When the World Grows Still and Silent

There is beauty in silence, or so I have always believed. I never knew snow made noise when it fell until the unending thrum of our electronic world stopped abruptly one harsh winter morning. It was a heavy wet snow that knocked out our power and brought the world around me to a grinding and blissfully silent stop. I stepped outside in the crisp wintry wonderland to revel in the beauty of a world renewed. A world that felt in its pristine whiteness less fallen; less corrupted. Less dark. Less imposing than it did on every other day. I expected to hear nothing. Instead I heard the snow and the gentle sound it made as it lazily travelled from its heavenly source to the world below. This was no blizzard. It was a gentle, heavy waltz of nature. White and wonderful.

This new sound I had added to my repertoire was a glorious discovery; one I never would have made were it not for the silence of the rest of the world around me. I have often asked people since that day if they knew snow made noise when it fell. I have yet to hear a single person answer with a definitive 'yes'. The usual response is a mixture of incredulity and disbelief; as though my goal in posing such a question is to make the other person appear to be a fool. It certainly is not my intent. I long only to share a miracle and a moment.

I often seek the silence because in the quiet comes clarity and inspiration. I live in a world of words. I am a writer. I have loved the written word since my beginning. It is in the marrow of who I am. But my words get jumbled sometimes and unwieldy, so I seek the stillness to help me find that certain something which I cannot find in the chaos of my mind.....peace.

I always thought the silence I sought was an absence of sound. An absence of words. A place where I can see everything but hear nothing. In truth, it is merely a place where chaos has little room to flourish. It is in truth a place of quietude. A place where my words are unhindered and disentangled by the constraints of the world and its worries. When the chaos dies down and my mind begins to quiet, I can once again find the beauty in the words I love so much. The quietness that is not truly empty, becomes my refuge and my place to reconnect with the unending possibilities that become my solace. I find a certain magic in this stillness which enables me to rediscover the hidden miracles of the world around me like the sound the snow makes when it falls to the ground.

I have been told before that one day, the world will not need people like me. Writers....manipulators of the written word. The world has technology and pictures in an endless array of digital formats. In such a world, words are meaningless. They have no place. No real value. As everyone knows, a picture is worth a thousand words. I would say that in some cases, this is true. Who hasn't been moved or inspired by the images of great moments in history like Pearl Harbor, D-Day, and 911? Who doesn't cherish the memories of a moment shared, captured in the image of a photograph to be remembered for all time? We honor our images with frames; we celebrate their whimsy in calendars, cups, tee shirts, and a myriad of products. They make us smile, laugh, and cry, often without a single word spoken. There is beauty in the simplicity of an image and elegance in its silent message.

I would however say one simple thing to challenge that age old saying which makes us believe where photos exist, words are not needed anymore. True silence is a double-edged sword. No image can fill the void that is left when the words cease to come; when the silence envelopes you so completely, there is nothing left. When there is silence...when there are no words any more, the images only remind you of what no longer exists. The silence is complete. There is no peace there; only chaos.

So what am I saying in my exploration of silence and sound? Images and words? Only this. There comes a day for all of us when we are left with nothing more than silence in the room around us and the images of the ones we love. The images are no comfort. They cannot replace the words of love that are spoken no more. The silence is complete in all its wicked intensity. Never fail to cherish the moments when the words pour forth in blissful abundance. Relish the quiet moments, but share them always with the ones you love, for they too may long to hear the sound the snow makes as it travels from its heavenly source to the world below. Not every moment requires a barrage of sound, but do not embrace the silence until its time.

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If you enjoyed this blog post, sign up for future posts by clicking "Join this site" on the right of the screen. Also, check out H.L. Stephen's popular cat mystery The Case of Jack the Nipper ~ A Chronicle of Mister Marmee available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. The Case of the Wayward Fae, book 2 in the Chronicles of Mister Marmee series will be out in time for Christmas 2013!

When Love Breaks Your Heart ~ Saying Goodbye To My True Sir Happy Heart

There is a saying that behind every myth or legend is a grain of truth; no matter how small the grain may be. The same may be said for every story conceived by the heart of man. Somewhere between the layers of fiction and fantasy.....amid the fanciful scenery and unknown realms.....wrapped inside the quirky habits and eccentricities of the characters that draw the reader ever deeper into the story they enjoy lays some truth about the writer's heart. Whether it be a writer's love of the history so artfully woven into a historical novel or a striking resemblance of a villain to a writer's own real-life nemesis, reading an author's stories will tell you something about them, no matter how insignificant the revelation may be.

To read The Chronicles of Mister Marmee will reveal much about me and my heart, for it is a tribute to one of the greatest love stories of my life. It is a love story that will forever shape and influence me no matter where my life may lead me. It is a love I cannot and will not ever forget. On Tuesday, February 19, 2013, the real Sir Happy Heart - the inspiration for the Sir Happy Heart in the Chronicles of Mister Marmee series - died. He would have been 15 years old February 22.

Sir Happy Heart, or Happydog as we were prone to call him, was a miniature black and tan dachshund. He was a small dog - about 15 pounds - but there was nothing small about this bighearted little boy. In so many ways, he was a giant even among giants.

Trying to capture the essence of my Happydog in words is like trying to capture the magnificence of the universe with a single photograph. It is a task which is impossible to accomplish because the tools are inadequate for the task. Oh certainly, he was as much a down-to-earth dog as the next spectacular canine companion, but there was something about Happydog that made him different. It was his spirit, and anyone who ever had the privilege to meet this little dog felt it as clearly as one feels the sunlight on their skin on a warm, summer day.

Happydog survived demodectic mange, 2 serious back surgeries (within a month of each other), and a host of other illnesses that would have put any other dog down. We jokingly called him our million dollar dog because we spent every penny we had and maxed out every credit card to save him each and every time. Had he been any other dog, he would have succumbed to one or all of these physical battles, but Happydog was a fighter that wouldn't give up, so we didn't either. And he pulled through, every time. I thought he would live forever. He marveled his vets and the specialist who worked with him. He humbled them when they said he might never walk again and he did within hours of the surgery, but that was just the way my little miracle boy was. His spirit wouldn't let him give up. He kept fighting, right up to the very end.

Happydog wasn't just a fighter. He was a soul mate, and not just to me but to each member in my family. Happydog was my momma's dog, but I guarantee if you were to ask anyone in the house who his favorite was, they would whisper behind their hand (or paw), "It's me!" He just had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in his world when he was with you. When I had my tonsils removed and had an arterial bleed.....twice....Happydog lay with me and never left my side. For six weeks, he lay on the couch with me watching and waiting for me to get better. In 2011, when I ended up in the ER where doctors found massive tumors in my abdomen, and we feared it was cancer, after the surgery and for two months during my long recovery, Happydog lay in bed with me watching and waiting for me to get better.

It was just his way to always be there, like my beautiful black and tan guardian angel. When I was in school, he did homework with me and when it was time for a break, we played. Is it any wonder that such a glorious heart would become the breath of inspiration for The Chronicles of Mister Marmee? Oh yes, I know, Mister Marmee is a cat who tells the tales of his adventures with his beloved friend Sir Happy Heart. But if you listen carefully, as you read the words of the story, you will begin to hear the melody of the heart of my boy in the tenderness and charming refrain of Mister Marmee as well. For I can no sooner separate the voice of my boy from my two favorite characters than I can remove the love I have for him from my heart. He is everywhere within the pages of my books.

Through every word of the Chronicles of Mister Marmee ~ The Case of Jack the Nipper and through most of the first draft of the Case of the Wayward Fae, my own Sir Happy Heart lay with my little girl Peanut Pumpkin Pie and watched me write his adventures.

Now that my Happydog is gone, there is a void in my spirit that defies description. I did not know I could feel such pain as this. I know in part it is magnified by the loss of my beautiful Jessie Bess in November of last year, just three short months ago. He was another glorious dog who left me way too soon. For Happydog, there is a special sense of emptiness for he gave life to the stories I love to write so much. For a time, I feared his voice would be silent forever, buried beneath a grief I could not overcome. This weekend however, I dared to try...to face what I feared the most.....the unbearable silence of my boy's stories. I am still working on the ending of the Case of the Wayward Fae, and I need to finish it for Happydog. I need more than anything for his story to continue. For it to end would be like losing my Happydog all over again. The most miraculous thing happened as I once again looked upon the written words that represented in some small measure the spirit of my boy......his voice once again came alive in my head.

I may have lost the precious Happydog that brought such joy everyday to me, but I still can celebrate and share the spirit that gave him life. Sir Happy Heart.....my Sir Happy Heart.....will live on in the pages of each new novel in the Chronicles of Mister Marmee series. It is the greatest testament to his love for me and the greatest way I can honor him for 15 years of selfless love and devotion. I know one day I will see my boy again if God deems me worthy to run among the angels, for surely that is where my Happydog is. He was an angel come to earth for a time who has returned back to heaven. Run free my little love. I will miss you, always.

A Tribute To My Jessie Bess ~ When You Have To Say Goodbye To a Best Friend

The past few days have very hard for me....'impossible' might be a better word. It is not because of the election or Hurricane Sandy or any of the thousands of other issues being reported in the news. I just had to say goodbye to a dear friend on Monday, November the 5th....actually I said goodbye to a best friend. His name is, or was, Jessie Bess. At least that is what I called him in my moments of affection. He was an Australian Shepherd mix who graced the lives of me and my family for 13 years. He was a silly, funny, gentle giant of a dog that we rescued when he was 6 months old or so. He was only supposed to be 40 pounds; at least that is what the vet said. He was saved from the side of the road with 6 other siblings when he was 3 months old, and we were assured he was going to stay the size he was. When Jessie Bess hit 85 pounds, we knew something big had gotten into the proverbial woodshed, but we didn't care. By that time, Jessie Bess had already won his way into our hearts.



Jessie Bess was my dad's dog, but like with any angel that is sent into your life, the magic he wielded ensorceled us all. He was so silly and fun. He bit his nails like a nervous teenager, spitting the tips out on the floor once he had managed to coax them free. He spit like a farmer, and you could hear it from across the room. Sometimes, he would toss a back leg over his back and chew his back nails that way. It was sure to bring a bubble of laughter from anyone who saw his silly ways. I think sometimes he did it just to make us laugh. He was just that kind of dog.

Jessie Bess had a hard beginning, and we had many issues which had to be worked through. The first part of his puppy hood was traumatic, and my dad worked tirelessly with Jessie to help the 'good dog' in him come out.  Jessie was scared of everything at first. I can only imagine what he went through before we met him. I tried not to go there because the thought of his suffering was more than I could bear at the time. I simply found myself thanking God that we had Jessie, especially with every triumph in his training and every obstacle he overcame.

 



Jessie Bess was very gentle, we found out and would play with his 'big brother' Happydog (a miniature dachshund) in such a way where Happydog would always be safe. Happydog took playing very seriously, and so often, Jessie Bess would let Happydog win at whatever game they played. It didn't matter to Jessie. He just loved the play and loved his 'big brother'. Jessie was just that kind of dog. When I got my little girl Peanut Pumpkin Pie, a tiny Pomeranian puppy that had captured my heart, Jessie was just as gentle and loving with her. They shared the dog beds and play time, and Jessie endured patiently any puppy tendencies that Peanut had related to him. Frantic lick attacks. Barks in the face. Feverish game of puppy tug of war. It didn't matter to Jessie. He took it all in good strides. Peanut loved him so much and he her!

Peanut grew up with Jessie and over the 8 years they spent together, Jessie became her protector and ours. He saved my mom and Happydog from being attacked by a neighbor's dog. He kept diligent watch when our area was overrun by coyotes looking for a meal. He was our strong boy when we were outside, and he was always on guard when we laid down at night, sleeping wherever he thought was the best vantage point. He was as faithful as it gets. For all his fierce protectiveness, though, Jessie's sweet heart saw himself as a little dog who wanted nothing more than to crawl up in our laps and cuddle when all was well.

 



Jessie Bess loved to play, he loved his 'pack', and he loved his family. He was the best dog in the world. It felt like he would be with us forever. Where my books were concerned, I had it all planned out. Jessie Bess was going to make his debut in book 4 of The Chronicles of Mister Marmee. He was a perfect choice for the storyline. I never thought I would be writing his story after he was gone. I never really saw his age until the very end, when his body began to fail him, and my family and I found ourselves facing what no one ever wants to face...the loss of a best friend.

How do you say goodbye to a best friend? How do you come to terms with the reality that you will never, on this earth, see them again? We tried everything as poor Jessie Bess fought the ravages of age. We bought expensive medicines and tried supplements, bargaining for more time. We steadied his hips as he walked up and down the stairs to go outside. We cleaned up his accidents in the house when he started losing the ability to 'hold it', and we justified those times as being related to the medicine we were giving him. There came a point however when we realized that life had lost its joy for Jessie Bess. He could barely make it up the stairs, and there were times when he would simply collapse. He didn't understand what was happening to him, and we couldn't make things better no matter how hard we tried. Jessie Bess became lost and confused, and we knew he was reaching a point where he wouldn't remember who we were anymore.

It was so hard to see that in his eyes and to know we had ran out of time and things to bargain with. It was the second worst day of my father's life, the day he realized it was time to free Jessie from the darkness while Jessie still knew who my dad was. The worst day of my dad's life was the day he said his final goodbye to his best friend Jessie. I would have given anything to spare my father that pain. My dad was doing the best he could for his faithful little boy, ensuring in his last hour that Jessie Bess was not alone. And now being on the other side of that final act of kindness, mercy and love, we all are suffering from shattered hearts trying to fill the hole where Jessie Bess used to be. It feels like the most unbearable grief, and I wonder to myself whether it will ever ease. I have wondered why it has to hurt so much to say goodbye.

Then I realized it hurts because it is supposed to hurt. I lost a part of myself when I said goodbye to Jessie Bess for the last time. Jessie had become integrated into the very fiber of being, and to lose him was like having a part of me ripped out. Jessie loved me for me, with no strings attached and no demands. He didn't know any other way to be. Jessie's love for me - in spite of all of my faults and imperfections - was a reflection of the kind of love God has for me. Selfless. Unconditional. Pure. Perfect. The pain of Jessie Bess' loss reminds me I am still close to God's heart. The pain I feel means I loved Jessie to the best of my human ability with the right kind of love. I responded to the God-spark in Jessie and embraced it with both hands. Without my passionate love for Jessie, there would be no pain in losing him. So maybe, just maybe, I have a spark of God within me, too.....some remnant of the time in the Garden when things were as God intended....before we got in there and messed it up.

Was it not God who took time to enjoy the beauty of all that He created? Was it not God who saved 8 people and THOUSANDS of animals during the flood? Was it not God who made a covenant with man AND beast after the flood waters receded? Is it not God who knows the name of every sparrow that falls to earth? That kind of love....God's love....is immense, and it was God's love of his animals....His creation....that was first instilled within Adam in the Garden of Eden. Did God not bring each animal to Adam for him to name them? Why would God have asked for such a personal touch on Adam's part if He had not intended there to be a more intimate relationship between Adam and the animals under his care?

 



Perhaps I am over-simplifying things or perhaps I am giving myself way too much credit for the love I had for one faithful, loving dog, but I believe my sweet Jessie Bess has his reward now for living and loving so selflessly. And perhaps, just perhaps, God will deem me worthy enough one day to see my sweet love again in heaven. I think the key lies in living by Jessie Bess' example - loving those around me without condition. After all, I spent 13 years observing a master of the art, and I am better for that time with Jessie Bess in the end, pain and all. I love you Jessie Bess. Run free and far in God's Garden. Just please don't forget me while you are there. I will never forget you!