I found this picture while I was sifting through my files on the computer.  Yep... that's really a duck sitting on my book.

The innocence of the younger me tugged at my heart. I didn't realize it then (as we all don't) how simple and precious that time of my life was, and how I took so many things for granted.

I've occasionally seen a post where the author asks what advice we'd give ourselves if we could go back in time. I've had a rewarding life, but here are a few things I'd tell my younger self if given the opportunity.

1. Always give thanks to God for all the gifts He's given you.

2. Listen to all your grandparents' stories, even though they've told the same tales for what seems like over a hundred times. There will be a day when you'd give anything to hear them speak of their adventures one more time.

3. Treat people the way you'd like to be treated. Race, religions and genders shouldn't matter. Look past physical appearances and see the inner beauty.  You'll be called names that'd make a sailor blush. Ignore the hate and negativity.  Continue to give people dignity and respect.

4. Be patient. Things don't happen overnight. Place your trust in God, and if it's meant to happen, it will.

5. True friends are precious. Never take them for granted. They’re the ones who’ll applaud during 
your success, and wipe away the tears when you fail.

6.Shake it off! As you grow in popularity and success, there will be those that'll use and hurt you...deeply. Some people who will use and hurt you, deeply. Shrug it off.  They were never your friends, 
and their opinion of you doesn’t matter.

7. Life is never a piece of cheesecake. There will be more joy than suffering, but always obstacles in the path to your goals. Do everything you can to overcome them. If you fail, take a deep breath and try again. The only real failure is never having tried at all.

8. Forgive...and do it often.  We all get our feelings hurt by friends and loved ones. Will it matter a couple of years from now, ten years? Put it behind you. Harboring anger and resentment does nothing but add emotion baggage to your soul.

9. Advocate. You'll encounter (your son will be one) that will not have the ability to speak on behalf of their rights. Be their voice. Speak loudly, and speak often.

10. Live like there's no tomorrow. Don't dwell on "if only" and "what if". Life is precious. Tell family and friends how much they mean to you, and enjoy every second of every day.

What advice would you give to your younger self?




      Everyone encounters road bumps in life, but it's important to tap into your inner tenacity and overcome them.
      James Miller is an amazing host and I had a great time on his show. Of course, I'd LOVE for you to listen to the interview, but I think it's important to listen to the advice he gives prior to the interview.
     Click here to listen to the interview.

Update: The first five participants to answer the following question correctly (answer will be on the Lu and Bean Reads podcast) will win a signed copy of Amelia Frump and Her Peanut Butter Loving Imagination. 

Ready? Here's the question: What's the strange thing that I did as a child (hint: it involves my mother)?

Send your answers to debbieroppolo@gmail.com


      "You grew up as an only child?" is a question I'm often asked. "How terrible. You must have been bored to tears."
     Wrong. True, I grew up in a rural community and my nearest neighbor (other than my grandparents) was over five miles away. Liza was my age, attended the same school, and  our mothers made it a point to make frequent playdates.
     As an only child, during alone times, I realized the importance of a grand imagination at an early age. I could go to new worlds, create amazing people and things, have adventures, all by pretending. There were mud pies (minus the worms) that I insisted Daddy sample when he arrived home from work, and interesting but invisible people at our supper table every night. Once, the '76 Dallas Cowboys not only ate meals with my family but they all rode in my purse to the grocery store on Thursdays.
     I'm blessed that my children have an active imagination too. Certain brooms in my house are taboo for housework because they are really "broom people" and must be used as dancing partners. Needless to say, my brooms are purchased at a dollar store, but it's a somewhat awkward situation when the cashier notices that I've bought five brooms in the past week and casually remarks "My, you must be a cleaning diva to be that hard on brooms."
     And thus my reason for creating the Amelia Frump series. I wanted to create a character based on both my children and me, our antics a little goofy and bordering on eccentric. Sadly, with the progression of social sites and electronics, kids are often disconnected from everything, and pretending is becoming a thing of the past. Thus my reason for creating the Amelia Frump series.  I wanted to create a character based on my children and me, our antics a little goofy and bordering on eccentric. A character that would encourage the reader to once again enjoy the art of pretending--the ability to create new places, people and adventures.
     Interested in hearing a couple of chapters from Amelia Frump? Check out this awesome interview from Lu and Bean Reads. Listen to the end for a special treat. 

     Circumstances often defines the character of a person. We can allow the negative ones to transform us into bitter, unsavory characters or allow it to make us more determined and leaders by example. My father chose the latter. Daddy grew up during the Depression era as the son of a wealthy truck farmer but his life wasn't easy.
     Though he had enough money to hire workers, Granddaddy distrusted most local men, claiming the fail of the banking system had created desperate times that would cause most moral souls to commit acts previously not thought of.  Instead, he used Daddy and his sisters as laborers. Having his children work with him was a win-win for my grandfather--he had people he trusted and didn't owe wages. 
     There wasn't much time for typical childhood antics and education wasn't a priority. My aunts and father were in the field before the sun peeped over the treetops every morning and collapsed into bed long after the moon rose. The children were kept out of school during planting and harvesting time, causing them to miss weeks if not months of school.
     Daddy was woefully behind in academics when he reached the eleventh grade, and as a result, dropped out of school. But it seemed he always had the philosophy that he could overcome anything as long as he tried, and he was determined to be something more than a truck farmer. A few months after dropping out, Daddy got his GED and entered the US Army. He marksmanship skills earned him the rank of master sharpshooter and his intelligence assisted him to achieving the rank of sergeant-major before retirement.
     My father was excellent in math skills (something I'm anemic in) and taught himself trigonometry, geometry, algebra, and armed with this knowledge secured a job as an engineer with the state highway department designing roadways.
     Daddy was a work-aholic, working at the state job and on our ranch, wearing calluses like badges of honor, all to ensure that Mama and I had the type of life he thought we deserved.  During my childhood I'd creep into the kitchen every morning and watch while he dozed at the kitchen table, coffee cup  in-hand. 
      Even at a young age I realized the sacrifices he made for my mother and me, and I did everything I could to help.  On summer mornings I'd cook him cinnamon toast and make sure his coffee cup was bottomless.
     Once, when we were moving cattle from one pasture to another, my pony (who I still believe was demon-possessed) grew tired of work, crow-hopped and popped me off her back and into a cow patty...butt-first. Giving me a how-did-that-happen look, she yawned in my face and trotted off to graze nearby. The next few minutes were spent playing "Tag," my pony waiting until I was just about to grab her reins before running away.  
     My temper at the boiling point, I let loose with all the vulgarity (at the time) an eight year-old girl could muster. "Damn you, you stupid pony! I hate you! I hate your guts!"
     The pony look mildly interested, but I felt vindicated. Not only  had a I said "hate your guts," I'd uttered the taboo "D" word.
     "Are you gonna let that horse win?" a familiar voice asked.
     I gulped, knowing that my father had heard every word. "Daddy, I..."
     "You know Sweet-sweet, you can't give up when you  meet an obstacle. You gotta keep tryin'."
     "Like how you taught yourself Math?"
     My father had smiled as he helped me grab the horse's dangling reins. "Yep, just like that."
     Later that night after my shower, I climbed into my daddy's lap. I remember how the fragrances of leather and cologne intermingled, and how it'd soothed me. "Daddy, don't forget the PTA play I'm in."
     My father laughed, kissed me on the cheek, and said "Sweet-sweet, you're unforgettable."
     And until the summer he died, my father always stopped work long enough to attend every school event I was in. He'd laugh when I'd remind him days before, saying that I was "unforgettable," and reminding me to always remember the importance of family.
     As I've said before, his lessons, memories and values remain alive inside me...always unforgettable.  

     When I was younger it was hard to get me eat anything that wasn't deep-fried, slapped between a couple of hamburger buns, or coated in chocolate.
     Once, my mother had the audacity (in my childish opinion) to defy the Sunday meal ritual. Every Sabbath after church, because of time constraints, Mama always prepared hamburgers with French fries or we had a late brunch of scrambled eggs and pancakes.
     On this occasion, my mother announced that because the weather was inclimate, stew meat was on sale that week, and we'd be having the stew she'd prepared earlier that morning and was now simmering in the crockpot.
     I was less than thrilled, and in my six year-old mind I formed a plan I thought would convey my gross displeasure nicely.
     It was after Sunday school classes when I put my plan into action. Waiting until there were several people seated in pews around me, I pulled a baggie filled with Cracklin' Oat Bran™ cereal from my patent-leather purse. I cleared my throat and announced in a very loud voice: "My parents are now too poor to afford hamburgers. That's why they're feeding me this cat food."
     Before I could've said "meow," I was hustled down the church aisle by my mother, red-faced with embarrassment. She gave me the most painful of punishments--allowing me to see the pain in her eyes while she told of how my actions had disappointed her. Mama ended the "talking-to" by hugging me and saying "Bless you, you're gonna get your raising one of these days."
     For years I thought the latter was a blessing...until I had children. Then I realized it's an exasperated mother's way of cursing her daughter.
     I love both my sons--they're my heart, world, and I couldn't imagine life without them. But it seems that they have inherited my mischief ten-fold, especially when it comes to food they don't like. The family dog has had more than his share of liver, slipped to him by tiny hands beneath the table. And as a result of the "Great Mixed-Vegetable Revolt of 2013," the dog became a lover of peas and carrots. It was a relief, to a point. I was getting tired of veggies squishing between my toes when I put on my boots.
     So I've had to learn how to be creative in the kitchen, especially with vegetables. We've had mashed potatoes made from cauliflower, and eggplants made into pizza crusts to name a few. But I love the versatility of the zucchini. True, technically is a fruit, but it's graced our table in the form of burgers, breads, fries, and as a dessert.
      I'm sharing my favorite dessert recipe--zucchini cobbler. The texture is similar to cooked apples, and seasoned with the right amount of spices, no one can tell that the filling isn't made from apples.

I Can't Believe It's Not Apple! Cobbler
(Serves 18)

4 cups zucchini (approximately 4 medium)- peeled and chopped
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
¼ cup white sugar
¼ cup coconut palm sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 cup pecans, chopped


2 cups gluten-free flour
1 cup white sugar
¾ cups margarine, chilled
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
 
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Coat a 9x13 inch baking dish with cooking spray.

Place zucchini and lemon juice, salt, vanilla, sugars and spices in a medium saucepan. Cook, covered, over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, for about 15 minutes, or until zucchini is tender.
In a large mixing bowl, combine salt, flour and sugar. Cut in margarine until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir ½ cup crumb mixture into zucchini mixture and stir until well combined.

Press 1 ¾ cups of the flour mixture into the prepared pan. Spread zucchini evenly over crust. Topped with chopped pecans. Crumble remaining crumb mixture over zucchini and pecans, and sprinkle with 1 teaspoon cinnamon.

Bake in the preheated oven for 35 to 40 minutes, or until golden and bubbly.