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What do an old red purse, a class ring from Maine, a forest in Finland, and your muse have in common?
More than you think.
Let’s start with the purse. Last year, when a custodian at Ohio’s North Canton Middle School (formerly Hoover High School) was repairing some trim between the lockers and the wall, he found a dusty old purse inside the wall. Want to know just how dusty it was? It had been there since 1957. That’s a lot of dust.
The purse was a time capsule of sorts that offered a glimpse into the life of an American teenager in the fifties. It contained a comb, some makeup (powder and lipstick), several black-and-white photos of friends (and one of a dog), a Hoover High School football schedule from 1956, and membership cards to the local public library, YMCA, and American Junior Red Cross. Oh, and don’t forget, 26 cents was rattling around in the bottom.
The school succeeded in tracking down the owner—former student Patti Rumfola. You can bet Patti never expected to see that purse again. Well, she didn’t—Patti died in 2013 after teaching school for years in Annapolis, Maryland. But the school sent the purse to her children, each of whom kept a wheat penny from the purse to remember their mom by. To read more, click the button below.
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- Written by Kathryn Jenkins Oveson
Want to live your best life?
Be a bumblebee.
Here’s why: Bumblebees are not designed to fly. Their bodies are too heavy for their small, light wings—wings that by all scientific reason should not be able to keep them in the air.
But the bumblebee refuses to accept its limitations. It flies in spite of what others say it cannot do. It knows its strength.
You might know some bumblebees. I do. I’d like to share a few stories about some remarkable bumblebees—not celebrities or politicians, but everyday people like you. Like me. You may have never heard of them, but their stories are inspiring. To read more, click the button below.
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- Written by Kathryn Jenkins Oveson
After literally almost dying eight times in the span of two years, I understandably had a new perspective on life. During each of those scrapes with death, I received numerous priesthood blessings assuring me that my life had been spared because of what I still had to write for the Latter-day Saint market. The blessings, given through many different priesthood holders, were markedly specific. Writing for that market, I learned from divine whisperings, is my major purpose in life.
Last September, for reasons I won’t outline here, I was told I could no longer publish with Deseret Book or Covenant Communications. I came to a standstill—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I steadfastly believed the Lord had given me a very specific purpose. And I knew exactly how to fulfill that purpose. Simple, I thought. I had a successful track record of publishing for that market. But now the channel I had always used was no longer available. I floundered. I doubted. I cried. A lot. To read more, click the button below.
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- Written by Kathryn Jenkins Oveson
I recently started reading 11/22/63, an 849-page tome by Stephen King about Jake Epping, who discovers a wormhole in the back of a little diner in Maine—home of Al’s Famous Fatburger—and learns he can go back to 1958, where he can change history.
Al, the owner of the diner, was weeks away from dying of lung cancer and couldn’t go through the wormhole himself. So he asked Jake to go and to prevent Lee Harvey Oswald from killing President John F. Kennedy. Jake was reluctant. Al told him, “If you ever wanted to change the world, this is your chance. Save Kennedy, save his brother. Save Martin Luther King. Stop the race riots. Stop Vietnam, maybe. Get rid of one wretched waif [Oswald], buddy, and you could save millions of lives.” Like the ripples in a pond. To read more, click the button below.
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- Written by Kathryn Jenkins Oveson
memoir
[noun] a record of events written by
a person having intimate knowledge of them
and based on personal observation
Lots of really astonishing memoirs have been written.
You’ve probably read some of them. The Glass Castle. The Diary of Anne Frank. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.
And maybe you’ve thought, Wow, I wish I could write a riveting memoir. And then you’ve snapped out of it. Because let’s face it: you didn’t grow up homeless, bouncing from one hovel to another with an alcoholic father who toted along his blueprints for an imaginary glass castle. You didn’t stop at a traffic light on a crowded New York City street only to see your mother diving through the Dumpster on the curb. You weren’t hidden away in an attic from Swatiska-bearing soldiers. You weren’t sexually assaulted as a young Black girl in a time when young Black girls had no voice. To read more, click the button below.- Details
- Written by Kathryn Jenkins Oveson