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John Joseph Ligon escaped from the pain of this life surrounded by his loving family. We didn’t expect it so soon. That may seem odd when you learn that my brother-in-law was ninety years on this earth. In recent years he had successfully overcome cancer, several strokes, surgery to remove blood clots, and COVID. He just seemed to keep on going and going and going. We thought this latest infection would succumb to medical treatment and he would be back. Instead, he went home to join his wife of fifty-nine years and his parents. 

John was the fifth John Ligon on this branch of the family tree. We called him Johnny Joe. He had three children, two girls and the sixth John; nine grandchildren including the seventh John; fourteen great grandchildren and one great great grandchild. He was fortunate that most of them resided in the same small town he did or nearby. He was very active in their lives. He was a man of deep and simple faith. There was no need to worry or get over excited. He was like his father in that way.  

His only sister also lived in the same town. He was seven and a half when he got a sibling. Family lore indicates he wasn’t thrilled with his new baby sister. He put her in a wagon and took her down the street. His mother got a call from a laughing neighbor who told her that Johnny had just traded the little girl for a billy goat. Needless to say, his mother didn’t allow the trade to stick. 

When my husband was a small boy, he didn’t believe Johnny was his brother. He was twenty-two years older and married. Brothers were supposed to live with you, to share your room like Wally and the Beaver did. You wouldn’t think they were brothers by looking at them until you got to those twinkling blue eyes. They were exactly the same. 

Johnny was a Buick man. He had a refurbished Skylark painted bright blue and adorned with American eagles on the side. And he loved Roadmasters. The Skylark and two of his Roadmasters led the funeral procession right behind the hearse. 

Johnny’s wife passed away in 2012 and we were worried about what he would do after years spent being her primary caregiver. Once again he surprised us. 

He became a regular at the coffee shop downtown—Kiki’s. Not because he loved coffee. He’d appear between ten and eleven each morning Monday through Saturday and grab his Mountain Dew and visit. If he didn’t show up on time, the proprietress, Kathy, would check on him to make sure he was all right. 

Kathy’s husband, Steve, is a professional musician and has a recording studio in town. He started holding open mike night at Kiki’s and Johnny became a regular performer. He and Steve made several albums together. Johnny’s hymns and gospel singing could give you goose bumps. Johnny really enjoyed sharing his gift of song. It gave him a reason—in addition to his family—to keep going and to thrive in this life.  

Johnny loved Westerns. Reading them and watching them on TV. One night over the holidays years ago, he and I sat up late watching a movie. When it was over he said, “I thought you’d be surprised at the ending.” I was. How did he know the ending? He’d seen it before and watched it again because he knew I’d never seen it and thought I should. 

Johnny had a pilot’s license. He loved flying and he was fascinated by military aircraft. He had shelves full of airplane models he’d painted and put together. He developed neuropathy in his fingers that made kit completion impossible. Several years ago when we were getting ready to go home after the holidays, he brought a partially completed kit to the kitchen. He told me I’d done such a good job with Jim’s railroad models, he wanted to commission me to complete his plane. So I took it home and returned it the next holiday. I didn’t know anything about airplane models and didn’t properly weight the nose. The front wheel wouldn’t stay down. Johnny fixed the problem by staining a toothpick to match the shelf the plane sat on and strategically placed it so it wasn’t very visible at the tail of the plane and it kept the nose down properly. A year ago he had another kit on the kitchen counter, in case I wanted to complete another “commission”. I completed the kit and gave it to him for Christmas this past December. He said I did a fine job and was especially pleased with the camouflage paint job of blue sky and clouds. He apologized that he hadn’t picked out a new one for me to work on yet. 

This year at Christmastime he was a little frustrated that he couldn’t sing as well as he used to because he couldn’t get a breath long enough to sustain some of the notes and didn’t have the same range of the past. He told me there was one song he could still do. It was Mac Davis’s “Hard to Be Humble”. He proceeded to regale me with both verses and three choruses. The chorus is:

Oh, Lord it's hard to be humble  
When you’re perfect in every way
I can't wait to look in the mirror
Cause I get better looking each day.
To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man
Oh, Lord, it's hard to be humble
But I'm doing the best that I can!

He said with twinkling eyes, “I brought the house down at Kiki’s singing that.” He had me laughing out loud. Steve confirmed at the funeral that he did indeed bring down the house with the song on more than one occasion.

Now the chorus of angels in heaven has a new, rich, goose-bump-inducing voice added to their glory. A voice that has been fully restored to the beauty and resonance of the past and it is truly perfect in every way. May you rest in peace, Johnny Joe. We love you. 

The room just off the kitchen at the front of the house is bordered with bookshelves, as are most rooms in our house. This particular room is packed with a mixture of science fiction, foreign languages, poetry and plays, almanacs, contemporary fiction, and my book, soon to be plural. The shelves also house friend and family photographs both framed and in albums, and bric-a-brac from my life: postcard size paintings, plaques with encouraging words like Life Is too Short To Be Anything But Happy, framed cards from my husband, and items from my career like a pottery jar claiming to be ashes of former employees. The walls are covered with paintings and prints and special photographs. There is an old dining room table, a glider rocker, and my desk. When we first moved in I called this room the Library. I envisioned jigsaw puzzles in progress on the table and cards or board games being played there.

Since my retirement from my first career this room has morphed into much more. This is where I write. Sitting in the glider on a legal pad with a supply of well sharpened pencils and at my desk on the computer. It is a pleasant place to breathe life into my characters and devise ways to rescue them from the peril of my making.

If I hit a snag in the plot, I can retreat to one end of the table where my spinning wheel patiently waits. I open the shutters and look out on the yard cul de sac. Then I’m ready to immerse myself in the peaceful process of spinning the exquisite fiber stashed in tubs under one end of the table into soft, colorful yarn. I keep paper and pencil on the table so when the plot overcomes its snag I can make notes. It’s funny how getting the creative juices flowing in one part of my brain seems to leak over into other creations.

I use my small loom sitting in the glider where I weave table runners and scarves from the yarn I’ve spun. I have tubs of spun yarn waiting to be used on my loom or knitting needles or crochet hooks.

I do most of my creating in this room. Wait…I can hear my husband clearing his throat although he’s several rooms away. He must be thinking of the guest room where I carry my loom to set it up since there’s not enough space to stretch out the warp threads in this room. Or maybe he’s wondering about the bathroom behind his study where I have drawers of sock yarn and tubs of purchased yarn. It’s also where I soak and dry the spun yarn and woven scarves. Or maybe he’s looking in the den around my recliner where I have multiple projects in progress–socks being knitted, afghans created, baby things–all around. He affectionately, at least I think it’s sweetly intended, refers to that area as my “nest”. Or maybe he’s referring to the huge table I use in the basement to paint and construct the model railroad buildings. And where more tubs of yarn and crafting materials live in carefully sorted and labeled plastic tubs on shelves. Okay. I did say most of my creating was in this room, not all.

To the untrained eye, the room may seem cluttered and possibly disorganized, but to me it thrums with happiness and creativity. The title Library is a woefully inadequate description now. So we call it The Omni.

May you find a spot that brings you happiness and encourages your most creative self to act. And may you find the time to retreat there regularly! Enjoy!

Hard to believe but today is the fifth anniversary of this blog starting. Some people reflect on the past year on New Year’s day, but for me this blog birthday triggers my review of what I’ve accomplished in the past year.

2022 was the year my first book was published– Polly’s List– and I signed a contract for my second cozy mystery with a splash of romance, hope, and faith– Landing On Her Feet– which will be out this summer. But you regular followers out there already know that!

I like to do lots of different creative things and usually have more than one project at a time in process. I have to confess that this past year while I’ve been plying my craft of writing, I’ve had significantly less time for plying yarn or weaving scarves or constructing buildings on the Ligon Model Railroad layout in our basement.

I did get two structures finished this year that I did as late birthday gifts for my husband. Junger Jams above and the water tower below.

There are many more kits waiting for paint and glue to come to life on the railroad in our basement. I’m finding that my many retirement projects are consuming a lot more of my hours than there are available. Since the edits are finalized for the next book, I may have to take some time to “catch up” on my other fun projects.

This week is jam packed with fun between Valentines and birthdays- people and blogs and then on Monday I had the most wonderful thing happen. Kat Henry Doran from www.WildWomenReviews.blogspot.com reviewed Polly’s List . I’ve been floating on air all week. I loved it so much I’m reprinting it here:

Rarely, do we find a debut mystery so perfectly constructed. Author Kim Janine Ligon has mastered the art of putting the seeds on page one, then compounding the suspense with each scene. Adding to all this are the spot-on descriptions of a small town and the ‘denizens’ inhabiting it. It’s like going home again–and smiling at the memories. The characters are varied and well drawn. Looking forward to the next in this cozy mystery series. Congratulations.

ON A SCALE OF 1 – 5 POLLY’S LIST MERITS A 7

The perfect way to start this busy week and cap off year five of this blog. Now, I hear my spinning wheel calling to me or is it the loom or the railroad or my Kindle loaded with books to read and review. I better quit talking to you and get hopping!

Thank you for coming along on my journey. It’s always more fun with great company! Enjoy!

I recently saw a news piece on the declining birth rate in the United States. They were bemoaning the fact that young people didn’t want to have children any more. They only want to make money, travel, and not be tied down. That may be true for some people, but my personal experience is that a lot of those young people have a great deal of faith in the future because I’m still making lots and lots of baby blankets for bouncing new arrivals.

I sat down and started calculating how many blankets I’ve crocheted over the years for nieces, nephews, greats, friends, extended family, and employees. It is rapidly approaching four hundred. I’m feeling a little old when I’m now making blankets for the children of the babies I made a blanket for decades ago.

In the nineteen years I worked at the hospital, I made sixty-three blankets for employees in my department. Early on the creations were smaller receiving blankets but they morphed into crib size covers that matched the paint chips the happy parent-to-be provided me. I was told soon after an employee’s mom and mother-in-law that a bundle of joy was on its way so I’d have plenty of time to make a blanket. I even made one for a baby who wasn’t due until six months after I retired!

I enjoyed making them. Crocheting the familiar pattern was a relaxing thing to do while watching TV in the evening. Double bonus is you can’t snack while working on a project. In the book my staff gave me when I retired, some of my “babies” appeared with their blankets from ten or fifteen years earlier and some toddlers brought their blankets to the retirement reception. It was a wonderful reminder of how quickly they grow up!

I know the blankets are dear to the recipients because I’ve been asked to repair a seven year old blanket and had to retrieve my great great nephew’s blanket from the motel after they realized three hours down the road they’d left it here. When I took it to the post office to mail, the clerk asked what was in the package. I said “my nephew’s blankie”. She laughed. She had given her son’s blanket to his bride to be saying he couldn’t sleep without it after twenty years.

I’ve made other baby things like sweaters, caps, and booties, but I enjoy thinking stitch by stitch about the love I’m packing into each blanket that will wrap around the new arrivals whose parents are brave enough to bring them into this crazy world.

I know there are lots of people dealing with evil and illness everyday. I hope you can feel the love I’m sending to blanket you in peace and that your woes quickly unravel to be recreated into something wonderful. You are loved!

Well…I did it. Not only did I survive my first ever book signing, I had so much fun doing it!

I walked into the local Barnes and Noble on Saturday and they had a table set up by the door with a blue tablecloth on it, that perfectly matched the top I was wearing. On one side of the table there was a lovely bouquet of cut flowers in a stylized Mason jar as the vase. They were from a dear friend in Pensacola with a note saying “I wish I was there to share your special day.” That instantly ratcheted up the delight in my day.

My husband schlepped in the box of books and helped me get organized and get my posters up and everything settled just so. The bookstore event manager–Chad‐-was wonderfully supportive all day. Once I was all set up, he came and took my picture. This is the one my first customer of the day took. She was there was before the official time and I was glad to see her!

I saw people I haven’t seen in forever. I had a friend and her husband and come from an hour away to get a book signed that she bought earlier. I saw former employees and my boss and people from the hospital I used to work at. There were lots of hugs and smiles. And I had my picture taken multiple times–not my favorite thing to do but I got over it. Especially sweet was getting to meet and hug a friend’s mother who loved my book.

It was a great afternoon. I sold books, signed books that people brought in, and even met another Tuscaloosa author. At the end of the day Chad told me I could have the table again when my next book comes out! Yep, as you can see from the table poster my next book is in the works and should be out in 2023. I guess I’ll keep writing as long as you keep buying my books and it continues to be as much fun as Saturday afternoon was! Thank you to everyone who could stop by and special thank you to all of my followers who have provided me so much love and moral support through this journey. Even if you weren’t there in person, I could feel you there in spirit. I so appreciate you!

I’ll take this opportunity to wish you and yours, the joys of Christmas and a bright and positive 2023! Thank you again for the blessing of your friendship and support!

My Mother-in-Law, Ruby, loved to shop and she was an Avon lady too. She was always finding little goodies for herself or to use as gifts in the future. When things went on sale with Avon, she’d stock up so she’d be sure to have the perfect item when she needed it. She would buy something special and “put it away” until later. The problem was that when she needed it or wanted to give the perfect gift she’d bought earlier, she couldn’t find where she had hidden it from herself. She told me the very first time I visited her house that she had a music box for me that played “Somewhere My Love”. She never found it. We didn’t either—even after we had her estate sale over thirty years later.

Over the years when I couldn’t find something that I knew I had or that should be in a specific spot “where I always keep it”, but  it wasn’t, my husband would tease me and ask, “Did you Ruby it?” As I’m sure you can imagine, there were many times when his query was met with less than kindness on my part. I understand how frustrating those episodes were for my mother-in-law.

Recently, I took “Rubying” to a whole new level. We’d been bagging up old magazines to go to recycling after removing labels and identifying information, wading through a mountain of junk mail to harvest note pads  and address labels, and generally decluttering countertops and tables to prepare to bring the plants in off the deck before last weekend’s freezing temperatures.

Last Tuesday morning, we were going to vote and then to the grocery store on the way home. I couldn’t find the grocery list—anywhere! I keep a running list on a 8 ½”x 3 ½” pad provided by our HVAC guy. It “lives” in the middle of the desk in the kitchen. (I’ll confess it’s not the only thing on the desk.) Sometimes I move it to the kitchen table to add sale items to it as I review the weekly ad online and select my e-coupons. Then it goes back to the desk or to my purse (if we’re planning to shop that day). It was not in any of those places. After thirty minutes of searching, assisted by my silent and supportive husband, we gave up and went to vote and shopped “listless” for the first time in forever.

Every piece of paper has been cleaned off the desk, the kitchen table, all the countertops, and the bookcases. No grocery list magically appeared. We’ve been through all the scenarios. Did it get scooped up with magazines and newspapers going to recycling? Or maybe it fell into the trash can with some of the junk mail. Did I put it somewhere I’ve never hidden it away before? Do we have a new poltergeist who takes great delight in making me think I’m losing my mind? The jury is still out awaiting further evidence. Here we are a week later and still no old grocery list. Wisely, my husband consoled me, patted my back, helped me search and clean, and never once mentioned his mother’s name. Hoping all your “things” stay where you put them so you can find them when you need them!

Author news:

November 22 Polly’s List is featured on NN Light’s Book Heaven Snuggle up with A Book. Website: https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com There are prizes all month on this site.

Meet the Author on Saturday December 10, 2022 Noon – 4 P.M. Book Signing at Midtown Barnes and Noble in Tuscaloosa AL

All summer long I enjoy watching the bright green, ruby throated hummingbirds flit around our feeder. One swoops in and drinks greedily until another bird appears and chases it away so the newcomer can guzzle the sweet nectar.

They retreat to a nearby crape myrtle bush and perch on a branch blending in with the oval green leaves that are nearly their size. When another bird nears the feeder the camouflaged one zooms out of hiding with tail feathers fully fanned to warn the intruder against sampling any nectar. Frequently, the attacker doesn’t even take a drink–just returns to his secret spot to await the next unsuspecting interloper. It is like watching a mini Battle of Britain on my deck.

They are so busy keeping one another from eating that I wonder how they get enough fuel to provide all their energy. A large feeder will last a week or more at the height of the battles.

Then something happens to dramatically change their behavior. The Hummingbird’s Almanac says it is time for cooperation. They need to tank up to prepare for the long journey dodging hurricanes across the Gulf to their winter homes in Mexico and Central America. When that time comes, you know cooler weather can’t be far behind.

The birds begin sharing with one another. Often every “flower” at the feeder has a long beak inserted in it drinking the liquid sweetness as fast as possible. A large feeder lasts two days or less. You can actually see the little green bodies growing plumper day after day.

Cooperation is in full swing already this year. Toward the last days of their Alabama stay I’ve seen all four slots filled with birds and four birds hovering over them waiting for their turn. It looks like the holding pattern over Atlanta’s airport in miniature.

As blistering hot as our summer has been, I’m not ready for winter yet. This morning it was only in the high 60’s. But the Farmer’s Almanac agrees with my hummingbirds. It’s predicting a little earlier arrival for a winter that’s to be shivery, wet, slushy, and colder than normal. I don’t like the sound of that! Especially not the slushy–you can’t have slush without snow–right? Ugh!!

I’ll leave my feeder up until I don’t see any hummers for at least two weeks. Want to make sure any stragglers are well fed too. Wishing you a sweet ending to summer.

BONUS: Click on this link to see info on my friend, Christy Adams’ devotional for parents coming out Sept 21. It’s available for pre-ordering now.

https://www.spinningromance.com/devotions-for-parents/

Special thanks to all of you who purchased “Polly’s List ” and had such kind words for my first novel. Enjoy!

Earlier this spring another friend and I had lunch at Linda’s house so we could see the amazing transformation she’d completed in her master bath and kitchen. She embarked on a remodeling adventure mid-pandemic so along with the normal stresses of a major project she also dealt with supply chain hiccups and halts. The results are exquisite. Her master bath, in particular, looks like something straight out of a magazine or home make over TV show. As beautiful as the results are, I haven’t the patience required to embark on a project like that. (I’m sure if you listen closely you’ll hear my sweet husband heartily cheering in the background.)

My mother had a strong remodeling gene. She refinished all the hardwood floors in one of our houses and seemed to always find rooms that needed repainting. Probably because she’d worn the paint off by frequent washings. (I didn’t get her housekeeping gene either!)

We moved into an older brick home in town that needed lots of painting. We built on two more bedrooms over the first floor area that briefly served as Daddy’s office. There was only a small dining room so Mother added a eat at bar in the kitchen big enough for six stools. It had two parlors connected by French doors to each other and to the front hall and dining room.

Mother complained that the parlors were too small to be functional for our large family. Her vision was of a great room open to the foyer and stairwell and dining room. She designed a drop down bar that would come out of the hollow center pillar and rest on a wooden wall carving as its leg. It was a clever design. She kept pestering Daddy about getting someone in to build what she wanted. He had a gift for letting the nattering roll off him and out of mind.

After Mother completed all the other projects and Daddy still hadn’t agreed to hire someone for the great room construction, she took matters–or more precisely–took a sledge hammer in hand and began knocking out the wall between the two parlors and removed all the French doors from their hinges.

I can’t say Daddy was surprised when he got home. He didn’t have time for shock. Mother had partially removed a load bearing wall under the upstairs bathroom. It was fortunate she hadn’t finished the job.

After a couple of emergency calls and a late night visit from the professional remodeler, steel I-beams were ordered to keep the second floor in place and the rest of the renovation was planned. The final product included a beautiful stone fireplace and the secret bar in the column. Then Mother rested a while to enjoy the fruits of “her” labor.

Maybe it’s a July 28th gene, that desire to remake things and endure the aggravation of it. Happy birthday, Linda! Happy birthday, Mother–RIP.

Hope any remodeling you tackle turns out exactly as you want and no bathtubs threaten to land in your living room! Enjoy!

The post office’s stamp price increase this week made me think about electronic communications. When I was working, I was always early to work. I could check on the night shift and if I had extra to do I’d much rather do it in the morning than to stay late and miss out on evening time at home. And work in the morning had fewer interruptions than staying late. Some of the pleasant moments of those early mornings were when Daddy’s name would pop up in my inbox. He was an early bird too. Most times his message wasn’t of critical importance, probably a thinking of you message or just talking about life in general but they always started my day off on the right foot. I treasured each one.

Emails have been essential in rounding up my far flung siblings for surprise parties for our parents and for sibling vacation retreats. Now I use it to get the word out to over one hundred people for family reunions. Lately, it’s had pictures and announcements of new arrivals complete with vital statistics.

A lot of text messages are flying around too. I have a text enabled phone but it’s not smart so it take six clicks to type in my first name, if I don’t care about it being capitalized. I have received texted baby announcements too with postage stamp size pictures on my phone. Most recently when the niece who is only eleven months younger than my husband became a great grandmother. That makes my husband a great great great uncle, but he’s decided his handle for that generation will be UG3. He hasn’t signed a deal for a rap album yet, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he did.

The biggest impediment to timely electronic communication is that the devices have to be on. Mine generally are not. These days I only check email about twice a day unless I’m expecting a response to something specific and text messages once a week or less. So if you want to get in touch with this girl just pick up the phone and call my landline…yes I still, have one.

Other updates from my world:

This site is now https for your improved security.

We’re 32 days from P Day, publication of Polly’s List

Check out the new picture on my blog Meet The Author page compliments of my friend Beverly who shot oodles of pics for me to use for promotions. Thank you!

My Reading Recommendations page on the blog is growing almost daily with books I’ve read and reviewed for other Roses from the Wild Rose Press Garden. Lots of talent out there.

Hope your summer is filled with fun, family, and frolicking! Enjoy!