Happy Thanksgiving - a bit early

 

The holiday season is almost upon us. My favorite time of year and it begins with Thanksgiving. Actually, in my house, it begins a week or so before.

Since we no longer host Christmas with my children – too many of them for our small house – the kids have taken over. However, we still do Thanksgiving dinner here – with a couple of the kids and the rest come over later for dessert – so I put up our tree and Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving.

When the kids were small, we used to put up the tree the day after Thanksgiving. Neighbors all told me we were nuts. Funny, how many trees and decorations I see on Thanksgiving, and even before now days. It warms my heart. Guess I wasn’t so crazy after all.

Anyway, as I said the holidays start with Thanksgiving. Of course, we have the traditional turkey and dressing (after the blessing – oh wait that’s a Christmas song) and then the other kids come over – as well as grandkids – and we have dessert. Usually more than we can possibly eat.

It’s been my tradition ever since my kids got married to give them something on Thanksgiving, usually a Christmas decoration of some sort. I was into ceramics for a while, so naturally they got ceramics, a Santa Claus ornament or statue. Then I was into woodworking and made them Santas, Christmas trees or other ornament. Eventually I was into red work embroidery and made them wall hangings of – who else – Santa Claus. I started quilting and yep, you guessed it, I made them table runners – no not of Santa Claus – and wall hangings (Santa of course). Eventually I started buying them ornaments.

My son and daughter in law begged me not to get them anything this year. They’re out of wall space and their tree is full of ornaments. I’ll have to see what I can come up with, because no way am I breaking that tradition. That’s part of the fun of the holiday season. Maybe I’ll be nice this year and look for Santa Claus candy, something consumable.

When I was younger, my mom started baking the day after Thanksgiving, making huge cans (potato chip cans and not the small ones) full of cookies. Back then everyone entertained and visited a lot during the holidays. Sadly, that practice seems to have stopped.  There wasn’t a weekend that went by without some aunt or uncle coming to visit. I loved those days. I don’t bake as much as I used to and certainly don’t start the day after Thanksgiving.

The first weekend in December, my daughters and I spent the days shopping. They used to help me pick out gifts for their children, but since their kids are all grown up now, (well most of them are, I still have a couple young ones) I don’t need to shop for them anymore. I’ve taken the lazy, safe route and give them cash. I’m sure they like it better. Once they’ve moved out or married, they join the ranks of the adult couples gifts, usually something homemade now since we’ve retired and money is tight.

Christmas Eve is spent with my siblings – two brothers and a sister. We’ve lost a sister and brother some years back and it’s not quite the same. Nieces and nephews used to join us, but that was back before most of them married. Now they have other families to share the day with and we’ve dwindled from a group of 37 down to 8 plus a couple nieces and nephews whose families are out of town.

I still love the holidays and look forward to them as much or more than any child. The hustle and bustle of getting ready, the family gatherings, and spending time with loved ones. I’m very blessed and thankful to have all my children and most of my grandchildren within twenty minutes of me. We miss the ones who can’t join us, but it’s still a lively group and growing by leaps and bounds. Not only are some of the grandchildren married or dating, they’re having children of their own. I dread the day when their parents decide it’s too much and they want their own families around them for the holiday. I know that day will come, maybe sooner than I think, and it’ll sadden me, but I do understand. We had to do it also as our kids grew and had families of their own. But for now, I’ll enjoy what God has so richly blessed me with. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Time to Love Again

 The man next door, his granddaughter and her sister’s ghost help bring Rose Asbury out of her seclusion. Fifty-eight year old, Rose Asbury knows people think she’s a recluse, but she doesn’t care. She just wants to be left alone. She doesn’t need anyone and no one needs her and that’s just fine. At least she didn’t until this year. For some reason this year is different. Suddenly she’s melancholy and discontent with her life..

And the man next door doesn't help matters. Every time he sees her, he insists on speaking to her. So her stomach tumbles every time she sees him, that doesn't mean anything. Hunger pains, nerves, she just wishes he'd leave her alone. Or does she? 

CULTURE SHOCK - Or, don’t mess with apple pie - by Vijaya Schartz

AKIRA'S CHOICE, Byzantium Book 2 Sci-fi Romance
More of Vijaya Schartz' book from BWL HERE

Edouard Herriot famously said that culture is what remains when one has forgotten everything. Culture in the French vocabulary of the period meant learning and knowledge, but the saying is also true in today’s extended meaning of the word. 

We speak of ancient cultures, of the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, their philosophy and their mythology. We speak of the great artists of the Renaissance. They left long lasting testimonies of their history, architecture, writings, and way of life… Some say modern culture will only be evident when we are long gone and forgotten. 

I say culture is not only art, architecture, wisdom, or knowledge, but it is how we treat each other, and how we celebrate life, family, and the traditions that accompany good and bad events in our lives. 

Being raised in France, my first contact with America over the course of a three-month summer vacation was a true culture shock. I didn’t understand fast-food. Who in their right mind would eat ketchup? Why stick a piece of dry meat between two dry buns, when you can simmer your own coq-au-vin and bake potatoes au-gratin? 

I couldn’t understand why Americans worked such long hours and never took extended vacations. The French, even in those days, took five weeks of mandatory paid vacation each year, and often took a few extra, unpaid vacation weeks as well, with their employers’ blessing. Many French companies still close completely for an entire month each summer. 

When I returned to France, that fall, I declared that I would never want to live in America. These people were crazy, frantic, and didn’t know how to live… and they probably thought the same thing about me. 

As things go, life has a way of making you regret such statements made in the ignorance of youth. While studying in an ashram in India, where I felt totally at ease, despite the many cultural differences, I met an American man and fell in love. We were married, and I came to live with him in the United States. 

Imagine my reaction when he took me to eat a T-bone steak at Jack in the Box, on a paper plate, with plastic flatware. The culture shock was back. Never in my life had I cut a steak with a plastic knife. From then on, I cooked at home. It was great for a while, but soon, my husband missed American food… which I didn’t care for, and didn’t know how to cook. 

This was decades ago, and I since learned to appreciate American food and culture. I understand that a busy life requires take out or fast food, in order to spend more time with family. My mother spent all her time in the kitchen. I can now fully enjoy a barbecue party, or a seafood buffet. I absolutely love apple pie a la mode (which surprised me at first, because the French do not eat pie with ice-cream). I smile when I hear my neighbors shouting at the referee during a football game… although I still cook most of my meals at home… you know… trying to eat healthy. 

I even corrected my husband when he said America had no culture, compared to the Europeans, the Greeks or the Egyptians. But America is still young. These ancient cultures had a chance to mature over many centuries. Besides, Lady Liberty could compete with the colossus of Rhodes, and what about the faces carved in the rock of Mount Rushmore? 

Because America is young, it experiences many growing pains and is learning to cope with change, and handle diversity. It’s not an easy task, and progress is painful and takes time. Yet in the midst of all that, America has all kinds of great cultural traditions, because of its diversity. Emigrants from many countries melted their cultures together so much that we do not exactly know where American traditions come from. You can experience Mardi-Gras in New Orleans, or a Greek Festival in California. American pizza (nothing like its Italian ancestor) is now conquering Europe. Who hasn’t enjoyed a bagel smeared with cream cheese, or sushi, or Mexican food, Thai food, or Chinese take out? America embraced all these different cultures and from them, forged its own. 

But Thanksgiving is definitely a unique holiday of the American continent (although Europe is now trying to copy it), and I am ready to enjoy it to the fullest. I wish you all a fantastic Thanksgiving, with turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, and all. And I’ll take my pie a la mode, merci beaucoup.

For a total culture shock, read ASHES FOR THE ELEPHANT GOD, a reincarnation love story set in India.

amazon  -  B&N  -  Smashwords  -  Kobo

To scatter her brother's ashes over the Narmada River, Fabienne leaves France for the mysterious India of her childhood dreams. As she awakens to a newfound spirituality, unexpected visions of a former life during the Raj stir ancient yearnings for a long lost passion. Mukunda, the palace architect Fabienne loved a century and a half ago, lives again as an American engineer and works on the local dam project.

As Fabienne falls in love again with India and the man of her destiny, the tapestry of her previous life unfolds. But, in the karmic land of the blue gods, a ruthless foe lies in wait. The Kali worshiper, who murdered the two lovers in a faraway past, has come back through the centuries to thwart their dream once more.

"... a broad-stroked, magnificent picture of a lavish India of the past and the present... a vivid tale of suspense... a gripping account of a woman coming to terms with heightened awareness... destiny." The Book Reader

"... entertaining, fast-paced yet deeply spiritual... Here is a superior metaphysical novel!" Richard Fuller - Metaphysical Reviews

"... passionate... love, lust, faith and deception... a magnificent offering to the world of fiction..." The Charlotte Austin Review

"...rich, sensual... multilayered... a thriller... magical, mystical book..." Writer's Digest

"...a striking and highly recommended metaphysical novel..." Midwest Book Review

Vijaya Schartz, author
 Strong heroines, brave heroes, cats, romance with a kick
 http://www.vijayaschartz.com
 amazon  -  B&N  -  Smashwords  -  Kobo  -  FB  -  

Holiday Traditions? Plus Exclusive Excerpt of Secret: At HL Woods

Happy day-after Thanksgiving to all who celebrate this holiday, and for those who don’t, Happy Friday to you and yours: ) The weather is turning colder in Southwest Michigan, good for campfires, which I had today with my grandson. Always good times when sharing moments with family; )

So, tell me, are there certain family traditions you follow on this special day?

I’m always curious about traditions. I grew up with them…but things changed when I had my own family. I didn’t want to deal with traditions, things we do the same every year, but little did I know that I was actually making my own traditions. LOL Like celebrating the holiday on the Friday after:)

~.~.~.~

There is an amazing dish that my mom-in-law made for the holidays – Apple Pie Slices, which my brother-in-law named Pink Sh*t – because of the pink frosting on top. It’s like apple pie flattened onto a cookie sheet and topped with frosting – s-o-o-o yummy! We haven’t indulged in this dish for a number of years, but this year I made it for my family. I guess some traditions hang on whether you want them to or not – they become part of who we are.

~.~.~.~

So tell us about your favorite tradition for the holiday/s? Who knows, maybe it will become a new tradition for someone else.

~.~.~.~

While you’re here, I’d like to share a short excerpt from my soon-to-be-released book - Secret: At HL Woods – YA Paranormal Romance scheduled for release January 2018.

Unedited Author Excerpt - 1^st part of chapter one:

“What the—? Ugh!” Air exploded out of my lungs as I face-planted in musty dirt and leaves. A little fur-ball chipmunk had scurried across my path and should be a smear on the bottom of my tennis shoe, but I’d dove over it like diving off the raft. Air wheezed back into my body on gulps of mortification.

“Holy crap. Kyle, did you see that agile ballerina move? It’s none other than the dark witch-girl, Bri Lancaster. You know, the very one that unveils morbid goth clouds wherever she goes.”

Max. My worst nightmare. No, no, no. Don’t look. Do not raise your head. I did, coughing and sputtering dirt from my mouth. Kyle, the guy that lived next door, ran full bore toward me, while Max struck a pose, laughing. A deranged hyena came to mind. What the heck were those two doing this far into the woods? They’d never been in this area of the forest, at least not for the past three months I’d been jogging here.

“Are you hurt?” Kyle kneeled next to me and extended a hand.

I got to my feet on my own, brushing dirt from the front of my T-shirt. “I’m fine.” I glared at Max, who was still a distance away laughing his butt off. How mature.

“Max. It’s not that funny.” Kyle unfolded himself to stand beside me. His ice-blues twinkled from the sunlight filtering through the tree branches. “Are you sure you’re all right? That was quite a tumble.”

Stop staring at him and respond. A slap on my shoulder shoved me into Kyle. I nearly knocked him to the ground. Somehow he righted both of us.

“Get a grip, Goth-girl. He’s not into you.” Max jerked me away from Kyle and completed my humiliation. “You kissing the dirt made a perfect Snap Chat expose, my evil one.” He flashed me the picture on his phone. “Today we get to enjoy black spiky hair tipped in fluorescent fuchsia. What happened to your eyebrow stud?” He blinked his eyes and grinned, most likely for effect.

As if on auto-mode, my hands curled into fists with a deep-seated urge to punch his face. My hair wasn’t spiky, just short, and how he got his phone to grab a close up of me on the ground was beyond me. I hate him.

Grandpa’s words about hate rifled through my head, “Don’t hate the haters, it’s normally a traumatic experience that created their outlook, or exterior programming from parents that went through the trauma. Not their fault.” Well, I didn’t see anything but red whenever I looked at Max’s smug face.

Without a word, I ran toward the mound of wild rose vines and thistles, where Kyle and Max had stood a moment ago.

A black man and white woman shimmered into view beside it, arms around each other, both staring at me.

I stopped so abruptly I almost lost it again. Apparitions.

“Martin, look at her. She’s seein’ us.” The woman’s distinct southern accent caught me, but what set off my cursed paranormal spidey-sensors was their clothing…straight from the 60’s, according to some of the old romance books I’d read from Mom’s stash.

“By damn, she does see us.” He stepped closer to me with the woman at his side. “You can see us.”

“I can, yes.” Holy crap, I just said that out loud. My whole body tensed. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Kyle and Max still roamed face-plant alley. A shiver shook through me. They’d left.

“We need your help, Missy.” Martin’s brows arched, his head tilted. “Please tell us you can help us.”

The woman turned to him and patted his cheek. “It’s gonna be all right, sweetie. We ain’t botherin’ this fine woman with our problems.” She turned to me. “It’s okay, darlin’, you never mind us.”

“Why are you both here?” Wherever I saw spirits of the dead, it usually meant they were connected to something in the area. I considered the mound, seeing something metal and rusty underneath all the greenery. “You should have crossed over, into the vortex of light…unless you’re meant to go to the dark plane.”

The woman gasped and clung to Martin.

Maybe I’d said too much. I yanked some of the vines away, getting scratched and poked from the effort.

A car, green, ancient. No wonder it was tough to see.

“We want justice, but we aren’t able to leave this spot. Something’s holding us here, like some kind of barrier.” Martin’s lips pinched together, his head nodding. He looked at the woman as if to confirm. She nodded also.

I scanned the area thoroughly to make sure Kyle and Max weren’t lurking behind a tree to get a shot of me talking to air. I’d dealt with Max enough during school to last a lifetime; his nasty pranks didn’t need to scar my summer too.

Thankfully they’d really left.

“You fancyin’ one of those boys?” The woman smiled.

“Gloria, now don’t you be puttin’ on with this little lady. She won’t want to share her life with the likes of us.” Martin embraced Gloria, kissing her forehead.

I chuckled at considering either Kyle or Max as anything more than what? Simply guys in my grade? No one knew me here and I liked it that way. Moving from Marshall before the end of my junior year was the worst thing to happen in my life, well besides Dad leaving once we settled into the house here. Plus, Luke lived in Marshall. I shook my head. “No. Neither of those guys is into me, and I’m definitely not into them.”

ENTER OUR HOLIDAY CONTEST FOR A CHANCE TO WIN an Alcatel A30 e-Book Tablet and your choice of 6 e-books - http://bookswelove.net/bwl-holiday-magic/

DK Davis writes YA sci-fi, supernatural, and fantasy with a good dollop of all the relationships woven in between. When she’s not writing, editing, or reading, she’s hiking, RV’ing, fishing, spending time with grandchildren or her favorite muse (her husband) in Southwest Michigan.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/DKDavisBooks  

FB: https://www.facebook.com/dk.davis.92    

Website: http://suda788.wixsite.com/dkdavis

BWL Publishing Inc. Author Page: http://bookswelove.net/authors/davis-dk/  

Happy St. Patrick's Day by Roseanne Dowell

Who was St. Patrick?

St. Patrick was a Christian missionary and bishop of Ireland. He was born int he fourth century to a wealthy family. He was kidnapped at age sixteen and taken to Ireland where he was held as a slave. Patrick worked as a shepherd for six years before he made his escape. He went home and later became a priest, returning to northern Ireland where he evangelized the pagan Irish. St. Patrick is Ireland's most prominent saint. He died on March 17th. 

It seems everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day. People across the world celebrate the day.

Legend has it that people wear green to make themselves invisible to leprechauns, who would pinch anyone they could see. 

Others think it's because St Patrick used the shamrock to explain the Trinity. 

  March 17th is a national holiday in Ireland, but people of all countries celebrate. Many parades are held in honor of St. Patrick. Two of the largest are in  New York and Sydney in the southern hemisphere. Thousands of people turn out in Chicago to see the Chicago River turned green as part of a tradition started in 1962, as well as the Vilnele River in Lithuania. 

In London, a St Patrick's Day Festival begins on March 13 in Trafalgar Square. A colorful parade with performers from sports clubs, dance schools and community organisations leaves from Piccadilly at midday and ends up in Trafalgar Square.

Some countries show their support by turning buildings green for the day, including the London Eye and HMS Belfast in London, Trinity College in Dublin, the Pyramids and the Sphinx in Egypt, Sydney Opera House in Australia, Burj Al Arab in Dubai and the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro.

Many traditional foods are served on St. Patrick's Day. We eat corned beef and cabbage, but Irish Stew, Boxty Pancakes, Smoked Trout with Guinness, Jameson Whiskey Irish Ribs, and Barmbarck (traditional Irish sweetened bread) are also served. 

Oh, and don't forget the Guinness.  

Happy St Patrick's Day everyone. 

Harassing phone calls from a killer terrify journalist, Susan Weston after her first big byline. 
Detective David Morgan investigates the calls and the fact Susan’s bracelet was found at the murder

scene. Sparks fly between them in more ways than one. To make matters worse, someone is leaving roses in front of Susan’s door. Is she being stalked by a killer?

Available from Amazon

Food, Family, and Traditions, by Kathy Fischer-Brown

Food is a topic that, for me, needs little excuse. Not simply preparing and consuming food, but the occasions that have food at their center. And there is no better time to discuss the sharing of good food with family and friends than at holiday time.

While attempting to organize my computer this past week, I happened on a slew of videos. Actually they are converted home movies from my late father’s collection of 8 mm film from the late 1930s when my parents started dating to the 1980s when video supplanted celluloid for recording memories. It was a trip down Memory Lane in many ways, filled with a few tears and laughs, and also a time to appreciate where my love of cooking and baking came from.

There were my grandparents looking young, slim and hardly gray-haired. I quickly did the math and realized I was watching images that were 70 years old or more, which meant that my grandparents were a good 25 years younger than I am today. Back in those days my parents, a few lifelong friends, along with cousins, aunts and uncles all converged on my grandparents’ large Bronx apartment. Invariably, there were scenes of overflowing tables, smiling faces, the special cake…and the women all in full aprons.

My gram was renowned as a good cook. Her brisket was legendary. It was always a treat to arrive at their place greeted by the warm aroma of chicken soup and even warmer feelings of having the family assemble for an event of sorts. My mom and aunt would always lend a hand and we kids would amuse ourselves until time came to dig in at the table.

Over the years, after my family moved from The Bronx to Long Island, our house or the cousins’ alternated at being the epicenter of our culinary gatherings. My mom was a great cook, often replicating in her own kitchen what she’d learned from her mother. She didn’t “experiment” much back then, but after we moved to Connecticut, her talent for throwing sumptuous dinner parties took hold. My sisters and I would help out in the spacious kitchen, mostly chopping this or peeling that, but as we were then in our teens and tweens, food preparation was not at the top of our priority list.

By the time my parents retired to Florida, my mother’s skills had blossomed into the awesome category. Long before that, when I was a new bride and my husband and I moved away for a while to teach at a college in Indiana, I often asked my mom how she made certain dishes. She sent me recipes, some in her impeccable script, others typed on office memo sheets, which I still have tucked away into my first and still favorite cookbook. 

Over the years, as distance separated me from sisters and cousins, and the older generation passed on, cooking became a passion, a way to maintain a hold on the past and a link between those of us who remain. We no longer spend our holidays, birthdays, and other celebratory occasions in those large joyful gatherings of my childhood. We have scattered over distances that make such get-togethers impossible. My two kids are grown, and there’s a grandson, and my sisters have their own families. But when we do get together for whatever reason, the highlight of the visit invariably involves the preparation of an incredible meal, riffing on an old favorite or discovering something new.

The only things missing are those cool aprons.

~*~

Kathy Fischer-Brown writes historical novels for Books We Love, Ltd. To find out more about Kathy and her books, please visit at: www.kfischer-brown.com