Why I Love Winter

The reason I love winter, is as a child we would come together more as a family. During spring, summer, and fall I would spend long hours outside doing what most children do, playing either by myself or with my friends.

During late fall and winter months my family would be force to come into the house sooner and more often, not that there weren’t just as many fun things to do in the house all year around, but most of my family loved the great out doors. So if we could be outside we would be.

As a child, my parents and grandparents would play games, put puzzles together, and read from the bible, while we would all sat around our big warm fireplace with a cozy fire crackling the wooden logs. We would build snowmen, and then come inside for hot chocolate, and homemade cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven.

Our families would gather at our home for Thanksgivings, and Christmases. My dad and uncles would move all the living room furniture to the side so sleeping bags could be brought in from our camper, and we would have wall-to-wall cousins as well as ourselves lined up throughout our living room. Our kitchen would be over flowing with cooks, making all kinds of food, and wonderful desserts for the holiday meals.

All of the adults would chat and talk about their childhood out on the prairie, with my grandparents chiming in from time to time to relate their own stories from their own childhood, about crossing the states in a covered wagon, with oxen instead of horses, or how they would have to go to the outhouse in the middle of the night with three feet of snow blocking the doors. They would tell about the dust bowl days, and teaching school to their own children because they would be unable to get the kids to the closest school for weeks at a time because of freezing temperatures.

It is truly amazing how far the world has come in just a little over one hundred years. My grandparents were born in eighteen-eighties and nineties, just years after the civil war. As a young man my grandfather fought in World War I, I had three uncles that fought in World War II. All these were stories I heard about during the winter months. They lived in the days of the covered wagons, automobiles, airplanes, jets, and watched the first rocket land on the moon. They lived through hauling water out of a creek, and wells, to plumbing water throughout their homes. They live through no lights to television; my grandma even saw the first wave of the computer and electronic games. The games she declared were pure evil, because you didn’t need anyone else with you to play them. (Games should be made to bring families together not separate them.)

So much had changed during their lifetime, and I was in our kitchen listening to every word. To me winter was a time of learning not just in school, but also from the history my family had lived through.

Grandma did not just watch ‘Little House on the Prairie’ or ‘The Walton’s’, but she had actually lived through those shows. Through the winter months while watching those shows on television, grandma would pipe in with, that little house looks better then the old ‘Soddy’  (sod home) we lived in while on the prairie. That car look like the first one Ed bought in nineteen-eighteen just before Evelyn was born?

Now my grandparents are gone, as well as my mom, who just passed last month, but memories of winters spent will live on in my mind to tell my children and grandchildren all the stories they had to share, with me as a child. I hope my home will be filled with as much love, memories and family as we use to have in my parents home when I was just a kid. These are the reasons I love winter.

The snow seemed whiter, the wind less cold, and our home seemed warmer with the stories they told.Ó

Far Away but Always Near

We all have gone our separate ways; we grew from children to adults. We all have them now life, families, and even some us have a working marriage. At this time in life or this time of the year I’m not sure which it is.

I find myself reflecting about the friends I grew up with and the wonderful times we had. As we passed milestones throughout our lives I find, I had the best friends anyone could ask for, and yes they are all still around me, in my thoughts, prayers and during troubled times. Grade school is just memories of long joyful days, and fun filled times of youthful fancy.

I recall the wonderful friends, that helped me get through, and of course some of the ones that may not have been so great at the time, but became friends never the less in later years. There were fights in the schoolyard, bickering in the hallways, and snide comments in the classrooms. This was the way of things when we were children, and we were growing into the people we would someday become. Right or wrong, we got punished when we did something wrong, we were taken to task in the principal’s office our parents were called, and then punishment was administered so we would not commit the same wrong doing again. Although on some children, not even this method worked, but I’m glad to say it did on me.

 My true friends were so different, we probably looked like a kaleidoscope, and they changed by a turn of the tube. Some disappeared, while others faded into the background from one year to the next. Some would always be there, just within reach whenever I needed them or they needed me. I can honestly say I was not always the best friend they could have had, nor I’m sure they did have at different times throughout our school years.

 For with each passing year we tended to out grow many things, we changed and so did our wants, desires, and needs. Some of my friends passed me by for others, just as I gravitated towards a different or new person that I thought would be who I wanted in my life rather than my old friends that knew me as a child.

Junior high or Middle school as it has become named, was a transitional period for all my classmates as well as myself. Some of us who had been the followers wanted to change to leaders. Others who had been leaders were ready to follow a more prominent leader. Some of us looked toward an older generation, to develop the attitude, confidence and personally we thought we wanted within ourselves. Rebellion quickly occurred against others, who wanted us to stay the same. So as we turned the pages of our book, and one chapter lead into another, so did the events in our life. The colors and shapes of our own experiences changed daily, sometimes hourly making and breaking ties to family members and friends who once had been the foundation of our lives.

 I know without doubt my world seemed to change within minutes during my ninth grade and tenth grade year, where I had just barely touched on my rebellion in Junior high, now I hit it as a large stone would hit the water in a lake. The large splash caused many ripples throughout my family and friends. I made a lot of mistakes with the choices I made, but each mistake lead me to become the person I would later be proud of. So to say I regret them, I cannot. For with each wrong friend I picked, I also selected two right friends that have stood by me throughout my years into and after adulthood. The bad friends lasted for only moments in time, but each taught me a lesson that I would always remember. I found five more of my closest friends in tenth grade. These friends as well as some of my grade school and middle school friends have kept me balanced, connected and centered to who and what I have become.

 I have made many other friends throughout my adult life, and some of them have become mainstays they have kept me grounded when I would have floated out of existence, been there for me when I needed them. All of these people along with my father and children have been the shoulders I could cry on, the people who never judged me (too harshly) and the people I can depend on when I need someone to lean on. I thank God for each and every one of them daily.

 By Janeal Mulaney

The Supreme Court’s Incentive to Keep American Dreams Alive

Why are we working? This is the first question, the people, who live in America should be asking ourselves. When our forefathers first came to this land they knew what they were working for. They were working to find their own place in this country, their freedom, their own religion, a home, a piece of land, and a dream. Throughout the years they accomplished what they had set out to do. Yes they had some problems getting there, but with the signing of the Deceleration of Independence and our Constitution they knew they had something solid to go by. That piece of paper gave all Americans their freedoms to live and work to achieve their own goals and dreams. Even with all the problems and wars they had back then, they held God above all else, their family second and their Country third. When England threw tax after tax at the people and they could no longer afford to pursue their dreams and goals, our country went to war. Much like today, all we are doing is working to pay yet another senseless tax. Yes that is what all this boils down too. Lets get serious here, if we could afford health and life insurance, with the weekly wages we make, doesn’t the government think we would have it already. Most of us have children, grandchildren, and family we want to take care of and provide for. With college becoming a dream that has quickly died for a large percent of the American people. Most of us now live in rental homes, make minimum wages, and barely live from paycheck to paycheck. We consider ourselves lucky if we can keep the electric, gas, and rent paid on a monthly basis. We no longer are able to afford the luxury of rental insurance, house insurance, car insurance, life or health insurance. Let alone a new car, new furniture, or even appliances. The government has now given us a choice we can spend money on food to keep us healthy or we can pay health insurance, and not eat, but if we do buy the food and forgo the health insurance, then we will be taxed for not buying the health insurance. I guess this could be a way to make sure the American people are no longer over weight. I guess it doesn’t cost as much for the government to bury starved corpse as it cost for health care if someone is on medicare. I guess I just figured they could always print up more money, it isn’t like they haven’t done it before, come August I’m sure it will be done again! I vote no more taxes, and if health insurance is so important to them that all American's have it, they can invest their wages to pay for the people's health insurance that is only making minimum wage. After all if they can grant all illegals amnesty then they should be able to pay our way as well.

Control is Not Love

Control is Not Love 

By Janeal Mulaney

Hi my name is Candace and this is my story it’s not a pretty one by any means, but if this story helps one person it’s worth writing.

I went for my jog through the park earlier then usual on that faithful spring morning. A stranger sat on a bench by the bike path. He was reading the paper with a Starbuck’s cup in the other hand as I continued on. I had never seen him before, but I usually jogged later in the morning, so I wasn’t surprised to see new face. I finished my jog and went about my day as usual. The next day I started my day off in the usual way. Except for one thing, I went for my jog earlier once again for some reason, I could not name. I just wanted to know if the man would be there on the bench again.

He was and this time I stopped at the bench to tie my shoe, which gave us a chance to say hello. We introduced ourselves, his name was Cal and we hit it off, we like the same movies, listened to the same music, and enjoyed the same kind of food. We exchanged numbers and that evening, he called to ask me out Friday night. For a few months we enjoyed each other’s company. Maybe that is why I never saw the control issue start. His control over me happened so gradually at first, it was just the tiniest things.

One night we were going out to dinner, he was there to pick me up. I was dressed in my midnight blue dress with my gold loop earrings finishing off, my assemble. I opened the door to his waiting arms. After a wonderful long hug and kiss he followed me on into the house we still had a few minutes before our dinner reservation.

“Sweetheart you look so beautiful, tonight.” He said with a smile, “there’s only one thing that looks off. How fond are you of those earrings, because I think these would go with that dress so much better.” He had reached in his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box, inside there was a pair of crystal blue diamond studded earrings.

He was right, and oh, how sweet it was for him to buy me a gift.  I thought as I immediately took out my gold loops to replace them with his gift. That was the beginning. In the weeks that followed he bought more jewelry, a shirt that would look oh so magnificent with a certain pair of pants that he had picked up the week before.  Next came the way I wore my hair, my make up, and even my nail polish was critiqued to his satisfaction. My friends were next, one was too jealous of our relationship; another was too lazy she didn’t have enough ambition. One by one, my friends were gradually pushed out of my life. My family was next. 

I was eye candy, just another piece of art on exhibit for others to admire, but I could not speak nor were they to touch. At parties I had to be at his side at all times, other then going to the ladies room. I had to be back within a certain amount of time. If I took too long we would leave the party, and I would be questioned. What was I doing? Who I was with? Just six months after I received his first gift the accusations started.

If I was late coming home from work, I was with someone, if I didn’t answer the phone when he called I was talking to another man, the list went on and on. I could no longer wear my old clothes, after all he wanted me to be seen in the clothes he bought me, that was why he bought them, he explained to me. I could throw my old clothes away, he said one night with a smirk on his face. After all that was what they really were anyway. (trash)! Then he would turn around and accuse me of wearing his clothes for some other guy, I was parading myself around for other men.

He kept me hurt and confused. I was worried about everything I said and did. If I smiled at some man that entered a restaurant he took me to, I wanted to sleep with him. My world revolved around him and only him, yet I felt he didn’t want to be around me. I didn’t smile anymore, I didn’t joke around with anyone, I was a totally different person, then who I use to be.

Now it was time for the physical abuse as well, but in a way I’m glad it started. The first time he hit me across the face I woke up. I realized what was truly happening to me and what he was truly all about.

I don’t know how I’d lost my self-esteem, I was old enough I should have seen the signs. I’d been in bad relationships before, not this bad but I had seen the signs so I could end the relationship before it had really began. Why was this one so different? I still ask myself those same questions.

This is the only answer I came up with; I thought he was exactly what I had wanted in a man. I fell deep and fast in love. My heart blinded me.

I had to get hit literally, before I woke up.

Thank God most men don’t have the finesse and the patience to go so slow. I now look at every guy I date, through wiser eyes. I look at every movement they make, every gift given, what time the gift is given to me. If they don’t want me to take my car and they ride along once in a while. I pay attention to their body language. I listen closely to what the man says and how he says it. I’ve ran into to a lot more men like Cal, but the minute they want to tell me how fast I can drive, I leave them in the dust. I no longer take out my earrings to replace them with their gift; I thank them nicely for the gift. Then I tell them I’ll ware them at a later date. I put the gift to the side and wear what I chose to wear that night. I watch their reaction to my independent ways.

Small signs and a man’s attitude can tell you a lot. Learn to look for the signs, and his temper if you pull the unexpected.

Is It a Man's World?

So Pretty Lady You Want To Be A Man?

By Janeal Mulaney

How do you answer a question like that? Well if you are a woman and you work in the construction field, you first need a thick skin and a quick wit. I found this out a long time ago, and both have served me well. I count the man who asked me that question among my friends, and that question is still the way, many construction workers think. After all you are walking into a domain, which has been basically held by men for centuries. So why should they change their attitudes to deal with you?

Sexual harassment, they consider you being there as sexual harassment. After all fifty years ago they started working in this field so they could say anything about their wives, and females in general, without having to sensor their tongues and thoughts. Now you are invading their space, where they can let loose their outrage, desires and some even their fantasies, whatever you want to call them. Now they are told they can no longer speak their minds, say certain wards, or act the same as they once did. Why, because it may offend some woman. Their idea of it is, if you can’t stand the heat get off the job site, we didn’t ask you to go to work here. They’re right! They didn’t, ladies you filled out that job application, so instead of taking everything to heart, grow a thick skin. You will gain their respect, and become their friend instead of their judge.

Yes, there will be some men and women that no matter, who will not like you for whatever the reason, but that happens in all work places. My suggestion is learn to avoid, or ignore the men and women you don’t get along with. Respect the men and women you do. (If you notice I added women to this part, because I’ve run into women on constructions sites that did not like me, after all it is not just a man’s world anymore.) Prove you are not there, just for eye candy, but you are willing to get the job done in the least amount of time. Work just as hard, if not harder. Have a witty comeback for all the stupid questions they ask, or the things they say and do, after all you work with them, get their point of view on the stupid things your spouse or boyfriends come up with.

Think of them as a co-worker first, person second, friend third, and a man or woman last. Now I’ll tell you the answer to that question. So pretty lady you want to be a man?

“Yeah and you are my role model for becoming one, so when I grow up, I can be just like you.”

We have been friends from that day on. Yes I worked hard, I showed him respect and he showed me respect. We laughed, we joked and we talked about family, home, health, religion, and yes, even politics. I no longer work for the company, but we still call and keep in touch.

Ladies in construction can and will work, but women need to do their part to get along, as well as the men do.

We're Running Away

We’re Running Away


By Janeal Mulaney



As a mom you have thousands of humorous, sad, wonderful, and scary moments, after all much like the Tammy Wynette song goes, ‘Kids do say the darndest things,’ and what they don’t think to say, they think to do. So part of a mother’s job is to be quick on her feet and have an even faster wit, or come up with a reasonable answer for any strange question in which her children can think up. Mothers have to have a great sense of humor, a firm hand and a loving touch. These are the three things I learned over twenty-five years of mothering.

I could write at least three books on the things my children have come up with over the years, but today, I’m only going to write about one.

This is the story of my run away children. I had just delivered my third and last child, he was a big baby and I was told by my doctor I would have to take it easy for a few months for my body to heal. I was not allowed to lift anything larger then my baby, nor could I bend over, which was hard on the older two for they were use to mom picking them up, playing with them, and helping them pick up their toys, along with what ever else I was needed or they wanted me to do.

During this time we were living in an apartment on the second floor and since I wasn’t allowed to carry anything down the stairs, or up them. I had no choice but to stay in the apartment with all three kids, unless my husband was home too.

So one day, I had asked my wonderful children to clean up their room, not only was the room in a bigger mess two hours later, but my two beautiful children were fighting at the top of their lungs. So I put them nose-to-nose for five minutes, this always stopped the fighting for soon they were laughing at each other and themselves, but this day, after they were released they soon decided the best plan was to blame mom.

Since I was so mean, they decided they would run away from home, and go live with grandma. Being the oldest my daughter came out to tell me about their decision.

I told them if they really felt that way then by all means they should go, but once they left they couldn’t return. You will have to take everything you want with you now. She returned to their room, and I listened to them ponder how they were going to take all their toys with them, but they decided they could manage by packing them all in their little red wagon. They picked up everything they could put in the wagon, and they were ready and rearing to go. My oldest was the spokesperson once again.

“Well mommy, guess this is goodbye,” she said matter of fact.

“Yeah I guess so, have grandma call me and let me know that you’ve arrived safely, okay.”

My youngest had tears in his eyes, but never cheeped a word. He just held on to the handle of the wagon. My daughter opened the door and they moved the wagon out onto the small landing in front of our apartment, and then shut the door. I watched through the peep hold as they sat down on the first step. They had around twenty steps to walk down then turn on another small landing to get down the other twenty steps.

“If you take the front of the front of the wagon and I take the back we can go down with the wagon,” my oldest said.

“No you take the front and I’ll that the back, I don’t want to climb down the stairs backwards.” My little boy said.

“Well neither do I,” said my little girl.

“Just ask mommy, she can do it, and then we can be on our way.” My son said.

She opened the door, as I picked up the phone.

“Mommy can you help us take the wagon down the stairs, please.”

“Oh you’re not gone yet, I was just calling grandma to let her know that would and your brother should be arriving in three or four days.”

Her eyes looked at like saucers as they widened with each word I said.

“Three or four days!” She squealed.

“Well yeah, it might take you longer, I’m not sure how long it will take to you both to travel by foot to Lamar, it might take you longer then that. It’s about a hundred miles from here to there.” I said, calmly.

“Uh, okay,” and she stepped back out the door.

“ I went back to watch through the peep hole, while she told her brother the news.”

My three-year-old son looked up at the door with huge tears streaming down his face and said, “I don’t want to go, sissy it’s about lunch time and I’m hungry. We didn’t pack any food.

“I don’t either, I hate the dark and we don’t have a flash light either.” She said.

“Do you think mommy would let us come home?”

“I don’t know, we would have to clean our room.”

“We can do that,” he said with a smile.

“Okay, than we’ll ask.” She got up and politely knocked on the door.

“Mommy, if we promise to clean up our room, can we come back home?”

“Um, let me see, I’ll let you back in if you promise never to run away again also.” I said.

She turned towards her brother, who nodded his head and they brought back in their wagon, and silently went back into their room.

An hour later they came out, our room clean mommy. They chimed in together.

I kneeled down in front of my children and hugged and kissed both of them.

“I love all of my children. Not just your baby brother, but sometimes you are going to have to understand, I can’t do all the things right now, that you are use to me doing with you.” I said sadly, “but I did fix you some lunch are you hungry?”

They both headed for the table and I served them their favorite meal sandwiches and chips.

Cool short Stories for Halloween

A-Halloween-to-Remember


Holloween-Fright-Night


Just a couple of stories I made up about Halloween fright. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. Thanks Janeal
I am interested in all comments so don't hesitate to leave one.

Adventures of a Teenager

Adventures of Being a Teen


By Janeal Mulaney



When you’re a teenager, you do so many things without even a single thought to why you’re doing them. You dress in clothes that are popular or maybe because the style you dress in makes you stand out in front of your peers, or they make you appear like you don’t care what other teens are wearing you are going your own way. As a teen I did both, I come from a family that leaned toward the poor, rather then the rich side of middle class. So neither my parents, nor I could always afford the nicer clothes that I felt everyone else was wearing. When I bought my clothes, I made sure they would last for a long time. If I outgrew them or they sunk, I would add material onto the pant legs of some other jeans that had already given up the ghost, or patch them with some outrageous patch. Many times it was of some devil, or hearts, it mattered not to me. I was different, I was unique, my classmates probably had another word for it, but those were the words I liked to use.

About now you are asking yourself what all this has to with adventures?

Well now the adventure will start. As a teen my parents love to go to Nashville, many of you know about Fan Fare for those of you who don’t. Fan Fare was an event that lasted one week out of every year. Any normal person could go and meet the country and western singers they loved to listen too all year around. I believe its still going on, not like it was in the seventies, but I understand it is still pretty cool. I meet a lot of my favorite artist during the week each year we went. Even though during this time in my life I tended to listen to more rock and roll, then country. Any way not only did I meet country greats; I met people from all over, from different states, to different countries. I had a blast, to say the least.

One day while I was walking around in my favorite old denim shirt with the rebel flag embroidered on the back, I was approached by this man who was asking me about my affiliation with the kkk, what the heck is that. I’d never heard of it. Okay so maybe it had been mentioned in my school during history, chances was it had been. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t paying attention that day. I tended to zone out on history if it wasn’t about something I really cared about in history. I must confess there wasn’t a whole lot that I did care about history during those years.

So when I had to ask this dude what kkk stood for, I’m sure he was kind of shocked. When he said it stood for ku klux klan. I’m sure my attitude was not what he thought it would be. I laughed not ho ho ho, more like tears falling from bending over and grabbing my sides. Seriously. Did that even exist still? Reckon so, and he didn’t like it laugh about, but hey I was from Colorado, not down south, this wasn’t civil war times, this was the just past the years of men running to Canada to evade a war that they didn’t feel like going to, or I guess now it was a police action. The decade of the flower child was just ending. We weren’t at war with black people, that I knew about. My shirt had the rebel flag, so I had to be against them, right. Why, they hadn’t done me any harm. I didn’t even know very many, at the time there were only two or three families, who lived in my hometown and I like all of them. I had not been raised racist, everyone was equal to everyone else, if you didn’t get along with someone chances are their color didn’t have anything to do with it. So I took the time to explain all this to this poor misguided man.

After all I didn’t want anyone to judge me, just because I couldn’t get a tan, which was all the rage back then, so why would I judge someone else who didn’t have to even get one. I sure the man walked away more confused then I was. I’ll bet he walked for miles still trying to understand my reasoning. To a thirteen-year-old girl, I thought it made sense.

My next encounter was with a man from a different country. I don’t even remember where he said he lived, but it was the year when teens bought shirts with one or two words printed across our chest. My shirt happen to have wild mustangs running free under the picture the words “Wild Ones” were printed on it. The man was sitting on a bench and as I walked by he asked.

“Do your parents not say anything about how you dress?”

“ Well yeah, but in the end it’s my choice, I wear the clothes that I like, why?”

“I mean they don’t mind that you advertise?”

“Advertise what?” I asked confused.

“Well earlier today I saw a girl with a shirt that the word virgin was printed across it. Why would she advertise that?”

“Well first off it was just a shirt, she may or may not be a virgin, and just because she wears the shirt don’t make it so.” I informed the oriental man, as I sat down next to him.

“I do not understand this country, or your ways. In my country we pick our sister’s husband.” He stated. Who will pick your husband for you?”

“You mean you get by with that? I’ll pick my own husband. Let me ask you this, what if you don’t have a brother who picks your sister’s husband then?” I asked.

“Well her uncle or her father would pick for her.” He stated. “Women need protected brothers know what is best for them.”

“Well in my country we don’t feel woman need to be protected that much, we stand on our own feet. Just because a man will nice in the presents of you family, does not always guarantee that he will be nice when they are not around.”

“You have a high divorce rate over here, so you women must choose unwisely, right.” He stated.

“What happens if your sister does not like who you choose, and she wants a divorce from her husband?”

“That would bring disgrace to our family, she would not do that.”

“So if the guy you pick for your sister beats her, she still would not leave him because it would cause your family disgrace. Over here if we choose a man who is mean or bad after marriage, we go home to our parents and get a divorce, we’re not disgraced he is. I like our way better. I don’t have to live without options.”

The man just shook his head and I walked away.

Like I said, I had many adventures while being a teen. Some were just too cool. Others outrageous, but I thought I would share a couple of them with you. I hope you enjoyed them.

Beauty is Within the Eyes of the Beholder

Deserts and Others Scenes
Articles and Painting by Janeal Mulaney




As we walked over the hard cracked ground we saw a snake laying in the shade of a small rock. The desert was sparse of vegetation, but in the shade of the great mesas there lived signs of green in the sagebrush. We saw a few cacti’s with small dainty flowers in various colors blooming against all odds. Some people do not see the beauty, which lay throughout this dry austere land. I do see vivacious beauty, the color shades throughout the lays of landscape from golden rod, to rustic red, to deep rich brown. They all layer the mesas that stand around me. No this was not Sahara, or Saudi Arabia desert; these are the deserts of the plains in southern Colorado and northern New Mexico. Some of the mesas here were formed out from old volcanoes, while other mesas were formed from earthquakes as well as God’s loving hands.

A small tree will grow here or there, a surprise to anyone who takes time to walk upon the crusted land. Although soup weeds and cactus make up the major plant growth in these water-starved areas, there is life among the dried and crusted floor. Small scurrying animals run to hide, as my footsteps grow nearer.

As a painter I hope to bring this colorful life I see in my mind’s eye to you, as well as the beauty hidden within its barren wastelands. Maybe my mind only sees a mirage, but whatever the reason, my hand paints a tree, or a colorful bush. A lake maybe nestled with in the shadows of a hill. In the end, it is on my canvas, and something I love sharing with the world.



Number One

Number One

From the time I can remember, I have heard heart attack is the number one cause of death. Now it is cancer, or stroke, that is number one, two, or three. According to whatever the commercial on television is trying to sell you at the time. Have any of you ever actually taken a deep look into how many things you do on a daily bases that can kill you.

You wake up and put your feet on the floor. A pipe broke and your house is flooded that movement causes water to flow into an electrical outlet, death by zapped. Chances are extremely low, but that can kill you. House fire, flood, tornado, hurricane, rockslide, and an accident in a vehicle, plane or train all can kill you.

Even a fall can kill you; just walking across the street, or up the stairs can kill you. Breathing polluted air, or not breathing can, and will kill you.

So how do you keep from dying, well you could drink eight glasses of water, eat all the right foods, and never smoke. But there again, is your water source really good for you, are you drinking pure water, or is it tainted with chemicals? Are you truly eating the right foods, or are they loaded with insecticides and herbicides?

Does not smoking really prolong your life, when there are still thousands of people who live under a black cloud of air? Have you ever driven outside of L. A., New York, Chicago, or any other large city in the world, and then driven back in to that city, get real, the air is a haze of brownish black. That can’t be good for you. Have you ever been around any dust?

I’m not even going to touch on the diet drinks, and food that is suppose to be good for you. Lets check out the chemicals in the man made sugars, or soymilk. All so, can anyone tell me what is in all the vitamins and medications doctors, or so fond of prescribing?

So how do we protect ourselves from dying?

I hate to disappoint you, but nothing you say or do will keep you living, when it is your time to go. When your number is called, you will face the after life, ready or not.

Why you may ask? Because you were conceived, yes that is right folks the true number one cause of death is conception. From the second your daddy’s sperm inters your mommy’s egg you are now starting to die. You can and will die whether it is from abortion, miscarriage, or being stillborn. Even if you make it past your own birth, there are another thousand reasons you may not reach purity. Then of course there are the reckless teen years, dunk driving, suicides, and guns and knives at school. You reach adult hood thankful you lived through all that, only to find out there is thousands of other ways to die.

Don’t get me wrong prolonging you life as long as you can is wonderful. All I’m saying is don’t fret about it. Do all the great things you want to do now. Live like there may not be a tomorrow. Be happy with the life you live today. Because, you never know when your number might be the one that is called tomorrow. No matter how healthy, wealthy and wise you are, if you are reading this article it means you have been conceive and you will someday die?

Trust in the Lord to know what is best and be prepared to meet him, when your turn does come around.

Many people thought they would live until they were ready to go. It doesn’t work that way. So enjoy your life, share your love with the one you love while you can, make the best of each and every day, and when your number’s the one that is up be thankful for the life you were given.

This summer, Lamar has been briefly privileged to an array of colors, sounds, and smells, due to electrifying thunderstorms. These storms have helped to ease the heat of our summer days, while bringing moisture to the much-needed area.

During the day the temperature rises, but towards the evening we receive a brief interlude, with beautiful cloudy skies. As their fluffy white beauty turns dark gray with rain a stimulating light show blazes across the evening sky heading our way. Within the storm's climax there may be brief clearings, which bring on another wonderment to the human eye. I've caught several glimpses of the splendor that often appears within our sky, during many thunderstorms. Although the rumbling crackling thunder soon followed, and the rain and wind beat the town, a fresh and tranquil smell is left for all to enjoy.

Too often people concentrate on the dangers and havoc that are left by summer storms, so we never look for the true beauty that lies within them. The next time the weatherman predicts another thunderstorm take a moment and remember there is beauty within all things. Open your curtains and windows to watch the view and enjoy the spectacular sights that sometimes we forget to value, due to the menace and mayhem that they leave in their wake. Enjoy the special light show outside that only God can create for all to see. Let the sounds, smell and beauty bring you a new appreciation of what the world holds within its magnitude.

A Note to my Readers

I just wanted to write and apologize for not getting my story finished for Christmas. This season has been hectic to say the least, between cleaning a home we decided at the beginning of December to move into, and then moving while cleaning it has taken a lot longer then I ever expected it would. So all my writing was put on hold. I'm hoping to start catching back up in February but please bare with me if I don't get everything done in a timely manner.

The Christmas Present

By Janeal Mulaney





Little Johnny sat at his desk, with pen in hand. The letter he had been writing to Santa had started out well enough, but then he had stopped, while thinking about the little girl that had been in his class for the last three years. Eight weeks ago, her parents had lost their home, after they had lost their jobs the summer before. The old car plant where they both had been employed; had burned down, and instead of rebuilding, the owners of the company had decided to lock the doors. Her parents had found other jobs, and even coexisted for a few months, but their debts were far larger then the money they were bringing home now. Johnny could still visualize the yard sales and the auction that had ended all hope of them keeping their home.

Johnny no longer saw the girl at school for she had quit coming soon after the auction. He hadn’t really paid much attention to her when she had went, until he’d seen her the day of the auction, where she sat in the corner pretending to read her book. He had watched her then, as the tears streamed down her face. The little girl had been at school the next day, even the day after that. In fact she attended for two more weeks, but no longer were her clothes ironed and her hair clean and shining. Her hair was now dull and tangled; her clothes were wrinkled. The girls that had been her friends once, now stayed to themselves whispering, and giggling with sly secret smiles that passed her way.

Johnny’s pen touched the paper once again; he finished one page then began another. He ended the letter to Santa, folded it and placed it gently in the envelope that his mother had given him for his special letter. After getting ready for bed and bushing his teeth, he took his letter and placed it on the mantel for his mom to mail the next day. Johnny kissed his mom and dad goodnight then went to say his nightly prayer. He added one thing after God bless my mom and dad and me. The words slipping through his lips before he even realized what he’d said. “And Lord please be with the Andersons and bless their family where ever they may be. Amen.”

As he finished his prayers, his parents were in the living room opening up the letter to see what their little boy would cherish most this Christmas season. The letter started off like every year before.

Dear Santa,

What I want the most this year is a Play station. After reading the next sentence his parents eyed the paper in shock. Santa, please forget about the Play station. I changed my mind, and instead would like to talk to you about a family that needs a whole lot more. His parents looked up at each other, and then once more continued to read. I’ll gladly give up all my toys if you can manage some extra chores. There is this little girl her name is Chelsea Anderson. Chelsea once went to school with me. Only she can’t anymore, her family lost their home. Now we don’t see her like before. I know her family is homeless and they can’t afford a car, or even an address for you to take her presents to. So instead of giving toys to me, just let Chelsea’s parents find a home this Christmas Eve.

This short story will continue next week, I hope you have enjoyed the first part. Sincerely Janeal

Alabama - Christmas in Dixie

Sanity or Insane

What is Sanity?

By Janeal Mulaney


I have asked this question many times over my lifetime, I still do not know the answer. I would tell my children they were driving me crazy. My oldest son would explain that was their job, and if I was not insane by the time they turned eighteen they hadn’t done a good job. The day he turned eighteen, I asked him whether he had done a good job or not. He said not, but then again how can you drive someone crazy when they had reached that destination a decade before he born.

I agreed with him, to everyone out there who has gone through life, avoiding the norm, you maybe considered insane by countless people.

I was one of those people if it was the normal thing to do I did the opposite, while girls were primping to look their best and fit in, I was primping to look totally different. One of my best friends told me I looked like a two-cent hooker, one day. I told her when she stopped raiding my grandmother’s closet I would worry about what she thought. In high school a two-cent hooker would not have been caught dead in the clothes I wore. For I never dressed up, nor did I own a dress. I did however own a pair of waffle stompers or as they are called now (hiking boots), if I had to borrow a dress to wear those were on my feet. My blue jeans were full of holes with patches on some, while others were left to spread open even farther.

My jeans were skin tight, and as I look back I’m sure my style of dress was copied to bring forth for this generation. Teens now pay seventy or eighty bucks for the clothes I wore in the seventies. My patches turned into decals and my embroidery turned into machine stitching. No one actually wears their jeans long enough to make true holes in them on their own, so the factories now make the holes for them. I started putting the names on the butt of my own jeans long before it was considered juicy to wear words across someone’s pants. I would embroidery my name or the name of my latest boyfriend in a heart on one of the pockets of my jeans or just above the seam of my Dittos. For those of you who do not remember or know what Dittos were, they were the name of the first pocket less jeans, they were sold through J. C. Penny’s and they had a moon shaped seam across the butt that ran down both legs of the jeans. My name had six letters in it so I would embroidery the first three up and around one hip and the other three letters going back down the other side.

So was this insanity, or just not old enough to know what a patent was? I cut off tee shirts and wore short jackets before they were popular. My friends thought I was crazy or worse. I smiled all the time, laughed over everything. Did outlandish pranks and said ridicules things that made my friends die from laughing. I never took a second of life seriously. To this day my high school friends and I stay on the phone and I always come up with some story or say something that starts us both cracking up with laughter. Insanity, is a matter of opinion what is insane to some, others call fun. Why be normal when you can be unique?

Can you say I Love You too Much

I Love You

By Janeal Mulany

Simple three little words. Right or not. Can you say them too often to the ones you love? No, because actions don’t always speak louder then words. There are times, when for whatever the reason you have to be hard on a child, a parent, or yes even a spouse. Sometimes it is called hard love, other times it is called punishment. When you do have to punish or actually demonstrate to a love one, hard love. Your actions may not express the love and concern you feel for them. So using those three little simple words can signify that you have their best interest at heart.

For example when your baby starts crawling or walking they don’t know an electric cord plugged into a wall can be hazardous, so you tell them no don’t touch, three, five, seven, ten times, but they still keep going after the wire. So you need to do something further to let them know there is consequences to playing with the wire and the wall socket. You slap their hand lightly, but hard enough for them to know they don’t touch. You need to let them know that even though you punished them you still love them. You say those three magic little words then give them a hug. Now have you said those three words too frequently?

No, you need to let the people you love now that your love for them is never to be questioned, because no matter what they do you will always love them. I have a three-year-old granddaughter; She yells out grandma, I ask her, what baby? She says, I Love You. I tell her I Love You too sweetheart. This happens anywhere from one to fifty times a day. Are we saying I Love You too repeatedly? I don’t think so. When you leave the house do you tell your family you love them, before you walk out the door? Do you tell them I love you just before you hang up the phone? What if something happened to you or them, and that had been your last chance to tell them how you felt about them? Would you still think that you told them I Love You too frequently?

The only time I think you can use those three little words too often is when you don’t mean them, or you use them as a tool for control over a loved one or to cover up abuse one way or the other. In all those occurrences it is not true love they speak of. For you don’t abuse the ones you love, or try to control them.

If you truly love someone, then no you cannot use those words to repeatedly.

Winter Memories

 I Love Winter

By Janeal Mulaney

The reason I love winter, is as a child we would come together more as a family. During spring, summer, and fall I would spend long hours outside doing what most children do, playing either by myself or with my friends.

During late fall and winter months my family would be force to come into the house sooner and more often, not that there weren’t just as many fun things to do in the house all year around, but most of my family loved the great out doors. So if we could be outside we would be.

As a child, my parents and grandparents would play games, put puzzles together, and read from the bible, while we would all sat around our big warm fireplace with a cozy fire crackling the wooden logs. We would build snowmen, and then come inside for hot chocolate, and homemade cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven.

Our families would gather at our home for Thanksgivings, and Christmases. My dad and uncles would move all the living room furniture to the side so sleeping bags could be brought in from our camper, and we would have wall-to-wall cousins as well as ourselves lined up throughout our living room. Our kitchen would be over flowing with cooks, making all kinds of food, and wonderful desserts for the holiday meals.

All of the adults would chat and talk about their childhood out on the prairie, with my grandparents chiming in from time to time to relate their own stories from their own childhood, about crossing the states in a covered wagon, with oxen instead of horses, or how they would have to go to the outhouse in the middle of the night with three feet of snow blocking the doors. They would tell about the dust bowl days, and teaching school to their own children because they would be unable to get the kids to the closest school for weeks at a time because of freezing temperatures.

It is truly amazing how far the world has come in just a little over one hundred years. My grandparents were born in eighteen-eighties and nineties, just years after the civil war. As a young man my grandfather fought in World War I, I had three uncles that fought in World War II. All these were stories I heard about during the winter months. They lived in the days of the covered wagons, automobiles, airplanes, jets, and watched the first rocket land on the moon. They lived through hauling water out of a creek, and wells, to plumbing water throughout their homes. They live through no lights to television; my grandma even saw the first wave of the computer and electronic games. The games she declared were pure evil, because you didn’t need anyone else with you to play them. (Games should be made to bring families together not separate them.)

So much had changed during their lifetime, and I was in our kitchen listening to every word. To me winter was a time of learning not just in school, but also from the history my family had lived through.

Grandma did not just watch ‘Little House on the Prairie’ or ‘The Waltons’, but she had actually lived through those shows. Through the winter months while watching those shows on television, grandma would pipe in with, that little house looks better then the old ‘soddy’ (sod home) we lived in while on the prairie. That car look like the first one Ed bought in nineteen-eighteen just before Evelyn was born?

Now my grandparents are gone, as well as my mom, who just passed last month, but memories of winters spent will live on in my mind to tell my children and grandchildren all the stories they had to share, with me as a child. I hope my home will be filled with as much love, memories and family as we use to have in my parents home when I was just a kid. These are the reasons I love winter.

The snow seemed whiter, the wind less cold, and our home seemed warmer with the stories they told.

My beloved Mom

Memories of Mom

My mom Esther was a woman filled with love for God, and her family and friends. There are so many good memories, of my mom and our family it is hard to choose just a few. There were numerous camping trips, and family vacations. All filled with laughter and fun.
I think I could write at least three books, if not more of the way she touched so many of our lives. Unfortunately I can only share a very few right now.
This is the first memory I would like to share with you. I’m glad we did not always have a seat belt law our block would have never made it to school if there had been one in the early seventies. We were having major cold spells and freezing temperatures. My mom and dad would go out to start the vehicles so they would warm up before taking us to school. The car wouldn’t even turn over so mom would tell dad, “can you see if old blue will start. We had an old fifty-nine ford pickup one setter and low and behold it would start when all other cars would fail to do so. I remember all the neighbor kids and my mom, with my sister and I, we would all pile in together to ride the four blocks to school. There would be kids on top of kids with a tiny spot for mom to squeeze in under the wheel thank God the standard shift was on the steering console or she wouldn’t have been able to haul anywhere from five to twelve kids to school.
I remember the rides on our horses with my mom riding on Star, and dad and us kids riding along beside her on our other horses. Mom and dad taught us girls to love and respect all animals, except for maybe snakes and spiders.
One day my mom went out to the garage to get a screw out of my dad’s tool drawers and she found this big old black spider in a drawer, she called my dad home from work to kill it and told us kids not to go into the garage. Dad came home, to kill the spider, he walked into the garage and seconds later he walked back out with this huge spider in the palm of his hand, and said. Janeal I think this belongs to you! I loved that spider, and use to terrorize Jan with it, so she had hidden it a few months before and forgotten it.
One night after us kids were in bed, a friend of my parents’ Nadine Garbez called mom and asked her if she and dad could come over to J and N shoes, she had a bat upstairs and Joe was out of town. So mom got us kids up and dressed and we all went to help Nadine get the bat captured so she could finish her paperwork and open the store the next morning.
Mom took part in the PTA with Dorsalie Jones and a hundred other parents. So many memories there are too many to tell. She helped with Chili cook offs, cakewalks, and was always active in town affairs, working right along side so many others. My mom was very out going, she would fight for what she believed in, and stand up for what she believed I don’t ever remember her backing down.
In eighth grade I quit school because a teacher was treating me unfair. I walked home and told mom that I wasn’t going back. If my daddy only had an eight-grade education it was good enough for me. Oh no it isn’t she said. And drove me right back to school. We went to my locker, grabbed my math book and walked down to the library where Mrs. Gallagher’s room was, where the rest of the afternoon Mrs. Gallagher and her worked over all my math problems to determine whether my answers that had been checked wrong were actually wrong or right. After the bell rang she headed for the principal’s office and told him to send for my math teacher. When he showed up my mother politely inform the man and principal what she actually thought of him and his teaching certificate and where he could put that certificate. The next day I was switched to a new class, with a good teacher and received the (B) I actually deserved.
So many memories so little time to tell them, so I will finish up with my favorite and one she loved to tell. It is about a poem I wrote just after my ex-husband and I split up.  Money was truly non-existent and Christmas was just weeks away. Of course my children were like all others and wanted this and that as well as the other new toy on the market. I had talked to my mother, about my worries and she told me about all the times while she had been growing up that money had never been enough to buy all they had wanted, so she had sugested I do what they did way back when, and make gifts for everyone. That night I made up this poem after watching one of my favorite Christmas movies.

The Empty Christmas Stocking


By Janeal Mulaney

I’ve noticed every Christmas, presents get more expensive

Everyone wants more and more.

Are we forgetting what Christmas is all about?

On the twenty-fifth day of December, we celebrate our Savior birth,

Jesus Christ was born.

Do we remember that it’s His birthday we celebrate?

Do we put a gift for Him beneath our Christmas tree?

Do we hang a stocking for Him for the entire world to see?

You might wonder what we’d give him even if we did.

Well, here are a few ideas to fill His stocking with.

There kindness toward each other, and the rest of our fellowman.

Peace on earth, and joy throughout our land.

We could also reach for understanding and forgiveness,

For the people we feel have done us wrong.

Compassion and caring we should give throughout each year.

Is his stocking getting full, or do we still have room for a whole lot more.

We could put in gentleness and tenderness, for they should go hand in hand.

Let’s not forget the love he gives us each and everyday

I still feel LOVE is the most important gift of all.

So, hang the empty stockings on the mantelpiece.

But don’t forget the most important one.

The empty stocking you hang for Jesus Christ.

Don’t forget all the items that make our Christmas bright.

Our Love for the Heavenly Father and our fellow man

For each time we show our love for another.

We show our love also for our savior

Let’s add all the other feelings that God gives each of us everyday.

Not just once a year.

We all love you mom and you will be missed.

Pillow Fights

Pillow Fights

By Janeal Mulaney

It was just days after my children and I moved out of my ex-husband house, the movers were do to unload our beds and other furniture on Monday, but until then my children and I had slept on the floor of our new apartment for the last two nights. My children and I had a lot of emotional baggage weighing us down with all the hurt and differences that were accruing in our lives. My oldest and youngest had been at each other’s throats all day. My oldest son decided to be the mediator as usual, but it hadn’t been working so as we got ready for bed the other two were still fighting.

The first blow came and Mitch hit both his sister and brother with one swing of the pillow. Before long we were all whacking each other with my old feathered pillows. We ended up tearing two of them apart and the feathers were flying everywhere, we were laughing so hard our sides were hurting, but we keep letting off steam and stress as we’d pick up another pillow and start up where a torn one left off. The pillow fight went on and on, the kids were laughing so hard they couldn’t even hit each other anymore. They were missing more then they were hitting someone, but the exercise was therapeutic for four people that had their whole world turned upside down in the space or one afternoon.

I was never so thankful that I had bought pillows every chance I got. We had gone through seven feathered pillows that night throughout our pillow fight. The stress was gone, but the mess was left to clean up before we could go to bed that night. The kids shook out all the bedding and I used the vacuum to suck up all the feathers from the carpet.

As the kids chatted back and forth about who got the best of whom, I vacuumed up all the feathers from the broken pillows. Then made out our temporary beds again. After laying down the kids talked to me about all the things that had been going on inside their minds with the separation, and us moving out of our family home. I tried to answer all their questions truthfully without putting all the blame on their dad. I tried to make them understand how couples some times grow apart, and how dreams can and do change throughout the years, and how some people want one thing and then for what ever reason those feelings aren’t there anymore. I’m sure if I talked to some professional about how we worked through our anger and hurt over the separation of our family, I would be told that I had handled it all wrong. I don’t know what the right way is, all I know is my kids and I bonded that night. That night they learned they had the freedom to ask questions, and talk to me about how they felt about any subject they wanted or needed to talk about.

We had many pillow fights after that, and I learned to buy some foam pillows just for the pillow fights, but that was truly one of my favorite pillow fights.

Artist and Writer

Get to know Janeal through her paintings and writings. Mother of three plus two special children that never gave her labor pains. Grandmother of four beautiful grandchildren who are her pride and joy. She learned how to Love, fight, and enjoy life through her parents. Seeing the world through her eyes is sometimes twisted, other times neon, but always intertaining.

in reference to: Facebook | Janeal Mulaney (view on Google Sidewiki)