<![CDATA[DEBRA COLEMAN JETER

<![CDATA[DEBRA COLEMAN JETER - Blog]]>Fri, 10 Jul 2026 14:22:55 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Notes from my Travel Journal: Norway]]>Fri, 10 Jul 2026 20:29:55 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/notes-from-my-travel-journal-norwayNorway, August 2025

Sorry it took me so long to get these scribbles typed. We had never been to any of the Scandinavian countries, and my husband kept bringing that up. I did some research and debated between doing a tour of the highlights of several of the countries or focusing on one. In the end I chose Norway. I think it was a good choice and one I recommend.

August 8:
Overall we loved Norway, though we got off to a rocky start after our relaxing time on AmaWaterways. We bridged the two trips with a few days in Nuremburg, Germany.

After breakfast on August 8, 2025, we flew to Frankfort, where we had a three-hour layover, then on to Oslo. We shared a sandwich in Frankfort, but I had a migraine off and on during the flight. Also, due to my head cold, my ears closed up badly, and the left one hurt a bit (usually it’s the right one) despite my various precautions. Perhaps I overdid the Afrin nose spray to help my Eustachian tube adjust but which may have worsened my headache.

We had trouble finding our Uber, which also contributed to Norm’s stress and hence to mine. He thought it would be with “ride sharing” directions, but finally I saw an actual “Uber” sign. Our tour guide, Judit, messaged us and said the hotel would save our dinner.

I was hungry and ate every bite—chicken with steamed vegetables and some sort of pudding. I asked for an orange soda, as I’d seen stacks of them in the airport—Solo. The tour group, or about half of them, were still sitting at dinner waiting to meet us. I tried to be sociable, which also worsened my migraine and it was severe by the time I went to bed.

I woke up every hour or so with a pounding migraine, despite trying every drug in my suitcase—frova, Imitrex spray, Loratab, valium, and Ubrevly.

August 9:
We skipped the morning tour of Oslo but had a nice breakfast at the hotel. After noon, we walked to the king’s palace and waited for the changing of the guard. I could barely see over the heads of taller people. Nothing much to see anyway. Then we walked around the gardens.

We made our way back to the hotel and ate lunch at a nearby café. Excellent salad of goat cheese, beetroot, pistachios, and mixed greens with a honey mustard dressing. Another Solo,

In the evening we took an optional, rather pricey excursion to the hills around Oslo, covered in evergreen and boasting an impressive ski jump. It was rainy and chilly, and we’re both still battling colds. Then we ate dinner at a pretty nice restaurant and chatted with two groups from our tour plus an Australian woman traveling alone. Braised beef, cod, potatoes, a nice salad, and crème brulee. Another Solo for me.

David Elder, our neighbor in Clarksville, called to say he thinks our water main has burst and may be leaking into his driveway. Oh, well. Tomorrow we rise early and pack for travel.

August 10:
After breakfast, we drove to Hedda and visited a Stave Church, one of twenty-something remaining churches of the style in Norway. The largest one, I believe. A stave church is a medieval wooden Christian church built in north-western Europe, primarily in Norway. The name comes from their distinct structural framing of load-bearing wooden posts—known as staves or stafr in Old Norse.

Since it was Sunday and services were upcoming, we saw a number of women in traditional Norwegian dresses (bunad) with their families. Our very young male tour guide told us how the entrances and seating were once separate for men and women, and we saw the holes in the wall where men stuck their dirks (knives) to hang their coats. They left their axes and swords outside. Some of the staves were original, though the ones with cracks were more recent.

“If the boy had to turn sideways to fit through the door, this meant his shoulders were broad and he was a man. If a girl had to turn sideways, her hips were broad enough for childbearing,” he said.

Then we drove to Vemork, where we visited the Norwegian Industrial Workers Museum. This was once the largest power station in the world, and here they discovered “heavy” water and extracted quantities of it. Initially they did this for fertilizer, and it took a room full of water to extract a half liter of heavy water. Eventually Hitler took over the plant to use the heavy water in his efforts to create a nuclear bomb. Once the Norwegians figured this out, they kept trying to destroy the plant. After they blew it up, the Nazis decided to move out the heavy water (stockpile) and transfer it to Germany (after rebuilding it once). Norwegian saboteurs sank the boat. Within a year Hitler had surrendered.

Our hotel in Telemark was an older rustic hotel on a hill with a beautiful view, reminiscent of ski lodges in Switzerland. We took a walk outside before dinner. I had a migraine and used the sauna by the pool, which sometimes provides temporary relief.

August 11:
The bus transported us onto a ferry crossing, and we had a lovely lunch in Hardangerfjord: soup with vegetables and local meat, brown bread with butter, apple pie, and nice coffee. The hostess sang in Norwegian. We had hard cider too.

Then we drove to Bergen and checked into another Thon hotel. Nearby was an old section of charming stores, some leaning, and Norm and I ate at an Irish pub. I had a shrimp open-faced sandwich, and he had a beer. Lots of mountain views and waterfalls on the drive to Bergen, quaint wooden houses along the wharf.

August 12:
We had some free time this morning, but we decided not to explore Bergen further after our nice walk on Monday night. Then we drove to Voss for lunch of free time. Norm and I walked to the gondola building and bought tickets. Great ride in a large gondola, very steep with lovely views. Atop the mountain, we looked for a swing shown in the pamphlet but realized we were about to miss our bus, so we left after taking a few photos. Last ones on the bus to leave for Stalheim and the Flam train excursion.

The Flam train was older than I expected and quite noisy. Weather was cold and rainy, but visibility was decent on the way up the mountain. We sat with a mother-son couple, interesting to talk to. He’s a twin, working as a marketing analyst for a pro soccer team in Austin, Texas. His brother’s an architect. I told him about our grandson Finn, who is very artistic and visual. “I worry that he might not be strong enough in math though.”

“To be honest, my brother’s not much of a numbers guy either,” he said.

“My husband’s an architect too,” his mother said, “and he’s terrible at math.”

I laughed. “That’s reassuring.”

The train stopped a couple of times. We climbed out to look at a magnificent waterfall. Music played while a woman with long hair in a red dress danced on a cliff about halfway up the waterfall. Legend has it that she lures men with her beauty to marry her, then turns into a witch.

On the ride down, the visibility became much poorer as the rain continued and fog draped the mountainside.

Dinner at the hotel in Stalheim was a buffet. It looked good, but I was a bit overwhelmed about what to eat and ended up eating very little—except too much dessert.

Coming up: Norway’s longest and deepest fjord, the Sognefjord

]]><![CDATA[Love of Life]]>Wed, 08 Jul 2026 20:40:52 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/love-of-lifeWhen I was a kid, my mom watched a soap opera called Love of Life. Is the love of life a good thing or a bad, I wonder. If you think of love of life as a capacity for joy, this seems like a good thing. But if you think of it as love of the world, the words of scripture come to mind.

Today, as I lie in my hammock gazing up past the trees into the sky, I’m reminded of a similar image of heaven on the screen behind the baptistry when I was a child. The sky today is pale blue peeking through white puffs of cloud, and the trees arching above me have grown to even more magnificent grandeur on this early June day than I remember from last summer.

I glance to the next clearing, where the sky is a deeper, more saturated blue, and the clouds tinged with gold. With my foot, I push off so my hammock sways in the breeze. As my knee pops from my meniscus bucket handle tear, it occurs to me that these trees will most likely outlast me.

Most nights, before I sleep, I read a devotional by Don Carson. The one on May 28, 2026, struck home. I’d always been perplexed by some of the scriptures. For example, in Luke (NIV), we read that Jesus said, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.”

Biblical scholars agree that Jesus did not mean literal hatred, but even so… what did he mean?

Matthew 6:24 (NIV) reads: No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both.

I struggled to bring these scriptures into perspective. Have I been guilty of loving the things of this world without recognizing it as a sin? I always told myself God would appreciate having his creation admired … mountains, oceans, colors, the sky at sunset, travel to different geographic areas… have I been deluding myself?

My takeaway, based on my current thoughts and insights from Don Carson, is “yes” to admiring these treasures of nature but “no” to putting them, or anything but the creator, first.

Stay safe and keep reading,
Debra
The Past Ever Present: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B091F3MN3R (only 99c to buy on Kindle)

]]><![CDATA[Stealing from Steal Like an Artist]]>Mon, 06 Jul 2026 21:14:22 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/stealing-from-steal-like-an-artistIn Steal Like an Artist, Austin Kleon quotes Mark Twain as follows: “It is better to take what does not belong to you than to let it lie around neglected.”

In his argument to steal like an artist, Kleon claims this applies not just to art but extends to all walks of life. I recommend his book.

With my background as a student and then as a professor, I was almost afraid to be too influenced by other writers for fear of plagiarism, much less to borrow or steal.
The one time I dangled my toes into these waters was with my novel Joy After Noon. I’ve always been a fan of Daphne du Maurier, and her novel Rebecca captivated me as a teenager.

When I was working on Joy After Noon, I attended a writers’ conference at Mt. Hermon. In my small group, I admitted to being inspired by Rebecca, although I structured my novel more as a family saga and less as a mysterious gothic thriller.

My group leader Kathy said, “You should map out exactly how du Maurier structured her novel, chapter by chapter, and do the same.”

I ignored the advice. I wanted the novel to be mine, not an imitation. I see now how sound her advice was and how foolish I was to ignore it. I like my novel, but it could have been more powerful or, certainly, different.

Long ago, when I told my mother I wanted to write, she said, “Shakespeare has pretty much exhausted all the good plots already.”

We read in Ecclesiastes 1:9: “There is nothing new under the sun.”

Kleon also quotes Yohji Yamamoto, who wrote: “Start copying what you love. Copy copy copy copy. At the end of the copy, you will find yourself.”

According to Kleon, the purpose should not be superficial, but to learn how the artist thought. He also advises, “… always have paper on you.”

I failed this test today as I sat by the pool reading Steal Like an Artist and these thoughts swirled in my brain.

I do carry a small pad and pen in my handbag, but I’ve chosen too small for fear of overloading my already heavy handbag. Besides, like today, I often do not have my handbag with me.

A lot of thoughts come to me when I’m in a pool or the lake or sea. When I return to my lounge chair, I’m wet and, even if I brought a notebook, I dread soaking the pages. I need a plan for a notebook in some sort of baggie for the future.

How many books and characters over the years have been called modern-day Tom Sawyers or Huck Finns? I’ve read (partially in his own writings) that, toward the end of his life, Mark Twain lost much of his faith and died a bitter man.

I hope he knows how beloved and emulated his earlier works still are.

Even if I can’t produce something better than the writers I love, surely I can copy, learn, and find my own voice.

https://www.amazon.com/After-Noon-Sugar-Sands-Book-ebook/dp/B07P7S5Y7Z (limited time sale for e-book $1.99, ends July 6)

]]><![CDATA[Some of My Favorite Things]]>Fri, 03 Jul 2026 15:26:03 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/some-of-my-favorite-thingsFirst, I want to wish everyone a happy and safe 4th of July weekend. Our family has started traveling most years to Orange Beach on July 4, planning to arrive in time for the fireworks there. Usually traffic on July 4 from Tennessee to the beach is not bad. Since the 4th this year fall on Saturday, things could be different. I also hear this may be one of the heaviest holiday travel schedules in a long time. We'll see. Have fun and be safe, whatever you do.

“I don’t believe there’s such a thing as an ordinary life. I think all life is extraordinary,” the gifted author, Hilma Wolitzer (now 96 years old), once told an interviewer.

I love this view, especially as I prepare to launch my next book, Girl from Bell City Bottom.

I was telling a friend about the book a few years ago as I started writing it. She asked, “What’s the hook? The inciting incident in her life?”

I did not know how to answer. There was no “one thing” I could identify at the moment. Nonetheless, I believe her life and her story are captivating. I hope you will too.

One book that comes to my mind is A Girl of the Limberlost (1909) by Gene Stratton-Porter, a classic coming-of-age novel set in Indiana's Limberlost Swamp. I remember the book not as much for its plot as for how much my favorite aunt, Lou Ann Coleman, loved the book. I think it reminded her of her own life growing up in Lynn Grove, Kentucky, and is also similar to that of my protagonist, Effie Shultz, growing up in the Bell City bottom.

I want to share two other favorites with you today: a prayer and a review of my first novel, The Ticket, which I stumbled upon recently on Amazon.

I came across this prayer in a stave church in Norway last year:
Lord, make me an instrument for your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is division – unity.
Where there error – truth.
Where there is injury – pardon.
Where there is doubt – faith.
Where there is despair – hope.
Where there is darkness – light.
Where there is sadness – joy.

Oh, divine master,
Grant that I must not so much seek to be consoled as to console.
To be understood – as to understand.
To be loved – as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
It is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Francis of Assisi

From an Amazon reader on The Ticket by Debra Coleman Jeter:
Taking its place in the long line of heart-wrenching, ugly and beautiful Southern novels, this book can be compared to Donna Tartt’s Little Friend. There is the exquisite language, rich with both the old-fashioned elegance and harsh grittiness; a narrative that reflects the whole of the American experience in all of its glory and squalor, an intimate story of a special girl who has to face terrible odds, quite literally. I loved it and will recommend it to any reader of Women’s Fiction or fine literary fiction.

Thank you, Amazon reader; I’m humbled by those words.
https://www.amazon.com/Ticket-Debra-Coleman-Jeter-ebook/dp/B0BZB6F11J

]]><![CDATA[Having Enough Self-Confidence to Risk Failure]]>Fri, 26 Jun 2026 21:14:50 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/having-enough-self-confidence-to-risk-failure In his recent documentary on Netflix, Martin Short, comedian, offered a startling statistic: “I’d say my career has been 80% failure, and I think that’s pretty good. To make it in this business [showbiz], you need talent and luck and persistence. But no matter how much you have, you won’t succeed unless you’ve got the self-confidence to get out there and fail.”

I don’t know if this is true in all aspects of life, but I suspect it’s true in all the arts (and many other fields).

As a writer of fiction, memoir, and academic research, I take heart. It’s easy to despair. Sometimes I’m convinced that other writers are more talented, more fortunate, or more persistent, or that success comes to them more easily.

Now, when a rejection letter appears in my inbox or a negative review from a critic, I’ll remind myself, “That’s just part of the 80%. Keep aiming for the 20%.”

I often quote my former colleague at Vanderbilt, Germain Boer. “Never, never, never give up.”

Song of Sugar Sands is on sale now for $1.99 e-book version (regularly $8.99) and Joy After Noon will be on sale starting June 30 until July 6. I'm terrible at technology, so I won't promise my links will work, but maybe if you cut and paste . . .
https://www.amazon.com/Song-Sugar-Sands-Book-ebook/dp/B07WPFJMX2 (limited time sale for kindle $1.99)

In my novel, Joy After Noon, Joy struggles with self-confidence, making her afraid to confront her husband with some concerns about their marriage.
https://www.amazon.com/After-Noon-Sugar-Sands-Book-ebook/dp/B07P7S5Y7Z

Take heart and keep reading and chasing your dreams...

]]><![CDATA[Balancing Work and Life]]>Thu, 18 Jun 2026 16:33:44 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/balancing-work-and-lifeShould your work ever become your life? The easy answer seems to me to be no. But what if your work is ministry… or art? Can you really fulfill your potential as a minister or an artist if you treat it like an ordinary job?

I suspect I have sought jobs most of my life that do not completely consume me, my thoughts, or my time. Granted, when I worked as a CPA, there were a few months each year when audits and tax returns absorbed most of my time. Later, as a professor, there were times when a difficult lecture or a troubled student consumed my thoughts after I got home.

Now, as a writer, ideas come to me at unexpected moments. I find that if I fail to commit them to paper (or computer) very soon, they are likely to elude me later. Nonetheless, I’m usually able to put my writing from my mind while I interact with family and friends, while I’m eating or traveling, while I’m living my life.

There are exceptions, of course. When I’m relaxing in a boat zipping across smooth waters or bouncing across waves on a choppy day, my mind drifts to characters and plots from time to time. Still, these moments are not the norm for me.

I think of my family and their choices. My husband retired from his veterinary practice around the age of fifty, in part because of back and shoulder issues but also because he found it so difficult to relax and put work matters aside. Often he was on call, and calls came in at the most inopportune times.

One of his veterinary partners, whose son played quarterback for his high school team, told my husband, “I’ve never been able to watch an entire football game of my son’s without interruption.”

When my husband, Norm, was on vacation, he’d grumble, “Everything will be twice as hectic when I get back to work.”

When he told his decision to retire early to his managing partner, the man said, “You’ll be back. Mark my words.”

The partner was wrong. When people ask if he misses it, Norm says, “I’ve never looked back.” I cannot say the same about my retirement, but I can say, “I rarely look back.”

My daughter gave up a profitable career as a commercial real estate appraiser to focus on her family. Later, she spent a lot of time writing lesson plans and devotionals for Sunday School programs. Eventually she said no to those as well.

“Maybe, when the kids are out of school, I’ll go back to it,” she says, “or maybe I’ll look into graduate programs in theology.”

Yesterday, she told me, “I’m happy. We’re happy with our choices.”

Life offers so many challenges and wonders beyond the workplace. Because these find their way into my writing on occasion, I wonder if I’d be a better writer if I allowed them to consume me more completely.

I guess I’ll never know. I guess I don’t want to know. Work hard, play hard…this has always been my way. I do not look forward to the day when I’m unable to do either.

I wonder if men struggle with their work-life balance more than women. In Song of Sugar Sands, Acadia thinks her husband may be focusing too much time on his job even though his job is to minister to his church. Although it's the second book in my Sugar Sands series, it's actually set earlier than Joy After Noon.

Today I received images of the cover for my new novel, coming soon (tentatively fall of 2026), Girl From Bell City Bottom.

https://www.amazon.com/Song-Sugar-Sands-Book-ebook/dp/B07WPFJMX2]]><![CDATA[Travels with Debra (and Gate1): Salty Conversation]]>Mon, 15 Jun 2026 14:28:31 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/travels-with-debra-and-gate1-salty-conversationNow the official tour has begun. This is our first time on a Gate1 tour, and we are lucky in that ours is a fairly small group, only about 20 people. We’ve heard that Gate1 often has around 50 participants, and Covid spreads frequently on tours.

So far no one in our group is masking, not even us. Norm is still jet lagged, so I hope he doesn’t get Covid too. I rarely drink alcohol, but last night the group went to a farm and winery, and the wine was flowing.

“This white wine is delicious,” I said. “Pour me a tiny bit more.”

Norm shot me a look. He knows I’m prone to migraines. “They do say European wines often have fewer additives, so it might be okay,” he reminded me.

“That’s right—like nitrates or nitrites or something. More water too, please. In fact, let’s ask for another bottle of water.” I try to drink at least equal amounts of water on those rare occasions when I do consume alcohol at all.

The two women sitting across from us were being served a delicious-looking plate of vegetables, and I eagerly awaited mine. And waited. Eventually we received instead a platter for our end of the table of salami, raw ham, and cheese, as well as olives and sundried tomatoes.

It all looked lovely but also very salty, another migraine trigger. “Could I get some of those vegetables?” I asked the server.

She shook her head. “Those ladies do not eat pork.”

“Oh, I see.” My disappointment must have shown.

“Are you not happy?”

“Well, I love wine and salty food, but they don’t always love me.” At ninety-three, my mother still salts her food. But for me, the less salt I eat, the more sensitive my body becomes to it.

“What do you want?”

“Vegetables or salad, if you have any.”

She returned with a plate of vegetables, but she behaved furtively. “Since you are at the end of the table,” she said, “but don’t let anyone see you or everyone will want special treatment.”

I got her point, but I was grateful for the vegetables. I had a nice chat with the non-pork eaters, who live not far from my son in California. One of them has a daughter in Oregon, a state I have yet to visit.

“Our hotel in Florence was really close to the Gucci Palace,” I told them.

“Was it nice?”

“It wasn’t huge, but I liked it. There was this red coat on display that looked just like my new winter coat. Except for the buttons.”

“Is yours a Gucci?” my husband asked.

“Are you kidding? I got mine at Old Navy, but I could change out the buttons,” I said.

There was this one room where they only let about five or six people in at a time. We were about to give up and leave when our turn came.”

“What was in there?” one of the women asked.

“A mysterious machine that told your fashion fortune when you pushed a button. I pushed the wrong button and the machine caved in,” I said. “The attendant looked really upset. But it came back.”

“Did you get your fortune?”

“Yep. It says, Wear the thing you were saving for a special occasion.”

“Good advice.”

“I’m going to try to remember it,” I agree.

By the time we left on our bus, we were all full, and spirits were high.

“Would you like some music?” our tour guide, Daniele, asked.

“Yes!” “Yes!” “Yes!” “Please!” everyone chimed.

We swayed and tapped our toes to Bocelli, Frank Sinatra, Sweet Caroline, YMCA, and It’s Amore. You get the picture.

I was feeling good, but later had trouble sleeping. “Ask future Debra,” my son says when I contemplate drinking wine.

I know he’s right, but I do appreciate the aroma and the taste. We did not buy a bottle. “We don’t have the space in our luggage,” my husband said.

Yesterday ended our first full day on the tour, and we spent most of it in Siena. Inside the cathedral, we saw statues by Michelangelo, frescoes by Rafael, and a statue of John the Baptist by Donatello. “The Mutant Ninja Turtles,” my husband said.

I cannot remember if we still have a stuffed Mutant Ninja Turtle hanging in our son’s old bedroom. It hung there for years after he left for college, as if awaiting his return.

Today the group traveled to Florence from our hotel in Montecatini Terme. Because they will be largely following the same path as our walking tour a few days ago, we chose to stay here.

This area is known for thermal activity, so I’ve booked an outing this afternoon to a thermal pool with a grotto cave called Grotta Giusti, where we’ll experience Dante’s Inferno (coming soon). We’ll need a taxi to get there, unlike the gelato shop, which is right next door.

Tomorrow we head to Cinque Terre (part of the Italian Riviera), which is quite steep, I understand. Rain is forecast, but I’m hoping for partial sunshine.

No air conditioning in this hotel until June, and the rooms get a bit stuffy at night. It’s windy though if you open the windows. Hotel is called Grand Hotel Plaza and Locanda Maggiore. Despite what the internet said, the outdoor pool here is not heated. Hotel is nice, though, and food is good.

Colossians 4: 6 Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt so that you may know how to answer everyone.

Stay safe, and keep reading (I finished The Correspondent and now I’m rereading Flashlight. I recommend both.)
The Past Ever Present: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B091F3MN3R (only 99c to buy on Kindle)

]]><![CDATA[On Track to Celebrate a 75th Wedding Anniversary]]>Thu, 28 May 2026 20:35:13 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/on-track-to-celebrate-a-75th-wedding-anniversaryMy parents, Marie and Clifton Coleman, are on track to celebrate the 75th anniversary of their wedding day of June 4, 1951.

How many marriages (and lives) survive to their 75th wedding anniversary? Not that many… way more make it to their 50th. According to the internet, fewer than 0.002% of marriages in the United States reach a 75th wedding anniversary. This milestone is so rare that the U.S. Census Bureau does not even track it as a standard statistical category.

Marie McClain graduated as salutatorian of her Sedalia High School class on May 18, 1951, and Clifton Coleman from Lynn Grove High School exactly one year earlier. The couple lived in Nashville, Tennessee, while Clifton attended office mechanics school but returned to Kentucky upon finishing the course.

He has worked over the years in various types of sales, most recently as the broker of Coleman Real Estate & Property Management on 12th Street in Murray. He has helped countless families over the years to find affordable lodging, first as a mortgage and loan officer, then as a real estate salesman, and finally as a real estate broker and rental manager.

They are members of the Glendale Church of Christ. In the early 1990s, both Clifton and Marie served as guardians on the television set of Christy, based on the novel by Catherine Marshall. Their grandson, Clay Jeter, played Creed Allen in the show. In 2024, Clay won an Emmy Award for directing Live to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones. His grandparents, now 93, are on track to do exactly that.

The couple has two daughters, Jana Marie Little of Murray, Kentucky, and myself. Jana now serves as the broker for Coleman Real Estate, and I’m a Professor Emeritus at Vanderbilt University. We both graduated from Murray State University, where I taught in the early 1980s.

They also have two granddaughters, Kayla Little and Nikki Wilbanks. Kayla is well known in the Murray community for her beautiful singing, both with Todd Hill’s orchestra and her band, Little by Little. Nikki is a homemaker in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and a freelance writer of Lifeway devotionals and Sunday School lessons.

The couple has four great grandchildren, Finn Wilbanks and Elise Wilbanks of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and Frances Jeter and Silas Jeter of Los Angeles. Their son-in-law, Norman Jeter, worked for several years as a veterinarian in Calloway County with Elwood Brown before relocating to Clarksville, Tennessee.

The couple married in Corinth, Mississippi, as did my dad's brother, Billie Coleman, to Bronzie Tidwell, of Lynn Grove, and his sister, Lou Ann Coleman, to Prentice Darnell. Their nephews, great nieces, and great nephews live in Calloway County, Graves County, and Marshall County.

]]><![CDATA[Travels with Debra: Florence, Italy 2026 Avocado toast, sparking water, and white sneakers]]>Mon, 25 May 2026 16:24:30 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/travels-with-debra-florence-italy-2026-avocado-toast-sparking-water-and-white-sneakersAs we enjoy our last breakfast in Florence, my husband remarks, “Notice all the white sneakers?”

Outside the café (Paszkowski), the landscape is dotted with colorful umbrellas. The rain patters, and indeed most of the umbrella carriers wear white sneakers.

I know what he’s thinking. In the late 1990s, a lovely Belgian student, Patricia, who was spending a semester at Vanderbilt, invited me to teach a course at the Vlerick School of Management in Ghent, Belgium.

I accepted the engagement, and for the next six years or so, I periodically spent a couple of weeks in Ghent. The students there humbled me, as English was their third language and they struggled valiantly to understand my southern drawl.

One day, as I was wearing my white sneakers, Patricia politely warned me, “In Europe people only wear white trainers to the gym.” Not always the most observant, I began to notice feet. Sure enough, my white shoes provided a glaring contrast to the predominant black ones. Things have changed since then. At the moment, I’m sporting red sneakers and I definitely don’t see many, if any, of these.

For breakfast, I’ve ordered avocado toast, a splurge at 18 euros. It arrives in a thick bread bowl, reminiscent of French onion soup servings a few years ago. Although topped with slices of avocado and zucchini, I find it almost impossible to eat.

A few tables over, I notice another woman receiving the same order. Her expression tells me she’s less than thrilled. She passes one of the two bread bowls on her plate from person to person down a long table until someone accepts the offering. I watch as both he and she attempt to devour bits of the bread, with not much more success than I’ve had.

My daughter has said, “Mom invented avocado toast.” Before ever seeing it on a menu, I discovered how delicious avocado can be spread over a thin slice of buttered sourdough toast, topped with sliced cherry tomatoes, or atop a bagel with cream cheese.

The first year I taught in Belgium, someone provided bottles of water at the podium. Some had blue caps, others red. “What’s the difference?” I asked.
“Bubbles.”
“Excuse me?”
“Bubbles.” I tried both and learned to appreciate sparkling water. In fact, I preferred it to still. “It’s like drinking champagne without the alcohol,” I said.

Back in the U.S., however, sparkling water had not yet made its arrival. I looked for it in groceries and found it on rare occasions. More often, though, it was sweetened or contained artificial sweeteners. Nowadays, of course, virtually every grocery carries multiple brands.

My husband says, “We should have bought stock in sparkling water long ago.”
As we get older, adjusting to jet lag gets no easier, particularly for my husband. I’m sleep challenged anyway, so perhaps it affects me a bit less. But, after flying out of Nashville on Wednesday, I still struggled to stay asleep on Saturday night.

Florence exploded with crowds. I remember traveling during the height of the pandemic. “We should have done more traveling back then,” I said, “when airports and tourist attractions were relatively empty.”

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the city. I was here once before, in July of 1983. As I recall, it was one of the hottest days on record. I remember seeing an elderly man pass out from the heat on a bus.

Until the rain today, the weather has been nearly perfect this time around. I’ve always been a fan of Michelangelo, since reading Irving Stone’s The Agony and the Ecstasy when I was a teen. When I visited Florence in 1983, we saw only the replica of David. This time we saw the original. It did not disappoint.

Other highlights include the two-hour walking tour escorted by a local woman costing (believe it or not) only about 7.50 euros. The tour guides, working mainly for tips, provide a wealth of knowledge about history and tradition of the city.

The tour ended in the open-air museum of Signoria Square, where the statues of the Loggia dei Lanzi, Palazzo Vecchio, former residence of the Medici family, surround you.

I always talk about food, but I’ll try to be brief. The brioche filled with chocolate or pistachio is inexpensive (about 2 Euros) and utterly divine; the gelato is amazing, and you can try free samples, or ask for two flavors even in the smallest size container.

The sandwiches are acclaimed, and I tried boar salami with truffle sauce and truffle cheese at Il Bufalo Trippone, very tasty, inexpensive, but very salty. I also enjoyed risotto with mussels and shrimp at a restaurant near our small hotel, Residenza della Signoria, which was ideally located in the heart of Florence (and had a lift).

Ahead, I’m looking forward to visiting Siena, Cinque Terre, the Amalfi Coast, Capri, Naples, and Pompeii. I’ll plan to write more later.

By the way, I’m reading The Correspondent by Virginia Evans as I travel. The protagonist in the novel often shares what she’s reading with one of her friends, which seems a good idea.

]]><![CDATA[Affluenza]]>Thu, 23 Apr 2026 18:13:24 GMThttps://www.debracolemanjeter.com/blog/affluenzaWe all know money talks when it comes to crime and punishment (one of my favorite novels, by the way). From time to time, I share an anecdote about my family or a blurb about something I’m writing.

Today I want to share something my son wrote and produced, though I didn’t watch it myself until last night.

When you hear about an untimely death due to a drunk driver, how do you react? My attitude has always been: Being drunk should not get you off.

We all have our stories. One of my son Clay’s first athletic coaches was named Foo. Foo coached travel soccer, and he was a kind, positive role model for his two sons, for Clay, and for many other kids. His wife was a fabulous math teacher, and we sat through countless soccer matches together.

Some years later, Foo and his wife were sitting in traffic with another couple when a drunk driver crashed into their car from behind. Foo and his wife both died.

And what if there were four deaths instead of one or two? “No amount of jailtime will bring those people back to their families,” I think and sometimes say.

What if the drunk driver is only sixteen years old and living alone? And what if the defense attorney argues he’s suffering from “affluenza” or having life too good, too rich, too easy?

Is affluenza an illness you’d like to contract? Think again!

To learn more, watch True Crime: Smugshot, on AMC+. The “Affluenza” episode, written and produced by Clay Jeter, appears as Episode 4 of Season 1.

One of the victims is a kind-hearted youth minister with a loving wife and kids of his own. “If I’d been the one to get killed,” his wife says, “I know he’d reach out to the kid driving the truck. No doubt in my mind.”

In about 45 minutes, “Affluenza” tackles drunk driving, poor parenting, horrendous consequences… forgiveness from where you least expect it, and tough decisions about justice. Well worth watching (AMC+ True Crime: Smugshot, Season 1, episode 4)!

One of Joy’s stepdaughters in my novel, Joy After Noon, yields for a time to the allure of drugs, and a car wreck follows.

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