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Barbara Ellen Brink

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Grandparenthood

March 2, 2020 By Barbara 8 Comments

Day 1 of Grandparenthood

We aren’t born to be grandparents. We aren’t qualified by how much or how little we screwed up our own children’s lives. We just sort of fall into it. One day you’re looking in the mirror sucking in your tummy and lifting your chin to smooth out that turkey neck, thinking, “I’m not bad for an end-of-the-line middle-ager. In fact, I’ve still got a sprinkle of sexy in these faded blue eyes,” and the next day your son or daughter says, “you’re going to be a grandparent.” Suddenly, you realize you really ARE old.

Yes, it’s exciting and you look forward to the day with much anticipation. There is a lot riding on this new segment of your life. Will you be the cool grandparent who teaches the little ones how to drive a motorcycle before they’re out of diapers or the over-protective one who puts bumper guards in the corners of the playpen? Will you be remembered for your words of wisdom, or your snarky repertoire?

I think our generation of grandparents are struggling with the process of age and change more than generations past because we went for such a LONG time waiting. We had our babies in our twenties and were technically done raising them by the time we were in our forties. We tossed them out of the nest two or three times before they were finally ready to leave on their own, and then we waited. And waited.

Now that the wait is over and we are grandparents, we’re out of energy. We’ve just become accustomed to quiet evenings of solitude with our spouse and the dog, scrolling through insane news stories on our iPad, while eating healthy tasteless snacks, and watching television programming at ever-increasing monthly rates. The house stays clean and quiet most of the time. It’s a simple life but simple is nice when you’re slowly easing toward eternity.

Young people think that age comes with perks. Making their own decisions. Eating what they want. Doing what they want, when they want, wherever they want. Yeah, sure.

In fact, age comes with responsibilities. Like Spiderman’s Uncle Ben said, “With great power comes great responsibility.”

That second childhood we were so looking forward to, when we would no longer have to be responsible for another human being? When we could drive fast, eat junk food in plain sight, and watch grown up shows without fear of little ears hearing swear words and repeating them back at us?

Sorry. You’re a grownup… again.

In fact, you are the ultimate grownup. A grandparent. The old person those little persons look up to like… a retired superhero. The bond that comes with not being their bossy parent, always having their favorite foods around, and loving them even when things break. Because time and age provides a new and better perspective about the worth of stuff versus the worth of those sweet little round-cheeked cherubs. Treasures worth dying for.

So, when they knock over a crystal tumbler while running through the house trailing birthday balloons, you dive headfirst to snatch them up before they cut tender feet on shards of glass. You don’t grumble and complain about not being able to have nice things around anymore. You just go buy some plastic tumblers.

Grandparenthood can be sweet, joyous, funny, time-consuming, expensive, busy, and very tiring. But being part of these little people’s lives is more than a second chance to get things right. It’s a God-given opportunity to help teach, guide, and love the next generation into the future.

At this point in my grandparenting adventure:

I’m learning to speak in Color Wheel (a language made up entirely of pointing at objects and stating their color).

I am the official food taster to Queen Ann (I must eat the first bite of any new food to ensure she’s not being given something icky).

I am a color book coloring buddy (which also includes much Color Wheel speak).

Annie is teaching me to wiggle and dance with The Wiggles (an Australian show that every decent grandparent should have on their Hulu list)

Jumping, hopping, spinning around, and marching through the house are now part of my daily workout routine. (I thought I was already doing a tough strength training regime. I was wrong)

I am an architect building towers to the sky, which Annie, the demolition expert, immediately destroys.

I am a storybook reader, lullaby singer, chocolate milk supplier, nap enforcer, boo boo kisser, and hug giver.

I may be second string, but I wouldn’t give up my position for anything.

Thanks for stopping by! If you have grandkids, leave a comment and tell us one of your favorite things about being a grandparent? Or just share a funny anecdote.

Until next time…

Barbara

Barbara is the author of The Double Barrel Mysteries and other novels of mystery and suspense. She lives in Minnesota because she can’t afford Hawaii.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: grandkids, grandparenting, second childhood

My Scottish Escape

January 9, 2020 By Barbara 4 Comments

I’ve wanted to visit Scotland for as long as I can remember. So, it seems strange to me that when people hear I took a trip there, the first thing they ask is “why Scotland?” As though it would be the last place on earth they would have chosen.

Why Scotland?

Because of the Lochs, the Highlands, and the plaid wearing, whiskey loving, friendly people. The cities with their centuries of history intact; cobblestone lanes and walkways, ancient castles and churches, narrow roads and roundabouts. Tiny villages on the edge of the sea where nothing seems to have changed other than the exchange of horses and carts for cars rumbling over cobblestones between rows of shops.

  • Roman structure, St Andrews
  • Loch Ness
  • Richard, the Lion Hearted tour director
  • Edinburgh

I’ve had an unrequited crush on Scotland from afar ever since reading romantic historical novels as a teenager and secretly hoping one day to fall through a time warp and land in the arms of a kilt-wearing, sword-wielding, muscular highlander. That didn’t happen. But I did manage to get my Dutch/Swede man to wear a kilt… for a picture. And he didn’t look half bad.

The Brink Clan

So, why Scotland? Maybe because I’ve always FELT Scottish and since feelings are everything these days, I’ve decided to identify as Scottish. I have not sent for my Ancestry DNA kit, but I feel confident that there must be a tiny bit of Scottish blood in me somewhere. After all, I love those shortbread cookies they are so famous for and I could even get used to drinking hot tea all the time if I had cute sugar cubes and cream at the ready.

Most of all, I love the brogue. No accent says, “Guid eenin. Have yourself a sit down. Would you like a wee dram of whiskey and a shortbread biscuit?” quite like a Scot. I could listen to it all day.

Scotland was everything and nothing as I imagined. A week was certainly not enough time to immerse myself in the culture, visit all the historical sites, taste, smell, see or find that time travel door and fall through it.

Being novices to foreign travel, my husband and I decided to take a Globus tour. Not wanting to get stuck in an unending loop circling one of those roundabouts in a tiny little car until we were dizzy, or the traffic police pulled us over for joyriding, we thought maybe a bus would suit us well our first time. Besides, driving on the wrong (left) side of the road is hard enough for right-handed Americans but we’re both left-handed, so… it doesn’t bear imagining.

Arriving in Dublin airport after absolutely no sleep on the plane, I was decidedly exhausted but otherwise ecstatic. I was in Ireland! Yay! Of course, I would never see outside of the airport, but still. I did see the writing on the wall and that was picture worthy enough. It was also a tad bit worrying to be printed on the wall of an airport…

“May the road rise to meet you”

Not long later, we took a wee plane over to Scotland and were immediately greeted by a tall, kilt-wearing Scot by the name of Richard. Along with a couple of other fellow travelers we embarked on a Globus bus for our hotel in Glasgow. We were told that we just missed the annual Santa Dash where over 8,000 Scots dressed like Santa Claus ran through Glasgow to raise money for charity. I was understandably disappointed, but we did spot a few stragglers about the city on the short ride to our accommodations.

  • Glasgow shops
  • Glasgow Christmas market
  • Having a cuppa sumpin’
  • Victorian market
  • Dressed for the holidays
  • The Printing Press shop

We were soon to see that Christmas is huge in Scotland. The cities we visited during our stay were all decorated to the max. Lights, wreaths, bulbs, and fully dressed trees were everywhere. Christmas markets were set up in Glasgow and Edinburgh with carnival rides, food venders, and wares for sale. Everyone seemed to be in great spirits. People were friendly and cheerful and decidedly helpful. We saw a middle-aged woman fall on the pavement and within two seconds she had half a dozen young women helping her up. I’ve never been to New York city but my impression from news and movies is that in a similar scenario a half dozen people would be taking videos with their cell phones, someone would be picking her pocket, and maybe someone across the street would finally take pity and call 911.

I’ve never wanted to live in a city. I’ve lived in small towns and now in the ‘burbs, which is basically spread out patches of bluegrass fronted houses, separated every couple miles by big blocks of the same stores and fast food restaurants over and over like a never ending copy and paste program. But I could totally see myself living in one of those lovely old townhomes in the middle of Edinburgh and walking from one end to the other… if I were a wealthy woman of means. Those townhomes must cost a fortune!

I’m not saying Scots are kinder, happier, and more caring, but they certainly seemed so.

Perhaps living in and around architecture built not only to endure but to be pleasing to the eye with a beauty that has withstood the test of time and mankind’s warmongering, glowing with history and remaining bright with life after hundreds of years is what makes all the difference.

Americans are accustomed to the motto, out with the old and in with the new, which sadly, is how most of us live our lives day after day. I dare to say that letting history fall away and be lost to future generations is not profitable or wise. We fail to learn from the past and indulge a short-sighted focus, self-aggrandizement, and sometimes lack of empathy at the plight of others.

On the bright side, I kind of wish I was still in Scotland.

Until next time…

Have you ever been to Scotland or want to go? Leave a comment!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of the Double Barrel Mysteries, The Fredrickson Winery Novels, and many other stories full of mystery, humor, and romance. She lives in Minnesota because she can’t afford Hawaii.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Stranger than an anorexic pug…

November 20, 2019 By Barbara Leave a Comment

Image from Pixaby

We’ve all seen the news. Or, as it should be called, the shifting sands of opinion. Everything looks pretty bad from the comfort of our reclining chairs in front of our entertainment systems and laptops. News Opinionators disagree and then have shouting matches around a cozy table with coffee mugs at hand, until the camera cuts away for a commercial about Google Home, a device that listens to everything you say, and unlike your spouse, even responds.

Does anyone else feel as though they’ve fallen into a black and white scifi movie? The end of all things as we know it. People shouting in the gray streets, “we’re doomed!” while the rest of society lives in oblivion in their bubbles of ignorance surrounded by giant screens that turn on as they move from room to room telling them what they should believe.

On the bright side, unless its been cancelled, there is that Facebook show with Mike Rowe called, Returning the Favor, where he goes around the country looking for people giving back to their communities in a special way. It’s a great, uplifting production that focuses on the good people do for others. Running a soup kitchen, fixing and giving away cars, helping veterans, etc. Sort of like living out those words that President John F Kennedy spoke so many years ago. “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can….” Oh, never mind. That history has probably been rewritten.

Of course, the shouting heads don’t want to find such stories. They’re too busy pointing fingers at people with differing viewpoints and calling names, all while copy and pasting their next story from the pre-approved alternative lifestyle political nonsense forum. It’s how they make their big salaries. American propaganda is at an all time high. But we’re too busy checking social media threads of insanity to notice.

It would be nice to hear good news once in a while. Something to start our day with a smile instead of a grimace. I’m sure the police have helped many more people than they’ve shot, but those feel good stories rarely reach us, because heaven-forbid we give the men and women in blue a pat on the back for serving our communities! It’s much easier to get eyes on a headline that accuses someone without first proving the facts. And then dropping it without explanation when it turns out to be completely skewed. The television equivalent of newspapers hiding apologies for their mistakes on the back page. In real journalism, fact checking isn’t just for typos.

Sadly, journalists have gone the way of the Dodo. Now they just throw out some accusations and move on to the next hot topic like a bunch of brainless twits on a morning talk show.

On the other hand, if some big Hollywood star is caught cheating on their taxes, hiring illegals for cheap labor, getting arrested on drug charges, lewd behavior, or messing around with their best friend’s wife and/or husband, the unbiased media chooses to focus on what an awesome, caring individual they are because they profess to love dogs and adopt an anorexic Pug from a shelter.

Now that’s newsworthy! Feel good right there.

Next!

~~~

Barbara is an award winning author, wife, mom, and now grandmother to a beautiful little girl. She enjoys weekend motorcycle trips, spending time with family and friends, and catching up on all the books and movies she misses when she’s busy writing.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: BarbaraEllenBrink, newsworthy, strangerthanfiction

Podcasting for the fun of it!

August 21, 2019 By Barbara Leave a Comment

http://anchor.fm/barbara-ellen-brink

I very recently joined the podcast revolution. Yes, I know, I’m late to the game. Apparently, the revolution has been going on for quite some time. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun with it anyway. Since I’m just learning at this stage, I thought I’d start by reading through one of my novels. So, that’s what I did.

Entangled is now available for your listening enjoyment, in ten episodes, two chapters at a time, on my podcast, Lazy Green Mysteries. I hope you will check it out and get listening. Whether you are relaxing in the backyard hammock, doing laundry, or driving to the grocery store, you can be enjoying a good book. Pure reading enjoyment without actually having to read. Also, you can rest easy that no trees were killed in the audio process. This recording is as green as green can be. So, enjoy!

Go to anchor.fm/barbara-ellen-brink and listen or download the Anchor app. You can also find Lazy, Green Mysteries at Spotify, Google Podcasts, RadioPublic, and Breaker. Other places coming soon!

Leave a comment and let me know what you think. Are you a regular podcast listener? Do you enjoy listening to a story while you are busy doing other things?

Thanks for stopping!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of The Fredrickson Winery Series, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, Second Chances series, and The Double Barrel Mysteries series. She lives in Minnesota and yearns for Hawaii.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: author reading, book podcast, fredrickson winery series, mystery

Evil Geniuses and Other Writers

August 20, 2019 By Barbara Leave a Comment

photo from Pixabay

Have you thought about what makes writers write? Do they have this wealth of knowledge and information that just begs to be let out? Do they have a seven-foot-tall imaginary rabbit standing over them with a club, telling them what to type? Do they sit around in dark rooms pondering what-ifs until something jumps out at them and screams, “Write or Die!”?

Actually, it could happen in any of those ways. I’m not saying Hemingway saw rabbits, but he was deep into the drink. And from the things that Stephen King writes, you wonder if he ever turns the lights on in his house.

I usually find myself lying in bed half asleep, my mind churning up things I’ve heard or seen during the day, and suddenly I have this nugget of a story. Of course, I have to get up and write it down or I’ll forget it by morning… which has happened many, many times. If I had actually used all those awesome story nuggets, I would have a hundred books published by now instead of just fourteen. But that’s on me, not my writing muse, or fairy, or Billy club wielder.

Laziness (or writer’s block, as I like to call it) is certainly a detriment to excelling in anything. Especially writing. Because if you don’t sit down and write, the words are lost forever in the void of sleep, or binge-watching Netflix, or wasting time ogling what other writers are doing and saying on Facebook.

And may I add… no books will be written.

There are creative people who view sleep as a detriment to the creation process. They believe that while they are blissfully resting their minds, nothing is getting accomplished. That’s why extremely creative people, or evil geniuses, rarely sleep. Two or three hours and they are back up drawing, writing, imagining, and creating.

We are not all evil geniuses though. I for one, need a full nine hours of sleep at night or I become quite evil without the genius part. I have written books while staying up through the night and forging on, but while my creative juices might be flowing, often my patience, love, and kindness for the people closest to me, flies right out the door. Single-minded perseverance may get the book done, and it might even be a mystery masterpiece, but if I leave my friends and family in the dust, what am I left with?

Accolades, respect, and glowing reviews from people I’ve never met can be exciting, sometimes heart-warming, and often come at just the right time to bolster my flagging ego enough to go on writing even when sales are in the tank, but it’s not my purpose in writing. My ultimate purpose in life is to glorify God. All else is just dust in the wind. I write for, create for, and am driven to please my Lord and Savior. My ability to write is a gift from his hand.

All this to say, YES, I am working on a new book in the Double Barrel Mysteries!!

Thanks for stopping by!

Barbara

Barbara is the author of the Fredrickson Winery Novels, the Grace Award winning thriller, Split Sense, The Second Chances series, The Amish Bloodsuckers Trilogy, and The Double Barrel Mysteries. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and pup.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Short of Stature but Tough as Shoe Leather

June 18, 2019 By Barbara 3 Comments

My grandma went to be with the Lord in the early hours of a Friday morning, this past March. At 100 years of age, her soul strained to be free of the withered, aged shell her body had become and flew away to heaven.

My memories include a short, feisty, strong-willed woman who worked hard her whole life, went to church on Sunday, and loved her four daughters and many grandchildren and great grandchildren with a generous heart.

Nellie Bea at 16 yrs old

Nellie Bea grew up in a large family. She was one of ten children. She only made it through sixth grade. Children had to be bread winners back then and not just bread eaters. She left New Mexico for Texas when she was seventeen to live with her older sister and brother-in-law until she found a job. She ended up meeting and marrying my grandfather, Frank Sterns. A few months later, he was killed, and she was left pregnant and alone at eighteen. Single motherhood wasn’t glamorous in the 1930s. There was no outside support. She lived with his parents until my mother was born and then a few months later agreed to marry a young man from her home town. The man I knew as my grandfather, James Smith. They ended up heading to California to find work and eventually settled in Oregon.

Frankie (my mom), Grandpa & Bonnie, Joyce, Delores, and Grandma living in a tiny trailer with one bed and no bathroom.

Visits to her house when I was a child included playing with her giant jar of buttons, swinging on the old tire swing behind the house, drinking cold, fresh well water from metal cups, eating homemade fried apple pies, watching her put up jars of hot relish (Chow Chow) she made from the peppers in her garden, and snacking off blackberry bushes along the side of the house. She lived in the country, on a narrow winding road where the land could be tumbleweed dry on one side and on the other be thick and green with irrigated crops. Farms were peppered with cows and horses, as well as ancient tractors and rusting plows.

My 1st birthday cake made by Grandma

When I was eleven, my family moved across the country and visits back to Oregon were rare. Her letters to me over the years before her eyesight was too poor to continue, were filled with words sounded out the way she spoke. And that’s the way I read them, out loud, conjuring her from the lined pages of her letters. Still with a soft southern drawl from growing up in the deep south, mixed with her many years in Oregon, she had a way with words that was completely original to her.

Grandma and me 2003

She didn’t learn to drive or write a check until after she was widowed in middle-age. When she did learn, she was a pretty terrible driver, but it didn’t stop her from calling all the other drivers, “idits!” in that letter-dropping drawl of hers that was a combination Texan redneck and Oregonian lifer. Baking a pie and whipping up a fried chicken and mashed potato and gravy dinner was as simple and common to her as people nowadays sticking a take-and-bake pizza in the oven.

Grandma/Grandpa Smith 1962

She was a lover of milk, game shows, aprons, and head rags (scarves wrapped around her head to hold the bobby pins in place or just to cover her hair when she was at home working.) She was frugal with her spending and didn’t waste food or clothes, but was generous with those she loved. She may not have given as many hugs as some, but you knew she cared. When she sent a crisp dollar bill in my birthday cards, I knew she was thinking of me no matter how far apart we were.

Nellie Bea 1983

My grandma always used my first and middle name. I don’t know if it was a lingering southern thing, a grandma thing, or a conservation thing from being raised during the Great Depression. Don’t waste anything. Whatever the reason, I thought it was cool when she said my name that way. It made me feel special. When Mom used my middle name, it was usually because I was in trouble. But when Grandma called me Barbara Ellen, I felt like I was being acknowledged as someone dear to her. Someone worthy of two names spoken in a feisty Texas drawl with a heaping helping of love and pride.

This letter is written by Barbara Ellen in memory and honor of my grandma, Nellie Bea, now resting in the arms of Jesus.

Me and Grandma

Filed Under: Uncategorized

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