I am still editing the book.  Obviously it won't be out in September.  The publisher didn't give their edition to me until the first week in August.  (They promised I would have copies on July 4.) 

There are over three hundred pages for me to emend and okay.  Most of which are so messed up I don't even know where to start.

I have learned a lot of things that I didn't know.  None of them good.  If you ever decide to publish a book, call me and I will save you a lot of pain.  They tell you they will do something and then they don't.  Or they do--and it's all wrong. 

You think you have control.  You do--if you don't want to get the book published by them. They like big words.  Fluffy words.  Adjectives.  Emotion in every line.

Problem is, I'm trapped.  I signed a contract that says they will publish when we agree.  I will never agree with their changes.  So there you are.

I dread getting up in the mornings because I know I am going to get into it with the editor again.  And again.  And again.  And I have to emend, and argue, and emend and argue.   

This has been going on for over a month.  It is mentally exhausting. I told you I was like Christian in Pilgrim's Progress--in the slough of despond.  Well I am stuck there.  This editor keeps telling me this is a fabulous book.  I am glad she likes it.  I want her to leave it alone and stick to punctuation and structure and stop putting words into my character's mouths. 

Carolyn and Jeanette have patiently listened to me gripe and groan for the entire month.  I may be looking for new friends before this is over.   

This post is number 1737.  I can hardly believe it.  I didn't know I had that much to say.

I probably didn't.  I just kept writing.  I think I've left a record of everything I ever knew--I doubt if anyone will want to know any of it, but you never know.  Some great-great-great grandchild might??  It's out there.  On record.

I wish someone in my past had left diaries of their life.  I like to read biographies.

The New Testament is a biography.  A biography of the life of a man by the name of Jesus.  It is also a time capsule of the lives of a few men who lived at the same time He did and were his friends for three years.

I talked about the apostle John Sunday in my class.  About the second of his three short letters.   John said that he had "written" or left a "record" or was "declaring" something over and over again.  He "wrote" because he didn't want the truth to be lost to future generations

He wanted people to "know" the truth.  He used the word "know" over and over again.  Dozens of times.  And he was writing to believers who already "knew."  He said, "And this is the record...(that) I have written to you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that you may know that you have eternal life, and that you may believe on the name of the Son of God."

There is nothing like a first hand account of something that occurred.  That a person was a witness to.  John was Jesus friend.  Probably his best friend.  He was there.  And he wants us to know the truth.  That's the reason he wrote it down.  So that those of us who believe can know and believe and know and believe.  We can know.  And because we know the truth, we believe.

I had a wonderful surprise last night.  Becky Bacon dropped by and brought a friend--Kathy.  The two of them and four others came to Oklahoma City to see the art exhibit--Monet, Picasso...etc. (private collection on loan to the Oklahoma City museum.)

Chihuly--the man who designs those fabulous blown glass art designs--married a woman from Oklahoma City, and her mother still lives here.  So we also have dozens of permanent Chihuly glass creations in the museum as well.  You see his art all over the world.  I think it is beautiful.  One of my favorite things.

Becky asked me to play the marimba for Kathy--which I did. They had been to Hideaway Pizza and brought me the leftovers.  Yea!!! I have breakfast for tomorrow--and a bunch more tomorrows. 

I don't care for eggs.  Or milk.  So breakfast is always a challenge.  I've been known to open a can of black eyed peas.  Or a can of hominy.  I cut a recipe out of a magazine the other day that is for pancakes made with cottage cheese.

My friend Jeanette is going to come over and mix them up for me.  I am a flour-challenged-non-baker.  We are going to have them for lunch.  Somewhere in my kitchen is one of those small waffle irons.  That will probably work.  Otherwise we will have to do them one at a time on a black skillet.  I gave my griddle away to a young guy who moved my furniture over here last year.  He had just gotten married and didn't have any kitchen stuff.  I loaded him up.  I've given up on most cooking.  It's hard to cook for one.

But--bad news--my next door neighbor that is always bringing me food is moving.  It really is sad news.  They are wonderful neighbors.  But her husband John is a realtor, and found an acreage he wants.  I told him he could go, but to leave his wife next door!!  She told me she would bring me meals on wheels.

Today, I get to go back to choir.  It's the only way that I can remember that it is Thursday.

When you are retired, it is hard to remember what day it is.  The days run together.  On day is just like another.

That doesn't happen when you work.  You are always counting the days until Friday.

Sunday helps.  I go to church and teach a class.

Today got away from me.  I went to the nursery to buy some shrubs and got busy figuring out where they went.

Luckily, my lawn man was here when I got home and he planted everything for me.

The rest is up to God.  I'll water them.

We are all watching the hurricane off the Florida coast.  The pictures of the Bahamas are gut wrenching.  It looks like nothing is left.

Today they are saying it may hit the S. Carolina coastline.  Which prompted a memory that I had totally forgotten.

When I lived in Beaufort S.Carolina, halfway between Savannah and Charleston,  I knew nothing about hurricanes.  I was an Oklahoma girl.  Tornadoes were the type of wind disaster I knew about, and a hurricane didn't look too bad to me.  

It was slow.  You had days and days of warning.  You knew what to prepare for and by the time it hit, you had time to evacuate.

Well, we had a hurricane.  I don't remember the name of it.  I don't even remember being concerned about it.  My mom was concerned!!  She called and called warning me about it.  Telling me to leave.

We were living on base, and the Marines came and boarded up our windows with plywood.  I thought the whole thing was interesting.

And the Marine pilots did what needed to be done.  They flew every single airplane inland.  And left their women and children to weather the storm.  They sat at an airbase somewhere in Tennessee (as I recall) and played Acey-ducey until it was over and then flew the airplanes back into Beaufort.

I had been a Marine pilot's wife for seven or eight years by then.  Having the pilots leave with the planes didn't seem strange to me at the time.  Looking back, I should have thrown the kids in the car and driven home to Oklahoma.  We lived on the water.  It could have been a disaster, but the storm didn't hit us.  God takes care of idiots.  

Jon, my youngest, brought his two boys over this afternoon. Brady will be eight next week, and Tate is four and a half.  They are like wound up energy machines.  I can't imagine how I raised four kids.  I must be super-human.

I have a big basket full of cars that Tate runs and finds the minute he comes in the door.  He knows where it is and knows it is his basket.  He has never been interested in any other toys except the ones that have four wheels.  I buy cars and trucks at garage sales every time I find new ones that some child never used. I've been amazed at how many brand new toys end up in a garage sale.

I asked Jon how long he thought this "car stage" would last, and Jon said, "Well it's lasted four and a half years so far."  In other words, since Tate was born.
Brady goes to Bible School every year with me.  He likes puzzles and games.

I sent the two of them out to water my flowers and of course they came in soaking wet.

By the time they left to go home, I was exhausted.  That's the reason that God gave children to young adults.

But I love having them here.  They are the last of my grandchildren.  Jon and Jennifer aren't having any more, and all my others are in their late twenties and thirties.  Jon started late.  He was born late--ten years after my others kids.

And then he did four years in the Navy, (which Ken and Scott wouldn't let him live down) and was much older when he married.  And then, they waited a long time to have children.

I hope I'm up to it when it's time for Tate to go to Bible School.  

Today is a holiday.  I'm gonna do nothing all day.  Will post tomorrow.