My Cyber Book Tour Begins Today!
All week I’m taking this show on the road. Some of my favorite bloggers have agreed to help me promote my new book, My Amish Roots, by either hosting a guest post, a question and answer session, or reviewing the book. Here are today’s links:
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Frederick Fair, Day Two: My Grandfather’s Ghost
If someone guaranteed that my grandfather’s ghost had decided to hang around this smug little planet, but they wouldn’t tell me where, the Frederick Fair is the first place I would look. Everything I see around here reminds me of him: the tables he built that we still use; his sloppy handwriting on the outside of various bins; the old guy who totes away the trash (who is probably the age my grandfather would be, if he were still alive). Read more
How My Grandma Tried to Reclaim the Washer I Bought at Her Sale
Hidden somewhere in the sheets and pillowcases we purchased at my grandmother’s sale, a note from her:
Kind friend – before you wash these pillow cases, please soak them in cold water to which you have added 2 or 3 tablespoons of table salt for a few hours or the color will all run together. You will be glad you did. Thank you.
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On Labor Day our extended family got together, and grandma was there. She can barely walk anymore, although she did manage to get up out of her wheeled chair/walker and take a few unsteady steps toward the dessert table. Everyone protested (the stroke has limited her ability to swallow), but later I heard that one of my aunts helped her break up a rice crispy treat into tiny pieces. Read more
These Are My Projects – What Are You Up To?
Recently I’ve had a few people ask me what I’ve been up to since moving back to Pennsylvania. I wrote a lot about the circumstances that brought us back here, and I explained that I was going to try to write for a living, but I kind of ended it at that.
Well, here are the projects that I’m working on, in no particular order: Read more
Watching Someone’s Life Get Sold Out From Under Them
We parked illegally along a yellow curb in the school parking lot, just up the street from my grandmother’s single-story home. My kids poured out of the van like four puppies, dashing across the street while our warnings rained down on them.
“Watch out for cars!”
“Somebody hold Sammy’s hand!”
Seems like just about everyone in the area knows my grandma. Most just call her Mom Smucker. She sat in a lawn chair off to the side of her garage, still wearing her small covering and a plain blue dress. She doesn’t always remember my name anymore. Her recent stroke has turned her own mouth into a choking hazard, and even her skin has begun to fail her – small scratches take months to heal.
I walked up and bent over, spoke very close to her face. I kissed her cheek and she grabbed on to my chin with her vice-like grip, as if she could determine who I was by squeezing hard enough. Read more
