To The Blessed Souls Who Are Inquiring About My Book, “Pinkhoneysuckle”

First off, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, and it appears there have been quite a few inquiries at this time to Amazon.  It is my understanding that you can request copies be mailed to you as soon as they are available.  I continue to reassure you that both I and the publisher are putting in the hardest and most efficient effort possible to get this book out to the public who is interested in this personal, sociological, and somewhat historic account of the hidden world and lives of people who have experienced the life of the Appalachian poor.Revealed is much never told before abour  heritage, our aspirations,and the destiny of the story teller and many others like her.  I can reassure you that I will engage the publisher in a conversation this coming week about the interest being shown on Amazon, and I give my absolute pledge that there will be as little delay time as possible.

For those inquiring;  I humbly give you a bow from heart, and from my brother, the writer of my prologue, Robert V. Everett who gives you his 100% effort as well to open this book.  We have promised you that you cannot read it and be left unchanged in some way, and we believe that to be the truth of, “Pinkhoneysuckle.”

I thank Amazon and its publishing division for having the capability of preordering that which is not available at this moment;  But rest assured that Amazon is a service company and will see that your requests and needs are met.  Respectfully, and with abiding thanks, Barbara Everett Heintz, Author, “Pinkhoneysuckle.”

Right now I should be gloating, because I am so close to reaching the lifetime goal of having a book ready to sell on Amazon, and I had promised you that I was going to walk you through the less than charming way of getting a book published, because I have been met by the truth makers;  “No book is a done deal to fame or fortune,” and the first thing you are going to be faced with, or as my Daddy would have blatantly said; “Get kicked in the ass with,” is that to get to the point of final publishing;  You might ask such questions as, “Why would any fool want to put themselves through this process, especially when that fool did not have the promise of a sponsor out there to even make certain that one thin dime would be guaranteed from the process.”

I have no movie starts, and by now I would have zero friends in Washington politics;  Most of my professors are passed on who encouraged me to get through this writing process in the first place, and I am going to be seen as either a traitor to my own kind or as a hero of sorts who finally stood up and said;  “You;  Yes,  I am talking to you, and for once you are going to listen to a real Southern story about a real white girl who grew up color blind, and you did not know that I existed.”  I cannot gloat though tonight, for something terrible has happened to America this past 48 hours.

We have lost 30 of our best and brightest soldiers, because we are in a war that we need to get out of.  Ladies and Gentlemen — We can drop all of the big bombs we have in stock, and we can make the world uninhabitable, or we can do what is right, and I believe after almost eleven years that the truth is out;  You cannot win at a war where you were not invited to their tables of justice in the first place.  It is time to get ourselves out of The Middle East, and I beg everyone to start sending forth the message, for we can stay there two to four more years, and we are still not going to have defeated what we see as the evil there, and it is just not a way of life or a culture we can embrance nor us–Theirs.  Let us hit the road and take the power where we can make a difference and where we can feed the hungry, cloth the naked, and provide fresh drinking water, so that small children can stop dying from diarrhea.

I cannot write the poetry of a website called:  “Revolution Earth,” but it is a website which brings up the need for us to reevaluate our entire way of life.  Most of us are not going to go agrarian and go back to the land, because we have lost the know how to live that way.  I have found this website to be useful though in just showing some of the ugliness, and in asking the questions about what really motivates people, and for most of us dollars and cents comes to the top of the register.

I think that Revolution Earth does make the point well though that it is not the every day money that we are talking about, but it is those who hold the vast wealth of the earth and who are using even educated people as pawns in a chess game, for we all seek more than we need;  But the mega rich decide world wide policy, and we can involve ourselves with our votes and with our choices of what we buy to make a small dent in the decision making which we are shamelessly left out of.  If we look at global starvation, global filthy water, the out of control gangs which have turned parts of our country into battle grounds;  Then we might find a way of knowing that our young men and women in uniform are called to a higher purpose than to keep having their bodies flown home in body bags.

Warriors can guarantee that food and supplies get to people  not community warlords in Africa.  Warriors can help tap fresh water, even if it has to be captured during monsoonal seasons and trucked to other parts when the wells run dry.  Warriors can guard field hospitals where women bring their children to die before they themselves meet death, because their bodies and hearts can take no more.  Yes, let us call our warriors to the places where they can make a difference.

Can inner city children be brought up from a young age to grow food on blocks where crack houses once stood, and can young girls get an education without thinking a baby is their only chance at feeling a few months of kindness?  It is entirely possible to use our cities in very different ways than we ever have before.  Gardens, fruit and nut bearing trees, ways to preserve from canning to salt, to the power of drying in the sun for winters days.  Oh my friends and fellow citizens;  These are all things which are achievable, but it may take some, “Warrior,” time and attention to see that such places are made, protected and utilized.   There is a battle cry, and it began with the message of salvation that is well documented in the scripture, that it was not going to be easy to do the right things.

Would it not be wonderful to dream that a movement could be so powerful that it could change the face of the earth in a good way instead of scaring it without the loss of life.  There are many beautiful books on the subject, but one that I know of is called, “Sharing The Harvest,” and it can be bought in most Ten Thousand Villages shops.  We need trained Warriors to help the women who supply these stores to start making more than their crafts, for we are all about crafted out from generation to generation.  Our country can help to provide the know how to make everything from wearable clothing for all shapes and sizes, and just let us gather fabric which was going to be thrown away to start the process.  If ever home economics and farmer know how is needed;  It is needed now in Ten Thousand Villages, and our women in this country knew that no fabric was merely to be wasted;  But fabric which lasted where it was less worn was turned in to usable covers called quilts, not beautiful wall hanging quilts.  Let us train some of our country’s young people in these arts again, and we do not have to shed our children’s blood as we help them learn to become the better women and men of the centuries to come.

It is Biblical, “That what is old can be made new again.”  Where are our factories to weave the cloth, to make the patterns, to supply the kits for a family to learn how to sew, to preserve, to package.  I do not think we sent it all some place else, because there are people in need tonight, so that means supplies are not getting where they need to be utilized.  Come to the well, Sweet American Warriors, and make it possible for others to drink.

I say these  hings in a tired old way, so maybe:  “Revolution Earth,” can speak to the younger heroes.  I am going to put in a word here too for other younger people who need praise:  For a Rock Band called, “Buckra,” which when asked, will do a benefit for that kid killed on the street for the reward of just doing something good.  I am proud to say that its founder is my son, Jacob Heintz.  I trained Jacob too well in how not to lay praise on yourself;  But when young people get hurt in places like Northside or whenever they can try to help rebuild a city street by bringing in clubs and businesses for something for the people to do;  Jacob’s got a guitar that he could have brought some sweat to the brow of a Jimmi Hendrix, but Jacob and his band usually play and sweat for little of nothing.  All of these younger people;  Writing, playing their music, reaching out the out stretched hand for good;  They are unsung heroes, and I am going to sing for them and pray for them tonight.

We need to feel good about something, because the sad tomorrow is that the Asian Markets are going to open and close and people in New York City and across this land are going to be worried about money, getting old, and health insurance.  Bring the Warriors home;  Give us something to feel good about.  We are all going to cry for the kids who are brought into Dover, Airbase, for the grieving, for the President’s pained jaw, because he shows hurt easily;  So let us care for and pray for those families.  In honor of the thirty;  Let us start the countdown to getting out of the craziness we have been stuck in for these eleven years;  And bring the armed forces home, and let us refocus the battle.

Oh it is time;  I can hear you saying it;  From John Kennedy, To Martin Luther King, From Mother Theresa, To Brother Billy Graham;  Lord it is time to stop the bleeding, to bind the wounded, to feed the hungry, to stop this nonsense here and now and to start living, teaching, and preaching the Gospel of Peace.

But let us mourn now, and let us pray;  The blood in the dessert is sacred and the bodies broken, so this Sunday in America;  Just be a little quieter, for we have some mourning to do and some prayers to be said.  Bring those babies home in their caskets, and have them swaddled and tucked in for the eternal sleep.  The Great Amen I say For Them and for the ones left behind.  Blessings, for your journey Home has just begun.  Prayers and Amen to the ones who died and to the living and for the living;  Comfort and Amen:  Pinkhoneysuckle Blogger

 Dear Friends,

Once upon a time there was a wonderful story which told you about a young girl’s first meeting a man whom she would believe to be a first love in her life.  He was about ten years older,  and a lifetime more worldly.  The setting was at Middle Tennessee State University upon an early summer’s day, a place and a time which exist only in her mind now, because Middle Tennessee State has now become a sprawling campus, and it is doubtful that fellows from AEDC stand and wait at the same old freshman dorms to greet the incoming freshman girls, because now;  It would be labeled child abuse.

Then was it abuse?  I am not certain, but it was the way things were in the 1960s or the last age of sanity before the world began its transition to the internet super highway which would change the course of all mankind forever, and we would no longer experience tangible moments in the same way because  our fingers became too busy loving the mighty plastic keys which made our lives into the imagery of whatever we wanted them to be at the moment instead of the dawn of slow truth  which eventually would befall innocent girls.  Maybe it is grimlins who would erase the last day that I would ever really be my parents child, but the plastic keys just zapped away that writing.

The next tiime you will see it, if you care to do so, will be with my book release of, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” and it will come to you in early autumn when the red leaves begin to appear and calls young people back to the same colleges and thoughts of old loves which disappeared a long time ago.  We do not forget, and we are not ancient, and for most of us who ever were lovers;  We shall remain so all the days of our lives.  Our faces will have changed, and the body that first nurttured the gifts of the mother’s womb will always remember the poignant moments which no piece of E-tronics can take away.  How shallow of any young to believe of the older person with the body that is now a grandmother or grandfather to presume that we do not have our secrets, that we cannot feel — Just as if it were yesterday the wonderful time and place where we first felt the warmth of first love.

The elder Mom takes it to her grave, and the Grandfather pictures it in his long goodbyes;  Enough with the Depends jokes!  The outward shell of the person can be destroyed, but our youth is still there somewhere just like yours, and that, “We loved,” and we like to go to that place again is more than a miracle;  It is the gift of ages.

Hope to meet you with all of my memories, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” the novel out via Amazon:  Barbara Everett Heintz.  I hope to meet some of you again at book signings.  Blessings, Barbara

I would like to say that I am overwhelmed to be back in California with all of the joy of homecoming, though it was an exhausting trip as it turns out.  My leisurely train trip cross country turned in to;  A “Hello Mam;  the passenger service cross country is down and unable to predict exactly when service will begin again because of the heat.  Do you want us to refund your credit card?”  Maybe I am too prickly, because I had to keep from stating that sometimes things are obvious.  Next I spent an extra night in sweet Indianapolis, because I felt as if I needed to rest, to just rest, for I had about a 48 hour marathon to get all done before I left Ohio and the Grandchildren, so I then had made, “Business Class Reservations on Southwest Airlines, only to learn that after I paid the extra;  On Southwest;  You might get a paid for cocktail but no seat difference from any flyer.  I needed what is known as business class seating, because I was in the throws of arthritic pain from neck down so difficult that I could hardly walk, and the pain factor remaine about 8-10 even with medication.  So per usual, I was in regular seating smashed, for these seats hardly fit three 150 lb. people with long legs.  Airlines now have taken all pleasure away from the idea of flying someplace and having the journey be part of the joy of the trip. So I am home endeavoring to recover from about 8 hours of travel time plus, and it is hard to count that closely since I was going east into the sun of the golden west.  People;  Plane travel was once a pleasure, and make fun of the meals and the attendants, but it was your first touch of;  “I am on a journey, and this is a treat.”

I have a couple of questions here, and they are going to make some people angry.  One is that most people would gladly pay an extra fifteen bucks for airline food and colas;  Mixed drinks, optional and still five dollars or so, and feel as if the trip was still part of the pleasure of starting a vacation.  It worked for a long time, but now Airlines are making all of the rules, and people if you do not like the service;  I can reassure you that your complaints are apt to wind up in a trash bin, so I am wondering if some of you more savvy computer folks can help to organize a couple of, “No Fly Days,” and see how this affects the economy.  For what you waste in most unpleasant travel time, body probes, and restrictions of what you may carry;  Then should people not be thinking more of  Staycations as we call them in the Midwest, and if you want to go West;  Give the old highway 64 a second look.  Only in limiting air travel purposefully are you going to be able to get back some of the decent pleasure of plane travel and service with a smile;  Food, Drink, Little wings for the children’s lapel, and Honestly you are missing the best of what made even your travel day’s fun.  Oh, You cannot afford gasoline?  Look in your own back yard, the city or village you live in and decide to vacation a week or two.  A nice tent and camping supplies might be good things to ask for for Christmas and birthdays.  I have traveled many places, and I find that America has many secret treasures and free things or very modestly priced bus prices.  Have you ever thought of enjoying your own downtown hotels;  Saves gas, Adds to less pollution, and you will be treated well in a hotel of your choosing at the amount that you can spend.

Next, I want to chat up Amtrak travel, for trains are simply born into are psyches from the time we are very small, the sound, the long, long train with cars all shapes and sizes, and the books show happy people on a train.  May I ask why it is possible that Spain has bullet train service from Barcelona to Madrid, and throughout Asia, Europe, and South America, much less the east and west coast of The United States, train travel is a fact of daily usage, and one does not have to own a car as I recall?  Here in the United States, especially in the midwest and the southern part of our country;  You need a car, or you need some mighty good walking shoes, because you do not have village to village trains, and the tracks are in such miserable condition over most of the country that the, “Heat,” stops our trains!!  Ladies and Gentlemen, I do not understand why in countries way hotter than our hot spells here;  The passenger trains run both in the coldest and the hotest climates;  Are we really that much dumber than the rest of the world??  We lost our wonderful and last wooden paddle wheel boat which went between Cincinnati and New Orleans for more than a hundred years which people paid extreme amounts of money to go back and forth for pleasure at a great price for service and for fun on our extremely polluted rivers, because the United States Congress just could not find it in their hearts to give another pass, because of the fear of fire on a wooden river boart made the old way.  We will never know such joy, for it is parked in Chattanooga last I heard and was to become a restaurant.

What things would change if we decided to use less and less oil and gasoline products?  Do you think that it is possible that alternative travel could become an idea in every city and that using as few cars as possible might put people back on feet, bicycle, bus, rail, river boats, and help begin  the move to transportation that carries people in comfort and stops the building of six to twelve lane highways or even larger.

Jobs you say;  That takes American jobs;  No, my friend;  You have railway workers, more busline and rail engineers, track layers, maintenance so things run in heat and cold, and less anxiety, because it is not fun to be on roads which feel like death traps, because people somehow understand that we all just want to get home or wherever we are going.  News shops;  Little food nooks;  Small shops of our own goods and needs could be in and around the stations.  Car manufacturing is wonderful, will always be in demand, but we need better ways to move people.  We can have our gas and oil prices manipulated daily by powers far greater than any of us.  It is the day we decide to put aside some of our need and learn to get from Point A to Point B without such industry domination of all things that we can begin asking big oil companies, manufactures of all such products to take a second look at how to move people.

We are in frightening times right now;  Are we not?  I keep wondering how Recession and Depression are so different, but we know there are people in need and without, but I want to join people in deciding that we can reclaim our most treasured pieces of yesterday by taking charge this day of the resources we have.  If they are running;  Fill the buses;  fill the trains, and use the ferrys which exist.  I would love to be young and to feel the pwoer of the revolution which is yours to make in the most peaceful sense possible;  The;  “What can I do this day to change how we are slaves to  the ultra rich, because we do not demand the use of even the public facilities which we have.  I would have given a million dollars to have known about public libraries when I was a girl.  Think about getting a tent and planning some nature adventures.  I am now too old and in too much pain to go very far on this one, but I am telling you that I cherish that people are deciding that you can teach a child early that the life cycle of a butterfly is nothing but amazing.

I am just beginning these series, and I would like to hear what you have found that contributes to salvaging our planet.
Blessings

I think it must be because I lost my virginity late in life;  Let us rephrase that;  I decided it was time in life that I should know what all the crazy chatter about what a wonderful experience it had been to have had a hymanal tear occur as a natural consequence of;–Male organ penetrating female organ, getting laid;  How crass most people were with the time in their life when they were supposed to have known love making for the first time.

Sigmund Freud seemed to be a master of the subject though, and when my life was very conflicted;  It seemed apparent to me that Freudian psychology was determining that after I left my mother’s womb;  I had not gone on to that latter event of debauchery in some tangled web which was going to untangle all of  my brain cells which had been damaged in childhood by amoral people upon whom I wished death, but the virginity stuff was apparently getting in the way of my self-realization and the actuality of coming to terms with all of my human flaws, because I had been a virgin for a longer period of time than most females my age.  I could not let this continue to happen;  Now could I, because if you believe you are going to be warped because you have not had the pleasure of Freudian cures for all things;  Then it was time to acquiesce to someone you prayed was not a moron to approach the deed of lovemaking for the first time.

I had lived my life in purity and truth, and now everyone but me at the time were endeavoring to describe how your entire body felt as if it just, Sneezed,”   and I raise my hand to tell you that one of my friends honest to God equated her first orgasm and love making with that word;  “A sneeze.”  I had come to a point in my life where if all of my cells quaked and spewed  mucous by the boat load;  Then it beat what I was going through:  Loneliness, deception, whispers of my honorable state, and who could have me first.  It was going to happen though, and I came away from it feeling that I had missed the boat, because the fellow I was with had one desire, and I think he was about finished before I could even say, “Yes.”  There was evidence;  blood, discomfort upon urination, and other than that I had nothing to say about it except;  Good Lord;  When does one get to sneeze.

I have felt somewhat like that as I have gone about the process of book publication with the best of publishers who knows how to assign you your work with compassion.  Now I am worried about templates, footers, headers;  Did I choose the right ISBN,  and all of those old worries are coming back to me that I am going to miss the train folks, and you know what happens when you miss a train?  You stand and wait for the next one, and I am not going to tell you whether it is with the anticipation of a sneeze, but I am sweating blood, because I want to get this so right.  I want more than rumpled sheets and fresh linens this time as I give myself over to strangers.  I want joy, pure joy, and I want for you, when you finish it to say these words;  “I liked it, and I got a lot out of it.”

I talk to Freud in my sleep and tell him how misguided I was before, and this book is my redemption, and with title like, “Footers,” “Headers,” PDFs and ISBNs;  How do you know that I am not simply dellusional as I seek to work though this process.  I get one thing done, but this weekend shall pass, and I shall have a, “Conference Call,” and I think it is feasible that my publishers have come to the conclusion that this dim wit needs a sack of reality and a pack  of friends to get her this deflowering of the soul, this big idea of publishing my own work with the right people, and I am going to ask them upfront, since there are no offers of self implosion with the intensity of great love making whether or not I am getting a new toaster or do I get to choose a prize from the Anchor Hocking series of beverage glasses, for this summer, I became aware that I do not own tall glasses for tall beverages, and since a sweet friend is a psychotherapist;  How was I going to explain that fall from Grace.

Now I have laid out my net to help everyone out, and I have said these words of truth–That I want the best of all things they have learned through their experiences, and I trust their judgement implicitly, and if those are not the stupidest words a woman my age could say; then you go figure, because I know that people lead you down yelllow carpeted hallways like muchkins, because they can tell an innocent from an experienced sneezer all the way.  I plod along folks, and I keep doing my tasks as they are assigned, and I have paid my money when I needed to, for an outfit like the one I am working with is apt to know that I still have green stamps among my treasures.  I have nothing from that first encounter with love making except that I kept the memory, and later in life;  I would get the sneeze correlation somehow.

Publishing your own book has that amount of excitement in it though, and my fellow writers who have walked in these night socks;  I just hope that it was good for you, for if it is not good for me, then I think my talents may have another call.  I can have a little stand taken from county fair to county fair, and for twenty five cents, a young girl can ask me what her first time is apt to be like, and I will ease their mother’s minds, because I fully intend to tell them.  “You know those big fat chocolate cookies all covered in marshamallow on the top with real chocolate over that;  Go buy yourself a big of those and start shoving them in your mouth, make all kinds of noixe which exemplifies enjoyment in its finest hour, and sweetie;  Just wait, because you deserve to have a need for more than a hankie if it is the right lover.”  I promise you so, and I might send them away with a profilactic in their purse if they are not willing to listen to me, and most will not, for it is the way of things.

If God lets me live long enough to reach my 80s, then I am going to write a tell all book about what really happens, only I am going to get all dramatic and talk about a cloudburst

This, my friend is the latest chronicle in the diary of a self-publishing woman.  Jump on the high wire with me if you dare, but you better have a lot of stamina.  With your new understanding of pagination;  I trust you are all ready ahead of me!
Pinkhoneysuckle

I  remember the smell of the old church at Lexie, for when they were polished, the same polish was used as when the eldest members had been school children there, the scent of oil to protect wood from natures constant endeavor to eat away at the old frame church with the school bell heard somewhere in the hearts of those who had gone there before it became a Sunday place.  Preaching would become more regular through the years as one old farmer after the other believed they had gotten the call to preach and to teach the word of God. 

From cover to cover, these Bible Christians knew all things written in the word in whatever literary since of interpretation they had been taught unto them, and there were few that could hold a child’s attention more than ten minutes, but before the day was over;  We would have heard something that grabbed us by the necks and that turned us free fall into the fires of hell, because it appeared that The New Testament God always was leading us to the end pages of the Bible, those pages no one likes to talk about, to preach about, or to believe if one is terribly intellectual has even a fragment of truth to it, for this book of Revelations casts a most grim cloud over the dawn of what is said to be the days of anguish and of anticipation;  The day when God will come again in Glory separating the living and the dead, and it is written in this book believed to have been written by the prophet, John, that unlike in the time of Noah when the known earth was covered with water from the great flood that only Noah and his seed, and the animals on the ark was all that was saved from the greatest flood over brought about the earth;  And from there;  God cleansed away all that was evil, misused and broken within the beautiful garden called, “Earth,” which he had created.  That God was that powerful got the attention of all of us children and adults.

All other sermons may have gone unheard unless it was Easter or Christmas or a time when someone accepted baptism;  But;  “End Times;”  That spoke to us.  A flood we could conceive of but that the earth would be destroyed next by fire put fear in the hearts of children, and it woke up sleeping farmers from a week of tiling the soil, and we thought all churches taught these same stories of last days.  I can hear the voices rising–The end was upon us, and with every storm cloud, my poor mother that the event was about to begin, and we would begin to recall the sermons.

It is written that the dead in Christ shall rise first from their earthly graves and the living will follow, and we heard these words and did not understand why it should be so;  “Woe unto you with child at this time;” and we could not imagine how a caring Lord could possibly punish the mothers about to bear children.  Some of us would come to think that such warning was because on that day of judgment that perhaps children would be called from the womb were the mother unable to withstand the conflagration.  It was to  begin with the world at war, and if not at war to have rumors of war swirling around us.  There would be false prophets that would do all in the name of God and lead away those seeking the kingdom of God into the next damnation, the eternal fires of hell. 

I would feel so afraid sometimes when I saw great lightning, for I could imagine the Lord upon a cloud striking down all but the meek and the pure in spirit who were to inherit the kingdom of God, and I never felt that I was pure enough;  For I did not know about how this forgiveness issue works, and I knew that I disliked a lot of my relatives, because they had treated our family in such a neglectful way;  But as a child, the burden was mine, not theirs to make right and whole again.  “Oh Blessed Are The Pure In Spirit, For They Shall See God.”  I knew a lot of very bad people, and if I was going to die in a blaze I still wanted my Mama, my Daddy, and my brothers and sisters to go with me, because I was far to afraid to face such a decree on my own.

We were told to look for the signs and wonders which included nation rising up against nation along with the war part.  We were told that all that was moral would have been put aside, and that children would murder parents and parents might kill their own young, for these were acts that the, “Beast,” — The Devil or the Evil One would make us endure near the last days.  We were warned of becoming societies with no sexual laws but where no laws would stand in place of men and women and the constant need to satisfy the lustful heart at the expense of satisfying the needs of the physical over the spiritual will.  Brothers would lash out against brothers, and there would be famine over the land.

In the end days there would be increase in everything from earthquakes to floods, and the mightiest of men would fall but not until after they had taken all from the poor.  Plagues would come upon the lands again as they had in days of the early Bible, only from these;  Man would not prevail, and I use man very loosely here to mean all people of the earth.  “The Demons,” the clever demons among us would be luring us will all forms of evil to bargain for our souls, and the weak would follow, for demons are very powerful and they would dwell among us cleverly disguished.
 
Thirst that could not be quenched, eternal damnation to the netherworld;  It all held familiarity and similarity to all the prophets had foretold;  But this somehow did not factor in the Jesus story, though we were told that he would be sitting at the right hand of God.  I, as have most children who were brought up on the stories of the last days, have spent many hours on my knees begging for the forgiveness of my sins, and when my knees finally hurt too much, then I would stretch my arms out to God, hoping that this would be a sign of my abiding belief and search for perfection.  It is a good thing, this prayerful life, for it is a way of connecting with the divine, and we have know cell phones which allow us that privilege.

I would later be taught in Catholicism that much of Revelations was code which early Christians had to use to communicate with each other, and I wish my memory were better to explain how it all seemed so logical that early Christians could not come out of their hiding and confess that they had chosen to follow the teachings of the Christ that message had gone over the earth had been born, witnessed, seen, and heard, and around 57AD those who remembered would take great risks to write the story of this coming of a man like no one had seen before.  He could appear to the apostles after death;  He could transport them from this word to an amazing world where he would be clothed in white, and all around his light could temorarily blind them, and they would want to build tents for the prophets of old to match what they had witnessed, but in Jesus words;  It was not to be done.  In essence people were going to have to go on faith.  We have gone approximately 2011 years since that event, and we have had an earth in upheavel for several seasons now.

Storms come up on the land as have never been seen in our lifetime;  The storms known in the Middle East have twice this year covered Phoenix.  Hurricanes have come in at wind speeds generally not known in the history of mankind;  And some of us are not seeing it; But there is famine upon the land.  We have been told that we old foggies better get with the program and accept the new rules made by those who have money and power.  Let men lie with men, and women lie with women, and we can now even use the equivalent of a turkey baster to inseminate women in to pregnancy.  We can make life in a petrie dish;  And the two who may not have met each other can make a child.  In the 1940s we were finally given the fire power to destroy earth easily in a day as would be the wish of certain  heretics just like the mass suicides and murders in Jonestown which most children will not even know about, because there is a lot of history to remember;  And was Jim Jones one to make it into the books.  Their are religious cults, and make up your religion as you want it to be all around us; Because times have changed;  And people have now screamed the Bible in rock songs, folk lore, and this end times talk;  Is it just a part of that old time religion which is dying a natural death after 2000 years.

I love to go back to the old church in my memory and to hear Brother Jimmy speak at revival time, and I would comfort my mother more, because I have found myself asking myself some of the same questions which she could tremble in fear from.  Mother and Daddy died in hopes of the resurrection, their own, when they would be with old friends and loved ones, when they would get new bodies, and the pain of this life would be gone.  They, in their old age, welcomed a time they believed was coming, because the living Christ had promised it;  That those who lived in Christ would also die in him and live again.  In my lifetime I have been privileged to know angels, and I have seen people live lives where they gave up all to be counted among the select at the end days.

I am a college educated person who has every reason under the heavens to believe that man has gone beyond what our scriptures state that a God can do;  But something lingers deep within me that will not let me go of the spirituality, the scent of the oiled boards where many a soul walked up before their neighbors and said,  “Here I Am Lord.”  There are far too many events of the past 2011 years and of the Judaic journey before then that led to the Christian world which appear to be more than happenstance, and I have friends that take great pride in their Atheistic lives, and some of them are moral and sweet people who I am better for having known, even members of our family.  I have worked though in situations where within the last hours of a person’s life something in them began to stir, and it was the story, the old, old story that they knew they were being called by the need for a higher power.  I would receive calls sometimes after I had gone home from work at the Hospice, because some patient suddenly needed a priest, and I do not remember one occasion where I was not able to find them one.

If any of you know anything about how few priest there are to serve now, then you would know I had accomplished a major feat by finding anyone at the hours we are talking about;  But these people were needing that God they had denied for all of those years.  In Protestant families it was much the same, only it was easier to find a protestant pastor or lay person who could hear the words and share the prayers and let the person leave this life with the blessing of meeting up with God at the last hours of the last days.  My nursing history would have a quaint theme to it in the end;  Two things;  I was given the patients who were going to work me until I almost dropped and who often times required more patience than a person is born to deal with;  And in my later years, because I would go to the effort of finding priest;  I was given a lot of Catholics.  I was not deserving of such incredible grace as to be trusted with these people, and I mean that.

I had one patient one time who was so mean to everyone, even me that I honestly felt there was a certainty that her place after death was select, because God himself would have been tormented by her, and the devil would not even have taken her to hell, for she was among the nearest to evil women that I had ever met.  Her name is with me until death, but on my last hour of my last day;  If I see her, I am going to ask for an exorcist, for I will know that the demons are after me.

So, God,  You seem to be giving us signs that we might should be preparing for the unspeakable, and even I have experienced being rebuked by a child, and she denies your power and your way;  But I will keep looking , Lord — For the signs and wonders seem to be happening around us, and I do not believe that the early scripture writers were a bunch of kooks;  In fact when I learned what it took to make one sheet of papyrus, much less to make a whole Bible;  It just added fuel to the flame of belief.  With all of the hurt which I have know and that I have seen others bear;  I can still put it away and conclude that we are lesser than what is before us, and lately the hawks keep coming Lord, so I know there is a message to hear.  Just be with me and with those who cannot ask, for you said that all of this earth would pass away and that we would see a new heaven and a new earth, and man has worked so hard to make you out as a quirk of history to the point of making a life with a swab and proper nourishment until the ovum is ready again for the womb.  We are said to be made in your image, and so man has done a powerful thing to recreate that which appears like the God that came as man.

Last days?  I was brought up on those lessons of the wrath to come, but I also was told that, if we entrust our lives to the power, “Higher Than I;” Then there was nothing to fear.  I am writing all of this to remember why I said those words and still do; The magnificent, “I believe.”  So along with others, we watch and we wait, and we dare believe, though we struggle, that we will stand before you and in our imperfection that you, as you have so many souls before us–Open the door, and we will be your servants in a world which has no end.

In so far as the false prophets;  They are everywhere, so as in the Prayer of Jabez, please help us to know when to turn away.  Just know, Lord, that it isn’t easy to continue the wait, so as long as we must, then let us tend this beautiful garden called earth.  There are some really difficult things going on, so we need a lot of stength to continue our work, for you asked us to be ready, so we embrace the time to come when the miracle shall begin.

Barbara Everett Heintz = Pinkhoneysuckle

Pink Honeysuckle began long before my birth.  The hidden American.   Appalachian people would come from the highlands of Scotland where they would bring spirits of independence, self rule, and a society who first chose to stay apart even into the 20th century.  The old ways, maintained  a culture and identity not always welcomed by outsiders who wanted in.  Child abuse and the battering of women along with sexual molestation were justified using the Bible without the gift of love as part of the teaching.Codes of silence protected the perpetrators, since fear was a constant companion. The United States government would not acknowledge our suffering, and that  we were worked as adults had two centuries earlier was kept out of our history books.  Keeping the secrets of one’s world was the earliest messages the weaker among us learned.  Even babies would learn not to cry,  for one wished not to bring attention to the needs of so many.   We are the hillbillies, the crackers, the holy rollers, and the rednecks.  To leave such a world behind, the brutality, the shame, and the brokenness begins my story, and my life is simply a mirror of so many others.  Blessings to the angels who kept appearing when I would fall;  “”Oh Glory;”  when I would fall.  Barbara Everett Heintz

Hello ladies and gentleman, I am your sacrificial get out there and seek the truth of home publishing of books.  I am making it my policy to not tell you to whom I have turned to in this time of need when we have publishing houses and bookstores closing as if they just stopped making Ivory Soap under the Proctor and Gamble label.  That is a sin which just cannnot happen, my friends;  and pray for the home of the gentleman who chose the name Ivory, because his home is on the chopping block of historic buildings to be torn down, a sacrilege in so far as I am concerned.  They may as well tear down the place that made Cheerios a household name, a blasphemous deed beyond all telling.

I have given you lesson #1;   Watch out for criminal operations;  Look up the record of anyone you are working with, and whatever you do; Do not sign your life away for any period more than two years, for if you become a household word;  You might be losing all chances of breaking through, because you gave your life away.  I have warned you that they will come as lambs in dinosaur clothing, bad dinosaurs who eat you and spit out the bones, so beware of signing anything before you see a lawyer or at least the community Know it all. I do not volunteer myself for that role, because  I am still on that learning curve I was telling you about.  Right now;  You should be, “Feeling my pain,” a quote from a great and upstanding  American of sorts.

Now we are going on to lesson #2, and that is the;  “You probably need a lawyer to understand the fine print.”  When they talk about home publishing; it appears they mean;  “Home publishing,” for you may find yourself working your derrier off once you have written the book, and we must have what with a book to know how much our home published work is going to nail one  for;  A word count,, and my friends I have learned that if you use, “Word,” it will count the words for you, so you must ask yourself;  Do I have fifty pages worth running off at Kinkos as a brochure, or do I have 400 pages which all book clubs will hope is at least 50 to 100 more pages  less than they want to read in one month.  Remember we all have other things in life.  At age 62, one must learn to avoid a pained look on your face when someone suggests a book with pages of that reading length.  Remember we are in an important age where playing, “Angry Critters,” deletes one of the energy once used to accommodate such things as the written words of a boring old person.

So we know now two things;  one must write a book before you can self publish, and does it matter that book stores are closing; Obviously, but you may be saved by the St. Patriarch of E-books.  I do not think they have perished yet, but less get them cannonised ASAP, for in saints we may place our hope and our trust.  Next;  If someone sounds really nice on the phone;  It may be that they are a salesperson, and they will have zero to do with your books popularity;  Therefore, do you or do you not want to waste being nice to them.  Questions;  Life is full of them; Questions.

But this lesson two wants to make clear to you that what you think you are buying may not be what you are getting.  Does it matter?  You have lost sleep for years planning this book, fallen asleep and  trailed off into the nothingness of cyberspace, and then gone back and wonder what the heck you were  writing.  This happened to  me all the time, so a person you are going to need that can see all of your talents flowing through like honey is the editor.  Editor;  They correct you according to the style of writing literature they used, and it turns out they are very bright, know the ins and outs of punctuations, but if you think the editor is for editing your copy;  Then you may be misguided.  They can cheer you along, suggest things, and make happy remarks which make you cry;  But they are not there to delete  the work you wrote in while getting you Zs;  They do not delete your extra paragraphs and repeats.  They do not  make chapters of your ever changing subject matter, and those page stops;  “Well kiss my grits,” For you thought that would happen, so get the facts here in lesson two  that you are going to have to reread everything sent back to you;  Clean it up, fix it up, paint the fence, and talk river talk like Mark Twain, but you better know that the person who does the final and complete copy edit is you.  This is not humorous when, “Word,” in your vocabulary is what you are looking for half of the time, and now that I have shared this;  You do not have to be mad at a soul, because I have told you the idiocy of presuming to edit means that they are going to do it for them.  That money you have just payed out helps pay salaries, and your an American, so be tough, and edit;  Damn it; for no one else is going to do it for you, and do you want a book or do you want to play dumb. Let us compare this to a birthday cake, one homemade with spice and butter, cream and frosting licks;  That is home baked, so self-publishing means;  Self publishing even if you are dumb as a rock which is my computer estimate of my work from a son that I shall disinherit, but the one who finally writes the book:  PCs For Persons Dumber Than A Rock and with the computer IQ of a flea is apt to immediately become a nation wide best seller.   It must be like the London Underground map where no one can get lost unless they do not know their colors and shapes, and I would gladly stand in as adviser to see if it truly serves the needs of the dumb or

Another suggestion may be that you dress yourself in very strange attire, go to one of the companies which still does books the old fashioned way, lie down on their steps, and cry, for we need media attention for all of the great talent which will be lost, because you and I did not choose such a scene in front of Random House so as to show them  accepting your  manuscript, patting you on the back, and saying, “Congratulations.”  This only comes, of course, after you have staged a hunger strike, left your footprint in cement on their stairway up to the building, and when you have created a Flash Mob to look as if you have supporters.  These are all things which I should have done before I went the, “Home Publishing,” direction.  Here I wax poetic and steal mercilessly from the grand poet of nature by using these symbolic words:  “Better take a better look, For words were made to act as hooks, But only Gods can publish books!  Shameless, and here I thought my talent was being used for naught. I have learned to take chances, and from me will flow the wisdom that the publishers have known all along;  That books should be worth more than a dime a dozen!

At home means that you were a gluten for punishment anyway, and you have no skill in drawing attention to yourself.  “Me,” “Me,”"Me;” Is this a voice lesson or is this your product you want to get out there.  So lesson 3 calls you to the fate that the in-house structure might mean doing all the work yourself or hiring it out to someone more competent in computer arts, and you know you wanted to spend more money;  Now did you not?  And if you do not have a daughter-in-law by the name of Rebekah;  You are in sad territory, because she will only take what in insist that she have, and the rest of you who want to publish at home;  You need to start mapping out a plan to come along with me, the pioneers of publishing your own work and praying that in the end you are not going to want to carry the contents of a horse barn to whomever you have signed on with.

Other lessons will continue to be free of charge from my experience, and by the time I am done, I may be committed to the hidden chamber of Alcatraz which is not shown on the tour, the cell saved for those of the 21st century who decided they could write a book and see it shine like a diamond on the New York Times best seller list for weeks, the big break you’ve waited for all of your life, the worlds you wanted to change all in upheavel as they carry you off to the bin of, “Would Be Writing Stars.”  Worry not though;  for we are apt to be found and discovered as the next best reality show as compared to, “Corn Shucking in Iowa,”  Or the next book I shall compose, “Seven Ways To Cook Dried Beans On A Budget.”

I hope that you got the most from lessons 1, 2, and 3; because lesson 4 may be equally as austentacious left in the hands of this woman whose copy edit has turned into a jello mold.

“Pinkhoneysuckle,” Blog and Book Authoress

More Later,
Pinkhoneysuckle

We are taught from birth that such things come in threes;  Even the Triad–Birth, Death, and Resurrection. We wait, and we watch, our sweet Father Robisch used to say in times before the Lenten or the Christmas seasons, and we long for the special moments when one day provides all that we need and that we have hoped for, and then we meet something which causes us to gasp one evening or one morning when a face appears to us, and we hardly recognize it as our own, for gone are a few things which we felt would never end.  We always believed there was a way to prolong youth, beauty, and second chances to mend that which we failed, and sometimes we might get a little of each somehow and someway; let us grab a box of color quickly and change our hair color to something which resembled yesterday, and those dark circles under the eyes disappear like magic with a cover up stick, help the body to stay strong with good food, vitamins, minerals and exercises, and for a time people are saying such things as;  “I cannot believe that you are the age you say you are, because you look ten years younger, and we gloat, walk on air, and our day has one piece of wonderful in it already.  Later on the furrows become so great that if we wore enough makeup to cover them up then those up close to us would only see a mask with an older neck below it, because the best plastic surgeons do not seem to have this neck thing resolved yet, so then we start talking about inner beauty, and that is what matters.  Again we feel better.

In my world of long ago and still among the people of my heritage now, one bends over the beautifully made coffin at a dead body and says that they just look so natural, and somehow that cheers the family up, as if to say that something really good must have happened to them to make them take on a token of youth as they lie sleeping the sleep of the dead, the one from which one cannot return unless God Is, Redemption is our destiny, and whatever is Heaven is revealed, so it is good to remember them as if they left on a sweet journey, and we hope and pray that the miracle of everlasting life is a profound truth.  I have been brought up in church, lived most of my life as a Christian, and still with the knowledge that the Word was made Flesch, and the Flesch was God among us for a little while is something I struggle with, but I shall believe it,  because I no all of the episodes of my life which were more than coincidental.  There does seem to be evidence of a life to come, for we are prepared for it here by the miracles which the astute will recognize when they are touched by one.  How many times have you or I said to ourselves;  “I cannot believe that just happened,” or we look back and see the dancing on the edge and realize that something greater than us somehow got us through it.  Something kept pushing so hard that even in your doubts you knew not to let go or you knew to hang on, because there was an unimaginable force moving you as if your life depended on the motion;  “Go on;  Go on,” or “Swerve left, and you see the vehicle ready to collide, and the guide books on the road often tell you;  “Swerve right,” but, “It was not your time,” some say and there is a clue that something bigger was behind the last decision which you made that spared you and others that were loved by someone if not your own.

The skeptics say it is all about intuition, and human instinct is a powerful thing but evolution took a lot of time even for The Great Creation which summarizes a story of long ago and far away when we began to have generations and people counted.  I do not even know why I wanted to write about three things today, for I am impatient and anxious to get along with work which I desparately  need to have done and that I ought to do, but I am caught in an in-between where I am waiting, waiting for the help that I need, waiting for my manuscript to come back to my hands, that irritating need of feeling that I must have control over this day and of this hour, for I was brought up to work almost constantly and to be still is very hard for me.

Some people give their children names like, “Chance,” and, “Victoria,” from hopes and fealings for both, and we do that we human beings take changes and count on victory that we will not be changed _somehow,, that we have found it all somehow, and tomorrow is ours just like this day _somehow and we live with such optimism, and hope if we can that tomorrow seems irrelevant.  Then one day, parched from the thirst of all that we have lost, we ask why our luck has run out and why are there no more chances.

We are intoxicated by the idea that we are in control over all of the events and the people around us, especially when we are younger, so we drink one more drought of whatever keeps  our spirits up, or we count on the next paycheck to be that dollar amount that will put us beyond worry, and aging;  Get real!  I was once young and many of you are young and much of your life will be spent knowing that a lot was wasted on that period of time, because when we have it we are live cannons, and we can win any war, accomplish any task, and so it seems;  to even lay our burdens down.  Youth, the eliixor;  Have a drought;  pass it down, and let’s all have just one more, because nothing feels better, looks better, or has more opportunity than the young soul drunk on it’s own ability to marginalize the importance of a day, for there will always be one more.  One more, “Ms. Bartender,” and chug it down my friends, then two, and then three,  and we are all feeling very good right now, and we are not those old people slapping on the BenGay or washing our feet in Epsom Salts;  we are just sprouts, and a new world will come from our being.

To conceptualize hell all we need do is to turn on the eveing news, for a baby is thrown down a flight of stairs;  A good man, a man of God chopped up a little boy, and a teenage hammered his mother and father to death and then threw a party.  I think it was this eveing news that got me thinking about threes, so here comes Hell.  I wondered how one could burn and beg for eternity, for if one burns, then does one not disappear?  I asked a lot of things to myself when I was a child, because most upstanding adults would have smacked my face and said that as long as I believe in the Gospels, then I should not be wasting working time on something so trivial as Hell.  Was Hiroshima and Nagasaki a mini hell, the Holocaust, and children running with fire down their backs from Napalm bodies enough evidence that Hell exists, and some of them lived through it enough to leave us with some idea of what it might be like to experience Hell on earth.  Man’s created Hell may be the Hell warned of in the scriptures;  I do not know, for I find a lot of uncertainty about many matters, but I have this feeling that it is fairly close to reality.

I did not know until about five years back that the most difficult events of my life would come at late middle age when I had to say goodbye to my parents, for I did not get a lot of time with the people they became.  My parents had befriended whole communities of people, because they became so incredibly giving, and I came to a point where I longed to go home, for I would write down whatever of their youth and the way they were, and who they were that I possibly could.  I have scraps of paper, for I knew that I was already forgetting words sometimes, and what they had to tell me; few others could ever recall.  My siister said at the funeral home when Daddy died that another family had come in to a different service, and theywere remarking that someone really important must have died, because the funeral home was overflowing, and the line of traffic stretched almost all the way from the funeral home to the place where daddy, then mama would go to rest in a country cemetary that I would rarely get to see again, because going home was no more;  But sister, getting her breath told them;  It was someone very important;  It was my father.”  It has been a long time ago now, and the babies then are school kids now trying out their first obstinence toward parents to see what they can get away with.

I needed my mother and father this past year or two, for sadness has come in to this life, and I know as with all things it had a starting point, and their will be a finish line.  I do not know the end of the story, and I may never but I try to find three things to tell my mother and father if they come to me in my sleep.  Alwaays, I want them back, and I will settle for yesterday even when my mama was sometimes mentally challenged, and daddy still had some left over mean spirit that would creep in from a younger age, but all of the grandchildren who knew them loved them, so I would want to have them back just to look around a while.  I want them to console us, for it has been a difficult ten and now twelve years, and late middle age left in time for us to be classed as senior citizens, so I would ask for just that time, ten short years;  Oh my Lord; Can you spare them somehow.  I would walk among all of fathers trees and motheers blueberries while we visited home, and I would cook for them like I always did.

We would have a great big family reunion, only we would have to find someone to bake the cakes other than the Mennonite families who had such a nice bakery, and I would spend dusk to dawn going around to the houses of old friends and loves ones, for they are mostly gone now as well.  I feel intoxication just thinking about how much fun that would be, and as the day draws near its end, then I put my wishes away, because reality is stark;  It is the here and now.  I have things to do before the night falls, and thirdly  I must get something done, for it appears that a storm might be brewing in the Southeast, so I can welcome dawn and the new day with much of my work done and before the heat rises again about evening time when storms sometimes wash away the remnants of the day.

Barbara Everett Heintz

Last night I went through and did more erasing of “Pinkhoneysuckle,” and I feel like a dog, because people are still coming and endeavoring to make sense of what is left, and I feel really bad to take it away from those who want to read, but I kept saying along the way that it had to happen.  I am also committed to the idea that I will not reveal my publisher until I see the first book in my hand, for I will only recommend to others that which has worked for me.  Why ever would I want to wish on my worst enemy some of the hardest work which I have ever done, so it is a stand-off here.  If the publisher wants my recommendation for future authors, then they will be ready to explain to me why I am doing the work which I had hoped to entrust to them, and I am going to say that thus far from all that I have to know about publishing which is a kernel of, “Nothing,” then dream of writing a book, but when you do to have a marketable product;  Then be prepared to eat, drink, and think the entire project through for the three or more years which it is going to take you to see it published well.  There are so many talented writers out there, but in truth;  How many of you are willing to give that kind of time to something?

The term; “Learning Curve,” suddenly has new meaning, and I have been through just that, maybe the worst of it;  this curve where one starts out as naieve as the flesh of a dried prune, and the very first lesson was to watch the internet for disreputable people, and if you do not think that you can be taken in;  You are very mistaken, for they all want you and your dollars;  That is called business in some cases and cons in the worst situations;  So I have first avoided signing my life away. 

My family kept buying my books on, “How to write a book,” so boring and changing with each new day of the imagination and the will of new products which have supposed to make our lives better from writing to printing on to publication, but everyone knows a day is coming when in your own home you are going to have a writer’s room if you wish, and after you and your computer guy get it together;  You can have a book on the market.  “Oh by the way Mr. Home Builder, we opted to have the Writer’s room instead of the bonus room over the garage, so naturally you will want to hide the cords, and I sort of like the idea of placing them all in a window seat, so I can sit with my morning coffee and fill the inspiration just welling up within my loins and somehow making it to my brain.  That along with a craft room, and all of the junk which I will make which will benefit no one, since I was not taught to embroidery or crochet as the grandmothers of 1880 and before learned will hold two mega trash bins of useless crap which I shall take to the Christmas boutique, for I just know that people want the kleenex box sampler cover for all seasons, and husbands love frilly toilet seat covers especially when they get a little older, and there is a tendency for the last drips of urine to linger on the side of the toilet depending on whether their mothers taught them to wipe or to shake their male organ off.  But the, “Writer’s Room,” an author such as I have appointed myself to be must have one.  Sound proof it of course, and a built in bar for drinks and coffee will be very handy when I decide to show, “My Writer’s Room,” to the uninitiated.  Just keep repeating the words writer and author until everything else you were in life has become second nature to your new identity.

Now you are getting the picture;  Being a writer requires discipline beyond most people’s comprehension, because most of us had really rather have someone giving us a massage at the local spa as I sit here wondering if tomorrow will be a day that I take off to shower, brush my teeth until they sparkle, and clip everything clipable for that natural look so desparately longed for about every fifty years or so now before people get the message that when we get old;  We are apt to look old, but a little makeup, a little care to the hair, and not wearing Granny’s  housecoat unless Granny was a hooker can actually give you a little lift, and somone might come in and remark;  You look so much better today as you suavely lean against the wall and with an almost whisper respond,  “Well I snipped a few things today and slithered on a bit of color.  Again, I have learned that if one holes themselves up long enough behind the walls of wherever they are, that object which smells could be the outter self, so take time from going over copy to bathe.  After all, what if you became an overnight success?

Food becomes a four letter word, because you are sitting, and everything which is not pickled in your brain does go to your hips.  Here you are supposed to be out walking to regain your girlish figure, but you are locked inside doing what you thought an editor and a publisher were going to take care of for you.  “You repeat yourself,” has been said sweetly to help you on this task of finishing copy, and you grit your teeth and growl under your breath to keep from chomping the paper which caries such a note.  “Of course I repeat myself, but I thought you were going to fix it — Grr!  You repeat yourself, because you are not certain which form you like better, so now you know every one truely thinks you are one dumb ass, because you have repeated yourself, and now; Surprise;  It is your job to fix it.

Now we are somewhere in the middle of my learning curve;  But I need to get back to designing the, “Writer’s room of the new mansion, so I know that you will understand that I cannot get it done until I finish reading everything which I wrote again.  And you want to write a book;  Go for it sweet baby in the new world of high tech, and it is going to be a cinch;  And I am a red tailed lizard in a prayer bonnet hiding myself in the afternoon!

Cheers, Pinkhoneysuckle