7. September 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

 Hello everyone. I trust your summer has been pleasant; that you’ve participated in the making of new memories and found new places to explore. On the other hand, if spending a quiet summer at home, tending the garden, neighborhood barbecues, etc. are your cup of tea I hope you are restored physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I’ve spent my summer months (it’s always summer-like in southeastern Florida) catching up on home improvements, enjoying the companionship of good friends, and trying to avoid the temptation to publish a memoir of my life with a very special man. The weather has been cooler here than up north, but I may be seduced to make a road trip to Ohio in October to visit relatives while drinking in the colorful autumn foliage. I only hope a threatening hurricane will not dictate the time of my departure.

I’ve completed a three-quarter oil portrait commission this summer and also written the first chapter of a new novel - a totally different type of story from my other three novels. This one will require considerable research and, frankly, I’m not sure I can muster up the audacity to attempt the project. However, I’ve learned that when the time is right, I’ll sit down and put fingers to the keyboard with serious intent. The publishing industry is not particularly encouraging to writers in spite of astounding new technology for dispersal of the written word. Can you imagine a world with traditional books?

Soon, my snowbird neighbors will be returning to their winter homes. They will arrive one by one or ten by ten, hurricane shutters will open to mild tropical breezes and patio doors will swing wide. Sweaters and long pants will be exchanged for golf and tennis shorts and sun screen will disappear from drug store shelves. Traffic will increase and lines will be longer at restaurants and grocery checkout counters. Unlike many natives, I look forward to their return as some have become close friends. The neighborhood has been a bit too lonely without them.

I pray the world situation will improve, more of our men and women will return from foreign battlefields, and all hearts filled with worry and uncertainty will find an end to their struggles. My wish is that all of you will experience a sense of thanksgiving for every blessings in a world of unrest.

I would love to hear of any special experiences you’ve had this summer.

Until next time, Marie

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8. June 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

Some of life’s most troublesome happenings are chalked up to fate, serendipity, paying the piper, God’s punishment, or if you’re of a more complacent nature - just the law of averages. I’m thinking at the moment of the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, and the number of humans and wild life it has and will continue to devastate.

 New Orleans and environs have had their share of tragedy. I lived there for eleven years and had good friends in the Galliano and Grand Isle area. My husband, on occasion, escaped his medical responsibilities in New Orleans by spending a day on a shrimp boat with a Cajun patient, arriving home with an ice chest of fresh shrimp and blue crabs straight from the waters of the Gulf - fruits of the sea unsurpassed in taste and freshness. I now wonder how the warm and friendly residents of that area, as well as those in other Gulf towns depending on the marvelous waters for their livlihood, will cope during this lingering crisis.

The extent of this tragedy can only be fully realized by observing the miles and miles of colorful net-draped shrimp boats lined up along the banks of bayous; vessels of every size, color and monetary value. At daybreak, families of pelicans languidly perch on pilings like finials to wish a bon voyage to the skippers, and at end of day enthusiastically welcome them home knowing that treats of fish will be thrown to them like Mardi Gras beads from a carnival float. Their satiated bodies will then succumb to the night as another gorgeous sunset tints the flat, marshy land with warmth. Along with seagulls, ibis and herons they put their faith in the promise of another sunrise and continued nourishment from the lands and waterways that make up their habitat. Is even their faith now at stake?

This is not just another news story any more than the tragedy of Katrina, and this brings me to my subject of ironies. The morning the levees broke in New Orleans, I had just finished writing a novel, Man on the Balcony, with much of the setting in The Crescent City. I remember thinking how quickly that event dated my story, since New Orleans would never be the same. My third novel, Spanish Moss, released in September, takes place in The Garden District and the story line contains considerable prose about the Bayou Country and its Cajun inhabitants; the beauty and uniqueness seen through the eyes of an artist. Ironic timing; probably - yet insignificant compared to the irony of a second tragedy to the coast line of Louisiana and now threatening, as well, the entire framework of the Gulf of Mexico, including our Florida beaches. The possibility that the destructive tentacles of this man-made monster could also threaten the Eastern shores boggles the imagination - and who can guess the fallout from another active hurricane season?

It seems to me we should be better prepared for the “what ifs” of life. A surgeon goes into the operating room prepared with knowledge of a second course of action should a procedure go wrong or he’s confronted with the unexpected. Shouldn’t our governments and industry be better prepared for ironic or unexpected possibilities when the stakes are so high for so many? Should those in charge be allowed to sink their heads in the sands of complacency, in a state of denial, or asleep at the wheel? Is this America, or a third world country that has to depend on outside resources for salvation? Granted, the oil spill was a rare occurrence, but it’s the rare occurences that shock us with their devastating sequelae.

Perhaps it’s time to return to the tried and true motto of the Boy Scouts of America: BE PREPARED.          ********

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27. March 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

In an era of political and social unrest, breakdown of morals and increased crime, it’s easy to lose our JOY. Lately I have noticed a shortage of individuals who appear to be enjoying themselves. We tend to concentrate on things that are wrong in our personal lives as well as the outside world. We seem to have lost touch with ourselves and most of the things that bring happiness are overshadowed by worry and unrest. I’m not saying the things robbing us of our JOY are unimportant or don’t need to be addressed and dealt with in an effective manner; but in order to preserve our mental and physical health, perhaps we need to reassess our attitude as well as how we spend our time.

How many of you live or have lived on a farm? How many write, paint, dance, decorate, or engage in sports? How many wish you had time for more creative activities ? How many have a great idea for a book. When I talk to a group it is amazing how many hands go up in response to that question.  Do you want to be a writer, or do you want to have been a writer. Most of us fail to do the required work so only dream of the latter.

Perhaps we should approach life like a railroad crossing and stop, look, and listen. How often do you look at the sky and study the constantly changing clouds? Do you ever yearn to be removed from human language, the constant interference by all our modern technological tools?

Like writers and painters, we must soak in or absorb scent, sight, sounds and textures. Get in closer contact with self. How does your skin respond to temperature change, or the brush of a leaf against your forehead? Is it possible to reawaken our nerve endings to the sensations we experienced in childhood?

We humans are the only animals on earth unhappy with ourselves. Does a white-tailed deer want to look like a hippo, or a porcupine like a gazelle? There is too much emphasis on beauty - fitting the mold of acceptability. What if all wild animals looked alike? Can you imagine how boring nature would be if there were only one species of trees or flowers? Can’t we celebrate our uniqueness; open our hearts wide to other possibilities? Even hurting means we’re alive.

We fret about physical attributes. Who decides what is physically acceptable and what isn’t? They should be voted out of office. Why do we allow the opinions of others to rob us of our JOY? We’re too short, too bald, too childish, a stuffed-shirt, a slob, and the most troubling one - too fat. Consider a WATERMELON. It doesn’t mind being fat - we choose the fattest one at the market. A watermelon is GENEROUS - it begs you to eat it! A PEACH is also generous, juicy; its nectar fills you with JOY. Lets show the world we’re a PEACH not a PARSNIP!

DISCOUNT THINGS THAT TAKE TOO MUCH TIME! What if we had to peel grapes? I don’t even buy ones with seeds!

REINVENT YOUR CHILDHOOD: I’ve found JOY in a field of cosmos, or as a child, walking in the woods and finding may-apples hiding beneath umbrella-like leaves,  or picking blackberries. Eating my mother’s fresh blackberry cobblers brought a special JOY. Watching fog lift to reveal a field of Queen Ann’s lace, or fog wrapping itself around a lamp post on an empty city street can bring JOY. Think of a bus driver - a lonely job before the city awakens. I’ll bet he finds JOY in the solitude, the stillness before the traffic and blasting horns invade his day. What is more JOYFUL than seeing, feeling, or smelling the blossoms of orange or other fruit trees? How often do you go the beach and drink in a sunrise or sunset - all by yourself?

Creative action of any kind can bring JOY not only for ourselves but to the observers as well.  In a topsy-turvy world and uncertain future, I challenge you to briefly revisit and reclaim the things in your past that brought you JOY. Only if we open our eyes to the beauty of the world, and embrace nature and all living things, can we expect to maintain a JOYFUL future.

Would you take a moment and share with me how you maintain JOY in your life, and indicate whether I can share your response with others?

Thank you, and may SPRING bring you a special JOY.    ““““` 

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5. February 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

Stephen King, prior to becoming famous for his writing, worked at a gas station, and in a laundramat. His wife worked at Dunkin’ Donuts. His writing office was the furnace room of his trailer home. “CARRIE” was published in 1973, “THE SHINING” in 1977.  Paperback rights for CARRIE sold for $400,000 and the only thing he could think of to buy was a hair dryer for his wife!

THREE KEYS TO SUCCESS, according to U. S. International University Prof. Robert Epstein, are:

1. MODIFY YOUR  ENVIRONMENT. 2. MONITOR YOUR BEHAVIOR, 3. MAKE COMMITMENTS.

Today, choose one thing you’d like to change about yourself,  choose which one of the above would most help you make the change, and then use it.

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5. February 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

Since my books are about LOVE, for Valentine’s Day I’m sharing a scene from my latest book. I admit I’m a hopeless romantic and offer no apology.

Maggie is being given a tour of Jack’s home:

Page 174: Jack was pleased at how she moved about his things, studying the house with genuine interest. His gaze followed her from room to room; his imaginization seeing her waiting when he came home at night. Steady, Jack, don’t get carried away.

At the back of the house, a rectangular-shaped window-filled room overlooked a large secluded garden. Two towering magnolia trees stood like sentinels at each back corner of the yard. Pink and white oleanders softened an enclosing brick fence. A seemingly abandoned guest cottage with a front porch sat intimately between the magnolias.

      “I think your house has great possibilities, Jack. It has charm and more than adequate space to work with. What more could you want?”

     They walked out onto a covered porch. Jack watched as Megan wandered into the yrd alone, observing the various azalea bushes, gardenias, and a bed of neglected amaryllis.

     She continued around to the side of the charming cottage, wondering what stories it held within its walls. Against the brick fence an overgrown passion vine crept up the wall and attached itself to the back of the cottage. She picked one of the colorful blossoms, remembering they lasted only three days, representing the three years of Christ’s ministry on earth.

     She looked back toward the porch and stopped dead in her tracks. Jack leaned against a column, his legs crossed at the ankles like he’s just stepped out of a romance novel. Black jeans and black polo shirt did nothing to conceal his marvelous physique. The only thing missing was a long, cool, mint julep in his hand.

     This near perfect man, a vision of contentment and masculinity removed what appeared to be a white meerschaum pipe from his pocket and placed it between his lips. Megan watched as he filled it with tobacco, tapped it down with his forefinger, brought forth a lighter and held it over the bowl while he took deep puffs until it was satisfactorily lit.

     “Jack, what are you doing?” A heart doctor smoking? So, he wasn’t perfect after all.

     “What do you mean? I’m standing here watching a very fetching wood nymph explore my garden.”

     “That pipe.”

     Jack laughed. “Do you mind? It’s my one vice. You women console yourselves with chocolates; I occasionally relax with my pipe.”

     Megan smelled the familiar sweet aroma as she drew closer. Grandfather smoked a pipe and he lived to be ninety-three.

     “Does it offend you?”

     “Not at all; I like it, in fact.” What was not to like.

     She joined him on the porch, breathed deeply of the fragrance, and told him about her grandfather. “I’m just surprised that you would smoke.”

     “Only occasionally.” He held the bowl in his nicely sculptured hand and studied it like an old friend. “I follow the same advice I give my patients - don’t smoke cigarettes.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “And I don’t inhale.”

     If smoking a pipe was his only vice, how could she object? Besides, it added one more aspect to his masculinity profile. Also, a pipe was a perfect prop for a writer. Good Lord - a physician, a pianist, a singer, unparalleled charm, as well as a would-be writer. Her heart didn’t stand a chance.

     “What have we here?” he asked as he took the red flower and placed it above her ear.

     “It’s called a passionflower,” she told him, with emphasis on passion. She knew she was flirting but couldn’t have cared less.

     “Really; and why is that?”

     She ignored his teasing, removed the flower from her hair and held it up to show why the flower was so named. “Seriously, the red symbolizes the blood of Christ shed on the cross. See, it has ten petals and sepals that represent the ten apostles present at the crucifixion; the five stamens represent the five wounds, and three styles represent the three nails. These tendrils represent the ropes and scourges; and three secondary leaf bracts - the holy trinity.”

     “That’s amazing. So you’re not only an artist, you’re also an horticulturist and a student of divinity?”

     Megan turned and looked out over the yard. “No, not really, but I do enjoy gardening and the study of flora and fauna. With a little attention, this yard could be lovely.”

     “You can dig in my garden anytime you wish.” He took the flower and gently placed it back in her hair.   Etc.

 Please leave a comment, ask a question, or otherwise inquire about my painting and writing. And, may love be good to you.

Marie

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5. February 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

Remember when you were a kid and spent hours making valentine cards, and how excited you were to receive the red heart with a cupid’s arrow from the cutest boy or girl in class, and the giggles and teasing that went along with it? Then, so quickly, we were grown up and the emphasis was on the red cellophane-covered box of chocolates, or a bouquet of red roses if we were abundantly cherished.

Regardless of age, we recall things as they used to be, the endless possibilities for a life filled with love - that one perfect love. In my youth, I don’t recall there was much ado about the fact that it all began with a Saint? Even today, we seldom hear the word associated with Valentine’s Day. Allow me to remind you of the origin of this special love-filled day of celebration. 

And so the legend goes: Long ago, a man named Saint Valentine died for his beliefs. He was a prisoner of an evil king because of his belief in God. He refused to deny it; but then God sent a miracle.

Saint Valentine had a great love for his wife and wanted her to know of his love one last time before his execution. One day a pigeon appeared at the prison window - a pigeon he recognized as one from his home. Before his imprisonment, he and his children loved to feed the birds and this special one would eat right out of their hand. The appearance of his little friend brought him much comfort. He shared bits of food with the spotted creature and wondered about his problem - how he could prove his love.

A rosebush also grew near the prison window and on it bloomed one beautiful red rose. It was so close he could touch it and smell its fragrance. It reminded him of the love he felt for his wife. Since he had neither paper or pen, he wondered how he might get a message to her. Then an idea came to him; he could share the rose with his wife. He reached through the bars and carefully plucked the rose from the stem. Thorns pricked his fingers until they bled, but he didn’t feel the pain.

He decided to write words of love on the rose petals and give them to the pigeon, and hoped the bird would take the petals and fly away to his house. He held onto the hope that his wife would find them and know that he still loved her.

His prison bed was a lowly pile of straw. He plucked a piece of straw and used the sharp end to press the words, “I love you” on the petals of the rose. The bird would take the petals from his hand and quickly fly away. He continued this every day until all the petals were gone. 

On the appointed day for his execution, emissaries of the king asked him again if he would renounce his belief in God. He refused to do so. Guards removed Saint Valentine from his cell and cut off his head. He had been true and faithful, true to his love for his wife, true to his love for his God. True love demanded a price and he paid it.

Great iron bars at the window kept the prisoner in, but the bars did not keep Saint Valentine from sending out his love. Saint Valentine was free.

 You might ask, “If he were in prison with bars at the window, how could he be free?”

The ansswer is: When you love, and when you believe in something as strongly as did Saint Valentine, no one can lock away your love. A jailor can imprison you, but not your feelings; they remain safe in your heart.

When bad things happen, if a person feels love for someone and believes in something, his belief sets him free. The Valentine card is a symbol of love for others and the rose is a symbol of hope and the sharing of that love.

When you see a rose, think of how Saint Valentine loved his wife and family, then look for someone you can love in the same way. Every rose will then have a special meaning. Bleeding from thorns shouldn’t hurt; they are an important part of life. Love is more meaningful and grows stronger if one can overcome the thorns.

To quote James Michael Pratt, the author of  THE LAST VALENTINE, “As long as love is alive, the dead never die. It’s not in the end alone that we love, but along the way. A love that endures the thorns of life calls out to us. When we listen, it lights the ground on which we walk and we know that we’re not alone. When the flame of life flickers out and is no more, the love you showed to others will light the ground for them to walk upon.” 

I wish all of you a love-filled Valentine’s Day. Since I write books about love, this particular celebratory day is special to me.  Cherish that special love if you have it, and don’t give up hope if you have yet to experience it. And remember, if there are no pigeons nearby, there are numerous ways you can send out the message of love to those around you.

Until next time - Marie

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28. January 2010 by Marie Pinschmidt.

I’ve stopped making them. There are too many unexpected surprises in life that can and often do change our hoped-for or planned-for destination. Instead, I take the easy way out; I resolve to daily do the best I can, be open to opportunities that fall in my path, do my bit to help others and leave the future to the universe. This works for me. Like not buying green bananas, I prefer to make bite-size decisions. I can’t recall one single outstanding New Years Eve. Why is that? Not one memorable thing. No life-changing resolutions; and no traumatic results from broken resolutions. No earth-shattering romantic encounters. If there were broken hearts, they were later mended. This makes me reassess the importance of one night out of 365.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t look backward to the accomplishments of the past year, or forward with anticipation to a more peaceful existence for the entire world. Every year holds disappointments as well as periods of encouragement and accomplishment. Thus is life. Resolutions for change often prove impossible to keep; events show up and with one sharp blow knock us to the mat. People die and new life is born. Jobs are lost and jobs are found. Friendships last and others take a different path. Lovers break their vows and others keep them. A lot of stuff can happen in a year. In youth the years drag by too slowly; in adulthood, they fly by too quickly. In old age, a year can seem like a month or even a week.  

Natural disasters interrupt our flow. How many thousands of people have had their plans altered in this, the first month of a new year? How many resolutions were forgotten in the light of reality? Our futures are perhaps more uncertain than any time in the past. It makes sense to be more cautious, more alert to negative possibilities, but at the same time we can live a rewarding life by concentrating on the “now”. The present is the only thing we can control to any degree. We all know this, yet we worry and challenge the universe by promising to do better.

Do resolutions work for you? Or do you end yet another year with regret that things haven’t gone exactly as you resolved? If the old traditions aren’t bringing the desired results, perhaps a change of technique is needed. What if you concentrated on one day at a time? One day of success encourages another, and another, and pretty soon frowns of discouragement are replaced by smiles. Whether your dream is to begin or finish a novel, lose those pounds, or beat an addiction, I wish for you a lifetime of smiles and a heart filled with love.

Let me know how you handle this topic.

“““““““

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19. December 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

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19. December 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

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19. December 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

I’m sharing a photograph of my first “Afternoon Tea and Book Signing” in Juno Beach. I’m the gray haired lady in plaid! Others are representatives of Merrill Lynch. Two “Teas” were held in December and another two are planned for January. The owners of the restaurant, Bentley’s, are former Londoners and know their tea. Everyone is served delicious food, I give a talk about painting (the wall behind us shows a number of my paintings) and writing. We have a Q & A, a book signing, and new friendships are made. This is a different venue for promotion, but so far is quite effective. Public speaking is not my favorite thing to do, but when you have an audience interested in learning more about what you do, the dreaded task becomes one of pleasure.

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