The BookShelf Magazine, January 2019 by Authors Guild of Tennessee

The

B O O K SÂ h e l f AUTHORS GUILD OF TENNESSEE MAGAZINE

FEATURED SHOULD YOU BE AN ORGAN DONOR?

HOW EAST TN DIFFERS FROM NEW YORK

WHY WRITE? AGT AUTHORS VIEWS ON WHY THEY WRITE

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The Authors Guild of TN is on the radio!

If you would like to listen to past segments, they are archived online at: wuot.org/programs/authors-page The Authors Guild of Tennessee (AGT) celebrates the rich literary tradition of our state through “The Authors Page,” a production of AGT and WUOT 91.9 FM. “The Authors Page” is a weekly 4-minute segment airing on Sunday mornings at 8:35 a.m. EST during NPR’s Weekend Edition on WUOT radio. The show is hosted by AGT member and award-winning author/artist Jody Sims.

UPCOMING SCHEDULE January Wilma Dykeman Anne Armstrong Ishmael Reed Kaye George

Each week, Jody shares the back-story of a famous (or sometimes not-so-well-known) author who is from Tennessee, currently residing in Tennessee, or who have written about Tennessee.

February Cormac McCarthy Caroline Gordon Tennessee Williams Jane Wagner

“The Authors Page” program is just one of the ways AGT encourages literacy. By facilitating opportunities for people to get to know authors more personally, discovering details about their books, and often finding inspiration through their challenges or successes, AGT is enhancing the reading experience.

March Jo (Josephine) Carson May Justus James Agee TS Stribling Carol McClain

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1 The Author's Page AGT on the Radio 2 AGT Board 2019-2021

046

8 Linda Fitzpatrick A Brooklynites view of East Tennessee

23 INDEX OF SUPPORTERS 24

15 Randall Carpenter Why do I write?

17 Darlene Underwood Let Love Reign

18 From My Mother's Kitchen Recipes from AGT Authors 28 Author Events Events where the public can meet AGT authors

AUTHORS GUILD OF TENNESSEE

The BookShelf is a quarterly publication of The Authors Guild of Tennessee

Nadine Richmond --Editor and Designer Linda Fitzpatrick--Assistant Editor

Advertising Bobbi Phelps Wolverton

President

14 Cheryl Peyton Social inSecurity

19 Jim Hartsell Going Home or Just Passing Through

Book Shelf

Editorial Staff

7 Inspirational Writings

13 Susan Kite The benefits of writing contests

The

CONTENTS

Cheesecakes + More Preferred Pharmacy American Commissary Books By Bobbi Union Ave Books Engraphics

UPS Store RanCath Writings

NADINE RICHMOND Cheryl Peyton SAM BLEDSOE

Subscribe Online To receive The BookShelf Magazine by Email: THE BOOK SHELF www.authorsguildoftn.org

Email:

ON THE COVER Patricia Crumpler tells a heartfelt story of her battle with her kidneys failing and how a transplant saved her life. Pg. 10

authorsguildoftennessee @gmail.com

Facebook www.facebook.com/authors guildoftn/

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AGT BOARD 2019-2021

Front Row from left: Laura Derr: Assistant Secretary, Cheryl Peyton: President, Jody Dyer: Vice-President Back Row from left: Jim Hartsell: Treasurer and Randall Carpenter: Asst. Treasurer. Missing from picture: Secretary: Carol McClain Board Members-at-Large: Tilmer Wright and Russ Fine

Award presented to Bobbi Chapman to commemorate four years of tireless service as President of AGT

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Spotlights

Amish Sweet Shop Mystery: Pumpkin Pie Mystery by Naomi Miller Mystery / Thrillers (200 pages) $10.99 Ebook $2.99

Horrors and Occupational Hazards by Sharon Higa Horror / Paranormal (120 pages) $8.99 Ebook:$3.99

The Ballad of Titha Mae: A Fantasy in Twelve Parts by Jon B. Dalvy Science Fiction / Fantasy (343 pages) $14.99 Ebook $3.99

Founding Fathers: Atheists? Deists? Are You Sure? by Ray Strobo Mystery, Thriller & Suspense (550 pages) Hardcover $44.95 Paperback $34.95 Ebook $6.99

Fundamentals of Disability Inclusion: Unveiling Stereotypes, Unleashing Opportunities by Linda Fitzpatrick Informational (138 pages) $9.99 Ebook $9.99

Sanctuary: The will to live . . . the courage to love by Jody Sims Biography / Memoirs (46 pages) Book $20.00

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Spotlights

Destiny's Journey by Darlene Underwood Christian / Spiritual / Religion / Inspirational (240 pages) $15.99 Ebook $7.99

Death by Happy: Life by Joy by George Bove Christian / Spiritual / Religion / Inspirational (102 pages) $6.95 Ebook $3.13

The New Birth: Going Onto Perfection by Nadine Richmond Christian / Spiritual / Religion / Inspirational (173 pages) $12.95 Ebook $1.99

Karios Moments by Denise Sheriff Christian / Spiritual / Religion / Inspirational (240 pages) $15.99 Ebook $7.99

Lessons For Life by Randall L. Carpenter Christian / Spiritual / Religion / Inspirational (124 pages) $9.95

Baba's Southern Magnolia: A Jordanian-American Love Story by Donna H. Habib Biography / Memoirs (300 pages) $15.00

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EDITOR'S NOTE

Nadine Richmond agtezine@gmail.com

To Donate or Not to Donate Here we are, it is January 2019, and another year has passed. Did you know that in the United States there are approximately 115,000 people waiting for an organ transplant? And on average around 20 people die each day due to a lack of organs that are available for transplantation. However, in spite of this many people are afraid to donate when they die. I believe that when I leave this body my spirit inhabits, it will simply be an empty shell without life and if someone can be helped through an organ transplant that would be great. The other day I was watching this movie and in it, a young boy, no more than 11 years old was struck by a car. His family never gave up hope but unfortunately, he was brain dead. The family was approached about donating his organs and refused. The agonized over whether to donate his organs and in the end, they did. I am sure a decision like this if left to family members, can be an agonizing decision to make concerning their loved ones. However, “One deceased donor can save up to eight lives through organ donation and can save and enhance more than 100 lives through the lifesaving and healing gift of tissue donation.” In fact, a life saved might be the next

who makes a great impact on the society in which we live or a famous playwright. During last year many authors at AGT have been very busy, writing and publishing new books. Being an author is not always an easy task, it takes commitment and dedication to write a book. If you were to ask any author why they chose to write the answers would be varied. Writing involves editing, writing, editing, and more editing. This issue contains articles from AGT authors on why they write. We hope to inspire you because maybe there is a book inside you. You will also read one author’s journey as a transplant recipient and another author’s account of her experience at the social security administration. You have probably heard the saying; you can’t go home again, read one author’s account. As always, we hope you enjoy this issue. Happy New Year Reference: https://www.americantransplantfoundation.org /about-transplant/facts-and-myths/

Visit our website, like our Facebook page and share with people you know. We look forward to hearing from you.

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Inspirational Writings by Randall Carpenter

IN LIFE, SOME OF OUR SIMPLEST GESTURES MEAN THE MOST TO OTHER PEOPLE. WE NEVER KNOW THE STRUGGLES OTHERS DEAL WITH. THIS IS WHY IT’S IMPORTANT TO SPEAK TO PEOPLE, COMPLIMENT OTHERS, AND SMILE. OUR GESTURES OF KINDNESS MAY BE WHAT SOMEONE NEEDS TO FEEL THEY ARE NOT INVISIBLE.

SOMETIMES, WE FEEL OUR LIFE IS DESTINED FOR AVERAGE WITH NO MOMENTS OF GLORY. THIS COULDN’T BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH. EVERY DAY, WITHOUT YOU KNOWING IT, YOUR LIFE INFLUENCES THOSE AROUND YOU, TOUCHES SOMEONE’S HEART, OR GIVES SOMEONE HOPE. THERE ARE NO GREATER ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

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A BROOKLYNITE BOOMER IN EAST TENNESSEE By Linda Fitzpatrick care of the family. For me it was a stepping stone to make a life that suited me, a life I could thrive in, with ready access to interesting jobs in Manhattan after graduation.

I’m developing a new manuscript, a memoir now while my eyes are still fresh from my recent move from New York to Tennessee. I can see how customs differ, everything is new, nothing is routine for me these days. Men behave differently toward women. For months I felt surprised every time a man ran ahead to open a door for me. Now I’m used to it. But on my periodic trips back to New York I know I’m back to opening my own doors. It’s fine. I love New York. I lived in Brooklyn through my late twenties. I’ve always lived somewhere in the New York Metro. I love the pace. There are more than 700 spoken languages in the borough of Queens and when I lived in my suburban home, I could drive down on a leisurely Sunday afternoon and feel I was in India, or Laos, or East Africa for the food and the chatter and the smelly, delicious turmoil. Then I could drive back after a few hours of exotic sustenance to my peaceful home where deer might graze in my yard. I grew up in a working class neighborhood of Brooklyn where my dad supported us with his furniture moving business. Before he did that, Daddy ran bootleg whiskey until Prohibition put him out of that business. With the truck,

he started Fitzpatrick Movers moving Irish and Italian families from one apartment to another. The apartments in the 50s were “walk-ups” with as many as five flights of stairs to navigate with the household furnishings. There were not many elevator buildings in that neighborhood. Even when his business was “legit”, Daddy always kept an eye out for “the bulls” – the slang term he used back then for FBI agents. It was a rough neighborhood. Growing up in Brooklyn gave me access to a free college education at the City University of New York. That perk of city living didn’t last long. I was lucky because my parents certainly couldn’t afford college for me, and they had little interest in education anyway. My father seemed especially puzzled that a girl would want an education but the rationale seemed to be it would give a girl “something to fall back on” if her breadwinner husband couldn’t or wouldn’t take

I love East Tennessee and I did from the first moments I moved here, in the third act of my interesting life. New York and Tennessee - like two children, both so different, both dearly loved, the most recent a surprise. I love the baked-in courtesy here. When I ask for help at the supermarket to find some offbeat ingredient, inevitably the staff person will “walk me” there. “Walk me” is an old Brooklyn expression but if you ask for an ingredient at a Brooklyn supermarket, the employee will point, he won’t walk you. It’s fine. People chit-chat everywhere in East Tennessee. Here it’s called chewing the fat. It seems like in New York the goal is the primary focus while in Tennessee it’s the relationship. It’s fine. If I’m working with someone here to set up an appointment on my busy calendar I might apologize Continued on page 9

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for how much time it’s taking. Predictably, my Southern neighbor will say “You’re fine.” It sounds like “Yur fahn.” You’re fine. My shoulders relax. I love it here.

Knoxville is different. It was never on the researcher’s radar. Too bad. I see the error of my worldview now I’ve moved to the Southeast. I write to serve, to have purpose, to feel fully alive. I write to add my voice to the chorus standing for understanding and empathy and love among people.

Why do I write? It’s an emerging identity for me in later life, in my third act. Among the ancient cave dwellers it was said: “One of us told a story so the rest of us wouldn’t be so scared in the dark.” Americans are left-leaning or rightleaning. We’re from the North or the South. We’re Millennial or we’re Boomer. We’re us. They are them. I typify the New York stereotype seeing the coasts clearly while the middle is a blur. New Jersey is the middle. So is Arizona. How silly I now consider. Decades of business travel brought me to all the American cities that matter to Corporate decision makers: Chicago, Boston, Seattle, Los Angeles. As a market researcher, my many trips to Atlanta caught the South but hardly anyone I met was from there. Corporations sent us research people out to different cities because they wanted to represent the whole customer base but I now see that all those big cities are more like each other than different.

Linda Fitzpatrick has published extensively in the business trade press over many years and has authored a groundbreaking work on diversity: Fundamentals of Disability Inclusion: Unveiling Stereotypes, Unleashing Opportunities. Learn more about Linda and her work at www.WorkThatSatisfies.com.

I write because it’s fun to tune up my antennae to the everyday magic of being in a new place and to see the light in someone else’s eyes when I share what I’ve noticed and they share what they’ve noticed as I do the research for this book. I write because it draws me into camaraderie with Tennessee authors in the Author’s Guild. These men and women fascinate me with their diverse genres: horror and history, scripture and poetry. They are hard-working, fun loving people, generous and curious. I write to secure my place with this tribe. I write because I’m trying to put into language how a Tennessean differs from a New Yorker, just as fierce but with softer edges, fewer elbows thrown. I write to help me try to figure these things out. I write because I love being with you, reading this. I find myself afire to notice the sweet moments that teach me how to build stories from my new homeland. Continued from page 8

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MY TRANSPLANT STORY By Patricia Crumpler Polycystic Kidney Disorder had no cure but transplantation offered a temporary treatment. At that time the average life with a grafted kidney was twelve years.

The gift of an organ is a treasure and its worth is difficult to describe. Many people know someone who has received a life-saving transplant. The precious gift improves and extends lives, but getting that organ isn’t a ride in the park. It involves extensive medical treatments, powerful medicines with side effects, and the unpleasantness involved with surgery and aftercare. In the early 1990’s I experienced kidney failure and the devastating news that my situation could not be cured. I stared death in the face.

Let’s back up a bit. In the mideighties, my employer offered two relatively new health plans, PPO and HMO, abbreviations presently very common in the United States. Knowing little about health insurance at that time, I chose the HMO, where the primary doctor received a flat fee for each patient. Tests or specialists visits came out of that fee. Working as a teacher I started to feel tired. I thought the decreased energy went with the job. At yearly doctor visits, with brief examinations and no blood tests, the doctor prescribed medicine for high blood pressure and sent me on my way. My health declined. I saw the doctor more frequently, taking his admonition to continue my medicine and get good rest.

On vacation in the summer of 1991, I collapsed. Staying in the hotel room I urged my family to enjoy the trip. When I returned home, I went to the doctor. This time I requested a blood test. The doctor waivered. I demanded it. The following week the doctor called, saying I had less than ten percent kidney function. That doctor referred me to a Urologist, who referred me to a Nephrologist. That Nephrologist put me on a sodium-restricted diet, but prescribed a medicine with 2,000 milligrams of sodium! My gut feeling said this was wrong! Burned by the experience with my primary doctor and now the Nephrologist, I researched my problem and treatments. As I increased the research on my condition, I asked about transplantation. In a haughty manner, that doctor said I couldn’t just go to the University of Miami Jackson Memorial Hospital (the only place doing that operation in south Florida) and ask for a transplant. He said it was a long, drawn-out process that required years of dialysis. He suggested I go to the dialysis facility he owned. I didn’t like him and didn’t trust his advice.

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A chance meeting with a nurse who worked with kidney patients gave me an opportunity to find a new doctor. I asked her what Nephrologist she would pick for herself. She answered unequivocally—Dr. Robert Geronemus.

care. My limited number of visitors had to “suit up” just to get near me. Tubes ran in all directions from my body, but the one tube that gave the greatest joy was the bladder catheter that filled with what the hospital called “liquid gold.” The transplanted organ worked!

I called his office, but the manager said he wasn’t taking new patients. I did something I rarely do: I begged. I told her about my experiences. She softened and told me to come in for an appointment.

After a month, I went home to Fort Lauderdale returning to Miami each day for blood work. Two weeks later, tests indicated a rejection. I returned to the hospital agreeing to try an experimental anti-rejection drug. Painful side effects went with the medicine, including hair loss, receding gums, and a total loss of taste, among other things. The follow-up tests showed no change in rejection.

When I met Doctor “G,” I knew he would take care of me. He welcomed my questions and input. In fact, he said if my health could stand it, there was no reason not to have a transplant. When I told him I had four willing donors, he arranged an appointment at the hospital. Being in good enough health for surgery, my donors were examined. My sister turned out to be an adequate match. The process began. The route to transplantation involved tests, some of them unpleasant, for me and my donor. The surgery was scheduled for January 15, 1992. Back then, transplantation methods were being tweaked and involved weeks of ICU

my appearance. I nicknamed myself “Jabba the Pat,” from a Star Wars character. On a visit with a Dermatologist, he said I should get off the steroids as soon as possible. Once again I researched and had a discussion with Dr. “G,” who was reluctant, but said he would slowly reduce the steroids if I agreed to frequent blood testing. In two years I was off the steroids, and Dr. “G” said he was glad we did it. I’ve experienced minor problems concerning the transplant, but now almost 27 years later, I take minimum anti-rejection medicines and enjoy good health.

Again, I faced death. One afternoon, alone in my room, I felt warmth in my toes that moved up to my forehead. I got a message, not a voice, but a feeling, that I would live. I held on to that notion and relaxed. But I never stopped being aware of my treatments. Several times I refused medicine nurses brought me. In each case, the surgeon praised my decisions because they were mistakes! Hospitals and doctors can make mistakes! After another month, I went home. Along with many other drugs I took huge doses of steroids. The steroids changed Continued from page 10

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Patricia Crumpler is a retired high school librarian and art teacher. Her hobbies are painting, drawing, sewing, cooking, and of course, the hobby that owns her-writing. She lives near Boca Raton, Florida for part of the year and Reliance, in a wilderness cabin in the Cherokee National Forest of Tennessee at other times. Traveling offers opportunities to absorb new cultures, to learn about different people and nationalities, and to gather knowledge, which ultimately shows up in her writing. Patricia had a kidney transplant in 1992, donated by her sister. She is grateful to be alive and keeps that in her heart every day. Patricia has fifteen short stories and one book traditionally published, and five indie-published books available on Amazon.

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WRITING CONTESTS AND NANO! By Susan Kite

My first writing contest as an adult was for a small church women’s publication that was printed out on a mimeograph machine in the church library. Most of the entries were poetry, or essays about family members, but I wrote a fiction piece— fanfiction. It was a “what happened next” for the original Battlestar Galactica. It was very religious oriented, but it whet my appetite for writing. Of course this wasn’t enough to have me writing at night after the kids were in bed. That came later. But that little contest established a couple of things way back in the late 70’s. One was the knowledge I could write, and others were enjoying what I wrote. Fast forward fifteen years when writing finally had me hooked. I wrote mainstream children’s fiction in numerous notebooks, but what people seemed to enjoy the most was fanfiction. Zorro, Lost in Space, Buck Rogers, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea and a few others. Ideas absolutely bounced around in my head, threatening to explode. It was hard to find time for all of them, but I managed. Almost everything I wrote during those years is on my website www.bookscape.net .

Still, I always wanted to publish and finally broke away from fanfiction as the new century emerged. I also found small contests to which I could send my stories. For instance, one longish short story was an honorable mention in a British publication contest and was published in one of their anthologies called aMusing Tales (fellow AGT author Patricia Crumpler had several award winning stories there as well). An online contest netted me a second place for a children’s story called The Legend of Billy Bob Flybottom. I have heard some writers say that they write for their own pleasure and to heck with what others think. Well, okay, I guess, but most writers hope others enjoy reading what they have taken pleasure in writing. Other writers want readers to learn life lessons acquired over the years. It isn’t a conceit thing. It is perfectly legitimate. And submitting something we have lovingly crafted to a literary contest is part of that validation as a writer. Some contests are free, you can look online. Some charge fees to submit your stories and novels. I have done both. I have submitted novels and stories to the Florida Writer’s Association contest, but I paid the fee because I believe strongly in what I had written. I won an award last year for The Mendel Experiment and another this year for a children’s story, The Legend of Billy Bob Flybottom. The Oklahoma City Writers contest is considerably less expensive, but the results in your portfolio don’t care. Which brings us to the other reason for doing some of these contests.

If you are looking to publish, it sure does help if you can say your story was judged a winner in a writing contest. The OKC contest had published authors and editors as judges. I felt legitimized for all my hard work. There is also the fact that you get valuable feedback, too. Now for Nano. That stands for Nanowrimo, which stands for National November Writing Month. It started some years back to encourage writing. The idea is that you write a novel in a month, November. 50,000 words. I tried several times, but had never won, though I came close one time. It isn’t an award for your writing prowess, but your writing endurance. Like a writing Iron-Man. I gave it my best shot this year. Even though I don’t have as many ideas as I used to, I wanted to know I could still take what’s up there and put it down for others to enjoy. By the way, I did it. 50,040 words at 8 pm, November 30th.

Susan Kite is an Army brat; which means she grew up everywhere. She didn't begin to settle down until her dad did. She earned two degrees at Utah State University and began dabbling in writing. However, she didn't get serious until her children were grown. Now it is a contagious disease and she doesn't want to be cured! Her first novel, My House of Dreams was written after several visits to the Mission San Luis Rey. A fantasy short story was included in an anthology published in 2013 called aMUSEing Tales. Another short story won second place in an online contest. A science-fiction novel, The Mendel Experiment, was published in April 2015 by World Castle Publishing.

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Social inSecurity By Cheryl Peyton

I sat in the car dreading to go inside. I was overdue by ten years, so why go in now? Worse yet, I wasn’t any more prepared to be there than I had been a decade earlier. For years I had regularly passed by the neoclassical grey stone building set behind a car dealership on Kingston Pike, often thinking I should stop. Now I was parked in front of it. The two-story structure looked more like the executive offices of a corporation than a government building. Only the block letters attached to the façade gave away its bureaucratic identity: SOCIAL SECURITY ADMINISTRATION. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as I glanced at the bulging Pentax folder containing Social Security mailings that was on the passenger seat. Little of it was helpful, but it was all I had. I checked my watch. Almost noon. It was time to go in. I snatched up the file and shouldered my purse. Out of the car I clicked the door lock and started off towards the glass-walled entryway. Reaching into my purse I fingered my birth certificate and passport to reassure myself I could prove who I was if nothing else.

my shoulder to see if anyone else was coming, but there was no one around. I thought the place would be very busy on a Monday. An hour earlier I had called the agency with the foolish notion I could make an appointment to avoid the crowds. After enduring a long-winded menu of irrelevant options, I was told my wait time to speak to a human being (agent) was 45 minutes. I could make the drive in less time, so I took off. When I first pulled into the lot I cringed to see there weren’t any spaces in the first few rows. Looking more closely, I realized they were all the same two makes of cars and trucks sold by the dealership in front. Chuckling at my stupidity, I drove on and had my pick of parking spots. Now, entering the building, I followed the ceramic-tiled hallway that led to a waiting area where about fifty people sat facing me. The person in charge appeared to be a security guard who was seated behind a counter on one side of the doorway. On the other side stood two machines bearing signs that read, Check In Here. A middle-aged woman was using the first one, so I went around to the second and tentatively pressed the Start button on the glass, worried that I wouldn’t have the right responses. The first screens were straightforward enough: preferred language, name, social security number. The final screen was more challenging: What is the reason for

your visit? I wasn’t there to apply for any benefits, or to change my name, or to replace my social security card, or any other listed purpose. The last option was the only one that fit: Other Business. I hit that. Fortunately, I wasn’t asked for any details and the machine spat out a slip of paper with a number printed on it: O366. It seemed depressingly high. With my ticket in hand, I surveyed the people waiting. Judging by the slumped postures and widespread use of reading materials, it looked like most of them had been there for quite a while. Several young, healthy-looking people interspersed among them had probably come along for company or as drivers. Stepping over to the security guard, I mewed, “What is the typical wait time with this many people?” He shrugged before answering, “An hour and a half…give or take.” I couldn’t help but jut out my lower lip in response, so he added, “Could take less, depending what people are here for.” I nodded and managed a wan smile in appreciation of his effort to be encouraging, then turned and sat down on a chair in the front row that had an empty seat on either side. Setting down my purse and file, I looked around to scope out the room to figure out the setup in case my number was ever called. The two side walls had openings

At the door, I glanced back over Continued on page 15

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that led to inner passageways fitted with bank teller-type windows about every ten feet. Unfortunately, most of the windows I could see had their shades pulled down. Signs were posted on each side of the room. The sign on the left wall read, Windows 1-11. The sign on the right wall read, Windows 12-22. the back of the waiting area were five more windows, each with a letter sign, A through E. Twenty-seven windows in all. I brightened. That meant there shouldn’t be more than two claimants waiting for each window. My cell phone chirped with an incoming email. I pulled up the message: Newsmax wanted to know if I was at risk for Alzheimer’s. Probably. I opened my other emails and answered the few personal ones. After several minutes, a female voice came over the loudspeaker directing number C48 to report to Window 12. C48? I checked my slip again to see if I had misread it. No. Sadly, it was still O366. What kind of numbering system was this? Looking around for some explanation, my attention became drawn to the TV monitor set up in the front of the room. At the bottom of the screen were five sets of letter and number combinations; the first was O354, the second was C48, and three others followed that also appeared to have no rhyme or reason. At least I could see where my number fit into the scheme of things. I was behind O354. Twelve ahead of me. Not great, but not as bad as I thought.

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Now that my wait time was measurable I had to mentally nail down my story that would convince an agent that Social Security owed me money going back ten years although I couldn’t prove it. My original Benefits Statement showed zero-taxed earnings for the years 1970 through 1973, the first 4 years I had been employed by the Cook County Department of Public Aid in Chicago. When I received the statement, I had made a couple of phone calls to dispute the record, but hadn’t gotten past the question, “Do you have pay stubs to prove it?” Does anyone keep pay stubs for thirty years? I had given up and regretted that ever since. Recently, it dawned on me that 1973 was probably the year the County Department became a state agency. My Cook County records must not have been transferred. My hope was that the Social Security people could get access to the records of the nowdefunct department. Glumly, I turned my attention back to the monitor that was running a loop of announcements and bits of trivia for entertainment. The list of the current top ten names for babies came on screen. “Olivia” surprised me by coming in at number two for girls, and how could “Liam” be the number one name for boys? Several messages regarding social security policies and procedures for application came up on the slide show. My favorite was, “If you are deaf, call the number below to request signlanguage assistance for your next appointment.” Right. Messages were repeated in Spanish, which was understandable, but one version appeared to be in Cyrillic. How many claimants in Knoxville

were from Russia or Eastern Europe? Every few minutes, the same female announcer’s voice called out another number to report to a particular window. I had noticed that few windows were being called: only Windows A and B, 9, 12 and 20 so far. Aha. Five windows corresponded to the five sets of letter and number combinations. Apparently the other 17 windows were unmanned today. Great. However, my number had now crept up to being only two down. I stretched my neck and shoulders and sat up straight. A few new people were standing in the waiting room doorway. Observing them, I saw they all knew the drill, going directly to the check-in machines, rapidly tapping on the screen and taking their numbers without even glancing at them. The amplified female voice came back on. “O366 to Window 20.” That was me. I had calculated where Window 20 should be so I jumped out of my chair and headed for the doorway that would be closest to it. I was right. The window screen was up, and I took a seat to face my opponent. He turned out to be a balding, middle-aged bureaucratic type with a pen-protector in his shirt pocket. He greeted me politely and asked for my identification. I dealt out my full hand of social security card, driver’s license, passport, and birth certificate. His head shot back a little. “Just your card and driver’s license are fine.” After looking them over he glanced at me. Apparently satisfied, he clicked keys on his computer. “What’s your mother’s maiden name?” “Carlson.” Continued on page 16

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“No, her maiden name.” “Her maiden name and married name are the same,” I responded, wanting to clarify that my parents weren’t related and there are few Swedish surnames, but I refrained. He made a few more clicks, then leaned back and steepled his fingers. “So, how can I help you today?” I launched into the facts of my work history, including my exact starting date of March 3, 1969, to give myself credibility. Handing over the Social Security Benefits Statement, I pointed out the “0” amount of contributions shown for the contested years. He studied the statement with pursed lips for several moments before looking up. “Do you have any pay stubs from this time period?” I struggled to keep my expression neutral. “I’m sorry. I don’t.” He waved his hand dismissively. “No, of course not. That’s understandable.” He stabbed the statement with an index finger. “I believe you that you worked these years, and I want you to get every dime that’s coming to you. It’s just that we need some proof.” I nodded solemnly. “I was hoping Social Security could get access to Cook County records,” I said softly. He sighed and shook his head. “I think you should go to the IRS for that. We base our payments on their records.” I was sure my lower lip had jutted out again. He turned back to his computer, his

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forehead scrunched in thought. After several seconds his face cleared, he swung out of his chair, and stood. “I’ll be right back. There’s another agent who’s had more experience with this.” With what exactly, I wondered. As promised, my agent soon returned with another 50-something man in tow who introduced himself as Agent Pickens. He told me he had been briefed on my case, but asked a few questions about my work history. After a short discussion he said, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” No problem there. “but I’m going to flag your case for a month to scour any records for your social.” (security number) I was getting my hopes up. “Thanks. Anything that might help.” Agent Pickens looked off into space. “What I’m afraid of,” he drawled, “is that prior to 1973 many county departments didn’t pay into social security but into a pension fund instead. I think you should call Cook County pensions and see if you can get connected to someone who’s been around for a while who may remember. Maybe they owe you pension money.” The ball was back in my court, but I wasn’t going to give up this time. I would call the Pension Board. I would also contact an old friend who worked at Public Aid the same years I did and see what social security she was receiving. I would even contact a cousin who’s retired from Social Security to see if she has any ideas. I thanked both of the agents for their time and help. Agent Pickens handed me his personal business card. “Call me if you learn anything

anything and I’ll do the same.” They both smiled and wished me luck. Making my way back to the waiting room, I checked my watch. It wasn’t yet two o’clock. Passing by the security guard, I held up my wrist and tapped on my watch face. “You were right about the time.” The guard beamed and I smiled back, heading out the door no richer, but having a plan and feeling better about myself.

Cheryl was born and raised in Chicago. As a young child, she was introduced to the principles of good writing by her mother, a book editor and writer, who read to her from manuscripts, discussing with her subjects like character development, dialogue, and story arcs. As an adult, Cheryl worked in widely diverse fields as an interior designer, a social worker, and a paralegal,getting to know people from all walks of life. As a writer of mysteries, she has drawn from this breadth of experiences to create many unique characters and intricate plots. Cheryl and her husband Jim retired to Loudon, Tennessee in 2003. She was inspired to write her first novel, SIX MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT, a thriller about an attack on a nuclear weapons convoy, when she learned that nearby Oak Ridge continues to be a center of the nuclear weapons industry, decades after their participation in the Manhattan Project in WWII.

To be continued in the next issue

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WHY DO I WRITE? By Randall Carpenter

The biggest reason I write is because I enjoy it very much. When I was a young teenager, I was fascinated with words, their definition, and their usage in conversations and stories. I read the dictionary like most boys read car magazines. As I learned new words, I began putting them into sentences and phrases that developed into verses. I would write them as if I was speaking them. I began dividing the lines at comma breaks, pauses in speech, and at the end of a complete thought. This writing style developed into longer and more detailed writings that spoke to people’s heart more than their intellect. Another reason I write is I enjoy making people think and touching their hearts. I have had a lot of experiences, both happy and sad, that play heavily into what I write. Since I write mostly inspirational things, it keeps my heart and mind focused on what is important to me in life … family, faith, and encouraging others. I realized early in life that what I deal with every day, so do many others. Being able to convey those fears, emotions, and struggles to others in a way that gives them peace and solace is my purpose for writing. I write not to teach, but to enlighten. I write not to give my opinion, but my perspective. And, mostly, I write to encourage, inspire, and motivate others. Life is not what we keep to ourselves, but what we share with love and humility. If I had to say what is the most important reason I write, it would be to leave a legacy of love, compassion, and caring behind once I am gone. We all may say a lot of things in our lives that are profound and worthy of remembering, but unless they are written down, they disappear over time like smoke from a fire.

Randall has been writing since he was a young teenager. He has written over 1700 separate writings, nationally published four books and writes a daily inspirational writing read by several thousand people every day. Most of his writings are on deposit in the Library of Congress. He holds a Bachelor’s degree from the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. He became a Stephen Minister several years ago and his insights have helped many people better understand themselves and the world around them. Lastly, he served for over 10 years as the Senior Lay Leader for one of the largest Methodist churches in the United States. His words, observations, and insights will open your heart to the love of God. Email: randallcarpenter@rocketmail.com website:https://authorsguildoftn.com/authors /randall-l-carpenter/

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LET LOVE REIGN By Darlene Underwood

Many times in my life I have been forced to choose love. Not by coercion but by conviction. The Holy Spirit has a way of revealing to us what the Truth is. It is so very easy to ignore others, to strike back when someone affronts or offends. I even find myself at times speaking out loud to the newscasters on TV, as if they could hear my comments! There are also the days when I expect to receive acceptance from friends or family when they choose to be less than loving. To me, that is the hardest of all to handle. After all, shouldn’t they love me for who I am? Instead, they form their opinions, which they are not afraid to share. Once again, I feel rejected.

you along your everyday journey. It is something you will not sit and read through as you would an exciting novel that captures your attention and you cannot put it down. This is a compiling of encounters with Our Daddy as He took the time to speak to my heart and give me nuggets of gold and precious jewels to help me with my days. I pray that it will perform this for you; that it will inspire and capture you with His Heart of Love - just for you! I adore His interruptions in our lives where He shows up unexpected and leaves His handprints all over us. “Indeed, I have inscribed (engraved) a picture of you on the palms of My hands.” (Isaiah 49:16). I live for His Handprints, His Whispers and His Encounters. Visit her website

Sometimes, REACTION comes easier than correct ACTION. As soon as the words flow out of my mouth, I am convicted by the One who does it flawlessly. I have learned that I feel much better when I repent and do the right thing sooner, rather than later. Let Love Reign is an excerpt from the book Speak Lord, your Servant is listening. It is intended to help In 2008, Darlene Underwood had a near-death experience while undergoing open-heart surgery. During that time, Darlene entered into a new and exciting realm where she had never been before. While in this place, the Lord Jesus Christ spoke a message to her and she vowed to Him that she would tell others to help them in their earthly journey with the Lord. The Lord Jesus has ministered to Darlene in many prophetic dreams and visions throughout her walk with Him. She is a born again, spirit-filled woman of God who has been on her journey with the Lord since 1971. She is a minister who encourages and exhorts others through practical understanding and application of God’s Word. She brings forth the Word of God with straightforwardness in love by building upon its principles with the compassion of Christ. Darlene is a graduate of Rhema Bible College in Tulsa, Oklahoma and is currently seeking her Masters’ Degree in Biblical Studies through CES (Christ Exalted Seminary). She has held the positions of Bible Teacher, Co-Pastor and Associate Pastor in churches in Illinois and Wisconsin. Darlene is currently working with Dr. Carol Elaine in iWOW!, Women of the Word, and CES (Christ Exalted Seminary). She is ordained with Melody of Life Ministry based in Chattanooga, Tennessee and is also a published Author of her auto-biography, Destiny’s Journey. Darlene is a mother of three children and grandmother of seven, Great-grandmother of one and resides in Ooltewah, Tennessee with her husband, Joe.

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Going Home (or just passing through) By Jim Hartsell Several days before Mother’s Day I called my mother and told her I’d probably come down to see her on Saturday so I could avoid the holiday traffic. She, of course, said come on anytime, so I baked a gift loaf of rosemary bread and started out about mid-morning. I decided to make a detour and swing through Greenback, where I had lived for most of my youth and had gone to school from second grade through graduation, so I turned right at Maryville and headed down Morganton Road. It’s been a long time since I’ve made that trip. The road used to cut through farms; now houses, churches, and subdivisions stretch almost all the way from Maryville to Greenback. The feel of the road was the same, but the view was completely different. I pulled up next to my grandmother’s old place, at the flashing yellow light, and then drove into town. If my memory serves, fifty years ago there was a bank with a public library on the second floor, a farmer’s co-op, a post office, a grocery, a drug store, a small department store, and a gas station. I don’t remember the flashing yellow light, but there was a set of railroad tracks at the end of the business section, which was two blocks long. Today there is a bank (not the same one), a museum(!), a post office, a secondhand store, and the drug store. The railroad track is gone. I didn’t check on the co-op; back then it was on a side street.

There was an empty slot in front of the museum, so I parked there and got out. As soon as I looked across the street to the post office I remembered the Wagon Train. Every year we would close off the main street and have a huge square dance the night before the horses and wagons made the trip to Glendale the next day. I went into the museum and had a quick look around, seeing lots of familiar names on the labels identifying the clothing, farm equipment, school and soldier memorabilia, newspaper headlines, and photographs. The drug store was barely recognizable; gone were the standing shelves in the center of the store, the book and magazine rack on the left, and the drugstore section in the back. It had been transformed into a diner. They had burgers and fries and wings and salads and stuff like that. But more importantly, they had fried honey buns with ice cream on top, just like fifty years ago. Now, on the menu, it’s listed as their signature item. Later, on my way out of town, I found the new library location just past the turn to Lenoir City in a building that also houses the community center. It was closed. By two o’clock, about the time I made it to the family farm in Lenoir City, the drug store/diner and the museum would be closed, too. It was good that I came through town when I did. Mostly I was just passing through

my old home town; I didn’t see anyone I recognized (which would have been surprising, given the passage of time) and as far as I know no one recognized me. For a couple of minutes, though, sitting at the counter, savoring that honey bun hot off the griddle with the ice cream melting over it, I was awash in memory.

A retired Special Ed teacher and lifelong East Tennessean currently living on House Mountain, His career working with teenagers on the fringes of society has made him both sensitive to and appreciative of the complexities of character and the struggles, inner and outer, that we all wrestle with in one form or another. His writing emphasizes character development over action. He has published 11 books and is currently working on the 12th. In addition to writing, he enjoys volunteer work at Ijams Nature Center, playing hammer dulcimer, and reading a variety of genres. It’s a good life. To learn more about the author and his books visit his Author's page on Amazon.

FROM

MY MOTHER'S KITCHEN

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Pig Poke Cake By Adele A. Roberts 1 Yellow Cake Mix 1 -15 oz can of Mandarin Oranges (option is to save 24 for decoration) 4 eggs 1/3 cup oil Mix all ingredients in a bowl. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Cool. Frost with: 1 carton Cool Whip mixed with 1 box instant vanilla pudding and one 15 oz. can of crushed pineapple. An option is to decorate with oranges. (I do not put the frosting on the cake but spoon it on when served)

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Hillbilly Beignets By Patricia Crumpler

Use Walmart's brand of Complete Extra Fluffy Pancake mix You will need: 1 Cup of mix 1 egg 1/4 Cup of milk Honey, or maple syrup Powdered sugar (optional, but looks nice) Oil for frying Heat at 350 degrees enough oil in a pan to fry--around two inches at least. Mix the first three ingredients. Add more milk or pancake mix to make the batter thick, like peanut butter. Using a large soup spoon, scoop a walnut-sized amount of mix. Using another spoon, push the ball of batter into the hot oil. The batter balls will puff to the size of golf balls as they cook. They will need to be turned over. When they are golden brown, remove and drain. Serve with honey or maple syrup. Shake a bit of powdered sugar over them.

NOMADIC

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LIST OF SUPPORTERS

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CHEESECAKES + MORE “Quality you can taste!” Our mission is simple. We want everyone who tries our cakes and cookies to become a customer. To accomplish that we use only the best ingredients in everything we make. All of our cakes and cookies are made by hand. Just one taste and you will know the difference.

We are not a Cheesecake Factory Russ Fine, Author and Baker Crossville Outlet Center, 228 Interstate Drive Crossville, TN 38555 Telephone: 931-250-5354 or 865-208-6809 Email: cheesecakesplusmore@gmail.com www.cheesecakesplusmore.com

PREFERRED PHARMACY “Prescriptions, Boutique items, and Books” At our family of Preferred Pharmacies, it is our mission to provide our customers with the highest quality medication and medication services. It is our goal to offer personalized, knowledgeable medical advice in a caring and professional manner. We also strive to offer prompt, courteous, and reasonably priced products and services to improve quality of life to our customers. Pharmacist: Jeremy German 101 Cheeyo Way (near Food Lion) Loudon, TN 37774 Telephone: 865-458-1113 www.preferredpharmacybenton.com/

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American Commissary The American Commissary, is a small General Merchandise Store with a big goal – our goal is to help create jobs by buying and selling products made in the United States of America. We have been asked why the store is called “American Commissary”. First of all, the “American” stands for so many wonderful things – freedom, liberty, and justice for all – the country where anyone, willing to work, could have a job and could achieve the “American Dream”. The “Commissary” is a part of the store name because it symbolizes, for us, the achievement of the American

Dream. America is a relatively young country however, in the past few years as we have looked around us, we have seen many of our friends and neighbors who have been unable to find and/or keep jobs because our economy has suffered greatly and our proud values have not been exploited.

1211 East Broadway (2 blocks east of light at Hwy. 321) Lenoir City, TN 37772 Telephone: 865-816-3519 www.americancommissary.com

To try and help, we decided to set up a store front to buy and sell USA made products.

Books By Bobbi

“Humor, Adventures, and Worldwide Cultures.”

Telephone: 865-657-9560 Email: bobbiphelps1@gmail.com Website: www.booksbybobbi.com

Bobbi Phelps Wolverton grew up in Darien, Connecticut. She joined the airline industry after graduating from Pine Manor College and Katharine Gibbs Secretarial School. She enlisted in World Airways after working as a secretary in San Francisco. Her writing career begins with the book Behind the Smile. Eager to taste adventure at age 23, Bobbi Wolverton became an international flight attendant in 1965. It was a more innocent and glamorous time of travel, when passengers dressed formally, smoking was permitted and the captain allowed in-flight visits to

the cockpit. But there was another side to her profession. It was also hard, sometimes unglamorous, and often dangerous work. In this memoir, Bobbi shares fascinating true tales that shocked her friends and parents. Behind the Smile takes us on a roller coaster ride of laughter and drama, giving us a behindthe-scenes look at the joys and heartaches of working in the airline industry during its most glamorous era.

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Union Ave Books We’re a locally owned independent bookstore with a great selection of fiction, non-fiction, young adult and children’s books, all chosen with you in mind. And because our booksellers know books we can help you find the right books for you, your family, and your friends.

“Bringing Community to Book Lovers” 517 Union Avenue Knoxville, TN 37902 (865) 951-2180 mail@unionavebooks.com http://unionavebooks.com/

ENGRAPHICS “Sign making, apparel printing, name badges, and award engraving.” Turn to a reliable sign and awards company for your signage and engraving needs. Engraphics is the company to beat when it comes to sign making, apparel printing, and award engraving. Expect quick, honest, and reliable services from our experienced design team. 560 highway 321 North Suite B Lenoir City, TN 37771 Off Snyder Rd, next to Buddy Gregg RV Lenoir City: 865-988-8383 knoxville: 865-288-7058 engraphics@en-graphics.com www.en-graphics.com

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THE UPS STORE “Printing copies, business cards, posters, etc. Graphic Design and Shipping.” The UPS Store in LENOIR CITY is a locally owned and operated small business and we care about all of our customers. Our staff has the knowledge and expertise to handle all of your mailbox, packaging, shipping, printing and other small business services and we are passionate about what we do.

Stop by and visit us today. We're confident you'll be glad you did.

875 Hwy 321 North, Suite 600 Lenoir City, TN 37771 Telephone: 865-988-5526 Email: store4526@theupsstore.com www.theupsstorelocal.com/4526

We are certified packaging experts and only The UPS Store® has the Pack & Ship Guarantee.

RanCath Writings "Books of Inspiration, Motivation, and Appreciation" Randall L. Carpenter has been writing since he was young teenager. He has written over 1700 separate writings, nationally published four books and writes a daily inspirational writing read by several thousand people every day. Most of his writings are on deposit in the Library of Congress. He holds a Bachelor’s degree from the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. He became a Stephen Minister several years ago and his insights have helped many people better understand themselves and the world around them. Lastly, he served for over 10 years as the Senior Lay Leader for one of the largest Methodist churches in the United States. His words, observations, and insights will open your heart to the love of God. Telephone: 865-254-7405 Email: randallcarpenter@rocketmail.com www.authorsguildoftn.org/authors/randall-l-carpenter

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AUTHOR EVENTS JANUARY 2019 Richard Cross: January 22, 2019. Kennedy lecture and book signing at the Tellico Village Public Library, Loudon, TN at 10:00 a.m. Adele Roberts January 5th, 12th 19th, and 26th. Oak Ridge Winter Farmers Market from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. St. Mary's Church in the gymnasium.

FEBRUARY 2019 Carol McClain, Bobbi Phelps Chapman, Tish, and Cheryl Peyton February 2, 2019. 10am-5pm. Chocolatefest Knoxville, World's Fair Exhibition Hall. 935 World's Fair Park Drive. Carol McClain, Bobbi Phelps Chapman, Tish, and Cheryl Peyton

AGT Authors will have individual presentations at the Lenoir City Library on the first Monday of each month. For more information contact the library at (865) 986-3210

AGT meetings Faith Lutheran Church, 225 Jamestowne Blvd, Knoxville, TN 37934. Meet and Greet at 10:30 a.m., Meeting at 11:00 a.m.

January 03, 2019, 10:30 am - Speaker: Randall Carpenter: how to develop Character, Integrity, and Respect in your life.

February 7, 2019, 10:30 am - TBA

March 07, 2019, 10:30 am - TBA

Books by AGT authors are on sale at these locations American Commissary 1211 E. Broadway Lenoir City, TN 37771 (865) 816-3519

Locally Grown Gallery 109 Towne Rd.(Greenwich Mall) Oak Ridge, TN 37831 (865) 361-0197

The Book Rack 325 Gill St. Alcoa, TN 37701 (865) 983-7323

Preferred Pharmacy 101 Cheeyo Way, Suite A Loudon, TN 37774 (865) 458-1113

East Tennessee Discount Drugs 721 Hwy. 321 Lenoir City, TN 37771 (865) 988-0000

CitiFid-O 429 Union Avenue Knoxville, TN 37902 (865) 219-5127

Farragut Pharmacy 11424 Kingston Pike Farragut, TN 37934 (865) 966-9728

Ricki Pet Depot 11505 Kingston Pike Farragut, TN 37934 (865) 392-1151

Knoxville Soap Candle & Gifts 714 S. Gay St. Knoxville, TN 37919 865-689-6545

Dandridge Mercantile 149 E. Main St. Dandridge, TN. (865) 230-4225