Sunday, June 24, 2007

Full Circle

My message to me, the author, I wrote then shared with others, the readers of Dear Daisy

live your life…be who you are…do not be afraid…have faith…move past…do not let others hold you back or to deliver you where you do not wish to follow…see the mirror God reflects through water…take pleasure in life…have fun…receive God’s abundance…it is all designed for you…become the child you were created to be and are…return to who you once were, the child of hope and dreams…be one with God and Nature…record your footsteps…build your dreams…feed your soul…and live your life through your Spirit, simple...be one with God…sharing God’s abundance through your gifts as given from Heaven…and so you will give back on Earth…feed your timeless eternal soul, preserve and replenish the Earth tho’ life measured in seconds and days…stay true to the discovery…on your path remain...it was designed and written for you.


http://www.risingsparrowpress.com/announce.htm

Monday, June 18, 2007

In Search of Words

Days and Nights In Search of Words

(portions of original draft, written 2002)

I have found in my efforts to write
time passes more quickly when in pursuit of words,
capture even more elusive.

Early rise to catch first movement;
a thought already begun in dreams predawn.
The rush, the passion of the hunt,
some need of the hunter, I’m sure.

Words and time fuse.
Words-abstract and floating,

a moment of hesitation, then stalled,
next to appear on page by limit of hand speed.

How quickly they dodge, get lost, or move on
untrapped, always untamed
to the untrained hunter such as I.

Discipline, more needed I suppose
and time scheduled for just this cause, I am certain.
Still game arrives more spontaneous for me.

Work harder at play?
or Play harder at work?
True Writer, the real one would only know.

Always in thought or pursuit of
the words. Serious, maybe not.

Or, me merely a daydreamer
and words interrupt
trying to find their place in an otherwise perfect fog.

If only my mind could focus
on one story, even one thought.
Then again maybe or maybe not.

For all stories must be told
and nice to know that my mind has full supply.
The gift of a full life; many stories to tell.
The promise-a mind that refuses to unwind
and a heart that beats on in pace as best it can
with my desire.

Guide thy Hand, Mind, and Heart
And may abstract transform to concrete
In this time and the next
‘Tho long ago I lost track of time.

-Janie

Written in some hour between one dawn and starlit dawn of another
but I haven’t a clue the hour and wish not to be exact.


Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Seasons of a writer's heart

And so, I opened my heart to my heart’s desire, to write.

Honoring those who were teaching me by their example;
their stories of seasons of living

then life-death and choice each step along the path…

And my own life, teaching me, too…

Truth of transitions...
keep it simple and if it is not an absolute “yes” then it is a definite “no”,
and “follow your heart”.

Two lines came to mind.

Peace be my winter. I pray. I hope.
I write somehow to make it so.


Then these words came next…in a time of heart then locked between Winter and Spring.
Much like the Winter-Spring of this season change of 2007,
in a place along the Southern Shoreline of Lake Ontario.


Written April, 2005

(an excerpt attached here...)


Peace Be My Winter

Peace be my winter
The one today.
Even more so
that one tomorrow.

I do wish for gentle snows to fall
Enough to cover.
Quiet, break silence
footsteps crunching the frozen
Just enough to tell me life is still
Around me.

Seasons told by trees and color of land,
Birds flocking and overhead skies,
The waves or none like glass
Early morning or nights
on Lake Ontario.

Thaws to new beginnings
Buds bloom apple and peach
the locals call favorite
Mine, too.

Leave buds of Maple and Oak
One day just popping
On some schedule,
secret, mystery to all
save One and Mother.

If I noticed.

(Summer season omitted here)

The reds of Maples
And the Sycamores
That’s how Upstate
called home is known
In times, named Autumn.

(and some of Autumn lost here on page as well)

Sleep or wake dream
My Soul at home
Snuggled in
under blanket of comfort,
in a place called home.

Next Season or Next Place to be...
Along the southern Shoreline of Lake Ontario.

-Janie

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

April Poetry Month

Never claim to be a poet...some say my words sometimes are.

Not so much by any of the poems I have written; More by the way some of my stories read.

April is the Month of Poetry, so the Publishing and Literary world has named.

I dabble with words, form words into the shape of poems...to call them one...

Rhyme or no rhyme but usually a reason attached.

I wrote this April, 2005 in memory of family passing...


One Day in April

I watched an Eagle fly
Heard the story told, too
Standing on ground
Opened for Family
Soul hallowed

And as I stood there
Peaceful
at Lakeview
Sun up, breeze down
My heart filled
at peace
looking up to blue and cloud

I noticed
Solo bird in flight
I listened
To the telling of the Eagle
the Story and the Promise

And in that moment
I remembered
Why I came
What needed to be done
That only I
One
Came to do

This moment of time
These footsteps
Mine
For then and them
of same
Now and times still to come

This expanded moment
I remembered
Same Lake
View
Different day
same message

Returned now
This day
There overhead
Another gone
Not really I know
Just different
than days before had been

I watched
her flight
A pass over the sweet cherry trees
Wing dip "Hello"
"I made it"
"I’m There"

I smile
As I watch
Her flight
So free
My heart secure
For she remembers me

For a moment
my Spirit soars with her
No burden
No care

I come back
to ground
to walk my path
To where
Somewhere
Close
Or an unknown Far

All I know for sure
In this place
Near same Lake
That day before
This day now
My message still comes the same
Record your footsteps

And so
Until my flight
Some day an Eagle be
I shall become
With wings
On way back Home
To same shoreline
With this same Lakeview

-Janie


Once again I was reminded...the storyteller.
The reason I came.

Life stories, this day, question awakened standing upon name ground.
All the while searching for my purpose, I was living it and if time was kind each next day and energy enough…conserved while the living it…and life days long, many, enough or too few...a storyteller.

Saturday, March 31, 2007

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)

Thursday, March 29, 2007

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.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

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