I wrote this to remember this night and all the others I had spent with Aunt Mabel:

And so, I opened my eyes to the mysteries unfolding.
Connecting with people and the moment now
Trying to understand where I (we) had been
Recognizing that so much was changing
and had changed.

You moving on.
Me here to remain.
For now.
-Janie



Calling arrangements were made for immediate family that Saturday. Funeral arrangements were made for Sunday at the nursing home so her friends back at “home” could attend.

Mabel had given me a shoebox of odds and ends years back (1977). Such a mixture of odds and ends, mostly papers I had no idea what to do with any of it at the time. When I asked she told me that I’d “know what to do with someday”. I did as I was told and all these years all items have stayed right where she packed them in that shoebox. The morning of her calling hours I received first word…the message came from There. As I was attempting to write a piece for her funeral the next day, I struggled being more drawn to the shoebox.

Three items in that shoebox Grandpa, from There let me know to put in the casket with Mabel. I guess he or she or both of them plan to go fishing in Canada with his Canadian Fishing License dated, May 23, 1964, a Canadian Fishing Guide (1964), and his glasses. I didn’t ask why. I just listened and tried my best to get the message right. (Grandpa died the year, 1964)

Back in June, 2004 I had given her a signed gift copy of Dear Daisy. It had been my gift to her and I wanted it to remain with her. Forever. She and Daisy always had a special bond and the book kept that connection of sharing the farm and life there together each summer. Then the question for calling hours, how to arrange, what page should the book be open to, and where to place the items from Grandpa. Nancy suggested Dear Daisy open to my childhood pictures page. Reading the words I had written on that page about childhood, all seemed fitting for this moment witnessing Mabel’s trust and openness to explore the next.

“Childhood is nothing more than, absolutely nothing less than, the courage to discover for the first time with innocence and openness, the faith and passion to explore the next, and the inner wisdom to sense the value of each moment along the path.”
-Janie


I didn’t realize until I opened the glass case of Grandpa at the casket to place it near my book how the green interior of his case matched the book hardcover exact. Looked really nice. Classy even. Mabel was absolutely by far the most beautiful person I have ever seen laid out. Radiating youth, though her age nearing mid eighties; total peace, and I swear she was smiling, natural, not placed there. As for Grandpa, I don’t know, lost his glasses and needed his old pair to read my book? He and God only know. All I know for sure is I felt I was and had been a part of this story that connected our lives.


“Asleep, awake, by night or day, the friends I seek are seeking me. No wind can drive my baroque astray, nor change the tide of destiny. The stars come nightly to the sky, the tidal wave unto the sea. Nor time, nor space, nor deep nor height, can keep my own away from me.”
John Burroughs


“And I will be with you forever, and ever, until the End, and then forever more.”
-God (as written and interpreted by the child, Janie)

Professional Reviews

Dear Daisy, a book read over and over by readers, and many shared awakening, transformative moments and stories. Many told of second, then third time readings. Many described that with each read, new experience or insight was gained.

Professional Reviewers? Rising Sparrow Press originally limited the number to a handful of copies mailed for professional reviews. This by Publishing standards is extremely conservative. I knew this.
At a later date the list was expanded by 6 additional copies, all tailored to highly specific niche markets. All review copies were author signed and sent to reviewers in the self-publishing and specific niche market venues; each one down a path focusing on social issues. Reviewers? Not one answered. Not one review, good or bad.

Then, and especially now, I wonder if any read the first line, or sentence, or paragraph.Reading bits and pieces at best, how much of the story, the message contained would be missed through casual glance at a cover? Bound traditional, void of a paper dustcover with photo enhanced quality, not modern eye accepted or valued. Prejudice is like that, depth lost. The feel of the book, the texture of life lost and the people’s stories there bound, the Souls underneath are missed in the speed of a modern scan reading moment.

Reviewers, so many today caught in the manufacturing, book printing and distribution; a market-sales world design.A book’s life based upon shelf life days, weeks, a few short months at best for a “best seller”.Investment is based upon how quick the dump, the unload, the sale. Literature for future generations…? I am not wise enough to venture the guess.

Perhaps, more time may tell what books will some later date be rebound, reprinted, and will rekindle the spark of a reader’s enthusiasm and interest.

Self-publishers, dedicated to written word and story, I sense will preserve the tradition of bringing variety to book shelves. Perhaps not all books will be judged by an end market sales value. I hope…for the expanded moment told by journalists and the storytellers of times and places, and the validity of our historical accounts and records hang in the balance. Yes, as a writer I do feel editing and publishing may very well edit away or block the truth and stories of our times if we only write with the final sale our sole purpose.

As the Author of Dear Daisy, hand signed copies floating somewhere…or sitting on some reviewer's personal library shelf…or used to create someone’s social program…or re-gifted as someone’s Christmas present…I wonder…and…I smile, knowing someday those copies will reappear. My only hope…that future holders and distributors will sign the book to the next, and then the next so that the trail can be read…and valued. As a book collector, I love to find old books and I can sense the hands that have held and the path such books traveled...fascinating to see the signature and date trail. As the Author, I would hope this path for Dear Daisy.

A few early sales to coworkers...their stories revealed that a few had family living in Puerto Rico, Canada, and China…so just for the fun of it, I signed a handful of books as gifts to send offshore just to see where Daisy would travel. Someday…maybe two hundred years from now, those copies will resurface…and I can’t wait to see where Daisy’s flight pattern traveled.

As Publisher, the investment in obtaining reviews I would question for future books, especially my own, those similar in written design to Dear Daisy. A self-help, a murder mystery, or an in vogue romance novel…maybe reviews would serve such a book’s purpose.

In hindsight, often the best sight, the professional review path just wasn’t the path for Dear Daisy. In hindsight, I trust my readers more than I wish to donate to reviewer collections.

Dear Daisy in New Orleans

March is Small Press Month.

March, 2006 while researching the internet for marketing ideas...I stumbled upon a need.
The aftermath of the devastating floods (storm: Katrina) that struck the southern states had destroyed books and the libraries. A donation path had been established for New Orleans.

As Publisher of Dear Daisy to honor Small Press Month; to honor Daisy's southern state's need, in memory of Daisy, a letter and package was mailed:

Attn: Rica A Trigs, Public Relations
New Orleans Public Library
219 Loyola Avenue
New Orleans, LA 70112

Re: Gift copies of Dear Daisy
Restocking New Orleans Public Library Project
March 2006

Gift given (6) copies of Dear Daisy (hardcover) : In Memory of Daisy

Publisher: Rising Sparrow Press
Author: Jane Marla VerDow
Book Dedication: Daisy

Library of Congress Cataloging Number: 2004091496
Ver Dow, Jane Marla
Dear Daisy : a novel / Jane Marla Ver Dow
First Printing June 2004
Hardcover 384 pages
ISBN 1-932878-03-3
1. Spiritual – Nonfiction. 1. Title.
$27.95


Best Regards from Rising Sparrow Press
and Author, Jane Marla VerDow.

Please find enclosed six copies (6) of Dear Daisy ©2004.

May the bookshelves of the New Orleans Library Restocking Project be blessed.

Sincerely,

Jane Marla VerDow

A Child's Promise

Once upon a time…a little one made a promise to her dear friend, Daisy.

What started out as sending my beets to Africa to feed all the starving children…

imagination and add a few more years being frustrated with the world’s ways,

now a book to sell in my hands, seemed only one thing to do.

Either find a way to send beets to Africa or maybe a better way to feed children could be the book Daisy had helped me to create.

After I finished writing Dear Daisy, waiting for her return, now days away, the storyline of the promise I had made in one passing moment as a child resurfaced from memory.
Heart felt as only a child’s heart knows truth and sincerity,
and any child knows what keeping promises means…
once you say “cross my heart”
there isn’t much that can later be said or undone to change what comes next.

In this moment I didn’t wish to hope for THAT…
June 2004, was too good a day to hope for anything but good ahead on an open road.
From years long gone, I had remembered my word. From the depths of my soul, I answered, "I just have to”.

Total coincidence, the first morning of my search (Oprah’s Angel Network) I discovered Sparrow Village. The name drew me to look. I link clicked and next I knew I was in Africa.
Daisy assured me this was no coincidence and to follow my heart.

I emailed a friend, one knowing me more than most, and family, I asked them, too.
“Check out this website.” I copied the link of their site into the email body.

Friends and family responded, “Perfect fit. The name, the cause, the location. It has you and Daisy written all over it; taking care of sparrows.”

So, on http://www.risingsparrowpress.com/ , the official site to announce Dear Daisy and Rising Sparrow Press I set my intentions to living true to my promise.

Every book sold June, 2004 through December 31, 2004
A donation (8%) will be sent in Daisy’s name
to the children and families served by Sparrow Village.

I linked to their official website.

http://www.sparrowvillage.org/


Rest assured, the world is still filled with promise and God is still watching out for sparrows.

And when you see a sparrow on your path…

Well, you know...Follow Your Heart

May your path be blessed.

Sincerely,

Jane Marla VerDow
(Dear Daisy, 2004)


Every year I, the author; I, the publisher; I, the child
renew this promise to Daisy and to the sparrows.

Of Three Hearts

As I took first steps Publishing I reviewed previous steps I had taken, my words as written in Dear Daisy. My heart-mind was uncertain and conflict between head and heart caused my steps to be more determined.

Which path the author, I would consent to follow; my personal heart, loyalty to Daisy and her peaceful resolution and teaching ways; and the publisher’s dream to distribute the message of this book to its rightful audience, to propel energy and to profit against debt and investment?

Words written to children (Dear Daisy):

To the “other children” if I could have spoken to them, I would have told them the secret I’ve learned through my experiences with this time called life and to travel a wilderness. It’s all in the step and mostly in the fact that you step but also take time to rest if only for a minute. It doesn’t matter if you can’t feel the ground or have no idea where you’re going. Your feet know the way and your heart is your compass. Follow your heart and build your dreams.

Excerpt from a letter I composed on my Justice pathway in honor of my mentor, Daisy.
(Dear Daisy)

The motto of the National Association of Colored Woman, “Lifting As We Climb” expresses most closely my own beliefs and guides in word what my heart attempts in action for daily living. Perhaps my sharing this additional detail with you will help to further clarify the Justice path I chose.

From Twentieth Century Negro Literature, 1902
“And so lifting as we climb, onward and upward we go, struggling and striving and hoping that the buds and blossoms of our desires will burst into glorious fruition ere long.With courage born of success in the past, with a keen sense of responsibility, which we must continue to assume, we look forward to the future, large with promise and hope. Seeking no favors because of our color or patronage because of our needs, we knock at the bar of justice and ask for an equal chance.”

God be with us on our pathways of Peace and Justice,
Jane


“First, is the dangers of futility; the belief there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world’s ills –against misery and ignorance, injustice and violence.Yet many of the world’s great movements, of thought and action, have flowed from the work of a single man.”
Senator Robert F. Kennedy (June 6, 1966)


The Author, the loyal friend, and the Publisher, all, consented that a portion of Dear Daisy would be donated. My thank-you to Daisy for being my loyal friend, on Earth and from Heaven.

The dream: to sow seeds to the wind; to let Daisy fly and travel the globe. My heart, all of my heart was drawn to the wonder, and then I wrote this Author letter on the website I created, www.RisingSparrowPress.com

Author's Letter

Welcome.
I hope you enjoy the feel of this website. I hope it feels like
home.

Some say one always knows what they want to be when they
grow up. Truth told, I always knew. At least on some level.
There are the stories my sister could tell of me taking all of the
Little Golden Books in our house and printing my name on
the front inside cover. Those same storybooks now are part of
my home library.

Maybe it was more obvious than I knew when I would write
and hand my work to anyone to read just to watch them read,
seeing their face change, knowing where they were and what I
had written that could alter their expression. Connection.

I never spent a single second or stamp sending in any of my
words to Publishing Houses.That was part of the vision I had.
Back when. Not sending in any of my work, that is. To be
censored or edited or rejected was not part of the plan.

Researching traditional marketing pathways I soon found
myself discontent with modern ways. Too many authors sound
the same. Especially the "how to" books. Too much sales focus
and not enough of anything else. I was searching for my voice.
I love authors who have their own.

You see, I knew the greats that I loved back when I was
dreaming this dream to author made their own path. There was
something pioneering, adventurous, even daring about writing
words and finding a path for words to travel.

So here I am. Writing and finding that pathway.

My dream now? That someone two hundred years from now
will find a copy of my work and it will still hold value.


Jane Marla Ver Dow



“Occasionally in life there are those moments of unutterable fulfillment which cannot be completely explained by those symbols called words. Their meanings can only be articulated by the inaudible language of the heart.”
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., (Noble Lecture, December 11, 1964)

Paths to Walk/Flight Patterns

To my dear friend, Daisy...

words written and the spaces between…the song that came into my heart.

That “what if” space I returned to and there she told me her dreams; her thoughts and wishes, at least some.

The sparrow. Wings to fly…designed for, and the song of the sparrow; what defines the sparrow a sparrow from an eagle or a turkey vulture.

One sparrow, another...God knows each one unique. I am not wise enough…nor is any other.

Daisy understood. I, a child, asked more than any adult would have dared to ask and she answered. From her space she answered. She always did.

From my space I, a child, spoke back to her from my heart…my actions. My smile. My simple ways answered her heart back. I always will.


And so I, the child, the author, the publisher had set out on a path...and released Dear Daisy.
One path, by ground. Another, a path of flight...


"One doesn't discover new lands without first consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time."
Andre Gide, Fr. novelist


"When you get to the end of all the light you know and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly."
Edward Teller

My Youngest Reader

“I think, at a child’s birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift would be curiosity.”
-First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt


As promised yesterday I’ll now tell you the story of my youngest reader as first told to me by his mother.

Seems the copy of Dear Daisy that she had purchased went missing, only to appear in her 3 year old son’s hands. At first, no reason to think this strange or out of the ordinary, after all, little ones do have a tendency to pick up things around the house, that is until they come of the age where one would wish they would… But, I digress.

Seems this pattern continued. Not an issue until she wished to sit down with her copy to read. She asked for her book. In his 3 year old way he made it clear the answer was, “no”. Reasoning with him that he could have the book back but that at this time she wished to sit and read her book, his answer remained the same, this time “my book” being the answer.

From what I’ve shared so far…one would have the picture formed in mind that the book stayed missing each time, stashed someplace only he knew it to be. Well…that is part of the picture, and my first image as I listened to her storyline.

Seems not that the book was missing…hard to miss an object that the child insisted on carrying around the house with him, even taking the book with him in the car. Following him and watching, the mother discovered that those times when he wasn’t carrying the book, he was putting it in his bedroom closet. Knowing his age she thought it best to continue going about their days without pressing the issue.

Cleaning one Saturday morning, she ventured down the hall towards his bedroom. On a cleaning mission, she glanced in noticing he was sitting on his closet floor, holding the book open, reading his book. She then shared with me that her son of three was not a child prodigy capable of reading at advanced levels, in fact he was delayed in speech, barely, if ever speaking. Their origin language is Spanish, and growing up in an English-speaking neighborhood, she felt maybe his speaking delay was confusion over which language he should speak.

Curious what he was doing, and to ask the obvious question, she went into his bedroom only to find that he wasn’t reading. He was listening, or so it appeared from the look in his eyes and the tilt of his head. The little one, a nonreader was holding the book upside down. These things a mother would notice.

Still, she asked her question. “What you reading?” “My book,” his answer. With that answered, she went back to cleaning the house. Moments later she realized that her son was talking to someone, so she went back into his room. “Who you talking to?” “The kid,” his answer as he pointed.

Imaginary friends, weren’t they always the best? I’ll admit that was where my mind thought her storyline would end.

She went on to tell me that the next day she heard her son for the first time speak his own name. Actually, the way she told the story, he declared, “MY NAME IS….” (“MY NAME” said in Spanish”)

His companion and “imaginary friend” not imaginary in any conceivable way to this child playing, sitting, and walking beside, also had a name.

The next week his Grandmother went to a party and brought home balloons tied to a weight rock. The 3 year old passed up the balloons but insisted on the rock weight. The storyteller told me the rock was the same color as “my book”. Now, I, and maybe you, also would think this just coincidence.

The storyteller went on to tell me that she overheard her son talking to his imaginary friend the next few days, and his side of the conversation suggested that he was knowing the storyline I had written in Dear Daisy. The book was being read to him. The story, she had not been reading to him. The story, that he insisted his imaginary friend was reading to him…

I wrote to a friend telling the short email version of this story. I also filled her in on this little boy’s mother who is very open to her son’s mystical mind and ways. In this email I wrote, “The stones may just start talking.”