Dear Fidel...

Yes, it is Castro I'm referring to. Fate has a funny way of pointing their fickle finger at us. Back in 1963, when I made my first trip to Venezuela, I was flying on a Venezuelan airline from New York City to Caracas. It was supposed to be a non-stop flight. Until...

The plane suddenly began to roll from side to side. The announcement (in Spanish) came over the loud speaker. "This is your captain. We have hit turbulent weather." Well, color me stupid. I had already figured that much out! "We may have to make an emergency landing."

I leaned over and looked out the window. It was the most beautiful blue I have probably ever seen. Yes, it ws clear water. I knew how to swim, but how long could I stay afloat? How long would it be before anybody missed us, or came to rescue us?

In a few minutes that seemed to stretch into an eternity, I spotted a little patch of something green. Land! I could have shouted Hallelujah! Again, that was until...

"We may still have to make an emergency landing." Well, it didn't seem nearly as frightening, until...

"We are presently over Cuba."

This wasn't very long after the Bay of Pigs, and President Kennedy and Fidel Castro were enemies of the nth degree. Visions of my spending my entire missionary career locked in a prison cell in Cuba for the rest of my laugh danced in my head. I was sure a young missionary single woman would not be the most favorite person Castro would welcome to his fair isle. Perhaps my mother had been right when she told me I was too young to go to "a heathen land (she meant Venezuela, not Cuba) when I wasn't even old enough to vote!"

Soon the bad weather subsided and the captain announced that we would be able to proceed to Caracas as planned. What a relief. All of the passengers seemed to unite in one gigantic sigh.

But let's back up a bit. Ivan (my late husband) had his share of excitement on foreign soils too. He was in the Korean War. He was a conscientious objector, and he refused to fire a gun. In fact, when he was assigned to duty as a night guard, he agreed to carry a gun, but he never put the clip of ammunition in the gun. He trusted God to protect him, and He did a fine job of it. He often had to take ammo out to the guys that were on the front lines, and again, God had his back covered.

Their unit had a young Korean houseboy. He was a Christian and he taught Ivan several hymns in Korean: Onward Christian Soldiers and Revive Us Again were the two I remember him singing, especially when our kids were little. When Ivan left Korea, he gave his last paycheck to the houseboy. He had no idea what he did with the money, until...

One day Ivan received a letter from the houseboy. He had to find somebody who could read and write Korean to translate it for him. Thankfully, we lived right near the Grand Forks Air Force Base, so finding a bi-lingual person was not that difficult. He learned that the houseboy had given the money to his parents, and they used it to build a small chapel where they lived. They named it "The Ivan Smith Chapel." Ivan was, understandably, pleased as punch.

Now, fast forward to today... I don't know what the status is on missionaries going to South Korea, but I am sure it is impossible to get into North Korea as an American, say nothing of a missionary. Also, to my knowledge, neither Fidel nor Raul Castro are not about to welcome American missionaries to Cuba.

I'm not about to go to either of these countries, even if it were possible. For one thing, I am a whole lot older now than I was when I went to Venezuela. I don't have the money to travel the world. So, both Cuba and North Korea are safe, just in case they were worried.

However, my counter on my website http://www.janetelainesmith.com has a few stats that you can see. Recently, they have added a map so the owner of a website that has their counter in place can see where their most recent visitors are coming from. I have had hits from all over the world, which is a true delight, but what has been the most amazing thing to me is that I have been getting a whole lot of hits from both Cuba and North Korea. Thanks to the miracles of the Internet, I can carry a bit of the gospel, information about my books, and a whole lot more to these forbidden lands. Ah, yes, it is true: all things are possible with God!

Outsourcing--it finally makes sense

Most of you know that I used to live in Grand Forks ND. North Dakota has some wonderful senators and a fantastic representative. Yes, there is just one. His name is Earl Pomeroy, and he happens to be my daughter's best friend and former roommate's cousin, which helps if you need something from DC in a hurry. In case you haven't heard, or don't remember, the number of representatives is based on the population of the state. Enough said. I'm not sure, but Rhode Island probably has more representatives than North Dakota does.

One of the senators is Kent Conrad. He holds a special place in my heart. After the Great Flood in 1997 in Grand Forks, Ivan's military medals were lost. I don't know if somebody in Winnipeg ended up with them, but it's possible. I have often said that things are so backwards in North Dakota that even the river flows the wrong direction! Anyway, Sen. Conrad helped me get replacement medals for Ivan for his last Christmas. It meant the world to him.

The other senator is Byron Dorgan. I think he's my favorite of the trio. Why? I don't know. Maybe it is just because when I contacted him (through Mission Socorro, the charitable organization Ivan and I ran in the Red River Valley for over 30 years) to help a person who was having problems with things like Social Security or Medicare, he always came through.

Anyway, a couple of years ago Byron Dorgan became a fellow author. The subject is "Outsourcing." You know what that means: sending our work to foreign countries because it is "cheaper." I happen to agree with Sen. Dorgan very strongly on this issue. We have massive unemployment in our own country, so why should we be paying the wages (even if they are lower) for people halfway around the world?

One of my biggest gripes is when you try to call a technical support person. You dial a toll-free phone number, and then you try your dead level best to make them understand you, and vice versa. I have learned one little trick; if you punch the number they suggest if you speak Spanish, you might end up with a Spanish-speaking person in the US. I have no idea if they are here legally or not, but if you are bi-lingual in Spanish/English, the call usually goes through much faster. But for some reason, if you choose the English option, it seems like the majority of technicians are someplace in India.

I have nothing against the Indian people. In fact, I have a couple of very good friends who are from India--a long time ago. But when I want an answer to why a certain software program won't work the way they tell me it should work, I want somebody that I can understand, and who can figure out what I'm talking about.

Well, today is Memorial Day. I was volunteering at the Amberg (WI) Historical Society's Museum complex as a tour guide from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. Shortly after noon two cars pulled up in front of the museum and a group of foreign-looking young people got out and made their way into the main museum building. They took their time in there, and then they came to the old town hall building where I was giving the tours. The first young man came in, and I asked him where they were from. That is a common question, as the museum gets visitors from all over the country. He replied, "I live in Chicago, but I'm originally from India." Yes! It was that same accent I had heard on all of those technical calls! I asked him what he did in Chicago, and he replied, "I am a software technician--you know, a troubleshooter."

I couldn't help it. I just had to ask. "You mean when I call that toll free number because I can't figure out your software and I get some guy that, when I ask him where he is from, answers 'India,' and it is really you--sitting at a desk in Chicago?"

The poor fellow. I thought he was never going to quit laughing. But at least I felt a whole lot better, knowing that at least some of those calls are going to people right here in the good old U.S.A.!

Pancakes--for the soul

Yes, pancakes. When I was a kid at home, we had pancakes for breakfast every day except Sunday. My dad swore that he got a migraine headache if he didn't have pancakes to start the day out. Sunday, however, was Mother's day, and we got to have whatever she wanted. I never could figure out why Daddy had a headache some days even when we had pancakes. I finally asked him. His reply was, "I guess I didn't eat enough of them." Anyway, I have always thought of pancakes as my "comfort food." After a hard day, nothing soothes my nerves like a stack of them on my plate. I don't even have to have ham or bacon or sausage with them to make them do their job.

Back in 1996, right after Ivan had lost his leg, our daughter Raquel and I stopped at the Village Inn on our way up to the hospital one day. The waiter was a fellow we had gotten to "know," just by our trips to the restaurant. We had exchanged small talk with him many times, but didn't really "know" him up close and personal--until that day. I ordered pancakes and explained to him about Ivan being in the hospital. He then told us that it was probably the last time he would be serving us, as he was leaving the next week for college in Texas. He was going to be studying jazz music. Jokingly, I asked him if he would write down his name "so we can watch for your CD when it comes out--after you get famous." He grabbed a napkin and scribbled his name on it. We knew that his first name was Jeremy, but what a surprise to discover that his last name was Hallett. That was my maiden name! A bit of delving into our pasts quickly assured us that we were indeed distant cousins.

Anyway, other things over the years, especially since Ivan's death, have offered me that same feeling of comfort that I get from pancakes. Last night was a perfect example of that. When we were in Grand Forks (ND), we often kept the radio on, tuned to KFNW, the Christian radio station, as we crawled into bed, especially on cold winter nights, and we would listen to Bill Pearce on Night Sounds. If you have never heard the program, check it out in your area. He has the most soothing voice I've ever heard. The only problem was that he often would lull us to sleep before the end of the program and in the morning we would ask each other, "Did you hear what he said all the way through?" It was seldom that either of us did, but it was a good feeling.

When I moved to northeast Wisconsin, I was delighted to find a new Christian radio station. It is WRVM, which stands for Wisconsin Radio Voice of the Master. The local people seem real friendly. I have even met one of them a couple of times. Yes, it is Michael Fletcher, whose picture is up at the top there. We have met at a couple of the music programs the radio station has sponsored at the Cup O' Joy Coffeehouse in Green Bay WI. I even gave him a copy of one of my books, which I don't think he has read yet, but since he is on the air early in the morning and late at night many days, I have decided to overlook that. After all, it is a Christmas book, so he has plenty of time...

And, Bill Pearce and Night Sounds is also on WRVM, and it is late enough that I turn it on when I crawl into bed, and yes, I often fall asleep before the end of the program. But last night, for some reason, I stayed with it for the full half hour. He was talking about "stuff." You know, the things that fill our garages and our attics and we haven't used it in 25 years or more, but we still leave it there. Bill talked about all the traps we fall into as far as buying things we don't really need. Yes, he even confessed to doing the same thing himself. I was feeling fairly self-righteous, as I had to get rid of a whole lot of "stuff" before I moved. Then I mentally traveled around my new house and I realized that I had not only kept a lot of the "stuff" from my previous life, but I had accumulated quite a bit more "stuff" after I moved here, which is just over a year ago. I vowed to be more careful about what else I buy, which isn't that hard right now since I have to pay the pre-buy gas bill for the entire year by the end of May.

I left the radio on for a bit after Night Sounds ended, and then I fell asleep. When I woke up, some other fellow was talking. I don't know who it was, but I caught him just as he said, "Seek righteousness first, then all these other things will be added onto you." It didn't take me long to shut the radio off. I didn't really need a new excuse to start all over with more "stuff," no matter how righteous I felt!

So, my comfort zone got invaded. I started out feeling like I'd just had a stack of pancakes, and it quickly turned into an overdose of too much maple syrup on top of it!

Idea makers

People often ask writers where they get their ideas. It is such a basic part of an author's life that it hardly bears giving an answer. I have always figured that real life is indeed stranger than fiction. All a person has to do is to keep their eyes and ears open, and they will soon find their brains filled with far more ideas than they have time to write about. I can't begin to tell you how many columns I have written were born at the Red Lobster when Ivan and I would eat there. Now, living in Small Town USA I have to resort to the gossip at THE local cafe. Yes, there is only one.

However, this week has been proof that having kids helps too, especially if your kids are as "inventive" with their lives as mine are. Our daughter, who runs her own photography business, is the "appointed" photographer for the drag queen events in the Red River Valley of Minnesota and North Dakota. And you thought they were a bunch of old farmers that never did anything exciting or unusual! And this weekend she went to a concert in Fargo for Elton John and Billy Joel. Yup, life in rural America!

Today my oldest son called me from Las Vegas. He was laughing, as he had been reading the latest book by Tim Dorsey, his favorite author. He said he found the best quote he has ever read. It is: "Coleman, there are three- and only three- kinds of people in this world: Those who don't know they're damaged and blame others; those who realize they're damaged and blame others; and then people like you and me, who wear damage like comfortable pajamas."
Coleman swigged from his pint bottle. "Mine are the ones with the little feet."

I have to agree. That's a pretty good one. Then he went on to sort of nonchalantly mention that the "biker chick" he had taken some pictures of was a finalist for a "spread" in a pretty big biker magazine. I didn't ask a lot of questions. If she makes it into the magazine, he gets some pretty decent money out of it. And since things are pretty slow these days in Las Vegas (he is a Union audio/visual technician), he has been doing pretty well with his side-line business he has started. What is he doing? Making barbecue grills out of things like hot water tanks and old bathtubs. The strangest part of it is, he is actually selling them.

Then there is our youngest, who lives in New Orleans. He is wheeling and dealing to try to make his dream come true--having his own swanky Italian restaurant. He is tossing figures of millions of dollars around as unimpressed as if he was working for the government. I wish him the best. He's had way more than his share of trials in his life, so he's long overdue for some good news. When it happens, I'll let you all know so you can stop in for a scrumptious meal. He is a fantastic chef, having studied "real" Italian cooking (living with Italian families) for a while. He also learned a lot from his dad, who could outdo a lot of the big names on getting creative in the kitchen.

Oh, and lest I forget, I have a gal who lives in Clifford, North Dakota (population practically non-existant) who has adopted me as her "mom." She runs a floral business and she wanted some help with her website. She sounds like your typical "country farmer's wife," right? Well, she would be, except she used to be a Playboy bunny. Her husband went to Las Vegas on vacation a few years back and rescued her by taking her "back to the farm." She's a real sweetheart and the two of them plan to come to visit me this summer--on their motorcycle.

So, now that the home base has been put back in its place, I suppose I really should see if I can conjure up a new idea for another book. You know, try to figure out where I can find something worth writing about.

I hope you all have a creative day too!

George, are you pulling my leg?

Twitter. It seems like everybody from news commentators to comedians, and most everybody in between them, is talking about it these days. I had refrained from joining up because as you know, if you follow my blog, I frequently forget that a blogger must blog. I knew, basically, that a Twitter-er is supposed to tweet, and I figured that was one more thing I didn't have to worry about. But that was then, and this is now.

I was all a-Twitter when I got a notification in my mailbox the other day from somebody saying that they were following me on Twitter, and they invited me to follow them as well. I immediately recognized the name, even though I would not have known how to spell it except that it was in the e-mail invitation. I was sure it was somebody playing a prank or a practical joke on me. Why on earth would George Stephanopoulas want to follow me? I could see him wanting to build the numbers up for his followers, but it was a puzzle as to why he would pick me, or how he even found me.

Well, I decided to put on my Sherlock Holmes cap and grab my trusty little magnifying glass and investigate a bit farther. I clicked through on the link, and it SAID he was George Stephanopoulas (see? I'm even learning how to spell it!) and it even had the link going directly to the ABC network Twitter place. It seemed legitimate.

In case you don't know who George Stephanopoulas is, he's that dashing young fellow you see on Sunday mornings talking to all the big shot politicians and financial advisors etc. Or you can catch him as the "expert" on Good Morning America quite often. He is in Washington DC, so I suppose by now he has met Bo, the newest member of the Obama family up close and personal.

So, now my only question is this: George, I'm extremely flattered, but I want to know the rest of the story. Paul Harvey is gone, but his memory lingers on, and I'd like you to pick up where he left off and fill in the blanks for me. How did you find me, and why do you want to follow me, and where will you take me since I did click on and I am now following you. I can only hope that you have a Google Alert set up so you know that I'm onto you! You can run, but you can't hide, not once you have bared your soul on Twitter.

You can either post a comment here, or if you would rather keep it under wraps, you can email me privately at janetelainesmith@yahoo.com, or if you prefer, you can just tweet at me. I'll be watching and waiting.

M-m good--That's what Campbell's Soup is

On a cold, blustery winter day, there is nothing that conjures up a feeling of warmth and security like a hot bowl of soup--Campbell's Soup, of course. It is just one of those "comfort foods" that make you feel warm from the inside out.

Since they were predicting a major storm for northern Wisconsin (and they were right), it seemed quite fitting that a newsletter I get on marketing started today's message with the following:
The question for me is how do we convert business into a
form of fun and sharing and stretching and fulfillment that
is as touchable as graduating summa cum laude? That's when
you get the buy in. That's when people say 'I'm going to do
incredible things.'

-- David Johnson, former CEO of Campbell Soup

"Show, don't tell." How many times have you heard that? OK, let me show you how to have a bit of fun.

Last evening I was just sitting down to eat my supper when the phone rang. It was a representative from my health insurance company. He said they needed some information for their files on my current health condition, and did I have a few minutes to answer his questions. I said I did, figuring I could chew in between the questions. He gave me enough information that I knew he was legitimate, not just a telemarketer.

As he began to ask me a few questions, he yawned several times. I commented on the fact that he sounded tired.
"You are my last call of the day," he admitted, "and it's been a very long day."
I told him I would try to be easy on him, and when he came to the question, "Do you have any hearing problems?" I laughed a bit and replied, "Huh? What did you say? Could you repeat that please? I didn't quite hear you."
He began to repeat the question, a little bit louder, and I laughed. Suddenly he caught on and he laughed too and he said, "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?" I told him that was sort of hard to do through the phone.

The whole feeling of the phone call changed at that moment. He began to ask me more questions, and I decided to have a little more fun with him, so when he asked me, "Do you have any indication of Alzheimer's or loss of memory?" I answered, "I don't think so, but I can't remember for sure." Again, he laughed.

"Are you always like this?" he asked.
"Like what?" I asked, sounding oh-so-innocent. Again, he laughed. I noticed that he wasn't yawning any more.

When we finished the question and answer session, he said, "Thank you. You really made this fun. I wish I could take your entertainment home with me."

"Oh, but you can!" I said quickly.

"How?"

So, I asked him if he was sitting by his computer. He said that he was, and I asked him if he could get onto Amazon.com. He said he could, but why should he do that? I asked him if he trusted me to show him how to continue letting me entertain him. He said, "After this long, I guess I can trust you." He chuckled and said, "Besides, I see here that you are old enough to be my mother."

He pulled up Amazon and asked, "Now what?" I told him to do a search for Janet Elaine Smith. It pulled up all of my books (including a few that are from rotten old publishers that are out-of-print but that will probably still be on Amazon years after I'm dead and gone).

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "Did you really write all of these?"
I told him that I had, and he asked me which ones were the most fun. I told him my Patrick and Grace Mysteries have a wackly old couple of sleuths from New York City and the first one in the series is a great read for right now, with St. Patrick's Day just around the corner. He was silent for a few seconds, then he asked, "What's this Pampers one."
I laughed. "It's not a baby book," I explained. "Pampas is a region of Argentina and the book has a lot of intrigue and mystery and adventure, with a sort of out-of-place cowboy who is sort of like the sauce in the Pace Picante Sauce commercial." He asked me what I meant, and I said, "Well, he looked like any other Argentine cowboy--called a gaucho--but he was really from New Yawk City."
Again, he was laughing.
"OK," he said, "I had better get going or I'll be late and miss my dinner when I get home. My wife doesn't like to keep it waiting in the oven too long. I ordered all four of them. And thank you for making me laugh. What a great way to end a very long day."
I said, "You're welcome, and if you want to contact me in the future, my e-mail address is at the end of the books."
"I think I'll give the mysteries to my wife as a surprise for St. Patrick's Day." Again, he laughed. "She'll wonder what the deal is. I never gave her a St. Patrick's Day present before."
"Just tell her you are starting a new tradition," I suggested.
"Great idea. Again, thanks for the fun."

I think that's what the Campbell's Soup CEO was talking about.
Now, get out there and sell your books--and have fun while you work at it.

Happy Birthday, George Beverly Shea!

He is probably one of the best known gospel singers around. He has sung with Billy Graham at his crusades all around the world for many years. He wrote the music to the song I'd Rather Have Jesus. He made the hymn How Great Thou Art a household sound in many homes. And he recently celebrated his 100th birthday.

Today several people from our little church, Interfaith Bible Fellowship, in Amberg Wisconsin went to a nursing home in Crivitz, about a 20 mile drive. The activity director of the facility did a fantastic job of having everybody in the activity room waiting for us. I had been invited along to play the piano. Since I don't have my own piano anymore (read the blog on it a bit farther down), I enjoy it when I do get a chance to play. Dave Pompo, the minister, had asked me to pick out some oldtime familiar hymns the residents were apt to know. They enjoyed it so much we sang far more than we would have in our own regular church service. Old favorites like In the Garden, When the Roll is Called Up Yonder, Amazing Grace, The Old Rugged Cross, Jesus Loves Me, and as we finished singing How Great Thou Art we shared the fact with these elderly members of the community that it had recently been George Beverly Shea's 100th birthday, so we wished him a happy birthday. They all knew who he was, although one of them said, "I thought he was dead." It was a wonderful time of sharing, but that was just the end of an already good day.

When the minister and his wife began to make plans for the service, they called and asked if they could eat lunch at my house. It made perfect sense, because they live quite a ways in the opposite direction and there was not time for them to go home and then come back again. They made it a very gracious invitation by saying that the pastor would make his famous spaghetti and bring it, and his wife would make the salad. I said I would provide Texas garlic toast, jello and the beverage.

A little while later they called back and said that they were going to pick up a woman, Maureen, who has recently had her leg amputated. I have gotten to know her fairly well, as Ivan (my late husband) had his leg amputated in 1995, so while I haven't lived through that experience, I have lived with it. They wanted to know if it would be ok if she came to dinner too. I said "The more the merrier."

Again, about an hour later, the phone rang and they said that Pixie, a woman who had attended the church but who had moved away last fall, was going to try to make it to church and she wanted to go to the nursing home too, so would it be ok if she came to dinner too? Oh, and they didn't know for sure but she might be bringing the children she was taking care of with her. (They didn't end up coming, but Pixie did.)I figured that since they were furnishing most of the food, I had no problem with it.

So, everything was set. I would have somewhere between five to who-knew-how-many people for dinner, but I didn't have to cook it, so it was fine. I had plenty of dishes!

Pixie came to church, as did Maureen, and I rode home with our neighbors from across the road from me so I could go ahead and get the table set, the coffee made, the bread stuck in the oven, etc. As we pulled into the driveway, Margaret (my neighbor) said, "Whose car is that? It looks like Cathy's." Yup, it was my friend Cathy, who goes to a different church but who is often bored on Sundays. She had no idea of what was going on, so I waved to her to come into the house. She said she just brought me some magazines she had finished reading and they were in the doorway. I told her she might as well come in. When she got inside, I told her what was going on, so I invited her to join us. She did, and I wondered if anybody else would come. There was plenty of food if they did, but they didn't.

At any rate, we had a delightful dinner, and they even helped wash the dishes after we ate, so I came home to a nice neat house. Oh, and Maureen brought peanut butter cookies she and her grandchildren had made. It was the perfect finish to the meal.

Anyway, it was a wonderful day. Oh, and it was so cute at the nursing home. There were two women there named Irene, so Toni, the minister's wife, asked me if I could play Good Night Irene. I did, and we sang it. One of the Irene's apparently enjoyed it, but the other one was heard to remark, "I hate that song." When Toni asked her why, she said, "Because it has my name in it!" Well, you know what they say. You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't please all of the people all of the time.

The picture above is (Seated, left to right: Cathy, Janet, Pixie; Standing in the back row: Dave and Toni Pompo).

I hope your Sunday was as much fun as mine was. Now, go out there and make it a great week!