Bea Fishback | Blog
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You Only Live Once…

You only live once. But Christmas comes every year. And this morning, I woke with visions of sugar cookies, decorations, Christmas cards, and gift-wrapping dancing in my head. Made my inner world spin with the sheer thought of everything that needed to be done in the next few weeks.       So I decided to go for a walk to clear the onslaught of thoughts, to hopefully put everything back into perspective.     Walking down the lane, on my right flank a lone gray heron swept low and quietly along the water. The long wings and elongated legs resembled some type of prehistoric creature, a stealth fighter trying to stay beneath the radar to capture its unsuspecting fish prey.       In front, squirrels played hopscotch and a game of hide-and-seek with their acorn treasures. They flitted in circles, spun up and down trees with the speed of delighted children in a playground.     To my left, odd shaped stalactite-type roots grew from the ground.       God’s creation was at work, play, and offering a sight of fascination. There was so much to enjoy, I forgot the frenzy that only an hour before had consumed my mind and had given me heartburn.         The joy of Christmas can at times get lost because of self-imposed stressors. This year as we consider the tree, trimmings, pretty packages and blinking lights why not take time to enjoy some free gifts?   Creation offers so much pleasure. It’s time to tap into what’s within our midst and lay aside the pressures.         May I suggest another way to relax, besides enjoying the grand outdoors? Fix a warm cup of hot chocolate, have a cookie and curl up with a Christmas story.   You Only Live Once so why not unwind and enjoy *Y.O.L.O. Christmas at the Corps an inspirational novella. Click here and download to your Kindle or Nook.       Or if you suggest www.beasattitudes.net to a friend, and they subscribe, I will send the book to you and them at no cost. What a great way to escape the stress by giving and receiving a free gift this Christmas season—it’s almost as wonderful as enjoying God's creation. Well, almost :-)...

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Pumpkins? A mystery?

Pumpkins are a mystery to me. If you think about it, they aren’t very attractive—plain in color and odd in shape. However, the origin of their name is rather interesting. In Greece they were originally named pepon; translated means orange melon. Once autumn begins, and Halloween looms pumpkins are everywhere. And not just as Jack-o-lanterns on the front porch. They are made into soups, baked in breads and used for table decorations. At a recent outing, pumpkin corn bread was served.     There is a growing appreciation for these rather plain gourds. It seems they are with us more often than guests during the holidays, and are found on almost every fall-celebration table. We use them for pies during Thanksgiving and Christmas, and in our hot drinks—pumpkin spice latte, extra pumpkin please.   In order to create the perfect pie or drink, though, ingredients must be added. Cinnamon, nutmeg and a bit of sugar make the ideal combination. Alone, the orange melon is quite tasteless.   So what’s the mystery for our love of pumpkins? Part of it seems to be their ability to create ambiance and nostalgia. For some, they bring us back to home-gatherings and memories of childhood. For others, it offers an opportunity to create new memories of standing in Starbuck lines and having the first taste of fall in a cup.   Pumpkins aren’t the only mystery we can enjoy, though. There is a genre of books called cozy mysteries. If you haven’t heard of these, they are known for the ingredients of humor and amateur sleuth characters —think Agatha Christie.   Alone, a mystery offers suspense and drama but read a cozy and you have the perfect ingredients for creating memories of places never visited and fascinating people you will most likely will never meet.   So,  why not curl up with a pumpkin spice latte and a Cozy today? After all, that's how memories are created...

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Waiting in the doctor’s office is never easy…

Waiting in the doctor’s office is never easy. Even though they try to make your stay as comfortable as possible, you still know that behind one of those ominous doors a doctor waits to take your vitals and give you the news. Good or bad.     A recent visit to the clinic, and we were surrounded by the typical décor of many waiting rooms. Two colorful pictures hung on one wall. Expressionistic paintings of fall colors replicated on a thousand other photos of the same scene. Magazines were on side tables, and in one corner a fake ficus tree was trying to present hominess and comfort. But the plastic leaves in the attractive pot fell short of duplicating a cozy home.   Although this tree was a better option than a blank space and cold antiseptic atmoshere none of us had to be told it wasn’t the real thing. How could we tell? The leaves, and the obvious absence of dirt and earthy smell. Try as we might to recreate the natural with replicas there is nothing quite the same as the real thing.   Take this leaf for example. Its corners are curled, the color is fading and the shape is not necessarily appealing. Yet we love to gather these fallen foliage and plunge headlong into their waiting arms. You wouldn’t find anyone doing that with a pile of Papier-mâché ones.     Although I thoroughly enjoy social media, it too offers the fake. There is nothing in the media that is social, as we once knew it. Although it can be a wonderful means of meeting up with old acquaintances and is certainly a way for companies to sell their goods it still doesn’t replace the authentic.     A real social experience is one where people meet together—one on one, as a church group, a restaurant gathering or at sports events. It is doing life together. And that means being real. It’s accepting the fact that we have curled corners, our color is fading with the fleeting years, and our shape might not be as appealing as it had been. But what matters, what counts the most is the real deal and not the fake—plunging headlong into an embrace, not a ‘like’ on an Internet site.     If we want to get to know someone, it’s the person beneath the façade that appeals to us. It’s time to get real and not stand in a corner wearing our fake. How about you? Ready to meet others face to face and accept them as they are?   By the way, may I introduce you to some genuine people? Dana K. Ray, Irene Onorato, Linda Robinson These writers are not necessarily well known, but they spend many hours trying to formulate stories that they pray will be a joy for their readers. I do hope you enjoy their work, but most of all I hope you get to know them as friends—they are the real deal.  ...

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Here they come…

Oh, oh, here they come. First they arrive one by one, then by the dozens, and finally hordes begin descending. Yes, fall leaves will soon be piling up, and they can leave homeowners quite disgruntled. But if I close my eyes, the aromas of the season and the crunching sounds of the leaves send me back to childhood. I remember the colors of autumn in upstate New York and hear the laughter as we piled those leaves into heaps, got a running start and dove deep into fall. Even the dusty plume enveloping us from crushing them was a sweet sensation. Isn’t it astonishing that memories are still so fresh even after such a long time? We are not created as programmable computers with bit and bytes storing vital information that at any given moment can be repeated. But memories are indelibly etched in our minds and are recreated through all of the senses. If I hear a particular song it can take me back to high school days. Smelling peanut butter cookies or hot oatmeal on a cold winter morning, and I instantly visualize the kitchen where I grew up, see the steam rise and frost the windows. What we see, or hear, touch, taste, or smell can recreate a memory. However, unlike the programmable computer our memories cannot be erased. The bad comes with the good, and sights and sounds that frightened us as children can continue to create fear in us as adults. We are told to think on; "...

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Here they come…

Oh, oh, here they come. First they arrive one by one, then by the dozens, and finally hordes begin descending. Yes, fall leaves will soon be piling up, and they can leave homeowners quite disgruntled. But if I close my eyes, the aromas of the season and the crunching sounds of the leaves send me back to childhood. I remember the colors of autumn in upstate New York and hear the laughter as we piled those leaves into heaps, got a running start and dove deep into fall. Even the dusty plume enveloping us from crushing them was a sweet sensation. Isn’t it astonishing that memories are still so fresh even after such a long time? We are not created as programmable computers with bit and bytes storing vital information that at any given moment can be repeated.   But memories are indelibly etched in our minds and are recreated through all of the senses. If I hear a particular song it can take me back to high school days. Smelling peanut butter cookies or hot oatmeal on a cold winter morning, and I instantly visualize the kitchen where I grew up, see the steam rise and frost the windows. What we see, or hear, touch, taste, or smell can recreate a memory. However, unlike the programmable computer our memories cannot be erased. The bad comes with the good, and sights and sounds that frightened us as children can continue to create fear in us as adults. We are told to think on; "...

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