Creating a Home Library - A Labor of Love, Part 2 by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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In my February 7th post I wrote about how I was turning an unused room in my house into a long-desired home library. Good news - it's finished!

It was indeed a labor of love in more ways than one. I mentioned last month, how much I love being surrounded by my books. The other "love" part of this labor is that the room in question used to be my mom's bedroom. We lived together since shortly before my dad passed away in 1996. About three and a half years ago my mom had to move to a nursing home because of rapidly increasing dementia. She died on December 16, 2024. During the time she was in the nursing home I didn't do much with her room. Mostly, I just kept the door shut because I couldn't bear to look at her empty bedroom. 

Before Mom went to the nursing home, when she was still enough in her right mind, she and I talked about what would become of her room after she passed away. She was open like that. Talking about her own passing didn't bother her. Mostly, she wanted to know that the people she left behind would be alright. During one of those conversations, I broached the idea of turning her bedroom into a home library. At first she didn't say anything and I was worried that she didn't like the idea which was a surprise to me since she loved books and reading almost as much as I do. When I asked if she objected, she said, "No. I think it's a wonderful idea. I was just thinking that I wish I would be here to see it."

So, Mom, this library is in your honor! I truly believe that as I was creating it she was watching over my shoulder and nodding approvingly. If her gentle spirit is a presence in my new library, it will be a blessed place.

                 
    Table for doing research for novels                            Reading nook

   

Mom's shelf with her diploma in elementary education from the University of Vermont, 

her graduation program, and her name plate

Mother's Day was Yesterday but I'm Still Gonna Talk About It! by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

  So Mother's Day was yesterday and I'm a mom. Since I usually write my blog posts the day before, I bet you can already tell that this will be the equivalent of the present day filler episodes you always groaned about when you would tune into your favorite TV show for the evening way back when tv guides were a thing they printed in newspapers. Back then--God, I'm getting old--we had to endure all sorts of stuff, cliffhangers, commercials! and the occasional patchwork of show summaries told through flashbacks mid seasons. 

But some of you may want to know what I did this weekend. And if that's the case then you're in for a treat because I can honestly say that my Mother Day's escapades were so darn exciting that they left me with a very sore bum.  

Okay... don't look up sore bum memes on google...
*goes to tear out my eyes*

We went horseback riding! Actually we went glamping at a little ranch and they offered horse rides. It was fun! I had a little black horse named Ray and my husband got a much bigger horse named Blake. Now, I HAVE went horseback riding before, I'm not completely green, however, it was a long, LONG time ago... like longer than the lines at Disney World, or longer than grandpa's toenails or... *wait for it* longer than we've been waiting for George R. R. Martin to pen and publish Winds of Winter...

Ba Dum Tss! That's a wrap. We did the George joke. Roll credits!

So my bum got sore from all the trotting we did. In case you never noticed or knew, I have a small bum, with not much padding, and so I'm pretty sure I wore down my arse to my bum bones. Baby got back, I do not. Fat bottom girls... well, I defintiely don't make the world go round. 

We also got to stay in a lighthouse, which is where the glamping aspect comes in. I don't really enjoy camping as a rule. I hate sleeping in a tent and waking up soggy from all the humidity, but this was a nice little cabin-esk feel with a bed and running toilet and a view to die for all packaged in a thing that quite closely resembled a lighthouse. We ate lots of hotdogs, went hiking, and had a relaxing weekend. Which, if you're a mother you REALLY begin to appreciate after having a little one. Pre-kid me might have been bored out of their mind, but mom me was like... 

More wine please...

I also have great news! Which you will probably hear about more next month but if you managed to read down this far then WHOOT! You get to know first! 

One of the stories I have been working on won second place in the David Addam's Richard Prize for fiction! It's hosted annually by the Writer's Federation of New Brunswick, but as part of my cash reward I am also invited to a gala to do a reading! Yay!

Yay.

 It's pretty bewildering to me actually, because if you've read my earlier blogs you'd know that I was skeptical about winning in the first place. Why? Because the piece I submitted is pretty adult. And in general, adult themed books are not always taken seriously. 

I know, I know, you wanna know what it's about, but I can only give you a clue because, well... stuff! 

Well... it's KINDA a fanfic...

Happy Mother's Day by J.S. Marlo

 

Seasoned Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #1"

is now available  

click here 

 

 

The Red Quilt 

"a sweet & uplifting holiday story"

click here 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

Today is Mother's Day!

When my kids were young, they drew cards, made me a gift, a cake, and breakfast in bed (sometimes with their dad's help). I still get cards and gifts, but nowadays, it's my granddaughter's drawings that end up on my fridge, not my kids' cards.

According to RetailMeNot, these are the Top Six Mother's Day Gifts for 2022:

- flowers: 47%

- chocolate: 36%

- gift cards: 29%

- dinner: 26%

- jewelry: 22%

- beauty products: 19%

I think books and wine should have been somewhere in there LOL

And here are my Top Three:

- hugs & kisses

- phone call

- family dinner

Did you know that more phone calls are made on Mother’s Day than any other day of the year? These holiday chats with Mom often cause phone traffic to spike by as much as 37 percent. 

To all the mothers out there, Happy Mother's Day!!!

Now I'll go call my mom.

Have a wonderful day and stay safe!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

Mothering

Find my books here

My first memory as a reader was of my mother reading a wonderfully illustrated copy of The Wizard of Oz when I was suffering with the mumps. I was so enthralled that I forgot all about my achy body. Ah, the power of story!

I dedicated my first published novel to my mom, because the best thing the novel taught me was how much I loved her ... as much as the heroine loved her mother. Ah, the power of storytelling!

I lost my mom this month. She died peacefully just shy of her 102nd birthday.  

Conceived during the last world pandemic, she grew up in the Devil's Kitchen of New York City in an apartment full of love but very little money. She married my dad at 17 and became a professional mother of 10, grandmother of 29, and great grandmother of 20. The youngest is our little Desmond and they are 100 years apart. 

My mom's name was Kitty. She had many adventures. Her life is full of story.

Mothers and Mortality by Stuart R. West

A year ago, my mother had open-heart surgery. I was just as terrified as her. Nothing makes you confront your own mortality more than having a parent--someone you've taken for granted all your life, always expecting to be there--go under the knife. I felt like I'd be on the operating table alongside her.

Months before, my mom waffled about having the procedure.  Her aorta was closing fast, surgery the only option. But my mother elevates stubbornness to an art-form. She'd said, "Maybe it's best to leave it in God's hands and let me live the rest of my life as is." 

"Your grandchildren are counting on you," I'd told her. Absolutely shameless, sure, but I played the "grandkid card" nonetheless.

It worked. Mom decided to have the procedure. I told my winter-bound Florida "snow-bird" mother to get her dancing heels ready 'cause the procedure would go great.

The family gathered on the day of the operation, three sons and their families. We sat in the cold, sterile waiting room, chugging bad coffee, killing time by reminiscing. Every embarrassing tale from my childhood was dragged out and beaten like a rug. Then we had even more bad coffee.

The operation went well. So well the surgeon pronounced the procedure as "boring."  "Boring's" good in this case.

Hours after the operation, my wife and I visited Mom in Intensive Care.

And I totally lost it.

I wasn't prepared.

My mother, dear God, I didn't recognize her.

She uttered disembodied, agonized "oh's" every few seconds, her eyes wandering, milky and lost. She looked like she'd lost twenty pounds in ten hours. I wanted to hold her, kiss her cheek, afraid I'd break her.

There was no way of letting her know how much I loved her.

Later that same day, I visited again, dreading what I'd find.

I couldn't believe the difference. Sitting up in a chair, she welcomed me. I helped feed her breakfast, administer her medicine, scratch her neck. When she started griping about things, I thought, "Yes! My warrior mother's back!"

All past grievances, annoyances, racial and political differences I'd had with her jettisoned out of the room.

My Mom. The angel who raised me, formed me, talked me through things. Protected me from monsters under the bed and monsters in the school yard.

I cradled her head as gently as I could, said, "Mom, I love you. I'll do anything I can for you."

*** 

My new Books We Love novel can be found here: Ghosts of Gannaway

Book trailer for Ghosts of Gannaway:

I Wish I'd Taken A Parenting Class By Sandy Semerad

A woman handed me a flier with the headline, “May is for Mom’s.” It advertised a class for parents, “who desire a healthy future for their children.”

I wish I’d taken this class when my daughters were babies. My main source of instruction came from Dr. Benjamin Spock’s Baby and Child Care.

I have made plenty of parenting mistakes, no doubt. A major boo-boo was trying to raise my daughters differently from how I’d been brought up.

Looking back now, I’m grateful for my upbringing, although I deeply regret losing my dad when I was seven. A heart attack killed him.

After Dad died, I worried about Mom. Alice Larson Hodges was eccentric and talented, adventuresome and unpredictable.

She paraded around Geneva, Alabama in bright clothes, big hats and jewelry. “Gossips be damned.”

She wore loud bracelets. They clanged as she played the piano at the First Baptist church. She often sang louder than the choir.

 She took me and my sister out of school in the middle of the year and drove to New Mexico from Alabama to see the Caverns in New Mexico. During the summer, she stuck us in camp while she studied art.

She was the oldest daughter of Norwegian immigrants and once told me she married Daddy because he promised to buy her a piano and teach her to drive. After Daddy died, she never married again.

She loved water and painted beautiful pictures of water, but never learned to swim. Yet, she encouraged me and Alice Kay to become good swimmers.

She raised two daughters alone while preaching: “Cleanliness is next to Godliness. A stitch in time saves nine. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman health wealthy and wise. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. You won’t like most of what you do every day, but if you do one thing you like, you should be happy.”

She seemed fearless.

She single handedly drove us to New York City to see the musical “My Fair Lady.” During our trip, we toured the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty.

When we arrived in New York, in the middle of the night, Alice Kay and I were asleep in the back seat. At the Brooklyn Bridge, she awakened us, shouting, “Wake up, girls, New York City.”

I could go on and on about her. How she filmed us as if we were movie stars. Thank God, we were able to salvage the rolls of film.

Alice Kay had some of the film spliced together, chronicling our lives as children, teenagers, young adults and mothers. In the beginning of the video, Mother is young and beautiful, smiling for the camera. My father is dapper and handsome, puffing on a cigarette.

One thing’s for sure, Mother never failed to surprise me. She seemed to embrace spontaneity.

I’m a little spontaneous, too, along with having a highly developed imagination. I escaped reality by making up stories in my head, which eventually culminated in writing novels. But the novel writing began years after she suffered a stroke and was in a coma.

The doctors offered little hope of her recovery. Refusing to accept this diagnosis, I kept talking to her.

She eventually opened her eyes and said, “I’m so proud of you.”

Mother is no longer on this earth, but I feel her spirit every day, and I know she did her best, without the benefit of child-rearing classes.

And I’m grateful I had an exciting mother. She taught me, by example, how to live outside my comfort zone. I might not have learned to take risks if Mother had been overprotective and fearful.

I never doubted her love, although she seldom said the words, I love you. I suppose that’s why I never miss an opportunity to tell my daughters, Rene and Andrea, and granddaughter Cody how much I love them and how proud I am of them. They’re extraordinary, despite my lack of parenting lessons.

For more information, visit my website: Sandy Semerad 

And here's my latest novel, A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES, only .99 today:

A Message in the Roses

Things My Mother Never Taught Me by Roseanne Dowell

Dedicated to my mother who passed away Nov. 22, 1996  

My mother never taught me about the thrill of a first kiss or the hurt of that first breakup. She never told me about the love between a man and a woman and the joy of standing at the altar vowing before God, family and friends to love him forever.

My mother never taught me about the emotions of holding my newborn child in my arms for the first time, or the feeling of responsibility for their lives. She never told me about the overwhelming sense of awe I'd feel knowing that this child came from within me. That I created the life, nourished it for nine long months, and now had to nourish and care for it in the real world. She never taught me I'd feel this amazing sense of awe with each child.

My mother never taught me the feeling of swelled pride at watching my children take their first steps or hearing her first words.

She never taught me about the combination of pain and pride I would feel as I watched my children waltz off to school looking so grown up and yet so young. So independent. She never told me how I’d feel when they came home and said “But Miss so and so said it was better to do it this way.” and the realization that I was no longer the sole influence in their life.

My mother never taught me about the fear of having a child in the hospital undergoing tests by a neurologist after a normal eye exam discovered a problem or sitting in an emergency room while your child undergoes an emergency appendectomy. She never told me how difficult it would be to watch your child suffer through typical childhood illnesses, stitches or broken bones.

She never taught me about the fear of letting your child go down the street to play or crossing the street for the first time by themselves.

My mother never taught me about dealing with my daughter’s first crush and heartbreak and lost love. She never told me how hard it would be to watch my children struggle to get good grades or make the team or try to fit in.

She never taught me about the pride of watching my child march down the auditorium to receive their diploma or hearing about their first job. My mother never told me of the deep fear I’d experience when they learned to drive or getting that phone call that told you they had an accident.

My mother never taught me of the excitement of their engagement and the trials of planning a wedding. She never told me of the happiness and pride I’d feel watching them walk down the aisle to stand beside the one they would vow to spend their life with or the worry that this child was now totally independent of you.

She never taught me of the sense of wonder I’d feel holding my newborn grandchildren for the first time.

She never explained that these feelings of worry and concern never go away when my children grew up. My mother didn't tell me the worries would only strengthen as my children married and had children of their own. That I’d have more to love and worry about.

She never told me was how it feels to be a mother.  She never told me about the joy, pain, and overwhelming awe of being a mother and grandmother. I now know why my mother never taught me these things.  Because these thing have to be experienced to understand the wonderful sense of being a mother.  

But the biggest thing my mother never taught me was how I’d feel when she was no longer here to talk with, to share my feelings with after she passed from this world. She never taught me how to deal with the sense of loss at losing a loved one or the pain deep within that I would carry through the rest of my days. She never told me how much I’d miss her.

Roseanne's books can be found at  Amazon

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Forced to stay in a nursing home while undergoing therapy, seventy-two year old, Mike Powell refuses to get out of bed, won't cooperate with the nurses, and won’t take his medicine. At least not until he meets Elsa. The tiny, spunky little Elsa sparks new life into him. 

Seventy year old, Elsa -left in the home while her son takes a family vacation - joins forces with Mike, setting the home on its heels, and later discovers deception and fraud. Can they find happiness together?