The Reading Room
Pg 5 - The Sunshine Express
During a discussion with a friend a few weeks
ago I was labeled Dreamer. Have meditated on
that. Looked up dreamer in the dictionary: builds
castles in the air, visualize, fantasy, daydreamer
and so on and on.
Being a social person most of my life I am sur-
prised to discovered that I do look to separate
from others at times and have for a few years.
Contingent on where we lived particular places I
sought out to be alone always were and are out-
doors and secluded. Places I can ¡°be¡± in quietness.
A few of those stroll across my mind.
The southern tip of Padre Island¡¯s National
Seashore off the Texas coast; where Gulf breezes
whispering through plumes of Pampas grass, sea
birds running on toothpick legs along the shore
searching for treasures left them by receding tide,
gulls circling over head my only companions. A
mountain ar¨ºte high above a valley where lone an-
cient log cabin stood testifying to a time long past,
a bear tree in its yard by a little singing stream
was another especial spot. Silence there only
intruded on by screaming hawk or a great coyote,
four legged spirit noiselessly padding away to
disappear into oak brush. Down river from Gate-
way into Utah¡¯s back country where stone bench
awaits me beside cavorting deer pecked into stone
speak to my spirit. Silence there like time in a
I daydream visions of where I¡¯ve been, where I
desire to go. Sometimes my mind rests while open
eyes look out over the earth seeing nature in its
incredible beauty. All said, I see it as my friend
labeled me... a dreamer.
Looking out of my window over kitchen table
I take a cup of hot tea break. High on Palisades
point is gigantic spherical boulder. How far, I
wonder, if it was disturbed would it roll after
thundering over sandstone cliff.
On a recent drive downriver encountered men
with dogs hunting Mountain Lions. As the men
talked my mind raced ahead communicating: take
care, flee, let towering sandstone hide you, the
dogs are coming!
In the Ancient days
who was it
left stone tools here? -K
(Karen Schafer lives in and writes from Gateway)
Colorado Authors: Book Review
When I sat down beside her she didn¡¯t acknowl-
edge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered
if she was ok.
Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but
wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked
her if she was ok. She raised her head and looked
at me and smiled. ¡®Yes, I¡¯m fine, thank you for ask-
ing,¡¯ she said in a clear strong voice.
¡®I didn¡¯t mean to disturb you, grandma, but you
were just sitting here staring at your hands and I
wanted to make sure you were ok,¡¯ I explained.
¡®Have you ever looked at your hands,¡¯ she asked.
¡®I mean really looked at your hands?¡¯
I slowly opened my hands and stared down at
them. I turned them over, palms up and then
palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked
at my hands, as I tried to figure out the point she
was making. Grandma smiled and told this story:
¡®Stop and think for a moment about the hands you
have, how they have served you well throughout
your years. These hands, though wrinkled shriv-
elled and weak have been the tools I have used all
my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.
¡®They braced and caught my fall as a toddler
when I crashed to the floor. They put food in my
mouth and clothes on my back. My mother taught
me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and
pulled on my boots. They held my husband and
wiped my tears when he went off to war.
¡®They¡¯ve been dirty, scraped, raw, swollen and
bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried
to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my
wedding band they showed the world that I was
married and loved someone special. They wrote
my letters to him and trembled and shook when
I buried him. They have held my children and
grandchildren, consoled neighbours, and shook in
fists of anger when I didn¡¯t understand.
¡®They¡¯ve covered my face, combed my hair, and
washed and cleansed the rest of my body. And to
this day when not much of anything else of me
works real well, these hands hold me up, lay me
down, and again continue to fold in prayer.
¡®These hands are the mark of where I¡¯ve been and
the ruggedness of life. But more importantly it
will be these hands that God will reach out and
take when he leads me home. And with my hands
He will lift me to His side and there I will use
these hands to touch the face of God.¡¯
I will never look at my hands the same again.
plot is as intricate as it
The author of ¡®The
cies¡¯, a Denver area
antitrust attorney who
weaves his practice
specialty into his
plot in surprising and
gave The Sunshine
Express a copy of the
571 page novel to read,
and KingDaddy found
it hard to put down.
¡°I read it in one week.
This is an interesting
fictional story inter-
woven with current
events and enough
history to keep any
¡®The Vatican Con-
spiracies¡¯ is available
in hardcover now at
the ¡°Buy¡± Tab). Buy
the e-book at: www.
com, at the iBookstore
for Apple users, and
www.Lulu.com for PC
If you get email, you get
stuff. Sometimes it is spam,
sometimes it is a true gem.
Here is one of those gems
Treasures From The Inbox
In a sensational and riveting new novel entitled,
¡®The Vatican Conspiracies¡¯, author James ¡°Mac¡±
McCarty unveils the as-yet-untold story of pas-
sion and pressure, politics and protest, pride and
principle, and plotting and power, all told against
the backdrop of the world¡¯s oldest institution, the
2,000-year-old Holy Roman Catholic Church.
Grandma, 90 years
old, sat on the patio
bench, not mov-
ing, with her head
down staring at her