Book Review - The Butterfly Storm by Kate Frost

The Butterfly Storm
Kate Frost
Format: Kindle Edition
File Size: 451 KB
Publisher: Lemon Tree Press (5 Jun 2013)
Sold by: Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
Language: English
ASIN: B00D8NMGNA

This is somewhat of a coming-of-age story even though the protagonist is not a young teen learning how to be an adult. Sophie is in her late twenties, but in a way she, too, must come into full maturity. She has left England to be with her boyfriend in Greece, thinking that move would make her happy. It does in some ways, but when it becomes clear that Alekos is torn between the demands of his mother and Sophie's needs, Sophie slowly becomes disenchanted with the whole fantasy of moving to the romantic setting and living happily ever after.

It doesn't help that Sophie has had a love/hate relationship with her mother - or mum in British vernacular. Sophie has left on bad terms with her mum and is not sure if they will ever smooth things over. That becomes a bigger challenge when her mother, Lelia, is injured in an accident and Sophie returns home to help, if her mother will have her.

Sorting out life's complexities is never easy for anyone, and Sophie is not spared as the challenges mount chapter after chapter. I don't want to give anything away, so I will let new readers be as surprised as I was at some of the turns the story takes.

There were some things that I absolutely loved about this book. The descriptions of the places Sophie went were so well done that I was always there with her. The cultural differences between Greece, England, and what I am familiar with here in the States, were also very interesting and sometimes amusing.

I also enjoyed the thawing of the ice between Sophie and her mum, and that was one of the best parts of the storyline - too see them both take baby steps toward each other instead of pushing away, which had been their pattern up to this point. In my opinion, this is when the story really took off, and the book became much more enjoyable to me. The new characters who were introduced were more likable than some of those in Greece, including Alekos who was too immature and weak willed to be the man Sophie needed.

The story structure seemed a little off balance to me, with the first part of the story when Sophie was in Greece taking too much space with scenes that were at times repetitious and other times not directly relating to the point of the story. It wasn't until well into the book that I got a sense of what Sophie's quest was really about.

Also a little off to me was Sophie's interest in Ben. This is the second book I have read recently that had a protagonist who was in a committed relationship, yet seriously entertained the idea of having sex with another person. That bothers me. Perhaps because I am of a generation that does not view sex the way young people do today - something I want, so why not? Even though other readers may not take issue with that plot point, it did make it harder for me to fully embrace Sophie as a character.

However, I decided to treat Sophie like I do my own children and separate how I felt about the behavior from how I felt about the person. That did make it easier for me to stay with her until the conclusion, which was very satisfactory. but again, I will let other readers find out what happens to Sophie on their own. No spoilers here. (smile)

Monday Morning Musings

First, I want to thank everyone who has bought copies of One Small Victory this month for their Kindles. The book has become quite popular, and I am so thrilled that Jenny's story is getting read by so many people.

Today I am blogging on All Day, All Night Romance Divas about the tools writers use and how they have evolved. Stop on by if you get a chance. 

I spent most of the weekend unconnected from the Internet and even the news. It was kind of strange as I am seldom totally disconneced. Even when I am on vacation, I will check e-mail and get news online or on television, but I didn't do that this weekend. Wasn't on Facebook or Twitter either. So I don't have much to muse about.

However, I did read something interesting in the Saturday newspaper. It was in the advice column written by Carolyn Hax in response to a woman who wanted to know what to do when one partner in a marriage feels like they are doing all the heavy lifting. Carolyn encouraged the woman to have a frank discussion with her husband about what needs to be done to maintain the home and see what he is willing to do to help. She also encouraged the woman to  review her expectations and perhaps lower the bar. Carolyn concluded by writing:

There comes a point when standing up for yourself fails, when saying how you feel about it fails, when doing everything in angry silence fails, when doing your own cooking, laundry and dishes fails, and that point is when the marriage fails. Best to bring in the disaster team before your anger at the unfairness swallows up all the love."

I think we have all been there at some point, whether it be in a marriage or some other relationship. I can remember being angry with my siblings when I thought they were getting away with not doing their chores and my parents were all over me like hot tar. There were many moments when my anger over something my kids did, or didn't do, clouded my memory of the joy I felt when they were born. And there have been plenty of times I have been angry at my husband and that anger crowded out any feeling of love.

A long time ago, I learned something that helps me when the anger wants to dominate. Love is a decision. We can separate and protect that loving part of our relationships from the things that make us angry. It's part of unconditional love. You can make me so angry that I want to throttle you, but I can still love you if I choose. And it's funny, the more I choose, the less those other issues seem to matter.

How do you deal with the anger issues in your relationships? 

Lasting Relationships

Sorry to disappoint everyone who popped over to read Friday's Odds & Ends, but today is our wedding anniversary. I thought readers might enjoy finding out what has kept us together for 45 years. The following is another excerpt from my humorous memoir, A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck. While most of that book is humorous, now and then I get serious about families and the ties that bind. Enjoy....

The year we celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary was special to me because that was the year I had spent exactly half of my life married to Carl. Sometimes I had a hard time remembering what my life was before this marriage. Fragments of memory would come back in little flashes, like quick freeze frames, but they seemed to have less to do with who I was then, than what began on our wedding day.

I can vividly remember the fantasy I had about us in those early years. We would be the perfect couple. Have perfect children. A perfect home. I would become a rich and famous author, which would put us in the public spotlight, and people all over the world would marvel about how great we were.

When I fantasize, I don’t fool around.

Obviously, the fantasy was just that, but reality hasn’t been all that disappointing. We have longevity to our relationship and that is noteworthy. We have a great family. 

Who wants perfect, anyway? 

We did more than survive those first 22 years – and the years since. We lived and loved and laughed and cried and grew together.

In light of that accomplishment, I wonder if there is some kind of secret to it all, and after careful consideration, I think the answer is “yes” and “no” and “maybe.”

Yes, because when we married Carl and I made a commitment to each other. A commitment we decided to honor even when things got rough. A commitment that kept us in the same house even when we couldn’t stand being in the same room together. And a commitment that made us dig in and work to make things better when it looked like it was all falling apart.

No, because the secret isn’t really a secret. Every married couple voices the same vow on their wedding day and we are not the only ones who continue to honor it.

Yet, maybe there is some magic to our particular blend of single-mindedness and determination. What used to be his strength and my strength became our strength and kept us from ever considering an alternative. For the most part, it also kept us from evaluating our relationship according to modern standards. We never had “his and her” towels or “his and her” rights and responsibilities. When we’ve found ourselves asking, “What am I getting out of this relationship?” the answer usually becomes “what am I giving?” And we’ve tried to focus on acceptance and understanding instead of expecting and demanding.

Of course, we haven’t always lived out those ideals. But ideals are a lot like virtue. Just because a person has the virtue of patience doesn’t mean she can’t scream now and then. 

One of the articles I wrote for a national magazine, Marriage & Family Living, dealt with staying committed in a marriage. I decided to ask some dear friends who were like foster parents to me, to share the secret of their 50 + years together. He considered my question for a moment then said, “Well, the way I see it. It’s like getting into a boat together to cross the lake. As long as you are both paddling  with the same effort, you will get across to the other side.”

"And if one of those someones can’t row anymore?"

"Then the other person has to row harder."

Swimming Does Count as Bathing

Since school will be ending soon for summer vacation I thought this excerpt from my memoir, A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck, most appropriate. This is from the chapter titled: Summertime Blues, Swimming Does Count as Bathing. Enjoy....


Once all the kids were in school full time, summer time took on a whole new dimension. When they were all little and underfoot, seasons streamed one into the other without much impact on family life. We continued doing what we always do, just changed clothes to suit the weather.

That all changed when the kids were all gone for most of the day during the school year, then suddenly, summertime came and there they all were, cluttering up the house. Every last one of them. Every day. All day.

Often, as the end of the school year drew near and I looked ahead to the days of summer vacation stretching endlessly before me, I had a feeling of impending doom. Maybe that was because we usually failed miserably on the first day of summer vacations. Sort of like time trials in car racing. If you make it through without a mishap, you've got a chance at the race.

I would barely make it through the first two hours of:

"I've been waiting all winter to watch this show. You can watch your dumb show tomorrow."

"That's not fair! You can't watch TV anyway. You didn't do your work."

"What are you? The resident policeman?"

"I'm just trying to help. Keep things running smoothly so Mom won't get upset."

Meanwhile I was in the other room suffering from terminal motherhood, expecting all the fuses to blow any second. I had visions of that kid walking through the entire summer in a black and white striped shirt with a whistle in his mouth.

Maybe I should have just let him have a go at it.

As the fight over the TV would increase in tempo and volume, I would have definite impulses to do violence of some sort. And just in case that went beyond the impulse state, I had a defense plan prepared.

By reasons of insanity: "Your Honor, no one in their right mind would ever throw a toaster at their own television without provocation."

Things went steadily downhill from there, and I questioned whether I would make it another day. Already I had laryngitis and I think I ruptured something in my throat. God wouldn't do this to me, would He? He wouldn't expect me to stumble through the summer without a voice to yell with?

I might have made it through that first day by sheer force of determination, if it hadn't been for this little kid who kept following me around asking me when we were leaving on summer vacation.

"We are on summer vacation!"

"No we're not! Vacation is going somewhere, and we're not going anywhere."

I wonder if a one way ticket on the next space shuttle fits the criteria of "going somewhere?"

Taking a Break

The following is another excerpt from my humorous memoir, A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck. So far, I haven't found an agent who loves it yet. Close, but not close enough. Sent another query out yesterday. Enjoy...

I remember a phone call we got from our son once. It was about a year after his first child had been born, and he called to tell us that his wife had gone to visit relatives for a few days and had taken their baby. So he was alone in the house - except for the dogs - for the first time since the baby arrived in their lives.

He sounded a little wistful as he talked about missing the normal routine of feeding, bathing, and entertaining his baby girl. Without his family at the house, he didn't know what to do when he came home from work, so he threw the ball for the dogs, but that diversion only lasted a few minutes. They are old and play time is very brief now.

But he also sounded - did he dare even say the word - free. He mentioned going out with a friend the night before and having a beer, also mentioning that he couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. Then in case we misunderstood the thrill in his voice, he quickly clarified that he's not entertaining thoughts of abandoning family responsibilities for nights out with the boys. It just felt good to revisit his carefree youth when he didn't have to worry about who might be worrying if he didn't come home at a reasonable hour.

I understood completely. When my husband traveled for business, I occasionally welcomed a brief respite from all that it means to have another person to defer to. If I didn't feel like cooking a regular meal, I could get by with soup and sandwiches for the kids. That was definitely not my husband's idea of a meal. I could read in bed at night for as long as I wanted without worrying whether my light was bothering him. And I could soak in the tub until I turned into a prune without holding up anybody's shower.

That didn't mean I didn't love my husband and enjoy his company. It was just nice to be alone now and then. And when I was finally able to say that to him, he admitted that those short business trips were like a vacation for him, too. He could actually watch an entire television program without some kid bounding through the room in hot pursuit of the brother who punched him for no reason.

I actually think those brief 'vacations' from regular family life can strengthen a relationship. When my husband returned from a trip were thrilled to be together again. Now he could fix all the things that broke while he was gone and I could practice my cooking again.

Across the Great Divide...

... between men and women. More fun from my friend, Tracy Farr. And men wonder why we sometimes get in a snit.... Enjoy...

I would get up and do something, but everything’s done

So here I am, sitting on the couch on a lazy Saturday afternoon, thinking I really should get up and do something, or fix something, or paint something, but I can’t make up my mind what I should do, fix or paint.

And it doesn’t help that my wife is scurrying around trying to organize the magazines that will only get unorganized in a week or two. And I think she may even be doing a little bit of dusting.

It’s not every day I find myself with nothing to do, but it does happen. Mostly I take care of my goats, practice banjo a bit, I may fix myself a cup of coffee or maybe a bowl of ice cream, but there’s always something to do – except for today. Today my slate is clean, my page is blank, my To Do List is done and I have absolutely nothing on the agenda.

Okay, now she wants me to help her decide which magazines to keep and which ones to throw out. If she could just push that stack over here next to the couch, maybe I could help her, but she wants me to come over there – at a time when I’m putting enormous amounts of thought into figuring out what I need to do today, and I really should…

The truck. I need to check the oil in the truck. I don’t think it’s low or anything, but I did notice an oil leak on the ground the other day as I was pulling away from Wal-mart. But then again, that could have been someone else’s oil leak. In fact, I’m sure it was. And I’d hate to go check the oil now, considering the ground is all muddy, which means my feet would get all muddy, and I wouldn’t want to track a lot of dirt through the house, seeing that my wife is now vacuuming.

Boy, that vacuum cleaner is loud. It’s hard to get some good quality thinking done with all that racket going on. And she pushes that thing like there’s a time limit; like she put in her last quarter, and once that quarter runs out, she can’t do anymore. I mean she’s really working up a sweat. I wonder if she’s vacuuming like that to get her daily exercise in, instead of going to some gym or something. Well, I guess I might have to move, because I really need to figure out what I’m going to do.

Wait a minute, I remember – I was going to fix the leak under the house today. It’s not a bad leak, just some PVC that’s come apart, letting all the water from the washing machine flow out into our front yard. I went under the house about a month ago, saw that the pipes might come apart soon if I didn’t fix it, but I didn’t, because it looked like it would last a few more weeks. But now there’s water everywhere, and I would get under the house to repair it, but it’s too cold, and getting under the house during the winter is really nasty. I think it can wait until May, or maybe June. Water is good for the grass, anyway, so it can’t hurt too much.

Okay, she’s finished vacuuming, but now what is she doing? Ah, dishes. I thought about doing the dishes, but since our dishwasher is broken and we have to do them by hand, and I hate doing them by hand, I didn’t do them. I guess I’ll get back to washing dishes when I get around to calling the repairman, but this is the weekend and I doubt repair shops are even open.

Who wants to work on a weekend, anyways? I know I don’t. I much prefer sitting on this couch, maybe watching a movie or two, because I work hard during the week and I think that maybe I deserve some downtime. Some good quality, pick my feet off the floor, downtime. And I wish she’d stop flitting around doing all that work because she’s making me feel just a wee bit guilty that I don’t have anything to do and she’s…

She’s taking out the garbage. Big bags. Right out the front door, down the steps, through the mud, and it’s still a bit chilly outside, but she’s doing it anyway. I guess I could open the door for her when she…

Oh well, she’s already back inside. She doesn’t look happy. I wonder why?

--------------

Tracy Farr lives in East Texas with his wife, three children and some goats. To read more of his stories, visit his Web site

More Nonsense From My Latest Book

Back in June I started posting excerpts from my new book , which is a humorous memoir titled A Dead Tomato Plant and A Paycheck. This latest installment is from the chapter tentatively titled, The Silly Things We Do. A couple of weeks ago, I "told" on a friend, so this time I decided to "tell" on myself....

While I may not be the brightest intellectual around, I’ve always considered myself intelligent, educated, and capable. As a parent, I’ve handled situations that call for ingenuity, like explaining to a five-year-old what keeps the moon up in the sky -- l told her God glued it up there and figured her teacher could explain all that scientific stuff after she got to school -- and talking my way out of hosting a slumber party for15 young teenage girls.

The fact that I even survived raising the twins speaks for itself.

So, I wonder. Why is it that I can't open a simple "easy to open" package? I faced the most demanding jobs of motherhood from potty training to summer vacation, but I m reduced to being a 97-pound weakling at the sight of "press here and pull back along dotted line."

The last time I opened a box of detergent, I had to get a hammer and chisel, and I ended up with soap powder all over the floor and a smashed thumb. It was not a pretty sight, nor did pretty sounds come out of my mouth.

Considering the highly technological society we live in, along with truth in advertising, shouldn't an easy-open package be just that? We shouldn't have to wrestle our way through boxes of cereal and individually-wrapped cheese slices. We shouldn't have to gnaw our way through potato chip bags or get tennis elbow from opening jars of peanut butter. We shouldn't have to ask the same kid who gave us the blinding headache to open the bottle of aspirin so we can ease said headache. And we shouldn't have to visit the local blacksmith with our canned ham.

Once when I was particularly frustrated – and my husband has the nerve to ask when WASN’T I particularly frustrated – I wrote a polite letter to one manufacturing company explaining that I didn't find their "easy to open" package all that easy. Their response dearly indicated that they didn't care about consumer relations and the letter started out as a typical PR piece about their product. Then it went on to explain that the packaging had undergone extensive testing before being released on the market, and even a monkey could open it.

Now, I ask you. Was that an insult, or do they really expect me to make a trip to the zoo every time I want to open a bag of chips?