It’s a few days before Christmas. Ryder, my shaggy-beast Bouvier, is loping ahead at a distance roughly the length of a school bus. All at once, he stops and looks over his shoulder, his bearded face asking a question. He returns to me and places himself in a heel position. Need I say this is not typical? He repeatedly glances ahead and to the left of the path, then up at me. I follow his gaze, ask him what he sees, and scan the area. I see nothing amiss and hypothesize that a squirrel is rummaging in the brush or a tree branch is out of place (dogs tune into “different��). I resume walking and Ryder resumes worrying. Based on wisdom acquired from another Bouvier (The Lukas & Bear Incident), I should be heeding signals from my dog. His auditory and olfactory skills far exceed mine. But I slip up, as we humans do.

I hear a sound that’s new—not quite a squirrel chattering, not exactly normal bird chirping. Louder. More piercing. My brows knit. What is it? In a flash of movement the mystery is solved. There, on a fallen bough, not ten feet away, are two adult bald eagles engaged in battle. I am awestruck. I’ve seen bald eagles circling against a blue sky or perched far away in a zoo enclosure, but never this close and so actively engaged. Whiter-than-white heads, vivid yellow beaks curved to perfection, rich brown feathers. Big! Magnificently Big! Powerful! I am wonderstruck.

I wish to prolong the experience, absorb the beauty, but the eagles are discombobulated by our sudden appearance. One flaps over us, gaining height with a wingspan that puts us briefly in the shade, then is gone. The other seems dazed or confused and I wonder if he is injured. But when Ryder decides to approach, I determine that doing so is not in his best interest nor in the best interest of the eagle. I shout, “No! Stop!�� and this has the effect of pausing Bouvier mid-step and jump-starting eagle. The mega-bird rises in slow and powerful wing beats that take him out of my sight too soon. With Ryder at my side, I stand as dazed as that eagle had been.

This was a moment I will never forget, a surprise Christmas present I didn’t ask for, never dreamed of. The very best kind.

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I began the research for my book by asking Mom to describe her upbringing in detail, using as many anecdotes as she could recall. I gave her a set of questions* as guidelines and suggested she respond in whatever manner was most comfortable for her. She chose to talk into an old-fashioned tape recorder and over the course of a few months, filled four tapes that I treasure to this day. I treasure them as a writer, of course, but more importantly, as a daughter.

I heard the smile in Mom’s voice (strange to hear a smile, but I swear I did) as she described simple pleasures: her own mother, Lena, heating bricks in the oven to wrap in towels so her two daughters would have warmth when they crawled under the covers; the pansies on the kitchen window sill that were like “faces turned toward the sun.�� And this was what made the tapes both heartwarming and heartrending: Mom’s voice. A voice that became thick with puzzled dismay at her sister’s persistent anger, heavy with anguish (more than 60 years later!) at the death of a loved one, and tough with determination as she made a life for herself after enduring unspeakable-yet-spoken tragedies. Through these tapes, I came to understand and appreciate my mother in a way that would not have been possible otherwise.

And so I’m championing a cause—if you have parents who are willing and able to share their personal history, don’t delay! Come up with questions to guide them in the areas that interest you. They can jot down notes, chat with you on the phone, or talk into a recording device. Needless to say, I’m partial to the last option, since it allows you to listen to the narration over and over, because, trust me, you’ll cherish every word, and even more, the emotion that transcends the words to reveal the person.

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*Sample questions: (1) What were your parents like? Describe them physically and personally. Help me get to know them. What did your father do for a living? What were your mother’s household responsibilities? (2) What was family life like? How did you celebrate holidays and birthdays? What traditions were important? How did your parents treat you? What kind of discipline did they use?

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So what is it that draws girls to horses? Those who maintain that they fuel our imaginations, offering us entry into another world, seem to get closer to the mark, but really, for this girl the draw has a soul mate aspect to it. Something in me connected with something in the horse. Or perhaps the concept of a horse, which certainly makes the whole issue more complicated. It’s a bit like falling in love. The horse’s beauty has always taken my breath away—the curve of the neck, the fluid movement in gait, the toss of the head, the flowing mane and tail—and when you ride, you become an extension of the horse. Like a Ferrari–with its equine emblem–a horse transports you in style. Come to think of it, maybe there is something to that power theory!

As an adult, I got the notion to write a story from the perspective of a girl who adores horses, then��challenged myself to take it a step further. What could be better than living on a horse ranch? Living on a ranch full of winged horses. And so Promise of Wings was born.

I wonder how other girls would explain their obsession with horses…now, that would make a great book!

The Magic of Words

This week’s theme: Words coined after proper names

nice nelly

PRONUNCIATION: (nys NEL-ee)

MEANING: noun: A person excessively concerned with propriety, modesty, etc.

ETYMOLOGY: A specialized use of the name Nelly, a nickname for Helen or Eleanor. Earliest documented use: 1922.

USAGE: “Glen Rounds wrote: Instead of trying to make a nice nelly of me they encourage me to be my own nasty self, or even more so.�� Russell Freedman & Barbara Elleman; Holiday House: The First Sixty-Five Years; Holiday House; 2000.

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:

Art is the elimination of the unnecessary. -Pablo Picasso, painter, and sculptor (1881-1973)

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© 2013 Wordsmith.org

I never thought about what my real name might be.�� It was only when I was working on a novel, The Shadow of My Sister, that I heard Lena (pronounced Lee-nah) and came running.�� The novel is based on my mother’s experience emigrating from Germany to America in the 1920s. Lena was my grandmother’s name. I wasn’t aware of any meanings attributed to the name until after I adopted it, which is just as well. Not only does Lena have several pronunciations (the better to confuse people), but Wikipedia indicates that��the name��evolved as a variation of several earlier names, with its basic meaning being��”sunlight/palm tree.�� Huh. One of the sites listing names for babies indicates that Lena means “bright one,�� but that might be a stretch.

It’s an odd��experience to switch your name as an adult. Some people react as if you’ve done something socially inappropriate, like laughing loudly in church; others understand completely and��share��that they never felt their name fit��either. I still answer to both names (Linda is the legal one), but I love the sound of Lena. It’s as if I wrap myself around the name when I hear it.

I didn’t immediately make the transition to Lena. It was when I decided to publish Promise of Wings as an eBook that the time seemed right. Books��are apparently��bookmarks in��my��life.

I’m interested in how people feel about their names.�� Does yours fit you? What makes a name seem right? The fact that you grew up with it (definitely important)? The sound, the look of it on paper, some meaning attributed to it? I’d like to know.