Do Something that Scares You - by Barbara Baker

I'm sure you've heard the expression "do one thing every day that scares you." The quotation is often misattributed to Eleanor Roosevelt who said, "you gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face." Although her quote is lengthy, it doesn't sound as flippant as running around doing scary shit every day just because.

A few weeks ago, my adventure on Shuswap Lake became my scary event that will last for months. 

The first night out, I relax and float around. I’m a huge fan of bathtub warm water and lake is ideal. My life jacket is snug. The lake is calm. And I’m with friends who abide by my ‘no splashing’ rule. Life is perfect as the sun sets on Copper Island.

The next day a new water toy to pull behind the boat comes out. The guys watch a few YouTube videos of a teenager doing handstands and spins on the water disc. They grin and say he makes it look easy.

Fastening my life jacket up tighter than usual, I lower myself onto the disc, get on my stomach and grab the two handles in the middle. I rock side to side. Feels stable. I stick an arm straight down into the water to see when it gets cold. It's warm right up to my elbow. Works for me. I’ll just stay on top. 

With my thumbs up gesture, the boat moves forward, and the rope tightens. The guys say the boat shouldn’t go faster than 15 km/hour. Heck, I go faster than that when I’m biking downhill.

Once I’m skipping across the wake, I loosen my grip on the handles. The tension is less than water skiing. Nice. I scootch my legs up and wiggle around until I’m sitting. When I let go of both handles, I still stay on the disc. Easy-peasy. Feeling like a rock star I wave at my friends on the boat.

 Now I just have to stand up. 

I get into a crouching position. Almost there. I lift one leg up and move it forward. My foot steps over the centre line and the front of the disc tips down. Darn it. I know what’s coming but I try to shift my weight back in hopes I can compensate and counterbalance. Not a chance. My rock star status (with me right behind) fly over the front of the disc and I torpedo headfirst through the warm water into the cold. 

 

With lips shut tight (to keep the minnows out) I thrash my arms above my head to find the surface. When I pop out, water gushes out my nostrils. Hair clings to my face. Holding my chin up, I gasp a few good breaths and pat my life jacket. It performed well.

The expressions of the people at the back of the boat indicate I performed an awesome wipeout. If getting up and standing on the disc had to be unsuccessful, it’s good to know I can amuse people.

I wait for the boat to circle around and pick me up. After drying off, I assume a more relaxing position on the deck and watch the scenery pass by. So much for doing scary shit just because. 

 

With only a few weeks of summer left, have a few adventures everyone. If you try something scary, stay safe, and don’t be afraid to look fear in the face - even if you end up getting wet.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

Hockey Night in Canada Somewhere – by Barbara Baker

 

My seven-year-old grandson, Wyatt, loves to play hockey. As a gramma, who played on the Banff girl’s team fifty years ago, I got up the courage to play shinny with him and his dad. I felt naked without the hockey padding but tightened my helmet and stepped onto the ice.

The puck ricocheted off the boards and the slap of the sticks echoed off the mountains.

“Gramma scored,” my son-in-law shouted.

“Off course she did.” Wyatt tapped his stick on the ice. “She was on a hockey team a long time ago.”

Out of the mouths of babes. My heart melted.

Memories of playing hockey as a teenager flooded back. In the mid 70s two of my high school teachers started a girl’s team and enrolled us in the Minor Hockey League.

We had many obstacles to overcome before our first game:

-    learning the rules (important)

-    learning to skate on hockey skates instead of figure skates (challenging)

-    the art of stick handling, passing without losing the puck, and skating fast (equally challenging)

-    there were no funds to buy team jackets (minor detail – we knit toques for everyone)

There was a wide range of athletic abilities amongst us, but we were determined. Not even the 6 AM Sunday morning ice times deterred us.

(top row 3^rd from the left)

We surpassed all our obstacles and our first game was against Jasper.

The game started. They skated fast. They deeked and passed and zipped up and down the ice like super stars. But we kept up. And then there was a bam. Our centre got slammed into the boards.

I stood in the box with my mouth open. My teammates wore similar expressions. Our coaches - speechless.

What the hell? We all looked at the ref. Nothing. He did nothing.

I watched our player lean against the boards and pull herself up. When my line went out I took my spot – left forward. Skate fast. Pass. Stay out of their way. That was my strategy.

I flew down the ice (it’s my memory, I can go as fast as I want). Just as I went to pass to a teammate, I felt a thunk. The next instant I was on my back looking at the overhead lighting.

I rolled over, got up on my knees and blinked. That hurt. A lot.

“It’s a long way from the heart,” Coach shouted. “Get up.” They were the exact words I needed to hear to stop the tears.

We lost 13 – 0. We should have been devastated but we weren’t. We were just thankful we could all still walk.

From then on, our practices involved: how to check, how to take a check, how to avoid a check.

Fast forward to our next game against Jasper. We lost 4-0 but we were all proud of our defeat. We hadn’t been thumped.

Our final game against Jasper was the Easter Tournament in Banff. In the first period there was a battle of sticks in front of their net. And then the red light went on. The red light!

We scored a goal.

It felt like the whole team scored that goal. And it was the only goal of the game. A shutout our coaches talked about for years. We were victorious.

           Now back to the goal I scored while playing hockey with my sweet grandson and my son-in-law.

  

Who am I to tell Wyatt the goal I scored was not intentional? I’d merely leaned on my stick to stop from toppling over after turning too fast. My stick hit the ice just in time for the puck to deflect off it and into the net. Almost like I planned it. But I didn't tell him any of that. I'll let him think I'm a super star for a bit longer. 

 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

 

He’s Determined to Ski Again – Barbara Baker

 

In 1937, when Dad was five-years-old, he learned to ski in his hometown, Partenkirchen, Germany. His first pair of skis were handmade. 

Years later when he started racing, he crashed while training and broke his femur. He said it was hours before ski patrollers found him because he’d flown off the course and into the trees.

While he was in the hospital, with his leg in traction and strapped to a sky hook, bombs shook the building. Nurses ran through the ward shouting for patients to get under their beds. Dad laughs when he tells the story and says all he could do was put a pillow over his head.

Dad has skied all his life but took a two-year hiatus when he was 88 years old so he could have a long-over-due knee replacement. After the surgery, he exercised. He walked. He exercised some more. He was determined to ski again.

On January 10, 2023, we arrived at the Mt. Norquay ski resort, outside of Banff, well before the lifts opened. I forced myself to slow down - my walking, my talking (I can be a chatterbox). I wanted to focus on Dad and be helpful without him asking.

Boots on, skis on, poles in hand, we headed to the beginner hill. I stayed beside him as he tested out sliding and then climbing up the slope. Each time he climbed a bit higher.

Snow plow turns first. Then the stem christie maneuver. The parallel turns proved to be trickier. Dad’s new knee worked just fine and the leg slid nicely into place. But the old knee, which was used to being in charge for decades, was pushy and uncooperative. It rushed ahead of the uphill ski and Dad would have to stop to reposition himself.

After a few equipment adjustments and more practice, Dad was ready to go up the lift.

“Can you ask the liftie to slow it down?” he said as we got our tickets scanned at the Cascade chairlift.

I took a breath and gave a silent prayer to whomever was listening.

“Can you please slow it down,” I said to the lift operator. “He’s ninety. Testing out his new knee.”

“No problem,” the Aussie accented girl replied. “Just wave to the operator at the top and he’ll slow it down again for you to get off.”

“Perfect.”

The chair swung around and scooped us up. Dad scanned the run. He was quiet. So was I. As we got to the last tower I waved at the guy in the hut. He flagged a thumbs up. I nodded.

“I don’t know if I can stand,” Dad said.

I moved right next to him and squeezed his bicep. “I’ll just shuck you off if you can’t get up.”

He laughed. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

 After an uneventful exit we stood at the top and looked down the run. Dad nodded and slid his skis back and forth. Away he went. Again, I held my breath and followed but not too close. I didn’t want to rush him.

It took a few runs but soon his perfect parallel turns, quiet body and graceful carving cut across and down the slope.

The smile on his face, the sweat dripping down his cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes made all my fears and angst melt away.

He did it. Dad skied again.

Watch Dad ski again:  Dad Skiing Again - 90 years young - YouTube

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

Book Signing – I’m scared, maybe terrified – Barbara Baker

 

The book signing takes place January 14, 2023 at Owl’s Nest Books in Calgary, Alberta. Please come.

When my first novel, SUMMER OF LIES, was released, COVID was shaking up the world. People met on Zoom, Facetime or Messenger. No public gatherings allowed. I must admit, I was okay with that. Talking to real people in real time about my book scared me.

But now that WHAT ABOUT ME? has been released in a less restrictive COVID environment, I will be at my first book signing. In public. With those real people.

The logistics are taken care of. I have chocolates, a small poster, my favourite pen, a selection of colourful sticky notes and a bottle of hand-sanitizer. To be prepared, I Googled Everything I Need to Know about Book Signings. A few articles disagree with each other but spelling the person’s name correctly in the book, bringing your favourite pen and smiling were consistent throughout.

But here’s my problem. I’m an introvert. Stop laughing! I am. Honest. Yes, I can talk the ear off an elephant if need be and can converse with mammogram technicians like nothing is amiss, but when someone asks about my writing, I force my eyes not to dart around in search of an exit. And my mouth - well all the words it knows reaches the exit before I do.

I’m thankful that, in seconds, I can redirect the conversation - possibly mention grandkids. I have six of them and numerous tales of their antics. Or there’s my 90-year-old dad. He’s super interesting and I have a lifetime of stories to share about him.

When I attended my first writers’ retreat in 2009, I realized my hesitation to discuss my writing with strangers. At the introduction supper I sat at a large round table. There was constant chatter about agents and publishers and editing techniques. 

I was in awe of their writerly worldliness right up until someone asked me what I was working on. With my fork, I lifted a piece of lettuce from my plate and said, “do you think the dressing is raspberry vinaigrette?” Yes, I dodged that bullet! And I still deflect those conversations.

Why?

I wish I knew. Book reviews have been good. Emails and notes say readers enjoyed my novels. So why can’t I promote them? Do I have Imposter Syndrome? Maybe?

Today I blame the problem on my lack of sales skills. People say being good at sales is an art - just like writing. And it takes practice. Since I’m at the bottom of the ‘art of sales’ learning curve, I will take all suggestions on how to have a successful book signing.

In the meantime, I ask myself, what if no one shows up? Do I eat the chocolates? Do I cry? Do I cry first and then eat the chocolates?

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

What Happens Next? By Barbara Baker

Baker, Barbara - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

After the release of What About Me? I panic. Do I need to post another ad on social media? Or have I done enough? Do stories and reels attract more viewer traffic than posts? Is Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram sufficient? Should I try Pinterest or Booktok? Don’t get me going about hashtags. There are so many to choose from. How and when do you know if any of them work? With my first novel, book trailers were in. This time round, they’re old school. It’s hard to keep up with the trends.

I don’t want people to stop following me because they’re tired of hearing about my new release, so I resist all of the above and post a picture on Facebook of a pelican coming in for a rough landing.

Even Google waffles about which is the best approach to increase sales. Have you found the right way to get your book more exposure?  And, as if advertising isn’t frustrating enough, checking views, likes and comments becomes addictive and my thumb aches from scrolling.

I move on to counting down the days until I can check my book reviews. So I don’t drive myself (and my husband) bonkers about what readers are saying, I only check reviews on the 17^th of the month. I embrace my vacuum and give the floors a good workout if I’m tempted to peek earlier than said date.

Yes, I realize readers have a life. And when they get to the end of a book, they carry on with that life. Most readers never leave reviews. If they only knew how much they meant to authors, my vacuum wouldn’t be so exhausted and I wouldn’t cringe when I ask them to post a review (the reader, not my vacuum).

When I’m done fretting about what’s next and the fact the 17^th of the month is still a week away, a different worry sneaks in. Can I write another story about Jillian and her adventures in Banff? If so, what will be the crack in her world that makes the story unfold?

As I insert a fresh cartridge in my favourite pen and grab a brand-new notebook, words from an editor replay in my head. “You need to be a more prolific writer. You need to get out of Banff and find new characters.” I look up prolific - producing much fruit or foliage or many offspring. I must have picked the wrong definition. I'm done having kids. Grandkids are way more fun.

A tarot card reader told me “Stop playing it safe. Write what you really want to write about.” What the heck does that mean? Is it a coy way of saying get out of Banff? Ditch Jillian? Who are these people and why do they insist on taking up space in my head? They certainly aren’t paying rent and they bring on a wave of imposter syndrome.

Should I even write another book?

The perfect solution to all these chaotic thoughts about writing – a colourful fall road trip. Maybe Jillian will tag along. Maybe she’ll meet someone new and start an adventure somewhere else. Or maybe she’ll only come for a mini-vacation and return to Banff after all. Regardless, road trips inspire me. And yes, I realize I’m procrastinating but is that a bad thing?

For all those celebrating Thanksgiving, have a fabulous feast and enjoy the fall colours. In Calgary we haven't had snow yet and there's none in the forecast. Although I already have my ski pass purchased, I'm loving the unseasonably warm weather. I hope you are too.

  

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

What About Me? | Universal Book Links Help You Find Books at Your Favorite Store! (books2read.com)

Road Trip by Barbara Baker

Going to Lethbridge, Alberta. Those familiar with Alberta geography might say ‘why’. Others might suggest putting rocks in my pocket. Both are valid statements.

First stop, Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump - a UNESCO World Heritage site west of Fort MacLeod. The site preserves and interprets over 6,000 years of Blackfoot culture. According to the legend, a young boy wanted to see what it looked like when buffalo fell over the cliff. After the carcasses were removed, they found the boy’s body. The buffalo piled so high they smashed his head into the face of the cliff.

As I read the plaques along the trail, I try to imagine what the first buffaloes felt when they realized going over the cliff was inevitable. Or would a buffalo realize their demise was imminent?

The views across the plains are endless to the east and west. The lemon-yellow buffalo bean leans in the breeze and mixes with the wild rose scent as the landscape runs into the snow-covered Rockies.

After a quick lunch stop, we head for our destination. Lucky for me, there is road construction outside Lethbridge and it’s at the best vantage point for a picture of the train trestle referred to as the High Level Bridge. I jump out of the car, dash to the edge of the ridge, snap a few pictures and am back in my seat before the flag person waves us on.

I came here to learn about fossils. As a newbie rockhound with a ‘still shiny’ rock hammer, I’m keen to have fossil names roll off my tongue. If they didn’t have so many syllables it would be a lot easier – Brachiopoda, Articulata, Pachyrhinosaurus. I can remember red rock is pomegranates, but it took me a few times to realize ‘never take me for granite’ is rockhound humour. Also…faults, plates and shifts sound impressive if I could just remember the right sequence which creates the seam I stand on.

The specific type of rock I want to find is called Ammonite. To be honest, unless it’s stamped on the rock ‘I’M AN AMMONITE’, I’m not sure I’d recognize a fossil. But I love being outside and like shiny things so I’m game to see what I can find.

            Spring run off hasn’t started which makes it easy to walk along the wide banks of the Oldman River. With safety glasses on, I smash rock in the bank and watch it crumble. Nothing. I crack boulders as a pair of adult geese and 18 goslings float by. They make me thankful I only have three kids.

Bald eagles scout out their next meal as I roll stones over.

Trails run up the banks and into the river valley. A couple mountain bikes zip by. A fisherman with the biggest smile waves a large whitefish at us. More rock smashing and then around the corner, I see a cliff. Even in my newbie rockhound status, I can tell the layers in the face are different. Too bad it’s across the river. Apparently, people have found shark teeth in the sediment.

I did not find any Ammonites but am pleased with the lava rock (almost light as a feather) and worm fossils I uncovered. A fun and educational road trip with great food along the way and, of course, red wine.

Where are you going? If you could go anywhere, where would you end up?

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

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Kindness Never Wasted

coming in April!

shortlisted for Laramie and Chatelaine Awards!

Find My books here

Located in the middle of the St. Lawrence River lies the island Grosse Isle. It was once the main point of entry for immigrants coming to Canada. On the island was a quarantine station. The year 1847 (“Black ’47”) was the worst year of the Irish Great Hunger, brought in approximately 110,000 migrants to Canada. Nearly 90,000 landed at Grosse Isle. 

An Irish Farewell, 1840

About one out of every six migrants did not make it through that year. They died in the filthy holds of “coffin ships,” in crowded tents on the quarantine islands or in port cities. Most succumbed to typhus.

newspaper account

By year’s end, thousands of children had become orphans. No one is sure of the exact number as many were informally placed out and left no trace in the records. 

Over half the orphans were placed with French Canadian families, many in the countryside. Some were treated merely as farm hands. But some of the adoptive parents were self-sacrificing and expressed love and respect while they urged the children to keep their Irish surnames and preserve their Irish heritage. The descendants of these Irish Canadians have become accomplished in many walks of life. They include artists and musicians, politicians, writers and scientists.

memorial to the fallen on Grosse Isle

My friend Paulinus Healy, chaplain of the Toronto Airport, first told me the infinitely sad story of the fallen of Grosse Isle and the wonderfully redemptive one of the French Canadian families who took the orphans into their homes and hearts. “You’ll write about it some day, “ Paulinus predicted.  I have in my April 2020 historical novel, Mercies of the Fallen.  Sergeant Rowan Buckley is a Grosse Isle orphan taken in by three French Canadian sisters. When the American Civil War breaks out, he decides to head south with his neighbor, a former slave, to join the Union army.

I hope I have captured the character of fallen people, who, if shown kindness, return mercy to the world exponentially.

PS -- As February is romance month, Books We Love authors are offering excerpts from their contemporary romances, romantic suspense and paranormal romances on the BWL free reading club. Check it out and join today at https://www.facebook.com/groups/BooksWeLovebookclub/