Love, Faith and the Fifties: Treasured Memories Published by Outskirts Press | PRLog

Love, Faith and the Fifties: Treasured Memories Published by Outskirts Press PRLog

Thank you for clicking on the link above to learn all about the release of our latest book:
TREASURED MEMORIES: A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES.

The following is a review by Rebecca Johnson
one of Amazon's Top 50 Reviewers...

Now that it is getting colder it is fun to snuggle up in bed with a good book. Vada M. Wolter and Joseph A. Zapalac always write books that warm the heart. In this short story collection they have found stories that bring a tear to your eyes and also make you laugh. Many different authors are featured in this book so it gives you a lot of different perspectives to consider. Some of the stories are about living in the Great Depression and include tales of working on farms and going on hay rides. I really loved the story about the coconut cream pie and the visit with God that included root beer and Twinkies. While this is mostly a book of stories there are also some jokes, poems and prayers. This book is mostly positive but there are a few stories of war, betrayal and divorce. I feel that having sad and happy stories makes this a well-rounded collection that is emotionally satisfying.

~The Rebecca Review

OUR BOOKS

The following is my attempt to make a short video advertising us as authors and our books. I am pleased to say that all the covers, with the exception of The Caregiver's Story are my work as photographer and cover designer.

Our books are available at Amazon.com.

THE BICYCLE MAN

It was a wintry Christmas morning. A young pajama-clad boy stood in the doorway of his dilapidated wood-framed home, watching a heavily-clad man walking up the sidewalk. His face lit up and a smile spread on his face at seeing what the man had in his hands. “Mommy, Mommy, its Santa Claus,” he exclaimed.

***

I completed my tour in the military in 1965. As destiny would have it, I landed in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, working for a major oil company. Within months, my job relocated me to White Bear Lake, Minnesota, a small community just outside St. Paul.

I quickly adjusted to the move. With sheer persistence from a friend, I joined the local Knights of Columbus—a Christian organization.

"Joe, we are having a meeting of the KC tonight. Would you like to come along with me?" I can't the number of times I heard this from my good friend, Jerry.

One night I had reached my limit. “Jerry,” I said, “What are the Knights of Columbus all about anyway? Why should I join?”

"The KC helps families obtain economic security and stability through its life insurance, annuity and long-term care programs. It also contributes time and energy worldwide to service in communities. I think you'd like being part of this."

It stirred me when he said service to communities. Yes, I wanted to share faith, hope, and charity by being part of something that helped the community. "Alright, Jerry, I'll accept your invitation and joining the Knights of Columbus."

I worked whole-heartily in the KC but felt the organization needed publicity. Word had gotten out that I was a writer—a poet to be exact. The members felt I would be valuable as Council Activity Director, reporting activities and promoting membership.

The most heartwarming part of being a member of this organization was carrying on the tradition of providing toys for the needy children at Christmas.

I grew up the adopted son of a sharecropper, and times were tough. I've memories of the cotton stalk Christmas tree, we had when I was a young lad, so I've always understood hardships. Therefore, as I rose through the ranks, I became active collecting toys for the needy children.

The fire department felt that junk was being donated. This presented a crisis. Therefore, I volunteered to take charge of donations and placed an article in the local newspaper, requesting donations of tricycles and usable toys to be brought to a vacant school.

The article stated tricycles, but bicycles were being donated as well.  Soon I had so many bicycles that I became known as The Bicycle Man. Many of the bikes were in need of repair, so I brought them to my garage. Before long, I had fifteen to twenty bikes in my garage.

Knowing I needed help, I prayed. James, a sixteen-year-old son of a KC member answered the call. This invaluable young Christian man worked to get the bikes repaired in time for Christmas delivery.

It was a wintry Christmas morning when I loaded my Chevy with bicycles for needy children and drove to an older neighborhood. I parked my car, took out a bicycle, and began walking up the uneven and cracked sidewalk.

A young pajama-clad boy stood in the glass-paned doorway of his dilapidated wood-framed home, watching this heavily-clad man walking up the sidewalk. His face lit up and a smile spread on his face at seeing what this man had in his hands. “Mommy, Mommy, its Santa Claus,” he exclaimed.

Only once in a lifetime this could have happened that I could feel the smile on the young boys face. It was my most memorable experience and one I'll never forget.

"Thank you, Santa Claus." Tears of joy filled the mother's eyes.

Once again, my job transferred me, so this was my last year to serve in the Knights of Columbus.  In spring, and my time to leave, the headmaster of the council had an appreciation social for me, following mass.

During a time of enjoying refreshments, I spotted a friend. "Jerry, I can never thank you enough for talking me into joining the KC. It's been a pleasure."

"Joe, the pleasure was mine. Just seeing how you had a heart for the needy and worked hard at making their Christmas special--it warmed my heart. I'm going to miss you." Interrupted by the headmaster, our conversation ended.

"Joe, will you come up here for a minute?"

Setting my punch and cookie aside, I made my way to the front and stood near the headmaster. To my great surprise, he presented me with a plaque engraved The Bicycle Man.

“Thank you Bicycle Man for your heart-felt service in our organization and for being a shining example of what the Christian faith is about.”

Tears filled my eyes and emotion filled my throat. "Thank you. It's been an honor to serve in this wonderful organization. I'm happy for the good I've done and pleased to wear the title The Bicycle Man."

(Treasured Memories www.outskirtspress.com/treasuredmemories)

Joseph A. Zapalac, Author

THE SMILE

The feeling of Christmas is in the air. People are shopping for those special gifts for everyone on their list. At least one hundred booths are lined up, displaying various items.

A young woman enters the craft show, wearing a shimmering as-if-dusted-with-stardust white dress and a holly-wreath pin on her left shoulder.

Just inside the entrance is a table that catches her eye with it's display of five attractive books. She does a double take as if she recognizes the man sitting behind the table, but says nothing.

Sitting center stage on three metal display frames are Treasured Memories, Rockin Chair Cowboys, and The Caregiver's Story. On each side, Reflections and Ribbons and Roses, the two poetry/prose books lay. Balancing out the table is promotional material, consisting of business cards, bookmarkers, flyers and a few other speciality items.

As she glances at the table and starts to pass, he says, "Merry Christmas," and hands her a bookmarker. As their eyes meet he thinks to himself...she looks very familiar. She reminds me of someone...but this woman is much younger.

"Thank you. What a lovely bookmarker," the young woman says.

"My very talented writing partner, makes them. She's also a photographer and is responsible for all the covers you see on these books...with the exception of this one. He points to The Caregiver's Story.

"Oh, my; she's very good." She picks up the book Ribbons and Roses with the cover of a rose, small picture frame, and potpourri...all resting on some lace fabric.

"Do you like poetry or prose?" He asked. She doesn't respond. Perhaps she didn't hear?  She slowly turns the pages of the book, letting her hand rest occasionally. A story titled "Red and Green Tissue Paper" catches her eye.

She begins reading silently to herself. Was it his imagination or does there seem to be a glow about her head...almost like a halo. It's only the lightening, he reasons to himself.

"Oh, this reminds me of the stories my grandmother told me of when she was a young girl, living with her parents in the country." A smile crept across her lips and her blue eyes had a sparkle in them. "How much is this book?"

"Sixteen dollars...or any two books for thirty, or any three for forty-three." She picks up several other display books and looks through them.

"I know my daughters would love these books of short stories and I would like this one," she said, holding out the book with the "tissue" story.

The excited booth operator, and author, is pleased to have made a sale. After collecting the forty-three dollars, he asks, "How would you like them autographed?"

"If you would be so kind to inscribe this one to Mary, the other to Annie. That would be wonderful."

Sitting at the table, the local author inscribs the two books and then reaches for the book in her hand. "What about that one?" He knows it is for the women standing in front of him; he just doesn't know her name.

"Helen. Make it to Helen," she says.

Hearing that name sends a tingle through his spine. He once knew a wonderfully sweet lady named Helen. She used to sit next to him in church. However, Helen was much older than this woman, and she no longer walked this planet...but streets of gold. She now breathed celestial air, and sang in a choir of angels.

With shaking hand, Joseph writes "To Helen...Your presence today blessed me. May joy fill your heart upon reading this book. Best Wishes, Joseph A. Zapalac"

The angelic lady turn to walk away when he picks up a ribbon rose from the table, "Wait. I want you to have this rose."

She turns and reaches her hand to take the pastel pink ribbon rose. She smiles. It's then that he notices...it's Helen's smile.

~Vada

A CHRISTMAS WRECK

HE HEALS THE BROKENHEARTED AND BINDS UP THEIR WOUNDS.

Psalm 147:3 NKJ

You may experience, as I do, Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). It is a type of depression that tends to occur (and recur) as the days grow shorter in the fall and winter. No matter how hard I try to overcome, I find myself sad at this time of year.

Yes, I know this is the season to remember the reason for the season--Jesus Christ.  I know that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son as His Greatest Gift to mankind. I know this Gift was packaged in a tiny, innocent baby...swaddled in clothes and placed in a manger.

Yet, sadly enough, it is the season when many are discouraged, downhearted, and broken. Many can't face brokenness and depression. Many find it depressing to think of all the commercialism of the season, the buying of gifts for those on our lists with whom we have lost touch with, and the expense of it all.

I think of my paternal Grandmother, how she never bought me a gift at Christmas. She'd say, "Vada, it's not your birthday...it's Jesus' birthday." And that was that. 

I've tried carrying on her tradition of buying birthday gifts during the year for everyone...a gift for "their" special day. However, when Christmas rolls around, I find myself in the same dilemma...what to buy everyone. I suppose I got that from my Mama; she found great joy in giving gifts for every occasion.

With my mixed background of traditions, I'm a Christmas Wreck. However, I'm thankful that I can still appreciate the Christmas carols...and lean on God's Word.



Our Children Christmas 2010

Rhonda, *Crystal, *Gale, *Kurt, Scott, Dawn, *Sanee, and Katrina

*Step Children

~Vada for...

Vada and Joe

JOURNEY IN PHOTOS

In place of today's post, I worked on one of the pages. Journey in Photos takes you on our journey as writing partners and also shares some of my photography.

~Vada for...
Vada and Joe

THE RAILROAD STATION

The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 entering the United States in World War II. Young men and women from all over were going off to war, never knowing if they would come back...or not. Frightened out of their wits, they donned the uniform and fought to defend our country.

Ten days following the attack on Pearl Harbor, there was a train coming through a quaint town of 12,000 people. The word got out that it was this little town's own National Guard. [So] Some of the people got together and baked cookies and cakes and went to the train station to give to them.

When they got there with their cakes and cookies and look in in the train windows, it turned out it wasn't any of their guys. It was the Kansas National Guard.

They stood there wondering what to do with all the food they had brought until one woman said, "Well, I'm not taking my cookies home."

Ray Wilson, a drug store clerk, stepped up to the train and gave her cookies to one of the guys. Soon all the others began doing the same thing. It wasn't long afterward that the military started moving Army troops through this little town.

That drug store clerk organized some women and decided to meet the trains as they moved through Nebraska, carrying boys to war. Over the next four and one-half years, those women met every train, sometimes up to thirty-two trains a day.

Eventually, the Union Pacific Railroad gave that station to the women serving the men; they named it North Platte Canteen.

These young men on the trains had ten minutes to run into the canteen to grab hot coffee, donuts, a sandwich, or cookies. Then they'd get back on the train...many never to return.

Six million men and women came through that station over the course of the war. One guy said, "I graduated, enlisted, and rode three days and nights. The train stopped at a place called North Platte, Nebraska. I jumped off the train, and I saw girls who could be my sister. The women reminded me of my mom. They hugged us and gave us food. We got back on the train, scared out of our mind, but for ten minutes...that fear went away."

Sitting in a foxhole with bullets blazing and death all around, someone said, "Wouldn't it be great to be in North Platte for ten minutes?"

This eighteen-year old boy had tasted the food and felt the love and kindness of those young girls and women at the Union Pacific Railroad station...and for ten minutes, he felt loved...and safe.

A young woman wondered if her grandfather had gone through North Platte when he was in the military. She makes a visit to the home, and sitting in his room...she holds his hand, and said, "Grandpa, does the name North Platte, Nebraska mean anything to you?"

The ninety-year old man, who prior to the question sat staring out the window, wondering where time had gone...his thoughts are cloudy. He suffers from dementia, but her question, like a spark, brought him back.

"North Platte...you bet it does! They gave me coffee and donuts...and they shined my shoes. You bet I remember North Platte, Nebraska.

Just as quickly as the mind drifted to that place, it now was like a dying ember. For an instant he remembered, but now the memory fades into nothing.

You ask...what is it that many years after the war would bring a ninety-year old man out of dementia? It's when you are eighteen...and scared...and going to war...and someone loves you and is kind to you.

~Written by Vada M. Wolter, taken from our book "Treasured Memories" 

Thank you for reading our blog,

Vada and Joe