Christmas ~ Endings and Beginnings by Nancy M Bell

 

If you're still looking for Christmas presents all my books are available as ebooks so you don't need to worry about Canada Post and their striking workers. Just click on the image above and it will take you to my page where you can order from your preferred distributor. 

Christmas will be here in just a few days. The season means so many different things to so many people. When I was a kid it was all about waiting for the Simpson-Sears and Eatons Christmas catalogues to arrive. Then my sister and I would go through both of them marking what we wanted (or wished for) to see under the tree on Christmas morning. Of course, there were always the 'big' things we wanted that were far beyond my parent's budget, but it was fun all the same. My birthday falls just a few days before the big day, so I got to pick birthday presents from the catalogues too which was an added bonus.

Christmas dinner was a huge affair, my aunt and uncle would always come with their dog. Uncle Jim was my mother's only brother/sibling so it was a tradition that they come and share Christmas with us. My older sister with her husband and kids would come and the living room would be taken over by the 'good' table with many leaves in it to make it reach from one end of the room to the other. The 'good' table spent most of the year reduced down to a much smaller size as the leaves were removed and then the base acordianed into itself and one piece flipped over so it took up very little room in the corner of the living room. Our house was pretty small,  two bedrooms upstairs and my grandparents turned what was originally the dining room into their bedroom. My sister and I slept in bunk beds in my parent's room until my older sister got married. It was crowded but it was never boring.

Later on, as we grew up and left home, Christmas became different. When I married, for a few years we had two dinners. One at my parent's house and one at my husband's parents. That didn't last more than four or five years. We still visited both houses on Christmas but only one dinner! LOL

But the years move on, my own children are grown and following their dreams. They are both too far away to spend Christmas together. There are empty places at the table now where family members used to sit. In time, it will be my place that is empty. The circle moves on, the wheel turns...

So now, for me Christmas is about endings and beginnings. Not in a bad or sad way, but in acceptance that the only constant thing in life is change. There is the ending of the year that is passing, all the years that have passed before this one, and yet there is the new year waiting to be born with the rising and setting of the sun. A new year of possibilites and adventure. Like an ouroborus which is both the beginning and the end as he holds the tail of his remembering in the mouth of his future, the world is full of endings and beginnings. 

May your holidays be full of joy and laughters. Until next month, be well, be happy. 

 

Tom Thomson Book Launch a huge Success! by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's books click on the cover please.

The book launch at The Purple Platypus Bookstore in Castor, Alberta was huge success. There was tons of fun,  door prizes, swag bags and of course a reading from the book. There was a great turnout with over 20 people joining me in the cozy confines of the bookstore. It's such a pleasure to support and be supported by an independent bookstore. Castor is a small town in east-central Alberta and The Purple Platypus draws patrons from as far away as Red Deer and Wetaskiwin. I'm so happy that the lovely Lynn Sabo agreed to host this book launch. Even though the day outside was a bit dreary, the warm and companionship within was wonderful. 

Not to mention I sold lots of books which was good for me and the store. So win win.

As anice way to cap off the day I got the first look at the cover for my upcoming book Night at te Legislature, a Manitoba paranormal set in the Manitoba Legislature building. This one is the first book in BWL Publishing's news collection The Paranormal Canadiana Collection which will feature a novel set in each of Canada's provinces and territories.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy

 

Fall is coming or is it here? By Nancy M Bell

 

To see more of Nancy's work please click on the image above.

September 2024 is almost half over. Do you think the calendar decides when summer is gone and fall is upon us? I honestly don't think nature pays much attention to our human machinations. I remember an August day back in 1978, I was sitting on my horse having just come out of the wooded valley behind the barn and looking over Bruno Bijoni's  huge bean field. It was only mid August, but as I sat and let the sun fall in slanted beams around me and the breeze sweep across the land to lift my hair, there was the unmistakable scent of autumn in it. It's a hard scent to describe, more experienced than described. It's a mix of dry grasses, disturbed leaf litter under the trees, a cooling of the air moving over the tasseled heads of ripe corn waiting for the reaper and so many other  nebulous but unmistakable nuances.

In my middle years, I so looked forward to the shortening of days, the cries of the wild geese overhead and the whisper of the wind in their pinions as they lofted off the trout pond. Summer was always full to the brim and the dusk of ten pm often found me still teaching a riding lesson, or schooling my own horses. Not to mention the myriad of  chores that spring and summer brings. Haying in June when the weather was always hot and humid, repairing fences, showing horses, braiding manes and tails until after midnight with my own horse always done last after the students. So yes, the shortening days were welcome. A promise of respite and a chance to recharge. 

When I was much younger, fall meant the time we spent at the cottage on Davis Lake in Haliburton was drawing to a close and that was not met with such relief. But oh, the glory of the maple trees burning orange and red and gold against the dark spruce and pine. Their colours reflected in the mirror stillness of the lake. In later years, it was the Rouge Valley that gifted me with the palette of autumn colour as I rode my horse along the well known and loved trails. Even now, so many years later, I can close my eyes and ride down Mosquito Alley, climb Spyglass Hill, look over the flats on the east side of the river from Souix Lookout, ride down the broad avenue that ran along the top of the ridge, the place where I could find  trilliums and lady's slippers in the spring.

Some falls have been open and warm, holding autumn at bay and spreading honey-gold light and heat across the western prairies. Clouds of dust rising into the Alberta blue sky heralding the work of many combines bring in John Barley Corn, wheat, canola, rye and other crops. On those days, fall seems far away and winter even more distant. There is one thing I can always be certain of though, no matter when it arrives, fall will be a'comin' in with crispy days and sharper nights. Jack Frost will paint the trees with colour, although out here in the west it mostly shades of gold and yellow. I trust my nose and my senses rather than the calendar to tell me what season it is. 

Here are some images to get you into the mood.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

Update on current Work In Progress ~ When your characters go AWOL by Nancy M Bell

 

to learn more about Nancy's work click on the cover.

The progress on this book has been slow. For awhile, my characters refused to speak to me which was frustrating. I depend on them to carry me forward. I finally figured out why they had disappeared into the Ontario bush of 1917 and refused to come out. 

I was so tied up with historical timelines and who said this and where this other person was at such and such a time that I forgot about the underlying story I was attempting to tell. I finally pulled my head out of the rabbit hole and said "to hell with timeline etc."

I got back to my main character, Harriet Agnes St. George, and turned her loose on Canoe Lake and the Algonquin bush. One of the things which has plagued me is that this is based on actual happenings and Tom Thomson's death has never been fully explained. There are many and conflicting accounts of the events leading up to his death and those following the event. I have been sunk in a conundrum of what to use and what to disregard as not fitting with my storyline.

As this is a work of fiction, both historical and a mystery, I need to have a satisfying conclusion to the mystery. But as there is no clear indication of who the murderer was, or if indeed it was murder and not an accident, it has caused me some pause.

Clearly, I can't say such and such a historical figure was the murderer and to the best of anyone's knowledge, there were no eye witness to the attack/accident. So I have invented Harriet who tells the story in her own words from a unique perspective. I think the reader will find the conclusion and the wrap up of Harriet's story both surprising and satisfying. 

I'm not going to reveal anything more about that. Just say, keep an open mind as you follow Harriet through her journey to discover who killed her friend and fellow artist Tom Thomson.

In closing, just let me say, I hate hate hate writers block and I hate when my characters desert me and then suddenly show up in the middle of the night waking me up with "hey lady, about your story line- how about this...."

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

Learning to Live Without You by Nancy M Bell

 

To find more of Nancy's books click on the cover

Emily, Shady, Max

Emily

Guapo

Spook, Colleen, Phil, Sunny, Emily in the east pasture

As we age there are transitions in our lives.  The biggest, and latest one, in  mine is that I no longer own a horse. That's not entirely a true statement, I never 'owned' a horse, they more aptly owned me. My earliest memory is of riding a pony and being led around under a shady tree at the Bowmanville Zoo in Ontario. My childhood is filled with wishing for horses, it was a part of me was missing until I started working  at Rouge Hill Stables (Highway 2 and Shepherd Ave). While I didn't own those school horses, I loved them and took care of them I spent every moment I could at the barn. Most weekends I led trail rides from 8 in the morning until 8 or 9 at night. I went to school for a break LOL. 

I got my first horse when I was 17. I loved that horse, still do. He was the horse of my youth, probably the only reason I made it through my teens. Tags was the horse of my middle age and Emily was the horse of my old age. There are countless other horses who have touched my life, and I adore all of them. I remember all of them.  If I work at it I can recall the order of the stalls in the school barn at the Rouge, even though the horses sometimes changed. 

I spent my highschool years on  horseback in the magical Rouge Valley which is now a park. The first gallop on the sandy trail beside the river, crossing at the Durnford Crossing, then down the tree shadowed Mosquito Alley past the Fairy Pool at the end. Then the rest area, then either over the river again and through the apple orchard and up the steep Spy Glass Hill where you could look out over the valley and see the Glen Eagles Hotel perched on the edge of cliff to the west. The hotel is long gone now, but it lingers in my memory. If you went the other way you went up and then along the top of ridge where trilliums and lady's slippers bloomed. 

And through everything there were horses. Always Horses. 

Now, I'm learning to live without them. A part of my heart is missing. I suppose as we grow older we lose things. People, animals, beloved locations become paved over or plowed under. And yet, as long as we remember them, they are never really lost. But the place they occupy in my heart is bit less shiny and new.

I suppose everyone of us has things from our youth and lives that we leave behind as we move forward. For me, it is the privilege of caring for horses. But life moves on and we must therefore move with it. The alternative is to stop living and be engulfed by the past. Tempting as that is at times, I'm not ready to do that yet. There are still windmills I need to go tilting after. And books yet to write. 

Until next month, be well , be happy. 

   

My first horse show. Chum (Cherokee's Luck) I was 16

Guapo

Max

Miley

Gibbie

Emily, Phil, Big Bird

     

Changes ~ Old Dog New Trickls

 

To find out more about Nancy's work click on the cover above.

So changes. I have to say I don't particularly like changes. But right now I'm going through a huge one. The place I've lived in for 30 years has been sold and we're packing up lock stock and barrel and moving to small town Alberta. Castor Alberta to be exact. It will be a big change from living rural with my nearest neighbor being the local coyotes, badgers and gophers. Not to mention the ravens who nest across the road.

We took possession of the small house on April 30th of this year and have been painting and cleaning. It's an older  house, built in 1932, but then I like older  houses. The one I'm leaving is a 1920s vintage. The moving and packing has  put a dent in my writing time but I'll have to get back to it pretty quick once we finally get moved in. Movers are coming on the 14th of May to take the bigger stuff, like my beloved oak antique bookcase, up to the house.

Below are some memories from the house I'm leaving but also leaving behind a piece of my heart. Until next month, be well, be happy.