Jan Cline

lover of relics and history

“I’m done,” he said.

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My husband has been a farmer for 34 years. He has worked very hard at his profession. I’ve been encouraging him to retire. I continued to hear, “one more year.” Then we would make time to travel.

Then one day, he came home, took off his boots and announced he was ready at last.

Just like that.

But he was worried about what to do with his time. I wasn’t. I mentally pulled out my honey-do list and sighed. “I wouldn’t worry about not having things to do.”

So, we put our lake cabin up for sale and bought a nice 5th wheel.

Isn’t that what everyone does?

Talk about whirlwind life change. I had been so settled into the idea of “one more year”, that I hadn’t really thought through how life might evolve. We have a new home, a boat, a cabin, a trip to NC once a year to see our daughter, soccer games for grandkids, and farming in between. That was it. Plenty. More than most people.

We were grateful. And still are. And grateful to be done.

Now my husband has the bug to travel. As I write this we are nestled in the woods at an RV park in beautiful Montana, enjoying the peace and quiet, taking naps, walking the dog, and doing whatever we feel like doing. No schedule, no worries except how and when to plan the next trip. On our list is Mount Rushmore, Gold Beach, CA, Fort Stevens, WA, and Yellowstone. Maybe not all right away, but, you know.

I guess this is retirement. I hope I have time to write.

Are any of you retired? How did you handle it?

Blessings and safe travels!

Jan

Interview with author Melanie Dobson

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I recently read Catching the Wind by Melanie Dobson and had to review it for you. I was captivated, delighted, and in awe of her writing skills and attention to story detail. As a historical writer myself, I enjoyed the creative expertise Melanie mastered in this novel, joining two fascinating story lines from the present and past that blend together to make a “can’t put it down” book. This story sure to please any contemporary or historical reader.

A woman searches for a little girl who lived during WWII. Her journey takes her on a path to discovery of many mysteries, the least of them concerning her own past.

Click on the picture – it will take you to Amazon where the book is on sale at the moment. I’ve invited Melanie for an interview, to share some thoughts by answering some questions I had for her. Below are her comments. Please feel free to comment and say hello.

What made you want to write this story?

A few years ago, I was working in my favorite place—an old house turned into a coffee shop—praying and thinking about my next novel. Outside the window was a giant weeping cedar tree, its silvery leaves draped over the people below, and a picture began to form in my mind of a boy and girl. They were playing in a treehouse in Germany, and for some reason, they had to run. That’s all I knew as I started the journey to write Catching the Wind. I was anxious to discover what happened to this boy and girl.

How much research did you have to do, and how do you research your books/story?

Research is my favorite part of this job! I’m actually in Holland this week, typing today as I ride a bus along a canal to research my next story. For Catching the Wind, I spent about a month researching World War II stories and then went to England to visit my main settings in the Kent era, interview people who lived during the war, and pour over the newly released “spy files” in the National Archives outside London to learn about British men and women who betrayed their country in the 1940s.

What is your favorite time period to write about?

My favorite time period is typically whichever era that I happen to be writing about at the moment! I’ve set books in almost every decade from the late 1700s until the present, and I have enjoyed learning about each of those different time periods. Right now, the 1940s are my favorite.

Is there a common theme running through all your books?

If so, what is it? I’m not intentional about writing common themes, but two threads seem to make it into most—and perhaps, all—of my books. The first is the power of ordinary people to do extraordinary, sacrificial things to protect others. The other is something that God continues to teach me—when we love and serve Him, He is continually working through even the most difficult of circumstances to ultimately bring good back into this world.

What projects are you working on now?

I’ve just finished my edits for my next novel Hidden Among the Stars (September 2018) and now I’m in the midst of researching and writing a time-slip mystery set mainly during the World War II era in The Netherlands. I really enjoy listening to people’s stories and then crafting a novel from all that I’ve learned! This next novel will be based on several of those stories.

Thanks so much Melanie!

Is Your Sanctuary a Prison?

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We have owned our secluded cabin near a lake in Northern Idaho for 3 years now. Access is boat in only. It’s a quiet, serene, and peaceful place. It’s surrounded by trees – cedars, red fir, white fir, cottonwood. In the mornings, the suns filters through the branches into a spot we have cleared that we call the Cathedral. In the middle is a fire pit with an old porch swing on one side, wedged between two trees. The morning birds sing a continuous song, and you can breathe in the forest smells of loam and evergreens.

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Your mind can cease its clatter and clutter in the stillness of our property. It’s so still at times I can hear nothing but by heart beating. We cherish the occasional deer sighting and laugh at the comical large red-headed woodpeckers at play. Gray and white bunnies romp up and down the rocky hill that boarders us. Our dog, Cooper, chases squirrels all day long.

Are you getting the picture? Sound like a place you would want to live?

It might not be what you expected, as I have discovered over the last six weeks of living here full time while our new house is being built.

Sometimes the things you enjoy so much can become a prison of sorts.

After a few weeks of living here I started to notice a certain kind of anxiety come over me from time to time. A slight state of depression. I didn’t know what it was at first, but then figured it out.

I felt trapped by all the trees and quiet. Yes, all the things I love about this place were bringing me down. I couldn’t see out! I would walk down to the water every once in a while, but it wasn’t enough.

Isn’t that the way it goes sometimes? Our heart’s desire can be our undoing if we don’t stand back and get perspective. We must be able to see out – to see what lies beyond the trees, look past our cocoon of peace and serenity, and know that we can’t get too comfortable in the woods.

Many people tell me that I’m so lucky to have a secluded, quiet, inspiring place to write. But to be truthful, I find it more difficult to write here. The peaceful atmosphere is not enough stimulus for my creative brain. Weird huh?

My realization that I need to get out of the trees more has helped my overall attitude, and soon we will be in our new home where I can get back to a more normal routine of writing and life in general.

I encourage you not to turn your sanctuary into a prison.

There are seasons for everything, and being in the trees should be respite, not confinement.

Not many of us are called to live a life of seclusion or isolation. I will enjoy the remaining weeks of my forest cathedral, and come away with a new understanding of my world outside.

Keep reaching,

Jan

 

It’s Where You Belong

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You belong there. Pick up where you left off. Begin again. Start over. Get back to doing what you were doing when you quit doing what you were doing.

I hear these words so often in my head, and sometimes I blow them off as meaningless. I have done all the above so many times, what’s the use? You may have asked yourself the same thing a time or two.

But if my brain is continuing that driving drone, there must be a reason.

The reason, I’ve come to know, is that trying to deny your purpose in life, trying to avoid what you have been given to do, isn’t worth the struggle. Your brain, and most likely your heart, have figured it out. It’s your bruised ego that has yet to surrender.

I have no ego, you may say. Yeah, I used to say that a lot too. Yes you do, just as I do.

The reality of life is that we don’t like to fail, stumble, waver, be a fool, or sit at the bottom of the success ladder when it comes to our talents and gifts. It’s hard to keep plugging away, standing below those who are near the top rung of that ladder you love so much.

Our egos take many hits when we are striving to achieve a place in a field where there is so much competition. I have learned that the writing/publishing world is highly competitive and therefore has the potential to become my source of discouragement instead of my favorite place to be. I know in my head that comparing myself to others in the field is only going to hold me back. It’s the beckoning crook of my ego’s finger that gets me every time.

What’s the cure for this common disease?

How do you get back to where you belong?

Tell your ego to take a hike – a back seat to the truth. The truth is that if you keep going back to it, you are probably doing what you were designed to do. Can’t stop picking up that paint brush? Keep pulling out that computer to jot down a story idea? Is the five lines on that blank music paper still calling you? Putting up with some discomfort, discouragement, disillusionment, and fear is the price for being on the chosen list. I’d rather be chosen to be or do something than spend my life being or doing something I’m not supposed to do at all.

Time to get back to doing what you were doing when you stopped doing what you were designed to do.

Keep reaching,

Jan

10 Things My Grandparents Wouldn’t Understand

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I’ve been thinking lately of how my mom or grandparents would possibly understand all the things going on in the world today. Sometimes I think I would rather have lived in their day and not have to deal with all the changes in attitudes, belief systems, politics, cyber-technology, and societal confusion.

Living in an age where everyone is offended by everything, when being right is more important than being kind, and my computer crashes – taking my precious files with it, is not for the faint of heart. I keep hearing my mom’s words in my head saying

“what is this world coming to?”

My Grandparents lived sheltered from most everything on a little farm in California.

I used to wonder why they lived such a simple disconnected life. Now I understand.

In my grandparent’s world:

 

Spam was something you ate from a can – the poor man’s convenience food.

 

Mail was something you looked forward to getting, but not every day. It meant nice Mr. McClary would stop by, hand you a letter from your cousin Margaret and a post card from Uncle Ben vacationing at the Grand Canyon. Then Mr. McClary would sit and enjoy a glass of lemonade with you. Now it’s something that clogs your “inbox” – whatever that is.

 

Conference Call? Well, that was when you cranked the handle on a little wooden box on the wall and Mildred, the operator, connected you with Bessie Porterfield, and then stayed on the line to listen in.

 

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Hacked was what you did to the head of a chicken after you chased them down in the yard. It meant something good was coming for dinner. Now it’s a very bad thing.

 

Friending someone meant you had them over for dinner, sent them home with a jar of cherry preserves, and took a basket of baked goods over to them when they were sick. Then, of course, you would do their chores and sit and visit for a spell.

 

Political Correctness meant you didn’t have time to protest the election because you were too busy being patriotic by fighting in the war – and not coming home for four years straight, or not coming home at all.

 

Twitter was something your heart did when you saw handsome Billy Singleton sitting in the next pew at church. Googling was what he caught you doing at him when he turned around.

 

A mouse was the little creature Grandpa had been chasing through the kitchen for days, unable to get close enough to stomp on it.

 

Entitled meant you had worked very, very hard for something and you were proud to earn the reward. It meant you understood nothing automatically came to you and you never expected anything more than you earned yourself – just happy and grateful to get what you had.

 

Yes, I think I’d like to return to those days. If for no other reason than to get back some perspective on values, fears, communication, and life in general. I hear you, Mom…what’s this world coming to?

 

Ever ask yourself that question?

Keep reaching,

Jan