“Hey, Doc. Wait a second.”
We were leaving Colonel Gompf’s morning staff meeting when the Regimental Chaplain, a Catholic priest, pulled me aside. “Glad you’re back. I’m having a mass for Christmas Eve tonight. Come on by.”
I thought for just a moment. “Sure. Where?”
By JoAnn Foxx
I have been in and out of being a horsewoman and a career woman all of my life.
I grew up watching SPIN AND MARTY on The Mickey Mouse Club (you young ‘uns may not know what that is) and yearned to be near horses, ride, and call myself a cowgirl after every episode.
It had been a warm, sunny day, clear skies, the kind of day that makes you forget that Christmas is only three weeks away, forget, that is, until the sun drops behind the coastal range and the mercury goes skipping after it. We had spent the late afternoon picking out a Christmas tree at Rodriguez’s, the only tree lot in our precious small town of Valley Center, and BW (aka JoAnn) and I slid down off the tailgate of the red truck where we had been perched, talking with the owner’s sons. I reached behind and thunked the tailgate closed, our new Christmas tree safely in the truckbed. After two decades in the desert, lightyears away, we had finally made the long-overdue breakout eight months ago with all of our four legged critters and this was our first Christmas in Valley Center. We looked at each other. “Fat’s…”
I promised I would post my book as it comes together. Here’s the introduction. Hope you find it intriguing…
INTRODUCTION
When you’re about eight years old and it’s dark and you’re supposed to be asleep and some adults are whispering not very softly and not very far from your bedroom door which is closed when it never is closed there’s no way in the world that you can sleep. I did what any red-blooded American kid would do. I got out of bed using my best commando tactics and cracked the bedroom door hoping no one would notice.
