No Black Friday Shopping for Me

I wrote the following in 2010, and sadly it is still relevant. If you are one of the avid Black Friday shoppers, I apologize if this upsets you. It is meant as social commentary, not a personal slam.


I remember a time when shopping the day after Thanksgiving was fun. A lot of people were doing the same thing, but there was no pushing, no shouting, no mad rush to get the latest must-have toy, and nobody grabbing it out of your hands once you had it.

For the most part, everyone was relaxed and in a Holiday mood. Smiles were exchanged and clerks and cashiers wished everyone a Happy Holiday. It always made me think of the wonderful Christmas song, "Silver Bells", and I could imagine we'd entered some magical place where people passed "meeting smile after smile. And on every street corner you'll hear..."

It was also a time when stores opened at a normal time, and people came and went, then more people came and went. Stores did not open at some ungodly hour in the AM, so shoppers had to set alarms to get there on time. Folks also didn't camp out in parking lots and on sidewalks for days to be the first ones in. And they   didn't stampede into a store and injure other people in their desperation need to make sure they got the best deals offered.

For most of this past week, we were bombarded with reminders of this all important retail day. The media made a big deal out of Black Friday, airing what I'm sure they thought were cute human-interest stories about what people were doing to prepare. Plus there were all the ads from department stores, and it seemed like they were competing to see who could open the earliest. Some were even open on Thanksgiving and just stayed open all night and into today.

Watching this all unfold, I realized that Thanksgiving is getting lost. Think of all the retail personnel who were not able to truly celebrate the day because they had to get ready for The Big Day. And what about all the people who opted out of getting together with family at all because they preferred to be the first in line at Best Buy. One local man was interviewed on television and said, "Sorry, Grandma, we're not coming for Thanksgiving."

He laughed. The news anchors laughed. But I wanted to call up Grandma and tell her how sorry I was that her family preferred the X-Box over her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What about you? Do you think society has taken the holidays way too far into the retail arena?

A Thanksgiving Reflection

For all of my American readers, I send out a heartfelt Happy Thanksgiving. I hope your day is blessed by the love of family, good food, and all the things that make lasting memories. And also wishing all my Jewish readers a Happy and Blessed Hanukkah.

The following is a piece I wrote in 2009 and I thought I would share it again.


There's an old Thanksgiving song that starts out, "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go..."

When I was a child, my Dad would break into that song as we crossed the Pennsylvania border into West Virginia on our annual pilgrimage to celebrate the Holiday with his family. "The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh, through the white and drifting snow..."

The closer we got to his childhood home, the heavier his foot rested on the gas pedal as our Chevy station wagon climbed the hills on twisting roads and flew on the downside. His rich baritone voice belted the song, and in my imagination we were on that sleigh behind dapple grays in their rhythmic trot. I could hear the clump of their hooves and feel the blowing snow bite my cheeks as we were carried along.

It was magic, pure and simple. A magic that continued for the few days that we stayed in that 'otherworld.'

Today as those memories float pleasantly through my mind, I can almost smell the wonderful aromas of sage dressing, pumpkin pie, and mulled cider that permeated my grandmother's house. And I can hear the bustle of activity accompanied by short bursts of conversation among the women in the kitchen. The front bedroom is where the men gathered and brought out instruments. Their music became another soundtrack.

My brothers, sisters, and I would join other cousins in the back bedroom in between our numerous trips outside. Our biggest challenge was to see who could roll down the hill and retain the most amount of snow, turning ourselves into living snowpeople. The second biggest challenge was to see who would have the honor of receiving the drumsticks. They were dolled out on a 'merit' system based loosely on which of us waited the most patiently for the great announcement, "Dinner's Ready."

With memories like that, it was hard for me to face the formidable task of creating Thanksgiving Days that would live in glory for my children.

We were living in Texas, so mountains and snow were out of the question, and my singing never could quite match my father's. I didn't possess even a tenth of the culinary skills of my grandmother and my aunts, so the meal would probably be lacking. And we were more than a thousand miles away from cousins to help distract my children from their impatience.

But despite those limits, we managed to muddle through. I did manage a passable dinner and my husband actually raved about the German dressing. The pies were a major hit, all ten of them, and everyone was willing to eat the broccoli for the promise of a second piece of pie. And after cheering the Dallas Cowboys to another victory, most years, we would all tumble outside for a family game of touch-football.

In sifting through all these random memories I realize that the memory itself is not what is important. What is, is the fact that we have memories and they don't happen by accident. No matter what we do to 'mark' these important occasions, it is vital that we do 'mark' them. Even if our process doesn't live up to a Martha Stewart image or our own fond remembrances of childhood.

So here's to our memories, no matter how we create them.

Don't Get Lost

Humorist Slim Randles is back with another story from his syndicated column, Home Country. While I always highlight the funny side of his writing, he has also got a special way with the poetic and poignant and there is some of that mixed in with the humor in his books. I especially liked Sun Dog Days. A story of two friends and a special journey they take. 

It's very cold here this morning in East Texas, so I am having hot chocolate. Grab yourself a cup to sip while you enjoy Slim's story.

Courtesy of the Hot Chocolate Website

I was invited recently to join Bob Milford, manager of the prestigious Diamond W Ranch, on a drive-around tour of the place. It’s a huge, private ranch, with tiny ex-logging roads winding around through 13,000 acres of pine trees and rocks. A real paradise.

But I was horrified to see wooden street signs nailed to trees wherever two of these old logging trails came together.

“Oh no,” I said, out loud.

“What’s the matter?” Bob asked.

“I see you’re planning a subdivision here.”

Courtesy of the PSD Website

Bob started laughing when I pointed at the signs. “Those are for the owners,” he explained. “They live Back East and visit here one weekend a year. When they get out here, they take the pickup and drive around and get lost.

“Once I got a call on the cell phone from the owner, who said he was lost and couldn’t find his way back to the house. So I asked him where he was and he said he was right there, sitting on a rock and close to a pine tree.”

He chuckled. “That narrowed it down to about 13,000 acres. Well, I managed to find him, and after that, I put these signs up. I tell them now, if they get lost, to drive until they come to Home Road and then head downhill. It solved the problem.”       
--------
If you like what Slim shares here, you would enjoy his books. Check out his author page on Amazon if you have a moment. His books are a delight. 

Slim has sponsors for all of his columns, and this month it is Beltone Hearing Aids,  so we do have to do this little ad: Give the gift of hearing this Christmas. Start your loved one off with a free hearing test at BELTONE. Call 1-866-867-8700.

Monday Morning Musings

Freezing rain and sleet here this morning. That does not bode well for the pine trees that are so distressed from drought and pine beetles. Here's hoping that none of them come down on my fences or buildings. 

Since we are heading on toward Thanksgiving, I thought I would reprise my Thanksgiving reflection. Enjoy....

There’s an old traditional Thanksgiving song that starts out, "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go….” When I was a child, my Dad would break into that song as we crossed the Pennsylvania border into West Virginia on our annual pilgrimage from Michigan to celebrate the holiday with his family. "The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh, through the white and drifting snow..."

Courtesy of MuralMan

 The closer we got to his childhood home, the heavier his foot rested on the gas pedal as our Chevy station wagon climbed the hills on twisting roads and flew on the downside. His rich baritone voice belted the song, and in my imagination we were on that sleigh behind dapple grays in their rhythmic trot. I could hear the clump of their hooves and feel the blowing snow bite my cheeks as we were carried along.

It was magic, pure and simple. A magic that continued for the few days that we stayed in that other-world.

Today as those memories float pleasantly through my mind, I can almost smell the wonderful aromas of sage dressing, pumpkin pie, and mulled cider that permeated my grandmother's house. And I can hear the bustle of activity accompanied by short bursts of conversation among the women in the kitchen. The front bedroom is where the men gathered and brought out guitars and harmonicas. Their music became another soundtrack.

My brothers, sisters, and I would join other cousins in the back bedroom in between our numerous trips outside. Our biggest challenge was to see who could roll down the hill and retain the most amount of snow, turning ourselves into living snow people. The second biggest challenge came at dinner when we vied to have the honor of receiving one of the drumsticks. They were dolled out on a 'merit' system based loosely on which of us waited the most patiently for the great announcement, "Dinner's Ready."

With memories like that, it was hard for me to face the formidable task of creating Thanksgiving Days that would live in glory for my children.

By the time they were old enough to appreciate the holiday, we were living in Texas, so mountains and snow were out of the question, and my singing never could quite match my father's. I didn't possess even a tenth of the culinary skills of my grandmother and my aunts, so the meal would probably be lacking. And we were more than a thousand miles away from cousins to help distract my children from their impatience.

Despite those limits, however, we managed to muddle through. I was able to prepare a passable dinner, and my husband actually raved about the German dressing. The pies were a major hit, all ten of them, and everyone was willing to eat the broccoli for the promise of a second piece of pie.

After cheering the Dallas Cowboys to another victory, most years, we would all tumble outside for a family game of touch-football. Not the same as rolling down a snow-covered hill, but good enough.

Now, in sifting through all these random recollections I realize that the memory itself is not what is important. What is important is the fact that we have memories and they don't happen by accident. No matter what we do to mark these important occasions, it is vital that we do mark them. Even if our process doesn't live up to a Martha Stewart image or our own fond remembrances of childhood.

So here's to our memories, no matter how we create them.

What are some of your favorite Thanksgiving memories?

Book review – Good as Gone by Douglas Corleone

Good as Gone
Douglas Corleone
Series: Simon Fisk Novels (Book 1)
Hardcover: 304 pages
Publisher: Minotaur Books; First Edition edition (August 20, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1250017203
ISBN-13: 978-1250017208


In this new thriller from Corleone, who is noted for his Kevin Corvelli Mysteries we get a brand-new superhero by the name of Simon Fisk. A former US Marshal, Simon now works freelance going after children who've been abducted by their parents. Most of the cases have evolved out of divorce situations where one parent has lost custody and wants their child back.

Simon is one of those flawed characters who has tragedy in his past – his own daughter was abducted several years ago and never found, and then his wife committed suicide. He perceives that as a personal failure. He should have protected his family, and that  is what motivates Simon to try to recover children that have been taken. While he doesn't normally handle stranger abductions, he gets pulled into this one because of the little girl who is so much like his Hailey.

At times, Simon is one of those implausible heroes much like James Bond - bigger than life in some ways and able to do things that at first glance you might question. However, he is an engaging character and if we can suspend disbelief in some situations we can go along for the ride as Simon follows a sinister trail from Paris to the underbelly of Warsaw to save this little girl.

Except for a few places where the action slowed a bit for some narrative information that could have been given later, the pacing and story structure worked well, and the book held my attention through the dynamic climax. With every turn of a page, I wanted Simon to find the lost girl before it was too late. A ticking clock always ratchets up the suspense, and Corleone kept the clock ticking loudly.

There is a hint of healing and romance in the story, so Simon has more to live for and readers have something to look forward to in the next book.

Friday's Odds and Ends

It's a cold, rainy day here in East Texas, so I thought I would start the day with a cup of tea and a biscuit. Care to join me? I can share.

 It used to be that we had political mudslinging and candidates acting like two-year-olds for about six months before a major election. Then we might have some political peace for a year or so. Now we just go from one verbal mess to another. The latest being insults lobbed at Texas state senator, Wendy Davis by a Greg Abbott supporter. Both Davis and Abbott are running for governor of Texas, and some time ago, Jeff Rutledge posted a Tweet calling Davis "retard Barbie." Instead of calling Rutledge on using such bad taste, Abbott simply thanked the man for his support.

Such nice guys.

A Texas resident recently noted a Medicare overpayment that was double what the actual bill was. When she called to report the error, a Medicare representative told her that it is now standard payment for some services, and the system automatically pays that amount, no matter what the billing amount is. The woman then asked why each bill is not paid according to the billing amount, and she was told that this the system that is in place and it all balances out in the long run. The reasoning is that some submitted bills are higher than the standard payment amount, so that cancels the overpayments.  

Oh, really?

I read a news report about a charter school in Houston that had a serious financial problem. It seems that administrators misused $5.3 million in federal funds for trips to Las Vegas and New York, as well as some cruises. The two top administrators also received salaries of $440,000 while enjoying all those trips and the perks that came with the trips.

It's been a while since I've done Literary Lessons, so here's one from Family Circus, a quote from Grandma:    "Making mistakes is okay if they're new ones each time."

These next two are from Harlan Coben's novel,  StayClose.

"Ken considered himself a disciplined man, but the truth was, human beings were not built for self- denial. It was why diets rarely worked in the long run."

"The measure of a man isn't how many times he gets knocked down. It is how many times he gets back up again." 

Now, for no reason other than I think the goat is cute, here is my Lucy, enjoying some treats I threw over the fence. The green stuff growing behind her is called goat weed, and she doesn't eat that. I've never known if it is called goat weed because goats don't eat it, or if Lucy is just too picky and all the other goats do eat it. 

Having a Bit of Fun

Back again as today's Wednesday's Guest, Slim Randles who is sharing some fun with the guys down at the Mule Barn truck stop. Sometimes I think they live on another planet, but they always make me smile. Enjoy. Maybe they'll share some of that sourdough toast. My mouth is watering just looking at it.

 The morning conference began innocently enough, with Steve and Doc arguing over which of the little packaged jellies went better on sourdough toast, and no one caring which one was right.

Dud and Bert and I sat silently, sucking down the morning elixir until it spread life to our outermost reaches as the Mule Barn truck stop’s world dilemma think tank crept to life. Bert was unusually quiet this morning and we asked why. He hemmed and hawed a little, then said, “Doc, you know about these things. What exactly is female trouble?”

Oh shoot. Pretty heavy stuff for just two cups of coffee, so the rest of us hurried down a third as Doc puffed up a bit and got ready.

“Sure, Bert,” Doc said kindly. Then Doc gave us the best his nine years of college and 50 years of medical practice had blessed him with. He waxed eloquent on hormonal elements, the ebb and flow of female fertility, things that could go wrong with tubular parts, and the effect all of these things could have on the attitudinal proclivities of the dear ladies we all love and admire. He took a break while Mavis returned with more coffee and with strange looks at our faces while we tried not to stare at her.

Then she was gone, and Doc began again. Finally, when we had been pretty well checked out on the mysterious workings of the gentle gender, Doc said, “Bert, if your wife is having some problems, have her give me a call.”

“Oh, it ain’t her, Doc,” Bert said. “It’s Dud.”

We all looked at Dud. He grinned sheepishly. No one wanted to say anything. Finally, Steve said, “I’m not going to be the one to ask.”

“That’s what you said, Dud, right?” Bert asked. “That’s why Saturday’s plans are shot.”

“Female trouble?” Doc said, looking at his old friend.

Dud nodded. “Anita won’t let me go fishing this weekend.”
-------
If you like what Slim shares here, you would enjoy his books. Check out his author page on Amazon if you have a moment. His books are a delight. 

Slim has sponsors for all of his columns, and this month it is Beltone Hearing Aids,  so we do have to do this little ad: Give the gift of hearing this Christmas. Start your loved one off with a free hearing test at BELTONE. Call 1-866-867-8700.

Monday Morning Musings

Since I am still waging war with my cold, this will be another short blog today. Over the weekend I thought the cold was going away, so of course I did way too much and now my body is saying, "Hold it. Need to rest here a bit."

While I've been sick I started reading an interesting and well-written novel, Cold Quiet Country by Clayton Lindemuth. The story has two main characters, one an aging sheriff who is serving his last day in office and the other a young man who fled the barn where his employer was killed. Everyone is sure that Gale killed Burt H  and whoever finds Gale first will kill him outright.

-

The story is multi-layered, and told with multiple points of view, sometimes moving from present action to past to fill in back story that is important. Quite often multiple points of view and jumping the time line does not work in fiction, but this one does. We need to know what brought these two main characters to this fateful day.

Set in Wyoming in 1970, the story has a bit of the classic Western, pitting good against evil, but the reader may be surprised at who he or she considers the good guy. I personally did not care for Sheriff Bittersmith, and maybe I wasn't supposed to. He is introduced in a rather crude way, and maybe that was intentional on the part of the author, flipping the common notion of who is good and who is not. It's Gale who seems to be the righteous one and I highlighted a number of places where he expressed something worth remembering.

If a man wants something bad enough, he'll step on anyone at all to get it and then make up whatever justification he needs. 

In fact, it was that quote that prompted this post today. I didn't plan to write a review of the book. My intent when I sat down to write was to post the quote because it applies to so many actions today by so many people in government, business and elsewhere. Then I was going to show how it applies, but since I'm running out of energy, I probably need to stop. I also don't think I have to point out the obvious.

We know.

Friday's Odds and Ends

The other day I drove across a bridge that used to be across a lake near Dallas. The lake is almost dried up and for about a half a mile on either side of the bridge there is no water. We have been in drought conditions here in Texas for several years, yet some people still use water like it is plentiful. Water that great expanse of lawn three times a week in the summer so people can admire the lush, green grass. Take long, luxurious showers. Pretend water shortage is not looming in the near future.

The city of Dallas has recently worked out a deal to start pumping water out of one of the lakes here in East Texas, and I can't help but wonder at the incongruity of it all. Wouldn't the smart thing be to severely cut back on water usage instead of draining all the lakes and then wondering what to do next?

Okay, that's my rant for the day. I'm fighting a cold and the cold is winning, so this will be really short today. I'm going to go make chicken soup and hope I feel better later. There are benefits from eating chicken soup, so that is not just a myth, and it sure tastes good.

No jokes today, but I thought I'd share this picture. I love to see what cats will do with things we toss on the floor. They play with boxes and scraps of paper, even though they have lots of real cat toys. LOL I emptied this bag of cookies this morning, and Lily decided it would be fun to get into the bag.

I suppose I should make it clear I did not eat all the cookies in that bag. I put them in the cookie jar. Honest.

Hope everyone has a good weekend. It will be a busy one for me if I can shake this cold and get out to do the things I want.

So That There is Joy, in Fact....

            That is the goal of writing, a piece of sculpture, a film, or any creation, really. Nothing flabby, nothing soft around the edges to hide a flaw or our sloth. Don’t turn away because that crisp thwack—complete with sound effect—makes you look, and thereafter, you don’t dare look away for want of it. Joy is craved, seldom, the original intent, the ecstasy in ritual, the breaking of human water, and the release when, in dry death, the waters still.

            No one designs this bouncing baby joy, but there he is, perpetually born in inspired writing. Never stillborn, he resists adoption, cannot be cloned—he is conceived in a process we do not control and cannot simulate, no matter how far into the future technology prods.

            Even where utter sorrow is expressed, even where longing corrodes, even where the sacred is profaned, where effort is real, there is joy. It is underlying. I have often felt joy explode effortlessly through heavy cement, launching seed on absurd little parachutes impossible to contain. As I grab at them, they are whisked away, displaced, sucked just beyond reach but still afloat, and as thousands fall all around me, reality is deeply shifted, if only for a time.

            Perhaps we will get no closer to the Garden of Eden than this, original intent. If we create truly, honestly, we give ourselves to its thrust.

            And then there is joy, in fact.

That lovely short poetic essay was written by Phyllis Peters, my Wednesday's Guest today. She is the author of Untethered: A Caregiver's Tale, the book I reviewed on Sunday, and here she is to tell us more about the story. Grab your favorite cup of coffee, and please help yourself to a cookie, while you take a moment to meet Phyllis. 

Phyllis is an author and educator who holds degrees in music, literature, and education. Daughter of a writer and newspaper editor, she has always been in love with the word. Her fiction and nonfiction have appeared in online publications, magazines, and literary journals such as The Pinch, The Ampersand Review, and Munich Found.

You can find Phyllis on Facebook and Twitter.  


I loved the essay, as I think it expressed what is in the heart of most writers. What do you think?

A Surprise Guest

I normally don't have a guest on Tuesdays, but I wanted to help celebrate with an author I have met online. It is so exciting when we can share good news.

 Now with Montlake Romance - Release Day TODAY 12 November, 2013

On becoming a Montlake Author:

Let me tell you about my wonderful publishing experience! I have to back up a little bit… to this past spring. I self-published a romance titled Reclaim My Heart. The book received great reviews immediately, and it sold well from the beginning. Very well. In fact, during the first week of August I was enjoying a mug of coffee while perusing the USA Today Bestseller's List (my usual Thursday morning routine), and I nearly choked when I saw that Reclaim My Heart was sitting at #123 on the list. A couple of days later I was contacted by an editor from Montlake. She told me she'd read one of my books months before and had been keeping an eye on me. She said she'd read Reclaim My Heart and loved it. Now, what author doesn't love to hear that? She made an offer I couldn't refuse.

The Montlake editor and the design team loved the cover that was on the indie version of the book; however, Amazon had trouble licensing the rights to the image. So we searched for weeks before finding the picture that's on the current cover. I love it! And I hope my readers do, too.

I'm happy to be writing romance novels for Montlake. I feel wanted and appreciated, and it can't get much better than that in the publishing industry!

~Donna

Title:  Reclaim My Heart
Author: Donna Fasano
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Pages: 282
Formats: Paperback, eBook, AudioCD
ISBN: 978-1477817988
Purchase Now: Paperback § eBook  § AudioCD

About The Book :


Sixteen years ago, Tyne Whitlock cut all ties to her past and left town under the shameful shadow of a teenage pregnancy. Now her fifteen-year-old son is in trouble with the law, and she is desperate for help. But reaching out to high-powered attorney Lucas Silver Hawk will tear open the heart-wrenching past in ways Tyne never imagined.

Forced to return to the Delaware Indian community where Lucas was raised, Tyne and Lucas are tempted by the heated passion that consumed them as teens. Tyne rediscovers all the reasons she found this man irresistible, but there are scandalous secrets waiting to be revealed, disgraceful choices made in the past that cannot be denied. Love is a powerful force that could heal them both—if the truth doesn't rip them apart.

Excerpt

From Chapter Two"Please, Lucas."
He couldn't dismiss the tone of those two small words, nor could he ignore the magnitude of emotion clouding her expression. He had no choice but to relent.
"Sit down," he murmured. He closed the door of his office and then returned to perch himself on the corner of his desk. He steeled himself before asking, "What's on your mind?"
She seemed to shrink a little as a thousand thoughts ran though her head. Seconds passed, and still she didn't speak.
Lucas witnessed the phenomenon almost on a daily basis. The people who wound up in his office often felt as if they were carrying the world on their shoulders. He knew her anxiety would eventually discharge, and from the looks of it, he wouldn't have to wait long.
Finally, she pressed her hand to her chest. "I can't breathe."
"Relax. Do you want some water?"
She shook her head, a lock of her long, platinum hair falling over her forearm. "No. I need to get this out. I promised you I'd hurry."
He couldn't keep his brows from arching a fraction. She hadn't kept her promises in the past. Why would he expect her to now?
Tyne ran her tongue along her full bottom lip, hesitated another moment, then blurted, "I need a lawyer."
Lucas closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. He could have guessed as much, of course. He'd worked hard to get himself into the privileged position of being able to pick and choose his clients. The last person he wanted to represent was Tyne Whitlock.
"A good lawyer, Lucas."
Common sense told him Tyne wasn't attempting to flatter him. She was speaking purely out of desperation.
"Look, Tyne—" Something made him stop. He sighed, and then he stood, taking his time rounding his desk and sitting down. The leather-upholstered arms of the chair were cool and smooth under his fingertips.
"I know some of the best attorneys in the city." He plucked a pen from the cup on his desktop. "And many of them owe me a favor or two." He reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out one of the business cards he always kept handy, and turned it over, poised to write. "Let me give you some names and numbers—"
"I don't want just any attorney." Her chin lifted. "I want you. Why else would I have come here?"
His gaze lowered to the small white card in his hand. With much deliberation, he set down the pen and the card, and then he looked her directly in the eyes.
Every muscle in her body appeared board-stiff.
"Listen to me—" he kept his tone calm "—when people find themselves in trouble with the law, or victimized, or wrongfully sued, or unjustly accused, they tend to get lost in a strange, I don't know, franticness. A recklessness that they almost always regret. Believe me when I tell you that no situation is hopeless, and circumstances are rarely as desperate as they might be perceived. Whatever trouble you're in, don't let panic and fear haze your thinking."
"You don't understand."
"I think I do," he rushed to assure her. "I see it every day. Honest, hardworking people finding themselves in dire straits. And this unfamiliar territory throws them. They grasp at help from the first source that comes to mind."
"But—"
"Just like that old adage warning that only a fool acts as his own lawyer, it's also foolish to choose an attorney in haste. You and I have a past, Tyne, and even though all of that took place years and years ago, the fact remains that we have a history. I don't believe I would be the best person to represent you in a court of law. You need someone who'll be totally unbiased. Let me give you some names. I'll make some calls for you myself—"
"Stop!" She lifted her hands and scooted to the edge of the seat. "You don't understand. And I can't make you understand if you won't shut up for a minute."
His eyebrows arched and the frustration in her statement had him leaning back a bit.
She frowned. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I had to stew all day yesterday." She fisted her hands in her lap. "I didn't expect to reach anyone on a Sunday, but do you know that your firm doesn't offer an emergency number on the answering machine?" She exhaled with force. "I'm a nervous wreck just being here. Seeing you. But all that aside, I shouldn't have snapped at you. Please accept my apology."
He didn't react, didn't move. He just waited for her to continue.
"The thing is… what you need to know…"
Once again, she grew terribly cautious, and Lucas found that extremely curious. What the hell was it she found so hard to tell him? What kind of trouble was she in?
She blanched, but then her spine straightened. "I'm not the one who needs a lawyer. I want to hire you, yes. But I'm not the one needing representation. It's my son who's in trouble." A nerve at the corner of her eye ticked, but her gaze never veered from his as she added, "Our son, Lucas."

About Donna Fasano

Donna Fasano is a three time winner of the HOLT Medallion, a CataRomance Reviewers Choice Award winner for Best Single Title, a Desert Rose Golden Quill Award finalist, and  a Golden Heart finalist. Her books have sold over 3.6 million copies worldwide and have been published in nearly two dozen languages. Her books have made the Kindle Top 100 Paid List numerous times, climbing as high as #17.

What others are saying about Donna’s books:
“…complex, funny, and realistic…” ~Wilmington News Journal

“Excellent!” ~Bookreview.com

“Could not help myself from reading excerpts to my husband and friends. This book is well written, the characters are real, everyday folks. It is very easy to identify with them. Donna Fasano is a talented author.” ~Elizabeth M. Caldwell on Amazon

“…a fast paced riotous look at family life today. Donna Fasano is right on target!”
~Donna Zapf, SingleTitles.com

Website  Blog  Twitter  Facebook  Goodreads

Monday Morning Musings

What a beautiful morning here in East Texas, which is a good thing since my heater went out in the middle of the night. Don't you just love it when a loud noise wakes you from a great dream and you get up to find some major disaster?

The noise I heard was a loud whirring/humming and I wondered if my refrigerator was getting ready for lift-off. I got up to investigate and the noise was definitely coming from the area around the refrigerator, but all things seemed to be working well there. So I opened the back door to check the compressor for the heat and air conditioning, and it was getting ready for lift-off. Since it was one o'clock in the morning, I just shut the heat off, got an extra blanket and went back to bed.

I woke up early to a bit of a chill in the house, but not too bad. It was 64 degrees in the house and a balmy 45 degrees outside. When I looked out my front window, I was glad I got up early enough to get this picture of my horse silhouetted against the morning fog. I took it through the window with my iPad, as I knew the moment would not wait for me to get dressed to go outside, so the quality of the picture is not great. But I do think the beauty of the scene is great.

Since I have to call a heating repair person, as well as do several other things today while my friend is still visiting, I will wrap this up with an acknowledgement of Veterans Day. Here is a link to the history of Veterans Day for anyone who would like a little information about that. Grammar Girl has an interesting blog about why Veterans Day doesn't have a apostrophe.

I want to recognize the veterans in my family: My brother Michael who served in the Army during Vietnam. My son David, a Marine, who served in Desert Storm. And my daughter, Dany who was a captain in the Army, but was lucky enough not to see combat. My thanks to them and to all who have served with honor and dignity.

Are there special veterans in your family you are honoring today? Am I the only one who wishes that this holiday, and so many others, was not always tied to retail marketing and sales? Do you take advantage of sales like this? Do I just need to get over it?

Book Review - Untethered: A Caregiver's Tale

Untethered: A Caregiver's Tale  by Phyllis Peters will be out November 15th on Amazon, and other outlets shortly afterward. I was sent an advance review copy, and was quite taken with the story. Here is how we, and the central character are introduced to the main drama of the story:

“Mr. Conklin?”

“Yes?” I said. The aroma of brewing French roast filled our kitchen. I couldn’t concentrate.

“I’m Officer Vargas,” she clarified.

“Yes?” I repeated. I had to reflect, quickly. The IRS doesn’t call their people “officers,” do they?

“Mr. Conklin, we picked up your father in an incident this afternoon and he’s named you as the person able to provide transportation home. Are you able to come down and get him?”

I didn’t answer her at first. Taking coffee mugs out of the cabinet for me and Mel seemed a more real task. I set them on the counter, realizing slowly that I was not talking to the IRS. Mel couldn’t hear Officer Vargas’s side of the conversation, so she blinked and cocked her head. Behind her, the clock on the stove said it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon—a Tuesday afternoon, an early autumn one. We had both taken the day off from our hectic jobs at the hospital to relax and see the beauty. I was just beginning to see, and as that song from my youth says, I was now on my way. To the police. To spring my 85-year-old dad."

The rest of the story revolves around the challenges that Conklin and his wife face, as well as extended family, dealing with the father who has Alzheimer's.

The author said she wrote the book because she knew so many people who are caregiving, or will be caregiving, for people affected by dementia and/or Alzheimer's.  She says, "Alzheimer’s destroys minds, but it also throws into pain and upheaval lives, families, memories—and joy. Caregivers can be under so much pressure that they do not know where to turn or how to get through the next hour of their own or their loved ones' lives. Untethered is my contribution to the emotional side of caregiving, to offering hope and perhaps a chuckle to anyone who needs a break or is seeking the simple pleasure of relief through shared experience.

The book does provide enough humor to help ease the tension for anyone dealing with a difficult situation. I remember that humor helped my long-time friend through the years of caregiving for her mother as her mother's mind slipped away. It is said that laughter is the other side of tears, so it is always good to laugh when you can.

I found the writing engaging, charming and full of hope and joy, and I really loved the primitive ink drawings at the beginning of each chapter. They had a special charm all of their own. I tried to capture an image from the book, but they were protected. I guess you have to read the book to see them for yourself. (smile)

Phyllis will be my guest this next Wednesday. I do hope you can come back to meet her. She has written a short essay about joy that is quite nice, and there will be a video where you can get to know more about this book and the charity she is supporting with the proceeds from sales. 

Friendship Deep and True

Just a short blog today. I have company, so I have been away from my computer and the Internet quite a bit this week. My friend, Jan, is visiting from South Dakota, and we have not seen each other for twelve years - lots to catch up on.

We have been friends since we were 11 years old, and other than the time I found her kissing the boy I had a huge crush on, we have always been close. Friendships that long and that deep are so special, and we can pick up where we left off as if the years in between just melt away.

Jan is from farm stock, and her parents taught two young teenage girls some of the values of hard work, honesty, frugality, and how to take from nature what nature gives us to eat, and leave the rest alone. The family lived behind the house I grew up in, and it was nothing for me to hop the fence and visit, especially when Jan's mom was making mashed potato donuts.

Perhaps we ought to make some.

Of the many things that Jan and I have had in common, one is a love for cats. I thought I had one or two too many with my four, but she has 16 on her farm - good thing they are barn cats. She does have one that lives in the house, which is something that never happened up until a few years ago. Cats were out in the barn to do a job - keep it free of critters that would get into hay and feed. They did not belong in the house. At least that is what her husband said for many years until he mellowed and said perhaps one or two could come in.

Jan is enjoying my cats a lot during this visit, and Sammy especially loves the attention, as well as the fact that one lady in the house bends a few of the rules about cats near the table.

Sammy likes to come running across the room and leap up on someone. He's not supposed to do that while we are eating, but Jan did not read the rule book and Sammy figured that out right away. I think I may have to re-train my cat when Jan leaves, but that's okay. We are having such a good time, I can ignore this one little indiscretion - from my friend, not the cat. Sammy will just have to get over it when Jan leaves.

Now for some Friday Funnies. This one is from Shoe:

Shoe asks his friend, "So, what did you do yesterday, Cosmo?"

"I took Skyler to the circus."

"Oh, yeah. How was it?"

"Really weird. During their act, two clowns got into an argument. One accused the other of stealing his makeup design… and he threatened to sue. Then the ringmaster yelled, 'I will not have this circus turned into a courtroom."

Hope everyone has a great weekend. And just a reminder that my YA novel, Friends Forever, is still a free read for Kindle and Kindle apps through midnight tonight. If you know a young teen who might like a story about friendships and how they ebb and flow in those Tween years, you might let them know the book is free.

The New Yorker

Before we grab our coffee's and visit with my guest today, I want to mention that my young adult novel, Friends Forever, is free for the next three days. This is what one reviewer had to say about the story, "Ms. Miller captures the trails and tribulations of 13 year-olds very easily. She talks their lingo and keeps the book interesting with enough twists and surprises to keep younger readers turning the pages to the very end."

Now, help me welcome Elaine Walsh as today's Wednesday's Guest, as she shares some amusing thoughts on the difference between etiquette in the North and in the South. Enjoy....

My daughter shudders when we pass a certain McDonald’s in town.  “I can never go back in there,” she laments, remembering the trauma she suffered there when she was ten after a visit with her New Yorker aunt.

 “New Yorkers are so misunderstood,” I’ve told her many times, not wanting her to overlook the content of their character since she can’t get past the directness of their approach.

I’ve been a stealth New Yorker, living undercover in Florida’s Tampa Bay area for over half my life. Because I grew up north of the five boroughs, I didn’t pick of the Bronx accent that gives away the origin of the upbringing of my father and his siblings whenever they open their mouths. A co-worker once told me, surprised to learn about my northern background, “You don’t seem like you’re from New York.”

It was his nice way of saying, “You’re not loud and obnoxious.” Sorry my fellow New Yorkers but that is how many in the south see us.

Southerners say things that at first glance seem more socially acceptable. Think about it. Doesn’t "hush" sound nicer than “shut up” or even better than the cleaned up version, “be quiet”. But is it effective? Can you imagine saying “hush” in New York? How long could you survive in New York on southern charm?  Maybe a nanosecond? Just  turn around in your seat in Yankee Stadium and say that to the loud-mouth from Boston who just yelled “you can’t hit what you can’t see Jeter.”. Hush? Really? The people around you would think you were throwing up a hair ball. Hush. Hush. Hush. They might even level a Heimlich maneuver on you to help you extricate it.

I’m an ambassador of sorts for my southern and mid-western raised friends. I have to translate at times.  I tell them, don’t confuse  a New Yorker’s directness with manners. While the southerner might have developed the ancient Irish trait of telling someone to go to the devil in such a way that they look forward to the trip, the New Yorker isn’t going to mince words. You know where you stand with them. There’s no confusing the point of what they’re trying to say.

So back to the calamity that unfolded at McDonald’s. My Bronx-born aunt relocated south a few years ago and now lives near me. She took my daughter out for a Happy Meal one afternoon. My daughter waited in the dining room while her aunt ordered their food. She heard a commotion coming from the front of the restaurant. A few minutes later her aunt showed up and plunked down in the seat across from her. Moments later a man walked up to her aunt and told her, “They don’t make enough money to put up with people like you.”

Her aunt turned in her seat, mouth gaping open, and flung her hands and arms open as if she was just shot in chest. “What,” she bellowed back at him, dropping her ‘r’ in typical New York fashion, “I’m the custa-mah.”

And the customer is always right.

My daughter wanted to crawl under the table. Instead, she vowed never to show her face in that McDonald’s again.

Fast forward to this summer where I’m with my daughter on a tour boat taking us around the New York City skyline. The guide narrating the tour had my aunt’s familiar accent. As he educated us on the history of New York and pointed out various sites, tourists on the boat would rush the rails to snap their pictures. Many lingered too long. Our guide minced no words telling them to take their picture and sit down so others could partake in the photo op. I didn’t know how my daughter would react to his direct approach. After one sharp scolding, I glanced at her and she said “What? He’s being nice. He wants everyone to have the same chance to get pictures.”

And I thought, ahhh, she finally understands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elaine's novel, Restoration, chronicles Tess Olsen’s challenge to restore her life, relationships, and dreams back to the promise they held before her mother abandoned the family to marry a convict, Randall Wright.

Elaine grew up in upstate New York against the backdrop of the flowering women’s rights movement with different ideas from her mother as to what life as a woman should be.  In college, she majored in psychology with the intent of being a “death & dying” counselor. Instead, she moved to Florida and became a  successful business executive by day and women’s fiction writer by night. She says, "Being a daughter, mother, friend, and soul mate is the most powerful influence in my life and my stories."
  
Visit Elaine at Goodreads, or her website. And you can follow her on Facebook and Twitter. 

Book Review - Restoration by Elaine Walsh

Restoration
Elaine Walsh
Print Length: 333 pages
Page Numbers Source ISBN: 0985566337
Publisher: Barks Out Loud (September 15, 2013)
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
Language: English
ASIN: B00F82A59G

The tagline for this book reads:  "When your life is shattered you can live damaged or choose to repair it." That is a fitting tagline, and the story tells how Tess Olsen chooses to repair hers, which was broken when her mother abandoned the family to marry a convicted killer. The author made a clever choice in giving Tess a job as an art restorer. There is a parallel between the meticulous care that has to be taken in restoring great works of art and the care it takes to put one's life on the right path.

Tess believes that the execution of Randall Wright will erase him and his influence from her life and then everything will be okay. It is in her reluctant sharing of feelings with Francesca, a co-worker, and Ben, the man she could love if she would allow, that she realizes it is not that simple. She is the one who has to wipe Randall Wright from her life, not the justice system or anyone else.

When the story opens, Tess is working in New York and has just met Ben. She has avoided any contact with her mother and is alarmed when her mother calls. At first the reader does not know why. And Tess's fear of Wright seems a bit off to me. Why is she so afraid of him? That question is answered later in the story, but I would have liked some hint of what he had done to terrorize her a bit earlier. I understood the emotional devastation of having her mother abandon her, but I didn't know why she was hiding from her mother and Randall Wright. He was in prison so he couldn't hurt her. That confusion was cleared up when I found out what he did to the artwork her mother made her create for him when Tess was much younger.

Because of her fear and her pain, Tess keeps herself emotionally detached from her co-workers and others she meets, and there is an emotional detachment to much of the narrative, reflecting that disconnect. Again a nice parallel in the writing; one that worked well on most levels, but I was hoping that when Tess was alone, thinking about all the trauma she had experienced, we might have been privy to whatever emotion she was feeling in private. Since readers and characters connect through emotions, that would have helped me care more about Tess. Not that I didn't care. I just didn't want her to be quite so distant.

Still, those minor issues I had were not significant enough to keep me from enjoying the book. There was much to like, including the supporting cast of characters who were all deftly presented. I particularly liked Francesca, Tess's mentor at the studio. Francesca helps Tess sort out her feelings for Ben, the New York Times art critic, who challenges Tess to step into a real relationship. That prospect scares Tess, as she is more comfortable with men like Kenyon LeMere, an artist who is more interested in sex and isn't afraid to show that preference to the world in his paintings. When Tess first meets him they parry about his rumored affairs and he says, "It's true that I love what I paint, and sometimes I paint who I love."

She counters, "Those with many partners love what they're doing, not who they're doing it with."

That was an interesting observation on her part, since her relationships up to this point involved many partners with no emotional entanglements, but it was a sign that she was starting that emotional shift that needed to happen. The exchange is also an example of some of the terrific dialogue in the book. It was all so real and natural, I enjoyed listening to these people talk.


Overall this is a good read, and I was cheering Tess on as she restored herself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elaine Walsh will be my guest on Wednesday with a post about a visit to McDonald's. Please do come back and make her feel welcome. Maybe we can all get a McCoffee, but don't tell the folks who own the local coffee shop. I do get my latte fix at their place most of the time. (smile)

Just Having Some Fun

Since I didn't want the Halloween post to just sit there for days, I decided to resurrect an older post that I did four years ago that is just a bit of fun. Keep in mind that those grandchildren are now older, as are my children, and, gasp, so am I. Enjoy....

On a recent visit with my grandchildren, I noticed a pattern of behavior that is apparently passed from generation to generation like the balding gene. My oldest granddaughter had been given a chore to do, as was her younger brother, and she spent more time policing him than folding the clothes.

Watching the push-pull between them, I was instantly transported back to when the same kinds of scenes played out between my children.

Courtesy of www.momlogic.com

If I told Anjanette to empty the dishwasher, she would feel this compulsion to hound David to take care of the trash. Then if I'd tell David to clean up his room, he'd waste more time trying to recruit Michael's help than he actually spent in his room.

And I can remember being so frustrated when I'd tell one kid to do something, then hear him in the other room telling the other kids, "Mom told us to clean up the den."

Usually I tried to rise above some infantile level of response, but sometimes their behavior was contagious. I'd run into the den screaming, "I did not!"

Another common occurrence was for one of the kids to rush through his job and instead of making sure it was done right, he'd run to check on the other guy. Then he'd come to me with a smug expression to report that so-and-so didn't clean the bathroom right. He was crushed when my response was, "Well, you didn't do such a hot job in the kitchen, either."

I'm sure he expected nothing less than the total annihilation of that brother.

According to psychologists, this behavior is very normal among family members, and it does carry some fancy label. But we mothers recognize it as "pecking order." If you pay real close attention, it goes from older to younger much more often than from younger to older. And I've always felt a little sorry for the youngest in a family. There's no one left to "peck" on.

My grandson solved that problem by ordering the dog around for a while. It did seem to give him some satisfaction to "make" Arthur pick up his ball, and I wonder what kids do if they don't have a pet?