Barn Wedding~~

Got up yesterday, headed to Sunday School---then off to my sister Faith's ranch to help with the spring cleaning to get things ready for Skylar's vintage, shabby-chic barn wedding on May 19th.  Also getting everything together for Forrest to graduate on the 14th (I've written approx. 175 address in the past couple of days)---my book comes out tomorrow, I'm helping plan my 30th year class reunion, and getting ready to book at least 50 children in swim lessons in the next two weeks.  What a fun whirl wind I'm in!

I'm sore from the manual labor yesterday.  I used to be such a tough farm girl---I need to get out from behind this lap and go work on a farm more often.  I love to garden, but it was "super garden" day yesterday at Faith's place.  The wedding is going to be warm and wonderful. We're even going to build some "hay bale furniture."  I can't wait.

We also had Sklar's birthday dinner celebration in Tulsa last night---you know it's a fun day when you end up changing clothes 4 times (I put my yoga pants on 30 minutes before I went to bed, so I'm counting that as a change too.)

Trying to decide on a dress for the wedding. Girlie stuff is hard work.  Guys don't know how lucky they have it.  I'm going to get out from behind my computer and do a little more work at Faiths.  I'm gonna stretch first.

Have a great day all!!

Final Excerpt From Red Dirt Rocker!

Red Dirt Rocker--
Excerpt Chapter 19

Good Sunday morning everyone!  This is my last excerpt from my book, Red Dirt Rocker.  Once again, I can't tell you what an honor it is for you all to read the story that was inspired by my son, Forrest and my entire family.  I've been more than busy lately, trying to plan my beautiful daughter, Skylar's, wedding and getting Forrest all ready to graduate from high school (both events are in the second week of May).  I am anxious and looking forward to my books release on Tuesday.  I have much to be thankful for!  Blessings to all---Jody
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    The scene form "The Wizard Of Oz," where Toto pulls back the long veiled curtain revealing the Great and Might Oz, pops into my head.  Dude...I'm definitely not in Kansas---or Oklahoma for that matter---anymore!
     My feet are cemented to the floor as I gawk at the thousands of fans in the arena.  In the midst of feeling like a fool, and wondering what my escape plan is going to be, I hear one lone voice with a foreign accent yell,
     "Hey---it is Forrrrrest!!"
     I instinctively wave as I scramble to get back behind the amps.  I frantically muddle through the curtain fabric eventually finding the escape hatch.  As I jump up, the crowd goes nuts.  I can't believe my ears.  They're actually cheering!
     "Are you OK?"  Dad yells over the crowd noise.  He grabs my arm and helps me back behind the stage.
     "I almost peed my pants!!"  I wail, my voice shaking.
     "You're gonna be just fine.  Sounds like they already know who you are!"  Dad says, chuckling.  His expression turns serious and honest.  "Son, I'm so proud of you.  This is far more exciting than any football game I've ever been to."  He continues in a tone that's meant to keep me calm.  "Forrest, you boys are gonna knock em' dead.  Deep breaths son!"  My father's warm smile and confident words give me much needed comfort.  I suddenly feel confident and the feeling that I swallowed a brick begins to dissolve away.
     Dad clasps my shaking hands in his large steady ones, closes his eyes and says a prayer for a great show.  For the first time, I notice large calluses on my dad's hands from years of handling boxes for U.P.S. and working at my Grandpa's farm.  His calluses are just like the ones on Coach Bryan's hands.  I respect my dad more than I can say.  "Do good!"  he says.  Dad gives me one last embrace and then walks me toward the stage ramp.
     I can feel my heartbeat begin to re-adjust to a normal rhythm.  I'm thankful for my strong father and his faith in me.  I repeat my favorite Bible verse in my head:  "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.  I can do this!"
     I grab my trust Gibson Girl Betty---I'm now ready to step, not  fall, back onto the stage.

Red Dirt Rocker --Excerpt From Chapter 15

Well, just one week from today and my book will be ready to go out into this big wide world.  If you have pre-ordered your copy, thank you for your support.  You can still pre-order Red Dirt Rocker at www.amazon.com or www.neverlandpublishing.com.  Please enjoy another excerpt from chapter 15!

Red Dirt Rocker---
Jody French
Excerpt---Chapter 15

     The following day, I still participate in football practice.  As the final whistle blows, I jog off the field and head for the showers.  I pause at the sight of the sun setting over the west bleachers.  The sunset is blazing orange and purple.  The oak trees in the distance look like they're sketched in jet black ink across the canvas of the evening sky.  I love sunrises and sunsets; they always inspire me.  I decide that my next song will have a sunset in it as I stand gazing up at the fiery globe that appears to be igniting the metallic bleachers.  My band and I will be leaving for Sweden tomorrow. It suddenly hits me that this might be the last sunset I'll see from the fifty-yard line.  I feel lonely and sad.
     Inside the locker room, Coach's favorite Toby Keith song, "Made In America" is blaring on a dusty, circa 1990's boom box.  The twangy, boot-scootin' tune elevates my mood.  I hear Coach Bryan yell my name over the music.
     "Hey, Forrest...ya ever think a cuttin' a country album?"  Coach Bryan asks.  His hick accent lays thick as biscuit gravy on his words.  He spits a black, liquid stream of chewing tobacco juice into an empty Gatorade bottle.
     "If I do, Coach, you will DEFINITELY be my inspiration."  I holler back, and shake my head.
     "Ahhh, son, ya know, country music's where it's at,"  Coach says with absolute conviction.  Coach crosses the room and places his well worn, black felt cowboy hat on my head.  He pats me firmly on the back with his huge, callused hands.  Coach is like a bear that doesn't know its own strength.  I squint my eyes shut and jolt forward a step, which prompts me to begin riding a fake bucking horse all the way to my locker.  I swing an imaginary rope over my head, grab my Joe's Tire Shop ball cap and throw Coach back his cowboy hat like a Frisbee.
     "It fits me pretty good, Coach, but I'd better let you keep it.  You'll need it after the big game Friday.  I'm not sure if the Swedes are ready for a cowboy from Coweta just yet!"  I laugh.
     "Hey, Forrest.  Ya know we're all really proud a ya, bud.  Knock em' dead son!  We're gonna miss ya on the field, but we're glad yer followin' yer dreams, " Coach Bryan says, with genuine sincerity.
     Thanks Coach, I can't tell you how much I appreciate all you've done for me.  "I feel my heart grow heavy.
     "I know yer gonna see a lot more of this big ole' world, Forrest."  Coach returns.  His smile widens in approval revealing bits of brown tobacco in his teeth.  "I just wished you would've learnt to play country music."  He teases, as he slaps me on the back again.  This time I brace myself and stand firm.  I extend my hand and Coach shakes it firmly.  The calluses on my hands from playing guitar are small compared to the calluses on Coach Bryan's hands, which developed from years of daily farm labor.  I respect Coach more than I can say.
     "KISS huh?"  Well they ain't no Toby Keith, but I guess they'll do, son!
      On my way out of the locker room, I can hear the shrill sound of hair clippers buzzing.  The trainer wielding shears turns to me as he shaves a no-neck lineman's hair down to a faint shadow of stubble.
     "Hey, Forrest, come have a seat.  I'll give ya a buzz cut!" he says, patting the back of the rusty metal folding chair.
     "Oh, no thanks dude.  I'm good.  Maybe I'll catch ya when I get back."  I kindly decline.  I shake my long, shaggy hair and replace my ball cap.
      As I leave the locker room, I raise my hands over my head and jump up to smack the "Tiger Pride" sign that hangs above the heavy metal door.  The sharp, cold, evening air hits me square in the face.  I inhale deeply.  I turn back towards the dark, abandoned football field and yell at the top of my lungs, "GO TIGERS!!!" My voice echoes back in agreement twice, and then dies in the lonely, black shadows.
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Authors Note---In loving memory of Coach Ricky Bryan~~

Red Dirt Rocker - Excerpt From Chapter 5~~

Excerpt from my young adult novel, Red Dirt Rocker~

Chapter 5-- pg 41-42

     As I held the door open for her, the hail stopped.  It was as if someone had flipped a switch and blackness came.  It became eerily calm.  I started my descent down the cellar stairs and like a scene from a nightmare, I looked up to see the ominous squall line.  The door fell shut with a sharp crack and we all huddled together in the darkness.  The smell of garden onions and dusty potatoes was thick in the humid air.
     Next came the sound---the forbidding sound that only a tornado makes.  A growling. rumbling, whistling sound as though the ten o'clock Frisco freight train had been diverted directly across the top of the root cellar door and was ready to rail in on top of us.
     We were all paralyzed with fear as the twister roared over like an angry monster.  I've never felt so small. so scared, so close to God.  Aunt Carmen held the boys and me in her motherly arms and prayed out loud to Jesus.  Dirt and wood splinters spun violently over our heads and it sounded like someone cracking open a pop-top can.  The sucking winds ripped the door off the root cellar, but we didn't budge.  It was all over in a matter of, two terrifying minutes.  The untamed twister disappeared back into the dark and thick rolling clouds.
     Jake was the first to go back up.  The boys and I hoisted Mollie up the stairs brigade-style.  We expected to see a war zone as we emerged from our bunker, but to our shock and relief, the tornado hadn't done much damage to the barn or the house.  They were both left virtually unscathed.  The only things the twister took with it was an old rusty plow, two black shutters from the windows, and the creaky, wooden door to the root cellar.
     The boys and I stood in disbelief as we surveyed the property.  All the color had drained from Cody's face. He repeated over and over,  "The cellar door is gone...the cellar door is gone."
     "Cellar door is gone...that's it...that's our band's name,"  I said in no more than a whisper.  The hair on our arms seemed to practically stand up and shout, "Yes!"  The boys heard me loud and clear.
     The sun began to peek back out from behind the smeared grey clouds.  The cold drops of rain dissipated. Wispy chicken feathers, or perhaps bits of the snowy down of the angel wings that protected us that day, swirled around our tennis shoes.  My band brothers and I shook our heads in agreement---Cellar Door Is Gone it was.
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*Stay tuned for two more excerpts of Red Dirt Rocker before its official release on May 1st, 2012!!
I am honored that you have chosen to read my words---thank you much!!
Jody

All That And A Bag Of Chips!

I sub-ed at the elementary school yesterday (third grade.)  The kids were doing their vocabulary over the book, Charlottes Webb.  The little munchkins kept asking me what the meanings to the words were.  Several young students asked me what the word boast meant.  I let them know it was when someone brags.

The cutest little freckled face girl came up  to have me check her vocabulary paper before she turned it in.  With the most innocent and straight face she handed me her torn out notebook page that had the word "boast" scribbled on it as number 3 on her list.  Here is how she defined the word---

3.  Boast---When someone thinks theyre all that and a bag of chips.

Right on girlfriend!

Red Dirt Rocker Excerpt----

Hey sports fans---or music fans---her is another tid-bit from my book, Red Dirt Rocker.  Enjoy!

RED DIRT ROCKER~~

     My ears feel  hot, and are doing the proverbial burning from gossip, as I jump back into my truck.  I hand Heather the steaming, frothy drink and re-start the engine.  She's changed the dial to a country station while I was inside.  The radio is playing a song by Miranda Lambert called, "Famous In A Small Town."  It's a clever country tune that tells the story of gossip in a little town and how it can make some of its town folk "famous" in a not-so-good-way.
     I think to myself, as Heather and I drive down the main street of our one-horse town.  Mrs. Ruth Walton and I are definitely  on our way to becoming celebrities this morning.

To be continued...

Excerpt From Red Dirt Rocker~~by Jody French

Excerpt from, Red Dirt Rocker
by Jody French
Neverland Publishing
www.amazon.com

Pg. 15

..."Whatever," Heather dismisses.  She grabs me by the arm and cuddles into my sore ribs like a purring kitten. "Can you pleeease turn the music down a little bit?" she asks, rubbing her temples, I believe, in an attempt to fake a headache.
     "That's twice already this morning," I mumble.
     "What babe?"  Heather asks, as she surveys her perfect manicure.  Each fingernail is embossed with a tiny orange and black tiger paw.  I wonder how girls think of these things.
     "Oh nothin'."  "Your hair looks nice," I compliment.
      Heather smiles and kisses me on the cheek.  Her good mood returns with my flattering words.  "You're a living doll Forrest," she beams as she pulls my rearview mirror down to her eye level.  She stokes her perfectly straightened and highlighted hair and reapplies her powder.
     I reach up to wipe her finger smudges off my mirror.  Sometimes I think Heather bases her good days and bad days on how many compliments she gets.  This was compliment number two, if you count the honk she got from the farmer in the one ton truck earlier, and it wasn't even 8:30 a.m. yet---her day is probably shaping up nicely already.
     I make a right onto Broadway.  It's the second day of October and most of the small worn houses that line the street are already decorated in the Halloween spirit.  Hay bales, pumpkins and strung up spider webs make for creepy, quaint curb appeal.
     My brakes squeal slightly as I come to a stop in front of Sticky Buns Donut Shop.  Heather has to have her morning cappuccino.  As I enter the small coffee and sugar scented shop, I hear two elderly women whispering rather loudly.  I wonder why they were bothering to whisper at all, since everyone within a twenty foot radium can hear them---the donut shop is probably only a hundred square feet altogether.
    The two women have strategically positioned themselves at a table directly by the door so that no one can escape their fastidious inspection.  A black velvet painting of a tabby cat with huge green exaggerated eyes hangs above them.
     They continue to cluck away and their conversation unfortunately drifts along with me as I make my way to the orange and gold chipped linoleum counter.
     "Oh Thelma, I knoooow!  Ruth Walton has not been widowed for more than eight months and she is already holding hands with John Franklin in church at Sunday service! one of the ladies clucks.  Her wrinkled, thin lips are pursed together as though she has just sucked on a sour lemon slice
     "It's just scandalous!"  The other blue haired patron of the pastry shop agrees.  She turns up her nose and shakes her head under hair that is piled high in a perfectly pinned, bluish-silver bun.
     Well, I happen to know Ruth Walton, and wish the two women would mind their own business.  Mrs. Walton had lost her husband to long bout with cancer almost a year ago.  She found a companion in John Franklin, who's an elder in my church.  He'd also been widowed years earlier.  They're both very sweet, kind hearted souls who, deserve continued happiness.
     I purchase a sugar-free vanilla cappuccino, two maple bars and try to make a clean getaway from the two gossiping hens.  As I pull on the door to exit the shop the dangling brass cow bell that is wired to the top of the door clanks loudly above me.  It draws attention to my departure and I know instinctively as the two women eye me carefully up and down, that I'll be their next topic of conversation.---