New Year Overload

January 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

Welcome 2002! We're so happy you're here.

2001 will be forever in the history books, marked by villainy as well as heroic sacrifices. As we glory in our champions, let their responses, here and abroad, be a testament to courage, a goal for us all.

Our lives have returned to a new normal: The holiday decorations have been repacked, hopefully, better labeled for the next go-round. The outside air is chilled, but we're toasty inside, beginning the long hard road toward our former slimmer selves. The children are back in school, we're all back at work, be it inside or outside the home, and we're living our lives and going about our business. Our completely carefree attitudes having been forever altered, we now enhance them with a new appreciation of all we hold close to our hearts.

PS I've become a tourist attraction by association. An Atlanta reporter, who interviewed me for an article on the Fox Theatre, has informed me that my memories are a part of the local tours she conducts!

Love from Amelia Island,

Jane Marie

Publishing Perils

February 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

Have you ever had an experience where that beautiful rose that enticed you, not only drew blood, but when wilted, sent the delicate odor of spoiled sauerkraut wafting through your house?

Sometimes, publishing a monthly newsletter is akin to that very thing. When there couldn't possible be any more typos, and we're certain all the links are working, sister Nancy pushes the magic button that sends my monthly thoughts out into the world. Alas, that's when I discover that "broach” is spelled "brooch” and that the link that says "Cards Come a Callin'” takes one directly to "Make Your Own Plumber's Helper Topiary.” Ah, these are the things that grind sisters' souls.

"Be not deterred,” I say to sweet Nancy who has taken to calling me "The Man,” inspired by Tina Turner's classic tune, Rollin' On the River, where she sings, "Workin' for the man every night and day.”

I admit I wasn't certain that being called The Man was a step up from Nancy's describing me as "The Gracious Stephen King,” (since I inundate her with material to publish). Yet, I'm sure she means it only in the most positive fashion - that I effervesce with ideas and innovations to improve our site. Improvements that she, and she alone, can, must and WILL implement, by jingo!

What Nancy and I have is tenacity and the ability to overlook our lack of talent in some technological areas. United, we sisters shall forge onward into the abyss of technological purgatory, struggling, struggling to one day reach our goal - website perfection. Our reward? Not the satisfaction of a job well done, not the praise from our proud family, friends and fans, but the judicious division and consumption of an entire chocolate cheesecake. May the fudge be with us.

Love from Amelia Island,

Jane Marie

PS This month's articles have the paw of approval from the Feline Force down here in the Southeastern Branch of greenlightWRITE.com. And let me tell you, they are not an easy bunch to put anything past. You should have read the sentences about the spilt tuna juice in the keyboard that they red-lined out of the recipe section.

February is Responsible Pet Owner Month. Our felines are already so spoiled and round, I don't know what more I can do for them. Perhaps we could encourage their much-desired need to tap dance on our heads at 3 a.m. After all, the cats deserve something special for all their assistance editing this newsletter. On second thought, it might be easier to just give them a jar of salsa and some chips to go along with National Tortilla Chip Day (February 24^th).

Back Aching Blues

March 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

Several weeks ago, my husband spent nearly three hours undergoing back surgery. Having a loved one in the hospital is always stressful, but I had the added benefit of his on-going, medically induced comedy routine.

Of his bald roommate, he asked, "Hey Jimmy, what 'cha in for? Hairectomy?”

As the nurse took his blood pressure that early February morning while groundhog Punxsutawney Phil was looking for his shadow, the V news commentator described Phil as "a little fat boy.” "She's talkin' about me, ya know,” my medicated husband announced to the nurse.

When she wanted to listen to his heart, the lady in white said, "We need to hear how you sound.” Hubby responded with, "Did you bring the sheet music?”

He later told a visitor, "I don't know if the doctor left me a spine or not, but he did advise me to buy a clarinet case for storage, just to be on the safe side.”

As the nurse explained that the self-limiting morphine pump made hirping noises when the patient felt the need to give himself more medication, the love of my life asked, "Is it true that if you can learn to play a tune on that thing, you're taking too much?”

My favorite hallucinatory comment was back at home after we'd said grace before dinner. Instead of saying "Amen,” he cheerfully closed with "Adios.”

The prognosis looks good. I'm so very glad we live in an age when the skill of a physician and the science of medicine can make a sick man well and almost grateful to have been ill in the first place. Several hundred prayers haven't hurt either.

Jane Marie

PS A very special thank you to Carol Bon Jovi, Jon Bon Jovi's mom, for her advice and down home conversation. (We're both from the same town.)

PPS Don't forget, March 28^th is your day to celebrate "Something on a Stick Day.” Be it corndogs or fudgesicles, overindulge. You deserve a wild time!

Dust Bunny Battles

April 2002

"After a million years, a dust bunny can get pretty big."
Scott Kenyon, planet-formation astrophysicist more quotations

My Own Treasured Friends,

The dust bunnies have found the perfect place for their annual convention, and it's beneath my bed. I assumed their bunny scouts would reject such a location, what with my constant under bed rearranging of a plastic Christmas tree, an electric keyboard, an old jewelry box and various empty containers being saved for an important - if yet unknown - future use. Alas, those bunnies seem to thrive (discretely I thought) on my hidden chaos.

And they are everywhere - tucked into the corners of my house and lolling behind the dresser and other pieces of furniture, large and small. Darn.

You know how they say if you're going to sell your house, you should bake a loaf of bread to make the place smell homey? Well, long ago, I heard that the alternative to frequent dusting and vacuuming is to turn the lights down low at night and close the drapes during the day. Sort of cozy, don't you think?

In short, I teeter on the brink of being forced to drag out the magnetic feather duster that seems to repel dust, the old cotton dish towels 've used for years - despite the fact they refuse to absorb moisture any longer, the all-purpose spray cleaner that disinfects while is steals my breath away, and the mini-vac minus its bizarrely shaped attachments. (Surprisingly, I can't quite figure out how to fit them back into their proper positions in the plastic thingy they came in.)

Of course, proper dress for spring cleaning is a must. Digging through my closet, I hope to find the old Crab Festival T shirt with the big bleach spot in the front and the pants with the blue paint and blood stain on the knee. (I slipped and fell on the way to renewing my driver's license.) Now the outfit lives on to serve a higherpurpose, sanitation.

My garb complete, the chemicals of battle in hand, my watch words will be: "Welcome, Spring! Look out bunnies!”

Love from Amelia Island,

Jane Marie

PS "The happiest days are when babies come.” Melanie from Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind.

The best of Mother's Days to all the wonderful Moms out there! The world is blessed to have you.

PPS At 500 pages and growing, we also thought it was time to have some nice banners that other folks could put on their websites. (We'll swap.) One of the designs we're considering might be a little controversial, so please let us know what you think by sending an e-mail to janemarie@greenlightwrite.com.

Note: The votes are in and the vast majority of you liked this banner. Thanks.

PPPS The Amelia Island Ringers were featured on the front page of the Fernandina Beach, FL News Leader on April 3. Way to go!

Kitty Litter Jitters

May 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

What is it about May that makes everyone feel simply wonderful? For those of us living in Florida, where the weather is warm more often than cold, the current days are not as hot and humid as they will be in the next few months. Now is the time we throw open the windows and enjoy the outdoors without the necessity of air conditioning. Whenever your spring arrives, it's a grand time to be alive as we watch the earth renew itself.

There is much of that renewal in my garden. Winter sometimes kills my plants so it's always a sweet surprise to discover which ones have beaten the odds and survived.

I grow roses and they certainly deserve the title, "Queen of the Garden.” However, the rose isn't the only plant I have in my courtyard. Just ask the esteemed Production Manager of our fantastic team of Florida Felines, Mr. Buzzbee. I'd have to say that his favorite seed this year is the green onion. Or is it the cornflower or daisy?

I can't be certain because as soon as I planted them and went inside to get a glass of cold water, Mr. Buzzbee decided that my rows were far too straight and my seeds weren't deep enough. Being the independent thinker that he is, he took it upon himself to single-pawedly plow up my freshly turned and planted beds, making them much more to his liking - either that or he thought I had purposely prepared an outdoor litter box. Upon my discovery of his efforts, I thanked him for his attention to detail (no fresh seed was left unmoved), and convinced him that he needed to get out of the heat. What with all his heavy fur, I didn't want the poor baby to have heat stroke, now did I? Or did I? As my sister Nancy would say, "Grrrrrr.”

Perched on the window sill, Mr. Buzzbee appeared to be looking out and laughing at me when I mistakenly sat on and crushed the old dishpan in which I collect weeds. Mr. Buzzbee also saw me discover a long-lost chipped enamel serving spoon that I buried three years ago while digging for a capped off sprinkler head. My jubilant dance at unearthing the rusty thing must have bored him beyond meows because shortly thereafter, he retired to his chosen place of honor, my bedroom pillow.

While I thrive on spying the first bloom of my African Iris or gush with pride that my daffodils and pink gerber daisies have happily survived the chill and already opened their pretty faces to the spring sun, Mr. Buzzbee seems unimpressed. He is a wise one, that cat. Such things don't excite him because he knows that to everything there is a season. He's just ticked-off because he isn't welcome in every perceived litter box.

Perhaps he'll forgive me sooner rather than later. I hope so. I need him for snake patrol, that necessary Florida tradition. The very thought - Yikes!

Love from Amelia Island,

Jane Marie

PS It's a toss up as to whether we should celebrate Lost Sock Memorial Day, which lasts but twenty-four hours or go all out and party-hearty the entire length of May since it is, after all, Fungal Infection Awareness Month. What to do? What to do?

Who Made YOU the Boss?

June 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

Remember when you were little and another child told you to do something you didn't want to do? You replied with a snarl, "Who made you the boss?”

I got to thinking about this as I was working in my garden where I noticed how plain the inside of the wooden gate was. Then I realized that there was no one forbidding me to hang a basket of flowers on the inside of the gate. I could do whatever I wanted because this was my garden!

Along that line of independent thinking, I realized how we all are driven by convention. "Oh, I can't wear that old dress. I could donate its shoulder pads to the high school football team instead.” Or "Did you see how wide the lapels were on that man's suit? He must have borrowed it from his grandfather.” Or "I can't possible play the musical saw for the talent show. People will laugh.”

Don't get me wrong. I consider myself conservative in many ways and I like to belong to the herd just as almost everyone does. But there are so many small things in life we want to do that are different from the norm.

Yes, these unusual things might cause some folks to classify us as eccentric. If so, who cares? As long as we're not wielding an ax or poisoning the environment, why not go for it and have a blast? Frankly, I'd rather be thought of as a character with some personality than a lump. Heck, most people probably won't notice anyway. Do you remember what your neighbor or co-worker wore the last time you saw him or her? Do you even remember what you wore yesterday? Everybody is so busy with his or her own life; they don't have much time left to study ours.

I am reminded of the day my daughter asked me to be her matron on honor. I was surprised, flattered and touched, but I had to ask, "Is it allowed?”

She replied, "It's my wedding, and I can do whatever I want.” How very right she was.

When she settled upon ivory as the color for her bridesmaids' dresses, I, in my ever-worrying wisdom asked, "But if we're all dressed in the same color as you are, won't that take away from the bride?”

She responded, "Mom, I think they'll know who the bride is.” Clearly, the child was wise beyond her years because her wedding could not have been more elegant, and she was the crown jewel of it all.

So if you want to make a bonnet from dryer sheets to repel the sand gnats or put pickles on your peanut butter sandwich, do it!

Perhaps you're considering painting one wall in you dining room in diagonal stripes and the children are turning up their noses at the idea? Send them to the park or the movies for the afternoon, and go to town. If you love it, keep it, and tell them when they move out on their own, they can paint their homes however they choose. Hey, your husband probably won't give a rip anyway. If nothing else, he'll be glad there will be one less wall for him to paint later.

Go ahead. Be different. Who's to stop you? Remember, this is America* and Anything Goes!**

Besides, if anybody asks, "Who said you could do that?” simply reply, "I did. I may be wacky, but I'm a rebel and darn proud of it!”

Wishing you a grand and glorious July 4th,

Jane Marie

* We are very pleased to welcome visitors from all over the world, but we couldn't be prouder to be Americans. Isn't it wonderful that no group of crazies can destroy the inquiring human spirit?

PS Please, oh please don't let it slip your mind the June is National Accordion Awareness Month. Now is the perfect time to chase the bats from the bellows and serenade your enemies.

PPS We hope all the Dads, Fathers, Papas, Grandpas and Great Grandfathers out there enjoyed their day. Once day a year doesn't seem quite enough.

Summers Remembered

July 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

There is a waterslide not far from my home and if the wind is blowing just right, I can hear the kids squealing with delight as they rush down the thrilling curved incline to ker-plunk at the bottom in a pool of refreshing aqua pura. Swimming and pool high jinks of a safe sort are all part of summer.

Naturally, this reminds me of the exciting summers with my sisters and brother and all the neighborhood kids.

We found our backyard most appealing. While others had larger yards in which to play kickball or swings sets from which to hang upside down, our yard was the favorite on the hottest days of the year. Why? Because our father bought us a swimming pool. Not an in ground fancy thing with a diving board, but a light blue, plastic pool whose edges were held upright on a simple round white wire frame.

The first time I laid eyes on it, I thought our pool was huge. I mean really huge! I was probably about five or six and was required to wear an inner tube around my middle for safety's sake. I now realize that it was probably 12 feet in diameter and only about 18 inches deep.

We took turns holding the garden hose to fill the pool. It seemed like hours until the water was up high enough for swimming, but we didn't care. We just knew that fun was to be had if we were patient. I can't count how much time we spent in the pool or the games we invented - our favorite was Captain of the Ship, so named for the sole survivor who remained on the inflated lounging raft after everyone else was bounced off. We often splashed so much water from the pool we had to refill it, but the wave action we produced would have made Popeye himself jealous.

In order to keep the pool clean, we had a bucket of water stationed poolside. We always stepped in to rinse our feet. Needless to say, we sometimes had thoughtless guests who ran and jumped in with dirty feet, but that was ok because every few days we drained the pool and started all over. We'd remove the plastic sides from the wire fencing, and watch the water rush out. Of course, it was much more fun to step on the edges to speed the process along. While engrossed in this exciting activity, you could occasionally hear a scream from some poor kid who'd fallen victim to a bee sting, which was prone to happen when we ran barefoot in the grass.

Eventually, my sister, Nancy, and I graduated to actual swimming lessons. We'd ride our bikes to the closest high school that had a pool, which seemed to me as if it were 25 miles away. I guess it wasn't that far, maybe 2 or 3, but it sure wore a little kid out.

When we arrived, we would don the required bathing caps. Note to anyone who is unfamiliar with that particular instrument of torture - when you tried to get it over your head, it not only felt like the rubber was pulling out every last strand of your hair, but it also made you look like a golf ball in the process. And for your pain and suffering, it never even kept you hair dry!

Oh, and how about the added allure of nose plugs? You know, those pink pinchy things that kept you from getting water up your nose, but forced you to swallow chlorinated water instead because you couldn't breathe through your nostrils. Imagine if you will, the entire becoming picture. Had we known any better, that specific humiliation would have set the bar for all future degradation. To my knowledge, no one has a photo of us dressed in our swimming garb. If they did, how could they keep themselves from blackmailing us with the thing? Horrors!

Those were fun, wonderful days in this child's world. Our only concern then was whose turn it was to ride on the front of the raft in the pool. Now when I hear the happy summer sounds of children, I find myself thinking of landing just one good thump on that bully who always knocked me off and held my head under water. That's what dreams are made of.

Hey, I'm not the one who decided I was gracious. Remember, it was Nancy who bestowed that title upon me. What I will admit to is being human! But as always,

Love from Amelia Island,

Jane Marie

(alright, alright, that even includes the big old bully)

PS Wahoo! July 19^th is Flitch Day! For those few persons out there who are unaware of the occasion, it used to be that once a year married couples were given a slab of bacon as a reward if they could prove they had lived harmoniously during the previous 12 months. Sadly, very few couples "took home the bacon.”

The Slogan Challenge

August 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

My on-going assignment from sister Nancy is to compose possible slogans for advertising our site.

What I'm going for are tag lines that folks will remember like "J-E-L-L-O” or "Now it's Pepsi, for those who think young.”

Here are a few examples of my early and admittedly lackluster efforts:

Go in Haste to Style and Grace at GraciousJaneMarie.com

Find the Key with Jane Marie

Escape and flee to Jane Marie

Fill your Space with Style and Grace at

GraciousJaneMarie.com

Taste + Lace = Grace at GraciousJaneMarie.com

While I understand that they all can't be gems, I thought I had something when I e-mailed Nancy and suggested in happy anticipation:

Be Fancy-free with Jane Marie

Not only did Nancy dismiss it, she clarified her exact feelings on the matter by replying, "I hate it.”

After putting the remains of my broken heart and ego back together, I came to the realization that, perhaps, the advertising game isn't for me, that my talents lie in writing novels of intrigue and romance, i.e., The Goodbye Lie.

But maybe … If I keep trying … Wait! What about this?

Got bad knees? Get over it at Jane Marie's

The possibilities are out there. I just have to corral the right words. Oh, oh:

This newsletter's free with Jane Marie.

"Hey, I got a million of 'em.” I think it was Jimmy Durantewho said that first, but boy do I ever. I just don't know if Nancy has the strength to endure the many attempts with which I continuously bombard her. My advice to dear Nancy is, "Just buck up and don't get drunk. Jane Marie wouldn't.” Is that one a keeper? No? How about:

There once was a sister who wrote,

But her partner said no one would quote.

So she tried all the harder while invading the larder.

She's fat. At last, worthy of note.

As I sink into the quagmire of nonsensical rhyme, I continue to

Urging you to join us as we
Celebrate HEART & HOME,

Jane Marie

PS Nancy and I didn't get to spend Sister's Day together on August 4th, but we want to send out belated greetings to our other sister, Peggy, and to all sisters everywhere.

Besides, August 23rd is Hug Day so here's a hug for each of you.

The Photo Shoot

September 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

I'm a chronicler from way back. I've always kept detailed scrapbooks of movie stars, of school activities, of my child's growth from birth through adulthood, of highlights of my life.

Included in those chronicles have been pictures, lots of them. If I have one extravagance, it would be purchasing and developing film. Now something better has come along, the digital camera. It's instant gratification!

My new camera is nothing fancy like Nancy's, but it does what I need it to do just fine. In fact, it's pretty easy to work, and I figured out how without even reading the directions! You've heard the saying, "Death before directions.” It generally refers to men refusing to ask, "Which way?” For me, it means reading the instructions. Instead, I push buttons until I get the results I want.

If I'd paid attention to my very own advice in Photo Tips, I would have remembered that the best time for snapping pictures is two hours after sunrise or two hours before sunset. Problem solved. Martha is comfortable now in the shade of the Pine Tree Place, where we do most of our early morning shoots.

She is never temperamental about how she looks, trusting that I would not do anything to make her feel foolish. Since Martha's legs are permanently angled in a fashion that makes sitting much easier than standing, she willingly allows me to prop her up on a grain scoop or paint bucket so she is able to garden or cook or read or pose as a bride. Whatever I can imagine, she does.

Besides being chief photographer for the South Eastern branch of greenlightWRITE.com of which GraciousJaneMarie.com is my very favorite part, I am also costume mistress, meaning, I get to dress the bears. Dressing bears, particularly Martha, can be pure fun.

One of my favorite outfits and hers, she tells me, is her pink and blue formal, which was originally my first tap dancing costume, complete with tutu. With her short legs, it's a full-length gown. The stretchy material expands sufficiently to cover her well-rounded tummy.

Always glad to wear hats, Martha permits me to pin them directly to her fabric head without complaint. I confess that it did take a bit of pushing and squishing to get her big head through the binocular string that allowed them to hang around her neck for our travel section, but we eventually got the job done without ripping her ears off.

As for a bathing suit for the beach shoot, my husband offered his swim trunks, but they were not quite the look Martha and I were going for. We decided to raid the undies drawer and came up with some bikini bottoms for her to wear. A coordinating scarf for a top and an oversized umbrella emblazoned with banana leaves completed the picture once I spray painted an old beach chair to cover its rusty legs.

Not all our attempts are fruitful. I took several pictures of Martha stuffed between the tree branches of my blooming lavender crepe myrtle, but I decided that if you didn't know there was a white bear sitting up there, you wouldn't know there was a white bear sitting up there because the foliage was so thick.

Oh, what machinations we go through.

Love from Amelia Island,

Jane Marie

PS No one can forget September 11. Nancy and I paid our respects with a simple photograph from the past.

Going Home

October 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

Thomas Wolfe once wrote a book called You Can't Go Home Again. What was he talking about? I just returned from my hometown, Erie, Pennsylvania, after an eighteen-month absence to visit our wonderful 85-year-old father.

Daddy still resides in the house in which my brother and sisters and I grew up. Granted, the once yellow house has been painted white for years, but when I look at it, I see a pale shade of yellow like it was when we were small. I remember the towering pine trees on either side of the front steps. They're gone now, replaced by a much smaller cherry tree in the center of the yard. And the huge awning that covered our back patio long ago collapsed under the weight of an extra heavy snow. Those things are different.

But the glider is still there. It was an object of pleasure and pain. How many times did we pinch our fingers on the undercarriage? How often did we arise from that glider to find the backs of our bare thighs covered with small square-looking waffles imprinted on our skin from the seat pattern?

Who knows how many coats of paint that glider has worn in her long life, but as Daddy and I, yet again, scraped and chipped away at the rust, we rediscovered whites, blues and shades of gold and yellow from years past. The process this go-round was a comedy of errors, but that only made for more wonderful memories.

This brings me to the subject of Bondo®. You know, that putty-like substance that mechanics use to fill dents in car bodies. Dad had a three-pound can of the stuff. Never having worked with it before, he instructed me on how to mix the tube of hardener with the Bondo®, advising that guestimation usually works.

Next, we stuffed newspaper into the rusted front edge of the glider and applied our mixture of hairy (fibered) Bondo® over it. With the fumes from the glop making my eyes tear and nostrils close tight, I know I resembled a panting wolfhound. (That warning label about ventilation wasn't kidding.)

The hardener worked because after 45 seconds, our putty knife was stuck to the glider. Well now, isn't that why man invented hammers? Six powerful whacks and we'd liberated the chisel from its stone - not unlike King Arthur in The Sword in the Stone.

Back to the Bondo® can. Perhaps we used too much hardener. We made another batch and applied it. We repeated this process until we ran out of Bondo® and hardener. At that point, we determined that three pounds was barely enough for our skinny 12 inch hole, but it would have to do.

After an hour, I was curious as to how our gray, furry tumor-like patch was drying so I touched it. It was still tacky. Actually, it was more like attacking. It tore the glove I was wearing off my hand. But I was determined. I retrieved the hammer and did battle with the blob until it released my glove.

"I picked up eight cans of spray paint for eighty-nine cents each,” my father bragged, clearly proud of his shrewd bargain hunting. Never mind that the color was a cross between the strong yellow of an egg yoke and the garish shade of what a sick kitty might deposit on the bathroom rug. A bargain was a bargain. So, after trimming the whiskers from the finally dry Bondo® patch with scissors and sanding the growth - both procedures being useless in trying to reduce the size and shape of the large gray lump, it was time to apply the paint.

When none of the eight cans of paint sprayed longer than 15 seconds without permanently clogging, we happily returned them to their point of purchase in exchange for an old-fashioned pint of yellow paint in a can. Ah, but what shade of yellow would it be? Holding our collective breaths while we loosened the lid with a screwdriver, we were tickled to find a soft saffron.

A storm was threatening. In our wisdom, we ignored the directions on the paint can, which said to wait 12 hours between coats, and applied a second immediately. As I lay in bed that night and listened to the rain pitter-patter on the roof of my knotty pined attic bedroom, I thought how the newly refurbished old glider would make it through another winter to come out on the other side of the new year ready and waiting to take on any and all fannies looking for respite.

The next morning was a beautiful 72° F kind of day with nary a cloud in the sky. As I exited the back door to beat the birds to Daddy's ripened tomatoes, I spied the glider. Something was different about her. As if little elves had skated on her long into the night, her freshly painted surface was covered in a tiny irregular checkerboard. Perhaps we should have let that first coat of paint dry more thoroughly before applying the second. Oh well. I put on my rose colored glasses and explained to my father that people pay good money for supplies to create that crackle finish. They really do.

Despite her new unsightly Bondo® growth and irregular patterned facade, my mind's eye still sees that glider as I did when I was little. It was a cool metal place on which to sit with a comic book when you felt the need to waffle your thighs.

Love from Amelia Island,

Jane Marie

PS To any family and friends I was unable to visit on my brief stay in Erie, I promise I'll catch up with you next time. Thank you for understanding that Daddy comes first.

PPS A special thank you to Gail Perry, friend extraordinaire, for surprising me with two shirts embroidered with our company name, greenlightWRITE.com. One of them even had a beautiful butterfly on it! Click here to see Martha modeling Gail's thoughtful and much appreciated gift.

Happy Anniversary to Us!

November 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

I'm finding it difficult to believe, but with this lucky issue #13 of GraciousJaneMarie, the Newsletter, we begin our second year with you.

And, wow, how we've evolved over that time.

Those of you who've been with us from the beginning might remember our original logo. It was garishly gaudy, a red, bright green and yellow rectangular emblem that prominently occupied the top of all our pages. We asked for opinions, and we got them. Almost to a person, no one liked it. So I fiddled and reincarnated it as a greenlightWRITE.com round, shaded dark green logo ball you see heading most of our pages. We think this one is a keeper, at least until we change our minds.

BULLETIN: OK, we're changing the logo again!!!

This month's big announcement is the official opening of NancyKamp.com(VeryShinyObjects.com), Nancy's wonderful and wearable jewelry line. Every piece is hand made and one of a kind, but here's the hook - each grouping of designs is named after an interesting (royal / rotten / good / bad) woman from history. Visit these pages for fascinating facts and harmless gossip about the rich, famous and not so famous ladies who helped shape our world.

A favorite addition to our website is our Teddy Bear series (with never a loss of stuffing) (now MarthaBear.com). It's part of the Fancy Fables section of the site. This year we've introduced Martha Bear, our SpokesBear and Senior Ursine* Editor in Florida (she lives with me) and her mischievous, rival co-worker, Bear with No Name (he lives in Oklahoma with Nancy at greenlightWRITE.com Worldwide Headquarters). Don't miss their charming adventures in beardom and discover just what makes our bears so very bearable.

*Ursine = Bear. Martha Bear likes to think of herself as an ursine because she uses Bear as her last name.

After many friendly squabbles, we finally came up with Celebrate Heart & Home as the official slogan for our site. Naturally, Martha Bear has her own favorite slogan, It's a better thing. And we certainly can't forget Bear with No Name's contribution of "Nicer than Martha.” I'm sure you can envision just how much Martha appreciates that one, but we're an equal bear employer, after all.

We're pleased to tell you that Eternity Garden, a section of our site where folks can fondly remember their lost pets, has been declared a comfort by many of you. We've heard from several who aren't ready to share their special pet stories but who have benefited from the articles within these pages.

I could go on, but suffice it to say that our site is now 600 plus pages with over 30 different categories into which you can delve. Please enjoy a Fancy Fable by yourself or with the whole family, go back in time to find out what was proper and improper when socializing the Victorian way, consider a thought provoking quotation, try a proven recipe for a special occasion, create a craft or two and learn all about the life of a Hollywood legend like Vivien Leigh, Gone With The Wind's Scarlett.

Most importantly, whether we glory in the past or thrive in the present, thank you for being my companion.

Wishing you a wonderful Thanksgiving from us all,

Jane Marie

The Annual Holiday Letter

December 2002

My Own Treasured Friends,

Editor's Note: Last year my dear sister, Jane Marie, wrote not only a monthly newsletter letter for December, but also a slightly deranged version of we're-sending-out-a-bragging-letter-this-year-because-our-year-has-been-better-than-your-year letter.

This year, you just get the deranged letter. Jane Marie is alive and well, but sadly, her brain has gone into holiday overdrive. We all look forward to January when the real Jane Marie will pluck the tinsel from her beautifully arranged coiffure, and resume her gracious ways and writing habits. (We hope.)

Here's wishing you Happy Holidays from all of us* at GraciousJaneMarie.com, NancyKamp.com (VeryShinyObjects.com), MarthaBear.com, EternityGarden.com, MadWebLackey.com, greenlightWRITE.com and whatever new dot-com I come up with between now and Christmas,

Nancy

*All of us = Jane Marie and me, our contributing editors, our pet-editors and extremely helpful felines, and very special family.

My Own Treasured Friends,

These are a few highlights of our very exciting 2002. (We do hope you can stand the stimulation).

Mother was invited to pour the tea at the annual after-Christmas party last January. It took eight years for her to be asked to do the honors. She's worried some of her friends won't be able to control their jealousy and could say mean things, but it's a chance she's willing to take for the privilege of pouring boiling water on people's feet at the glorious event.

Father purchased a new radiator cap for Mother when her old cap blew off and punched a hole through the hood of her car. You'll be happy to hear they got her heart started again in the emergency room.

Some months later, Father bought Mother a brand new 1994 car. He's spent $8,461.82 on repairs thus far, but he says that's better than having a monthly car payment. Father has always been good with figures.

Mother came up with a new craft this past spring. Wire bugs. The species is unidentifiable, but that didn't matter to the biology teacher at Gracious High. He asked Mother to substitute on the days when it's his turn to deal the floating poker game.

Mother cleaned out her closet, and discovered it was a walk-in.

Daughter still hates to sew. She's come up with a clever remedy to shorten her skirts. She uses scotch tape. The only trouble is the teeth of the dispenser keep biting into her calves and ripping holes in her stockings. Father says she'll have to learn to thread a needle the day the blood bank runs out of her type.

Father saw the landscaper at church trimming the silk plants in the vestibule, but Mother always looks on the bright side and says there won't be so many leaves to dust next time.

Daughter ran over a nail and got a flat. Not to worry. Father says she still has three good tires left.

The cats had worms, but Father fixed that by squishing every worm he found on the dining room table.

Father and Mother were in the process of painting the living room when father cut the sander cord in two. When the lights flickered, Mother knew he was in the garage trying to piece it back together and dashed out in time to see him topple from the aluminum ladder on which he was sitting. As his ear and head hair flamed, Mother pointed out that he would save time and expense at the barbershop.

To instill confidence, Mother considered asking Father to hang her new black velvet painting in the living room, but she thinks such technical work is best left to professionals.

Mother has been intent on brushing the cat's teeth. She used to brush the dog's teeth until he ran away. She's sure the cat will stay around because he's hooked on scratching his tongue on the paper shredder. (See Falling Scree weblog entry.)

The powder room sink is often filled with two sleeping, furry cat bodies. Because Mother is ever germ-conscious, she has cleverly installed a hand sanitizer in the bathroom for those late night thoughtless marauders who find it necessary to use the facilities.

Father spoke at the museum three times this fall. He speaks off the cuff, never using notes and, once, he even mentioned something about history.

Mother's thumbs used to be green and she could grow anything. Now that cable television has arrived on our island, her plants aren't doing well at all. She's certain that some sort of electronic currents from all the stations are polluting the air.

Daughter bought some fancy makeup from that TV shopping network so she'd be pretty for the holidays. It made her look like she'd wiped down her face with shortening, and turned her pillow purple. She was going to return it and get her money back until Father used it to take the squeak out of the wheels on the seed spreader.

Father got a free Christmas music CD in the mail. Nobody likes it much because all the songs are in pig Latin and it makes everybody irritable. He only plays it when he wants Aunt and Uncle to go home after eating all our food.

Mother and Father will sing in the Christmas cantata again this year. Father is so proud of Mother's voice. She's the only soprano who can make his ears bleed when she hits the high notes.

That's the latest from our house. Look forward to another adventure in living next year.