Tea & A Good Book Brewing- Installment 7, Footprints on the Ceiling with a Give-away!

Today I am very excited to share what's brewing in my teapot: my very first book review with a give-away!!!!

Nevermind the wind that's howling and the temperature that's dropping outside! Nevermind how absolutely dreary November can be! I have the perfect solution for warming up from the inside out...

Can you possibly guess what it is?

Before I introduce you to the book I am reviewing, though, I want to tell you a little about the author, Dorcas Smucker, and how I made her acquaintance in the first place...

A little more than a year ago, at my 30th birthday party, my Mom gave me a book called Tea and Trouble Brewing, by Dorcas Smucker. I  had never heard of this author, but I was delighted with a new book...and especially one with a really cute teapot on the cover! I enjoyed the book very much and felt that I had a new kindred spirit out there, albeit one I have never met! After all, Dorcas loves tea and feels that it is the perfect start to her morning. Just like me. 

Sometime after reading the book, I began to enjoy Dorcas' blog, Life in the Shoe, where she writes about her life as a mother of six, Mennonite minister's wife, columnist, blogger, and speaker from Harrisburg, Oregon. She writes a column called "Letter from Harrisburg" which is not only published in The Register-Guard newspaper, but can also be read in her blog. Some of those very letters are also in her new book! 

Footprints on the Ceiling  is fresh off the press...and here is your chance to win your very own copy! I am honored to be a part of the blog tour that is spreading the word about this book and offering a giveaway at each stop!

As I was reading Footprints on the Ceiling, enjoying, musing and plotting my review, I kept thinking, "This is my favorite chapter...no, wait! This one is... Oh, just a minute, definitely this one..!" In other words, the whole book is great and I never really did decide!

I believe this is okay, for life condensed down to only one favorite is a bit boring and overly-simplified, you might say!

In a world of great chocolates, need I select just one? In a world of great hymns, who would want to sing the same one over and over again? In a world of great people. why have only one friend? In a book full of great essays, why pick only one favorite when, one after the other, they make a real treat to savor as one would a delicacy chosen from behind the glass at a specialty bakery.

I love the unique titles Dorcas gave to the 5 different sections: 1. Children: Flip-flops and Basketball Shoes, 2. Change: Sandals to Snowboots. Heels to Orthopedics, 3. Our Forebears: Black Church Shoes and Four-Buckle Overshoes, 4. Travel: Steps on Faraway Soil, and 5. Reflecting: Resting My Feet. The titles alone give you a peek into the delightful originality and sense of humor that make up Dorcas' books! 

Within these pages we hear about orange dots on the ceiling of her kitchen, delightful differences between Dorcas' daughter and niece, how one mother deals with not getting her own way when it comes to adult children making their own choices in life, how long term investments pay off in the line of motherhood, what exactly blackberry brockel soup is, why a yellow teapot means redemption, deciding what to keep & what to toss while de-cluttering (she kept the children's books- another reason she's my kindred spirit!), how a footprint on the ceiling began a romance, and how fun it is to turn fifty!!! 

That's right! Dorcas says that turning 50 is fun!!! On this subject, Dorcas writes, "This is one of the best things about turning fifty- I can keep myself endlessly entertained with my own blunders and quirks. Thirty years ago, I would have been horrified. Now, it's hilarious."

Dorcas, when I grow up, I want to be like you! Turning blunders into something to laugh about...and write about!!! And realizing that, "If this keeps up, I'll never lack for things to laugh at the rest of my life." 

And as long as Dorcas keeps writing, I am the one who will always have something to laugh about! Her book gave me a reason to laugh out loud. It also gave me thoughts to ponder, some "light-bulb" moments, and a sense of thankfulness for the present and hope for the future.

I thought you might enjoy a sneak preview of the book. Dorcas very generously allowed me to use an entire chapter in this review and from among my favorites, I chose this one:

A Day with Silent Babies

Twenty bare cribs in one room; a wet baby in each. None of them had a 

toy, a blanket, or a stuffed animal.

My daughters and I were the only other people in the room.

It was quiet—that was the most bizarre thing. The only noise was from 

the grainy TV in the corner, with a smiling couple advertising orange juice.

I reached for the nearest baby. “You might want to wait until they’re 

bathed and dry,” said my daughter Amy. “Someone should be in soon to do 

that.”

I ignored her and picked a small blanket from a pile. I held it around a 

soaked baby, lifted him up, and settled in a chair.

He snuggled against me as though I were his grandma come at last.

The other babies stood in their cribs and watched enviously.

A worker bustled into the room, grabbed a stack of clean sheets from a 

cupboard, snatched the blanket off my lap and rushed out. The silent 

babies watched her.

I put the baby back in the crib so another one could have a turn, and, 

for the first time, the silence was broken as the baby burst into 

heart-rending wails.

Jenny, my youngest, watched as well. Was this a noble idea gone a bit 

crazy? I wondered, exposing a twelve-year-old American to this side of 

the universe, where life could be bleak beyond imagining and anything 

you did about it wasn’t nearly enough?

It had seemed like a good idea when we first discussed it, back in Oregon.

Amy, our oldest daughter, is spending a year working at a small mission 

in Jamaica. She teaches the administrator’s children, does the 

bookkeeping, and helps out with the five little foster children who were 

taken in from the local government-sponsored “childcare 

center”—essentially an orphanage—where Amy and the other workers also 

volunteer several days a week.

Amy hoped her dad and I could come visit her, but Paul, working two jobs 

and planning two other trips before harvest, didn’t see how he could get 

away.

He had an idea.

“You haven’t taken Jenny on her ‘Twelve Trip’ yet, have you?” he said, 

referring to the family tradition of my taking each child on an 

excursion around age twelve. “Maybe the two of you should go visit Amy.”

Jenny loved the idea, but first I sent an e-mail to all the older 

children. This would be far fancier than any of their trips, I told 

them, and I didn’t want the unfairness of this brought up at my funeral.

They all assured me it would be OK.

So we left an Oregon February for a week in paradise.

Like so many third-world countries, Jamaica is a land of jarring contrasts.

Famous white beaches and a friendly laid-back populace draw thousands of 

tourists, many of them arriving on enormous cruise ships that light up 

the water at night like beautiful, glowing islands.

But far from the gleaming shopping strips, gang activity has driven the 

murder rate to the third-highest in the world, and 85 percent of the 

babies are born to single mothers.

With Amy as our guide, we slathered on SPF 50 sunscreen, swam in the 

turquoise Caribbean, and hiked six hundred feet up a waterfall.

We drank a grapefruit soda called Ting and ate jerk chicken in breezy 

open-air restaurants. Jenny played football with her new friends, 

admired exotic bugs, and screamed when she found a huge frog sitting in 

the toilet. She gave wagon rides to the little kids at the mission and 

swam with them in the pool.

And we spent that one day volunteering at the orphanage. After I had 

held about five babies, someone shooed us out of the baby room and on to 

our next assignment of dressing two dozen toddlers and then supervising 

their morning playtime.

Nonverbal, the children either screamed or kept too quiet as they 

maneuvered the large, battered plastic toys.

They were not given any small objects or toys to play with, so they 

endlessly fought over the two pairs of shoes inexplicably doled out that 

morning, desperate to have something small enough to hold and manipulate 

in their hands.

I held toddlers on my lap, two at a time, until my legs ached and my 

clothes were smudged with pee and dirt and snot and spit. And still they 

climbed all over me—eager, clinging, patting, touching, hungry for 

affection, screaming when I had to set them down.

“It looks like our job is to keep them from killing each other,” Jenny 

said matter-of-factly, and she gently pulled warring children apart, 

gave piggyback rides, and rocked the little plastic seesaws after 

setting a toddler on each end.

Amy did a little of everything—holding these, playing with those, 

distracting others from pounding heads and pulling hair.

Among this bunch of adorable children, acceptably clean and fed but 

raised without attention or affection, I felt a horror and grief I could 

hardly contain.

Yet at the same time, watching my daughters’ kindness to these 

emotionally abandoned children, I felt an enormous sense of accomplishment.

Raising a child is not an easy assignment, and to a long list of goals 

for our six we have added this: to be aware, despite the safety and 

plenty in which they grew up, that others in the world are far less 

privileged, and they should do something about it.

On a warm evening, I sat in an Adirondack chair and looked out over the 

city. It was like a bit of heaven, but I kept thinking of my favorite 

little boy at the orphanage who, even now, I knew was still there, lying 

in his bare crib.

Tomorrow he would be hustled from one regimented activity to the next 

like a well-programmed little robot, and there wasn’t anything I could 

do about it.

Is it possible, I wondered, to fully enjoy my blessings yet be just as 

fully aware of the unfortunate, to live somewhere between the 

self-indulgent mentality of so many tourists and the asceticism of folks 

who can’t enjoy a good cup of coffee without feeling guilty?

Amy, who knows the name not only of every child at the orphanage but 

also the best local restaurants, seems to have found a healthy balance. 

Would Jenny be able to find the same balance as she grew up?

I have reason to hope so, judging from how she plunged wholeheartedly 

into everything her week in Jamaica offered. With equal eagerness, she 

fed a plop of cooked orange squash to an orphan child in a high chair; 

took pictures of a huge, green bug on her arm; pushed little kids on 

swings; enjoyed her big sister; and ate lavish ice cream cones from the 

store downtown.

The night before we left, she cried, wishing we could stay longer.

Sadly, we couldn’t.

But this is what I learned from her, my fearless youngest, on my final 

Twelve Trip: Fully enjoy what you have; fully do what you can. You can’t 

do everything, but you can do something, and, even if it isn’t much, it 

matters.

At least for that day. At least in that place. At least to that child.

The chapter speaks for itself, but I was especially struck with what Dorcas said about raising children with the awareness that others in the world are far less privileged, and they should do something about it.

Well said. And may that awareness begin in my own heart.

On top of all the other good things about this book, it passed the ultimate test: it goes great with a cup of tea! I should know- I drank multiple cups while reading and reviewing it's pages and I even christened my autographed copy by spilling a wee bit of tea on it's pages while trying to take some pictures with an overfull teapot! 

No worries though- the autographed copy waiting for that "special someone" is safe and sound...stowed on a high shelf and wrapped in a ziploc bag for safekeeping (and  it absolutely can't wait to find out who it's new owner will be!!!)

If you would like to order a copy of the book (and maybe one for a friend?) here's how: 

Footprints on the Ceiling is available for $15 per book, postage included.  You can mail a check to Dorcas Smucker, 31148 Substation Drive, Harrisburg, OR 97446.  US addresses only.  To send a copy to Canada or overseas, email Dorcas at dorcassmucker@gmail.com. You can also order direct from Amazon.

In order to enter the drawing, please leave a comment below and tell me about one of your favorite teas! And yes, as a concession for those souls who do not enjoy or drink tea, you may leave a comment on your favorite hot beverage! 

The drawing will be open for entries through Thursday, November 20, at midnight!!! A winner will be chosen using random.org The name of the winner will be announced on this blog and we will make contact from there!  

Thanks for stopping by! I can't wait to see who all shows up in the comments!!!

Update on Friday, November 28-
The drawing is closed & we have a second winner after the first one didn't show up to claim her prize!!! Go to this post to see who it is!