In today’s world the worst thing you can be called is a racist, but what is a racist? You all have your definitions. Let me give you a biblical definition. “Not loving my neighbor as myself based on ethnicity. (or skin color)

As a writer I would like to tell you a story. I am a white woman of Irish, English, Scottish, with maybe a little of everything mixed in, ancestry. I grew up in a community that was predominately white. Did this effect my mindset? Yes, I am sure it did. I would be highly offended if you called me racist.

Let me describe my community. We lived in the country and both my mother’s and father’s family lived close by. My dad’s parents had an elderly black couple living on the adjoining farm and an elderly Indian man living on the other side. The Indian man was somewhat of a loner and I never knew him very well, but the black couple were friends with my grandparents. He and my grandfather had a thing going, who could grow the best watermelon. The families could never choose sides until one year, my grandfather lost out. His friend grew the first yellow watermelon anyone had ever seen, but back to the race thing.

My older brother grew up and moved to Iowa where he fell in love and married a northern girl. They eventually moved back to Oklahoma. I remember the year her mother came for a visit. Her one request: “I want to meet a real Indian.” My first question was, “Mother, do we know an Indian?” This was the talk around our dinner table one night. After much discussion we decided that we did indeed know one family. Two sisters that I went to church with, were of American Indian heritage. That got me to thinking. These were people just like us. They worked hard, this was a poor part of Oklahoma and everyone worked hard. They raised their families. (Did someone from the north expect the Indian of old in full headdress?) As you can see that was a simpler time and I did not see in color.

As I grew older and moved from my isolated community I encountered more people of color. I grew up where it was not a bad thing to call a black man or woman, a Nigger. Before you burst with rigorous furry, let me quote something. “”Nigger is derived from the Latin word for the color black, niger. According to the Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang, it did not originate as a slur but took on a derogatory connotation over time.”” The first time I noticed a change in the way black people were referred to, was when the world informed us that we should say Negro. But that soon was labeled as unacceptable as well.

I guess the point I am trying to make is that as long as we see a person of color we will have a problem. There are only two kinds of people, good and bad! I am convinced that this has nothing to do with the color of your skin but what is in your heart.

Now to the point of this post! Yes, I do have one. As long as the world reports that a white or black person did something to a white or black person, will that in itself encourage racism? Do you believe it is possible for there to be racists of all colors? Will the day come when we will be able to put color aside and discuss the issue? Do we still believe in the motto, “In God We Trust?” Because whatever higher power you believe in, our country needs help!

Please everyone, be kind to one another!

Happy reading,

Linda

I am working on a new book. It centers around an old legend of Spanish gold. A lot of it is based on my experiences growing up in Oklahoma. There were parts of Oklahoma where everyone had a oil well in their backyard. That was not the case where I grew up. It was a poor part of the state and most people worked extremely hard to just make a living for their family. The book got me to thinking about laundry day. My mother had a ringer type washer similar to the one in the picture above. She used to push the washer out into the backyard on a sunny day and that was where she did her laundry. There were two stools with tubs of clean water to rinse the clothes. First you did the light loads. This was sheets, towels, and unmentionables. After you went to all the trouble to get water hot and in the washing machine, you didn’t waste it on one load of clothes. Next came the lightly soiled colored clothes, like Mama’s clothes and the kids school clothes. My Daddy ran a bulldozer. Sometimes he came home and it was hard to recognize him for the dirt, grease and sweat that covered him. His clothes and that of my brothers work clothes, came last. The only thing that was electric on this machine was the agitator that swished the clothes around, everything else was done by hand. When a load of clothes had washed the proper amount of time, Mama would use the hand cranked ringer on top to press the water out of them and they would go into the first rinse tub. She would put the second load of clothes in to wash, and put the light clothes through the first, then the second rinse water. No fancy dryer, it was then time to hang the first load on the clothes line. In the winter, we always prayed that Oklahoma wouldn’t have one of those long rainy spells, otherwise clean clothes was kind of hard to come by at our house. It wasn’t an easy life and the children had more responsibility around the house. Instead of sports and play dates, we had chickens to feed and cows to milk. A different kind of life.

Television had just come into our lives, but we only got one station. Most families didn’t even bother to buy a T.V. I think I was probably in junior high before Mamma and Daddy got their first television. Instead we treasured our radios. Imagine we had The Lone Ranger, but he was on radio. If you are interested, find a book and curl up to learn about the past..

Happy reading, Linda

Recently I was asked the question, “What is your gift?” That is a question I had never thought about. I wonder how many others have ever considered this question. We grow up trying to fit into the dynamics of our families. We are the good son or daughter, at least we try to be. If we marry that focus suddenly shifts. We create a life with another person. If we have children, that adds to the puzzle, but we are focused on living, making a home, building a career. Do we ever wonder, “What is my gift?”

I have a friend that loves and is loved by the special man she married. When I mentioned this to her she thought a long time before telling me she thought her gift, if you could call it that, was her ability to listen. Yes, that is a special gift.

Some have so many gifts it is hard to count them all. The ability to play music, to paint, to build something special and meaningful like a building or a bridge.

I look at myself and I think maybe, maybe my gift is the ability to write or maybe my gift is my ability to dream! As I look back through the years, I think the most important gift is to love and be loved in return. It is a dream most of us dream and a few of us never feel like we achieve.

What are your gifts?

Not long ago someone asked me that question. Growing up I never dreamed I had the ability to write a book. I loved to read but never expected to become an author. I have always had an insatiable curiosity, a huge imagination and an inability to monitor what comes out of my mouth.  That inability has cost me a lot of friends over the years.  Maybe that is why I write, on paper I have the control I do not have in everyday life.  In my manuscripts all of my characters understand each other perfectly and never get angry, unless I choose to add a misunderstanding for dramatic effect.

I love to read and my choice of books range from feel good stories to mysteries. There is nothing like a lazy afternoon, music playing quietly on the stereo and a good book, unless it is a well made movie. I sometimes get upset when some movie producer takes a favorite book and changes the story line to make  it into a mediocre movie.

If you happen to be one of those people who has a story to tell, then go for it. You never know until you try.

I have ventured into the area of children’s books. Don’t worry I will be sure to let you know when “Eric Finds A Friend!” is available.

Happy reading, Linda