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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12. December 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

Happy Holiday Season to everyone. I hope you’ve had a moment to review the release of my last novel, “Spanish Moss”. Details under “Books”.

An autographed copy of the book is a nice gift to give to your friends and relatives who love to read. There is still time if you e-mail me at MariePin001@comcast.net, or it can be ordered through this website. As you know, my books are suitable for all audiences.

 Thank you for visiting my site. 

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28. November 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving. In spite of all the world unrest, we need to be thankful for life and all of the blessings bestowed on us every day. So, best wishes to everyone during the upcoming Holiday Season, whatever your belief or leanings. Stay safe, stay healthy, and do your best to stay happy!

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7. November 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

 DEALING WITH FEAR  Today, as I watched the news of the horrific murderous attack at Fort Hood, Texas, I thought of the many fears we face in our everyday lives. I exchange e-mails with another writer in Iraq and she talks of her constant fear for the life of her children. Car bombings in the streets and market places are an ongoing concern. Schools are unsafe and teachers are tortured in front of the students. After the news today, I can better relate to her way of life, and the lives of others in third-world countries. Horrible things happen in our country as well, but usually, and thankfully, our fears are not of such magnitude.     

 Poet, philosopher and artist, Kalil Gibran was asked the question, “For what is it to die?” His response was, “It is life in quest of life in bodies that fear the grave. There are no graves here. These mountains and plains are a cradle and a stepping stone.” Our lives are filled with fear of varying degrees, and we seldom recognize it as a cause for our mental and physical discontent. Other than fear of death, there are other fears that often paralyze us. Below are a list, Gibran’s comments, plus my own probable responses:    

  FEAR OF PAIN AND ILLNESS: “Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore, trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility.”  My fear is almost always worse than the illness or pain sent my way.      FEAR OF LOSING POSSESSIONS: We guard possessions for fear we may need them later, much like an overly prudent dog burying bones in trackless sand. Gibran says, “Give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors.” I hang onto things for sentimental reasons, or possibly as proof that I was an active participant in some way.     

 FEAR OF “PROPER” DEMEANOR AND APPEARANCE: From THE PROFIT, by Gibran: “The earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.”   Again from THE PROFIT: “Alone and without his nest shall an eagle fly across the sun. Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind.”  It sounds delightful but, alas, I fear I’ll never be eager to leave my nest and, unlike the eagle, fear of height would never allow me to soar in any literal sense.     

 A psychologist might tell us to imagine putting our fears in a container and set them assail on the ocean surf, or turn our fears over to the universe. Then, we could walk the sandy shore while fresh ocean breezes blow out to sea any remnant of self-doubt or insecurity. We could feel free to marvel at the call of the seagull or the busy sandpiper at our feet. However, if I followed that suggestion, I’m afraid my fear would wash back on the shore like a dead body, or some ghost from the past.      Or we might be advised to set our fears loose in a mountain stream. Then we could skip across to the other side; sit on the bank with a calm heart, attuned to the music of birds and the sound of dancing water over pebbles polished smooth by time. But alas, I fear I would rush down-stream to retrieve them before they could escape my possessive clutches. Perhaps we could place our fears in a bonfire; letting them burn until nothing is left but ashes, sacrificing them to the Gods. We could sit peacefully by the fire and at autumn’s first chill feel the warmth on our face. Or we could imagine sharing with someone we love the soft, sticky, sweet taste of roasted marshmallows, listen to the sound of crackling dried branches while being lulled into a sweet reverie. Chances are that I would find myself maniacally stirring the ashes with a stick, looking for any charred remnants of salvageable fear, like a CSI searching for crucial evidence.      

 We could put our fears in a boat and drown them in a lake; sit nearby and feel an early mist rise over the water and watch the vapor merge with a yellow and peach sunrise. Or we could listen to the voice of a solitary sand-hill crane as he welcomes a new day. Instead, like a child with a toy boat, I fear I would attach a string to make sure my insecurity didn’t float out too far to be retrievable. Would that I could release the tether so my vessel of fear could fall to the bottom-wet grave, become caught in quicksand, sucked under, never again to resurface.     

 Our fears, of whatever degree, are a part of us. We cling to them when we should let them fly like a kite until they disappear over a distant horizon. We should bury them forever under rocks or send them back to nature’s wilderness, forever camouflaged in the native flora and fauna. Some fears are necessary to lead us to greater realities, more possibilities. They prevent us from becoming careless with our safety or making irrational decisions, yet never paralyzing our growth or enjoyment of life.  There are no easy solutions and after yet another day of senseless violence, I fear that some fears are here to stay. I like Henry Link’s definition of fear: “Nature’s warning signal to get busy.”        “““““` 

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15. October 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

I was going to write about snow geese this morning - you know, something uplifting and beautiful. Then I read the morning paper filled with sex scandals, war, murder and mayhem. The lessons of the snow geese will have to wait.

I believe our airways and printed material are filled with entirely too much sex and violence.  We unfold our papers and magazines and turn on our televisions to be confronted with news stories of crime and needless killing in the Far East, throughout our own country and in our own communities. Young girls are being raped and murdered, children disappear with horrendous consequences, and all the while we shake our heads and wonder what has happened to our culture.

Don’t rush to misunderstand - I have no quarrel with sex per se; it’s been around since the Garden of Eden. A deep, loving, sexual relationship with someone you love, particularly if you are married to each other, is something to be desired. However, if one is bombarded by constant reminders of chocolate fudge sundaes or nut-filled double fudge brownies, some of us are going to succumb to temptation. Same with sex. Promoters can’t sell a washing machine or toilet bowl cleaner without some degree of sexual connotation. It’s either a tongue-in-cheek come-on or a scantily clad movie star-type tempting us by making the items appear irresistible. Car manufacturers flaunt their sleek lines and more speed capacity than will ever be allowed on a super highway. Bathing suits and skimpy clothing are protrayed as the most sexy invention since - well - sex. Personal items do all but demonstrate their use. The advertisements on sport programs present only the more virile, pumped up biceps and rock-hard abs of men with a come-hither look in their bedroom eyes. Stars are no longer referred to as handsome, lovely or, God forbid, good actors, but extremely ‘roll-the-eyes’ sexy.

Is a newly produced movie a box office success because of superb acting or because the star is a scantily clad sexy man with admittedly pumped-up muscles that continues his dance for two hours, leaving the viewer intoxicated by the visual experience?

Does the whole world suffer from a sexually addictive personality? The more one sees or reads about the subject, the more appealing it appears to become. Often the more generally accepted activity  leaves some unsatisfied and constantly searching for something different, often pornography or deviant devices to enhance the experience. More and more often celebrities, including sport figures and those in high office, disappoint us by giving in to moments of weakness, breaking the hearts of those they profess to love. The rest of us are left to wonder where and when they lost their common sense.

My theory, aside from the excessive temptations placed before us by novelists, news and entertainment media, is a lack of old-fashioned love. Do we no longer reach for a deep, fulfilling love but for a great “blow your mind” sexual life?

I’m not a statistician, but I suspect more crimes are committed and more unhappiness caused by the sexual appetite and all its far-reaching tentacles than drugs, alcohol or, perhaps even war.

What’s to be done about this public sexual excessiveness? For starters, we might strive to develop a different, more intelligent mind-set. I would like to see more beautifully protrayed educational television programs. Excite me with the awesomeness of nature, the world of flying creatures. They, too, have a sex life but their primary usefulness is to thrill us with beautiful plumage and happy song.  We have lost much of the excitement of learning something new and of value - improving our minds in order to give back something great.  Remember the excitement of catching your first trophy fish, seeing the ocean for the first time, your first plane ride, or getting all A’s on a report card? We are so over-stocked with information that it takes real effort to find something to excite us. The joy of these good things has been lost in the shuffle of over-stimulation, sexual and otherwise.

A man recently told me he got as much enjoyment out of a perfectly cooked steak as he did sex. I know - your first thought is Viagra. After I stopped laughing, I decided he might have gotten it right. Joy and happiness are possible without smut, and without some outside source reminding us that sex is all there is to a rewarding life. Sex should be a deep, beautiful act between loving partners. It should be private and enjoyed by only the two involved. It is not something to be shared with the universe.

If we want a life of fulfillment, we need to find a wonderful person to share our life, one we can respect, admire, and whose happiness is more important than our own. Under these conditions, sex will follow and so will joy, and we’ll need no outside stimuli to make it happen. It will be a beautiful and rewarding experience - not just a three letter word.  

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12. October 2009 by Marie Pinschmidt.

1758. Noah Webster spent twenty years compiling the American Dictionary - 70,000 words. He did all his  research and writing himself.  Imagine what he could have accomplished with a computer.

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