Showing posts with label Victoria Roder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Victoria Roder. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Time, Money, and Talent
Time, Money, and Talent
In the current economic turmoil, do you cringe every time the phone rings? It feels as if, nine phone calls out of ten, the voice on the other end of the receiver is soliciting for a donation. Do you feel as if you’re pulled in a million different directions between school activities, family obligations, and church? I want to share the story of a group of people that rose to the challenge and gave of their time, money, and talent for my family.
The devastating blow came fast when my father-in-law, Darrel was diagnosed with stage four cancer. In his typical fashion, he was concerned about his unfinished work, which was a garage roof in desperate need of repair. Unable to work on it himself, and my husband still recovering from the semi-accident, my father-in-law mentioned he didn’t want Linda to have to worry about the roof, and his friend Erland contacted their church and expressed the need for assistance with the roof. After all my in-laws, Darrel and Linda are both diligent workers and have generous spirits. They are the first ones to volunteer to help serve soup suppers, funeral meals, and work on clean up days at the church. My mother-in-law has played the organ at church for forty-four years.
We hoped three or four men would show up to help my husband and I, brother and sister-in-law, and our boys, but we were astonished on that Saturday morning as vehicle after vehicle arrived. The eager workers brought tools for the task at hand, food and drink, and even purchased some of the supplies. I wondered if we’d have to tie my father-in-law in the chair to keep him off the roof, because under healthy conditions he would have been the first one to climb to the top of any ladder to help someone else.
I can’t imagine how many nights, and weekend’s it would have taken our small family to complete the tear-off and re-shingling of the garage roof, but many hands make light work. It took twenty-four people, men, women, kids, pastors, and a neighbor passing by, twelve hours to complete the job. The generous crew could have been at ballgames, lounging in their easy chairs, or tending to their own lists of endless daily chores, but instead they volunteered their precious time.
Through the eye of my camera the day of my in-laws roof repair was a sight to behold. Choir members that work in an office kneeled on top of the tar paper, perhaps praying not to fall off the roof. Board members handed shingles up ladders, and the pastors where on clean up duty. The heat from the sun and the tar paper caused sweat to bead on the backs and brows of the men and women alike as they performed the physical labor of tearing off tar paper and shingles, picking up splintered wood and old shingles, hoisting shingles, hammering, stapling, and climbing up and down ladders.
Other then their modern clothing the scene reminded me of a time when neighbors worked together. A simpler time, when life didn’t seem so over-scheduled, and if your barn burnt down your neighbors came to your aid and rebuild it. That’s exactly what happened. As the group toiled away, our friends and even a neighbor saw the activity and came over to lend a hand. The sun set and darkness attempted to squelch our plans, but we labored on with the help of spot lights. With all the charitable help the task was finished in one day.
The men and women that arrived to shingle the roof aren’t a specific group, or a committee. They are just individuals that are associated through church, friends, and neighbors that have generous hearts. Each man and woman gave of their time, money, and talents to re-shingle my in-laws garage. The roof is more than shelter for their vehicles. It symbolizes generosity and a flashback to a gentler time when people came first. Perhaps these difficult times will bring out the best in all of us and remind us to love our neighbor as ourselves.
About the author: Victoria Roder resides in central Wisconsin with her husband Ron, although they have three grown sons all making their way in the world they now have a house full of misfit pets. She enjoys camping, hiking, 3D bow shooting, snowshoeing, and motorcycle riding. Bolt Action an Action Thriller will be released in April, 2010 by Champagne Books. Please view her website to learn more and read an excerpt. www.victoriaroder.com
In the current economic turmoil, do you cringe every time the phone rings? It feels as if, nine phone calls out of ten, the voice on the other end of the receiver is soliciting for a donation. Do you feel as if you’re pulled in a million different directions between school activities, family obligations, and church? I want to share the story of a group of people that rose to the challenge and gave of their time, money, and talent for my family.
The devastating blow came fast when my father-in-law, Darrel was diagnosed with stage four cancer. In his typical fashion, he was concerned about his unfinished work, which was a garage roof in desperate need of repair. Unable to work on it himself, and my husband still recovering from the semi-accident, my father-in-law mentioned he didn’t want Linda to have to worry about the roof, and his friend Erland contacted their church and expressed the need for assistance with the roof. After all my in-laws, Darrel and Linda are both diligent workers and have generous spirits. They are the first ones to volunteer to help serve soup suppers, funeral meals, and work on clean up days at the church. My mother-in-law has played the organ at church for forty-four years.
We hoped three or four men would show up to help my husband and I, brother and sister-in-law, and our boys, but we were astonished on that Saturday morning as vehicle after vehicle arrived. The eager workers brought tools for the task at hand, food and drink, and even purchased some of the supplies. I wondered if we’d have to tie my father-in-law in the chair to keep him off the roof, because under healthy conditions he would have been the first one to climb to the top of any ladder to help someone else.
I can’t imagine how many nights, and weekend’s it would have taken our small family to complete the tear-off and re-shingling of the garage roof, but many hands make light work. It took twenty-four people, men, women, kids, pastors, and a neighbor passing by, twelve hours to complete the job. The generous crew could have been at ballgames, lounging in their easy chairs, or tending to their own lists of endless daily chores, but instead they volunteered their precious time.
Through the eye of my camera the day of my in-laws roof repair was a sight to behold. Choir members that work in an office kneeled on top of the tar paper, perhaps praying not to fall off the roof. Board members handed shingles up ladders, and the pastors where on clean up duty. The heat from the sun and the tar paper caused sweat to bead on the backs and brows of the men and women alike as they performed the physical labor of tearing off tar paper and shingles, picking up splintered wood and old shingles, hoisting shingles, hammering, stapling, and climbing up and down ladders.
Other then their modern clothing the scene reminded me of a time when neighbors worked together. A simpler time, when life didn’t seem so over-scheduled, and if your barn burnt down your neighbors came to your aid and rebuild it. That’s exactly what happened. As the group toiled away, our friends and even a neighbor saw the activity and came over to lend a hand. The sun set and darkness attempted to squelch our plans, but we labored on with the help of spot lights. With all the charitable help the task was finished in one day.
The men and women that arrived to shingle the roof aren’t a specific group, or a committee. They are just individuals that are associated through church, friends, and neighbors that have generous hearts. Each man and woman gave of their time, money, and talents to re-shingle my in-laws garage. The roof is more than shelter for their vehicles. It symbolizes generosity and a flashback to a gentler time when people came first. Perhaps these difficult times will bring out the best in all of us and remind us to love our neighbor as ourselves.
About the author: Victoria Roder resides in central Wisconsin with her husband Ron, although they have three grown sons all making their way in the world they now have a house full of misfit pets. She enjoys camping, hiking, 3D bow shooting, snowshoeing, and motorcycle riding. Bolt Action an Action Thriller will be released in April, 2010 by Champagne Books. Please view her website to learn more and read an excerpt. www.victoriaroder.com
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Excerpt from Chapter One: Bolt Action by Victoria Roder
With a Ruger Blackhawk .357 under her pillow, a Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle in her broom closet, and a Saturday Night Special in her road-hog cookie jar, Detective Leslie Bolt’s sarcastic attitude and inability to trust, alienates her from most people. Forced to work a serial murder case with her ex-lover, she begins a budding romance with the department’s new medical examiner, but which man will she choose?
“The State Quarter Killer” is selecting victims that appear to have nothing in common except for the State Quarter placed under their lifeless bodies. When her sister goes missing the question rises, will Detective Bolt capture the serial killer before her sister is the next victim?
~~~~~~~~~~~
A slamming noise vibrated between the duplexes. Sprinting to the kitchen with
my Ruger leading the way, I pressed my face against the kitchen window and cupped my
hands around my eyes to peer into the driveway. I surveyed the driveway I shared with
my neighbor Mark, but I couldn’t detect his car. If he’s gone, where is the noise coming
from? I thought of one place I hadn’t checked. With dread and trepidation, the reality
of entering the moldy, reeking storage area made my stomach contents feel like curdled
cottage cheese. With my desire to find the source of the noises superseding my fear of
dark, damp spaces, I tucked the Ruger in the waistband of my drawstring sleep pants.
Out of my collection of guns I have stashed around my apartment I choose my
Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle from behind the mop in the broom closet. I
headed in the direction of the enclosed storage area. Flipping on the porch light in hopes
of frightening an intruder I exited my front door, and as I reached the bottom of the
wooden steps I could detect an outline of a person in front of the shadowed storage area
door.
Cocking the rifle I warned, “Stop, I have a gun.”
“Calm down, Bolt. It’s just me.” Lance Kestler ran his hand through his thick
black hair as he stepped from the shadows into the glow of the porch light.
“Oh for crying out loud. What the hell are you doing here?” I released the
trigger, “Did you just come out of my storage area?”
“No, I got out of my car and walked toward your door.” Kestler placed his hands
on his trim waist line. “How come you never wear your hair down during the day?”
“I heard a door close.”
Kestler shrugged his broad shoulders covered by a black Fieora suit and wobbled
on his feet. “Must’a heard my car door.”
Headlights from a passing car shined toward me and I slid the rifle behind my
back. “Whatever. It’s like midnight, what the hell do you want?”
“Well, I remember you don’t sleep much at night so I assumed you’d still be up.
Or maybe you just didn’t sleep at night because I kept you up, or should I say you
kept me up.” Kestler took a stumbling step forward.
I blew out a breath in frustration. How did I ever get involved with this guy in the
first place? “Get off it, Kestler. You’ve been drinking. What do you want?”
“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?” He winked in his typical cocky manner. “It’s
been a long time since I’ve felt your firm body under mine.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and shake my head back and forth. “Are you
kidding me?”
“Look, I just want to apologize for how things have been going between us
lately.” Lance stumbled and dragged his hand across the side of the duplex to stabilize
himself.
“Apologize?” I could feel the rifle dig into my hand as I tightened my grip on it.
“You can’t even talk in complete sentences. How come you only show up and want to
talk when you’re drunk?”
Kestler advanced two steps toward me. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying
to rekindle a civil relationship between us, and you show up acting like Annie Oakley
the gunslinger.”
“You don’t do apologies, or favors without an ulterior motive.” I pointed the rifle
towards him. “What the hell do you want? Why don’t you just go home?”
“What? You’re gonna shoot me? ” Lance threw up his hands, pretending to
surrender, and laughed.
His humor was lost on me. I wanted Kestler off my property and wanted him to
know I meant business. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re trespassing. I believed you
were an intruder and I had to defend myself.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Sounds
convincing. I might be able to get someone to buy that.”
“You’d miss.”
My finger itched to pull the trigger. “Don’t you remember my target scores
where always better than yours.”
Lance winked at me. “That’s cause I was distracted by your cute ass.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are an ass.”
“I’m done with trying to be nice to you.”
“When did you start?”
“Screw you.” He turned to stomp back toward his car.
I lowered the rifle and called out, “Kestler, you’ve been drinking. Should I call
you a cab? Do you need a cab?”
I heard him open his car door. As I walked backward up the three steps to the
front door, it didn’t take detective skills to realize he didn’t have the ability nor the
courtesy to answer me. I watched him drive off and prayed he wouldn’t hit someone on
his way home. Retreating inside my apartment, I locked and dead bolted the front door.
Feeling secure, I returned the rifle to its spot behind the mop in my closet. Feelings of
infuriation with Lance Kestler made my hands jitter as if I had guzzled three pots of
coffee.
My gray and white cat, Baby, appeared from her hiding place and jumped on
the kitchen table and rubbed noses with me. “Why do I let him get to me like that,
Baby?” I patted her on the head. “Momma loves you.”
Retreating to my bedroom with Baby in my arms, I released her and retrieved my
Blackhawk from the back of my sleep pants and placed it under the pillow and crawled
under the covers. I want to be prepared in case Kestler decides to return to my apartment.
“The State Quarter Killer” is selecting victims that appear to have nothing in common except for the State Quarter placed under their lifeless bodies. When her sister goes missing the question rises, will Detective Bolt capture the serial killer before her sister is the next victim?
~~~~~~~~~~~
A slamming noise vibrated between the duplexes. Sprinting to the kitchen with
my Ruger leading the way, I pressed my face against the kitchen window and cupped my
hands around my eyes to peer into the driveway. I surveyed the driveway I shared with
my neighbor Mark, but I couldn’t detect his car. If he’s gone, where is the noise coming
from? I thought of one place I hadn’t checked. With dread and trepidation, the reality
of entering the moldy, reeking storage area made my stomach contents feel like curdled
cottage cheese. With my desire to find the source of the noises superseding my fear of
dark, damp spaces, I tucked the Ruger in the waistband of my drawstring sleep pants.
Out of my collection of guns I have stashed around my apartment I choose my
Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle from behind the mop in the broom closet. I
headed in the direction of the enclosed storage area. Flipping on the porch light in hopes
of frightening an intruder I exited my front door, and as I reached the bottom of the
wooden steps I could detect an outline of a person in front of the shadowed storage area
door.
Cocking the rifle I warned, “Stop, I have a gun.”
“Calm down, Bolt. It’s just me.” Lance Kestler ran his hand through his thick
black hair as he stepped from the shadows into the glow of the porch light.
“Oh for crying out loud. What the hell are you doing here?” I released the
trigger, “Did you just come out of my storage area?”
“No, I got out of my car and walked toward your door.” Kestler placed his hands
on his trim waist line. “How come you never wear your hair down during the day?”
“I heard a door close.”
Kestler shrugged his broad shoulders covered by a black Fieora suit and wobbled
on his feet. “Must’a heard my car door.”
Headlights from a passing car shined toward me and I slid the rifle behind my
back. “Whatever. It’s like midnight, what the hell do you want?”
“Well, I remember you don’t sleep much at night so I assumed you’d still be up.
Or maybe you just didn’t sleep at night because I kept you up, or should I say you
kept me up.” Kestler took a stumbling step forward.
I blew out a breath in frustration. How did I ever get involved with this guy in the
first place? “Get off it, Kestler. You’ve been drinking. What do you want?”
“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?” He winked in his typical cocky manner. “It’s
been a long time since I’ve felt your firm body under mine.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and shake my head back and forth. “Are you
kidding me?”
“Look, I just want to apologize for how things have been going between us
lately.” Lance stumbled and dragged his hand across the side of the duplex to stabilize
himself.
“Apologize?” I could feel the rifle dig into my hand as I tightened my grip on it.
“You can’t even talk in complete sentences. How come you only show up and want to
talk when you’re drunk?”
Kestler advanced two steps toward me. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying
to rekindle a civil relationship between us, and you show up acting like Annie Oakley
the gunslinger.”
“You don’t do apologies, or favors without an ulterior motive.” I pointed the rifle
towards him. “What the hell do you want? Why don’t you just go home?”
“What? You’re gonna shoot me? ” Lance threw up his hands, pretending to
surrender, and laughed.
His humor was lost on me. I wanted Kestler off my property and wanted him to
know I meant business. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re trespassing. I believed you
were an intruder and I had to defend myself.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Sounds
convincing. I might be able to get someone to buy that.”
“You’d miss.”
My finger itched to pull the trigger. “Don’t you remember my target scores
where always better than yours.”
Lance winked at me. “That’s cause I was distracted by your cute ass.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are an ass.”
“I’m done with trying to be nice to you.”
“When did you start?”
“Screw you.” He turned to stomp back toward his car.
I lowered the rifle and called out, “Kestler, you’ve been drinking. Should I call
you a cab? Do you need a cab?”
I heard him open his car door. As I walked backward up the three steps to the
front door, it didn’t take detective skills to realize he didn’t have the ability nor the
courtesy to answer me. I watched him drive off and prayed he wouldn’t hit someone on
his way home. Retreating inside my apartment, I locked and dead bolted the front door.
Feeling secure, I returned the rifle to its spot behind the mop in my closet. Feelings of
infuriation with Lance Kestler made my hands jitter as if I had guzzled three pots of
coffee.
My gray and white cat, Baby, appeared from her hiding place and jumped on
the kitchen table and rubbed noses with me. “Why do I let him get to me like that,
Baby?” I patted her on the head. “Momma loves you.”
Retreating to my bedroom with Baby in my arms, I released her and retrieved my
Blackhawk from the back of my sleep pants and placed it under the pillow and crawled
under the covers. I want to be prepared in case Kestler decides to return to my apartment.
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