PAULA SCOTT

Growing up, I loved listening to the radio broadcaster, Paul Harvey. For years my big brother, Patrick would sometimes call me Paul Harvey because I liked telling stories too. I don't know if Paul Harvey originally told this tale of the Christmas birds, but I think I heard it from him. I can't remember the exact telling so I've recreated my own version for you. One snowy Christmas Eve, a man told his wife he would not be going to church. "I can't listen to that preacher any longer. It makes no sense to me that God would come as a baby in a manger and live among humans. You can believe what you want, honey, but I'm staying home. I've had it with church." The sad wife bundled up and walked out the door into the night without her husband. The church wasn't far, just across the bridge, and down the lane from their country home. The man settled into his worn, leather armchair by the fire on that cold, winter evening. He pulled out the newspaper and began to read of the war raging Continue Reading

For the first time in nearly three decades of raising kids, taking our Christmas picture this year was relatively painless. The boys are old enough to behave themselves. Except for the seven-year-old who ran back to the house and changed his shirt because he didn't like the black one I had him put on. Christian's favorite shirt, The talent has arrived, about sums things up. Our youngest is fast, agile, and nearly fearless, but then so are his big brothers, so I guess that's a wrap. These boys take after their dad. We couldn't get all of our older kids and their growing families to the farm for our Christmas photo. At first, I was disappointed about this, but after the ease of this photo shoot, I'm thinking our big kids did me a favor. I tend to want things to stay the same, and in a large family like ours nothing stays the same. Trying to keep it the same drives me crazy. In less than two years, we've gone from no grandkids to four babies. Yes, four by 2019. Both Cami and Lacy are Continue Reading

Aaron Rodgers donated a million dollars to the Camp Fire survivors but did not call his mom to make sure she was okay. Perhaps while packing up to evacuate the fire, Aaron's mom was hoping to hear from her son. She's reached out to him numerous times in the past several years, but he's never reached back. "It's complicated," Aaron's father Ed told the New York Times in 2017. "We are all hoping for the best." The best being reconciliation, I suppose. Family rifts are so painful. I'm sure Aaron's parents just want him back. The boy they raised. The son they love. Perhaps the kid they took camping with his brothers in the mountains above the little town of Paradise lost to the Camp Fire. My heart goes out to these parents, to Aaron, and his brothers. Sometimes things are said, things are done in a family, and it's like a wildfire. Everything flames out of control in spite of your efforts to stop it, and you're not even sure why your family has burned down. "When your own Mom Continue Reading

It's been two months since I've written a blog post. Sorry about that. I've become a true football mom, spending all my Saturdays at Cruz, Garry and Joey's football games. And Friday nights at John's JV game. And Thursday nights at Scott's freshman football games since Scott became the defensive coordinator for that team this year, along with assistant coaching Joey's team. Today we are headed to Joey's championship game in Red Bluff. John was given the honor of moving up to varsity for playoffs, so we are looking at football games all the way into December, which makes me happy, except for freezing at John's football games at night now. I've also done a few women's retreats and books signings this fall, meeting new authors and readers and really enjoying interacting with people who love books the way I do. I have to be honest, I hate signing books. I get so frazzled, I forget how to spell words like thank you and bless you. I really would love to say, "Let's go find Paula Scott Continue Reading

I know you. I'm with you. I took twenty-nine selfies this summer. That's going from nearly zero halfway to sixty in three short months. I wasn't a selfie taker until a friend said to me this past spring, "I want to see more pictures of you in the orchard. Please show us what you do on your farm." Often I work alone, and even if I am working with someone, I don't want to bother them with taking a picture, so here we go... While I take my selfie, Santos is up on his ladder picking apricots. Oma and I pack the fruit and then I'm off on a delivery. But right now I'm just standing here in the orchard grinning all by myself for the camera while Santos works. And here I am taking a selfie while Scott works... We also did selfies on our date nights in the orchard. Scott even has a selfie stick on the back of his phone (teachers learn this stuff from teenagers, you know. Actually Scott just informed me it's a pop socket) so it's easier to hold your camera in that Continue Reading