A Cup of Kindness

 

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Happy New Year, dear readers. 

Auld Lang Syne means “in old times,” to the Scots people. Robert Burns was trying to keep his beloved Celtic language alive when he popularized it. He described Auld Lang Syne as ‘an old song, of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript until I took it down from an old man’s singing.’  

The town of Bedford Falls sang it at the end of It's a Wonderful Life, when a happy George Bailey finally realizes that his life has been a worthwhile struggle. We sing it at the dawn of a new year, to mark the passage of time. To grieve a little while we promise to do a little better, love a little stronger, be a little kinder. What words could be more poignant as we enter the third year of a global pandemic?

The words say, “We’ll take a cup o’ Kindness yet." That refers to the old tradition of toasting: raising a glass, a “cup o’ kindness,” but I am always moved by the notion of kindness in a cup overflowing, bestowed on each other at the start of each year. 

Kindness. A whole cup of it, I wish to you this new year of 2022, my friends, and beyond.

Book Babies

 

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In the season that celebrate the birth of an extraordinary baby, it's fun to think about how babies are portrayed in our books. They are scene stealers, for sure, so must be used wisely!  

In literature as in life, how people react to babies is a real illumination of their character. The baby born to my heroine Ursula at the end of Book 2 of my American Civil War Brides series, Mercies of the Fallen, is featured prominently in Book 3, Ursula's Inheritance. I was delighted to draw on the effervescent spirit of my little grandson to fashion little Henry Ryan Buckley, born into the hands of his soldier father and uncle the middle of the infamous New York City Draft riots and massacres of the summer of 1863.

Baby D... always ready to inspire!

The joy of his mother's heart, Henry is also being cared by these two men when they're on army leave as Ursula's Inheritance begins. The novel's antagonists, out to steal his mother's inheritance, now have a new foe, as Ursula has an heir of her own. And they will stop at nothing. 

So Henry's got a squad of protectors besides his nearest and dearest. His father Captain Rowan sends for one of the three women who raised him after he was orphaned in Canada. Little Henry will soon be spouting French as well as English thanks to his devoted Tante Marie Agathe. And the whole family of Ursula's beloved cook and companion Miriam, who have escaped to the Brooklyn neighborhood of Weeksville after the riots, welcome Baby Henry into their thriving community. There's a mysterious teenaged orphan Penina (hiding behind her fan on the cover) who he takes a shine to, too. Was ever a little fellow so lucky?

I enjoyed featuring a baby to brighten my wartime story. Babies can be a wonderful presence in a novel, besides revealing the characters of all around them, and serving as symbols of our hope for a better future, when placed in any time period!

I hope readers will enjoy the antics of Baby Henry in Ursula's Inheritance.

The Joy of Flying

 

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When I was ten, my parents took my sister Kate, brother Peter and me on our first trip by airplane. We traveled from New York to Washington DC. We visited museums, the OAS headquarters, and a cathedral. 

But my most vivid memory was of the Lincoln Memorial. My father stood us beside the wall of the north chamber and had us recite the words of Lincoln’s second inaugural address. I did not understand the sense of our sixteenth president’s thoughts about the national trauma that was our Civil War. But I understood the beauty of the sound of his thoughts…

With malice toward none, with charity for all, 

with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, 

let us strive on to finish the work we are in,

 to bind up the nation's wounds, 

to care for him who shall have borne the battle 

and for his widow and his orphan, 

to do all which may achieve and cherish 

a just and lasting peace 

among ourselves and with all nations.

I have shared my father’s love of flying ever since that trip.

On September 11, 2001 I was emerging from the subway in lower Manhattan when the first plane hit the World Trade Center. I rushed up the steps of the Federal Courthouse to meet with my fellow jurors, hold each other’s hands, and watch the debris bursting out of the gaping black hole like white doves in flight against an impossibly blue sky.

My father called me from his home in Florida a month later. His printer was broken.  He needed me to help him choose a new one and get it up and running. He was insistent, he’d pay for my flight, my mother was already making me a pie. He needed me right away.

So I boarded a plane, breathing deeply, telling my racing heart that all would be well, that my father needed me.

He didn’t need my help, of course. He needed me to get on a plane, to not let being an eyewitness to another national trauma take away my joy of flying.

Thank you, Daddy.