Tuesday, March 16, 2021

Sanity under quarantine, by J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends
Book 2 of the award-winning YA series

Hammer it.

Screw it.

Glue it.

Three phrases that got me through a two-week quarantine with my partner, Ian.

Oh, and wine. 

Yes, number four phrase would be: Glass/bottle/box of wine.

I'm so very fortunate to live on a few acres in rural Ontario. If not, quarantine would be a biahtch, as Jayden, one of the main characters in The Twisted Climb series, would say. At home, there are multiple trails to wander through, wood piles to chop and arrange, animal tracks to investigate and birds to feed. Also renovations to design and build. And wine to drink.

Deer, fox, rabbit and barn cat tracks.

Red-breasted nuthatch jumped in the foreground,
deer tracks in the background.

Evening grosbeaks arrived in February, much earlier than usual. 

Wild turkeys enjoying birdfeed that the cheeky blue jays scatter.


They come for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Ian and I enjoying an outdoor break.

Being quarantined can have its advantages. For my partner Ian, it's feeding the birds and working from home. For me, it's having Ian at home so we can work on our renovations. Yah, I'm a "git 'er done" kinda gal so when he's not on the computer or calling his guys, we're getting things done in our basement. The plan is to set up a private, two-bedroom, one bath, living room and kitchen apartment. The bedrooms, bathroom and living room are complete. We've been working on building the foyer and coat closet for the last couple of months. On weekends, our habit is to enjoy a glass of wine at the end of the work day and admire our handiwork. I have to admit - it's one of the treats keeping us sane. Is that a bad thing?

Kitchen window frame buttressed and bolstered. Also glued and screwed.

Half wall separating the foyer from the living room.
Bolted, hammered, glued and screwed.

Live-edge black walnut top,
ready for sanding and epoxy coating. No screws!

There is one thing, though, that truly keeps our sanity in check: unruly and filter-filled facetime conversations with the grand girls.
 




Being in a quarantine environment can be tough, but we make the most of it. Thank God for grand-girls, renovations, country air and Ian. Oh, and wine.

Check out my award-winning books if you're looking for an action-packed, adventure-filled series. You'll find out why Jayden is 'Queen of the Bully Biatches.'

https://bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

Stay safe! 



J.C. Kavanagh, author of

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2)
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)




Monday, March 15, 2021

Some Spring Celebrations

 


         Spring marks the end of winter and the beginning of summer. The vernal equinox, falling on March 21, when the length of the day and night are equal, marks the beginning of spring.

        Since ancient times, the vernal equinox has been celebrated in many cultures around the world. In Christianity, Lent is the prominent spring-time observance, signifying Christ’s sacrifice and withdrawal into the desert for forty days, while Easter, appropriately enough, marks the celebration of the resurrection of Christ. Indeed, many other cultures, such as the ancient Egyptian, celebrated the rebirth of their main Deity Osiris, every year during this period.

In Persia, the festival of Nowruz, which dates back to the pre-Islamic Zorastrian civilization, is celebrated joyfully, even in present times. It is Iran’s New Year, and is observed by visiting friends, family, and sharing meals.

        The popular Hindu festival of Holi occurs in Spring as well. Also known as the ‘Festival of Colors,” it is a time of celebration, merry-making, love, and forgiveness. Children (and adults) throw colored powders and water on each other, all in good fun. While mostly observed in India, it has now spread to other places in the world.

        By far the largest festival in China, the Spring equinox marks the start of the country’s Lunar New Year. A seven-day festival. It features the iconic red lanterns, dragon dances, fireworks, banquets and parades. Exuberant celebrations are held all over the world.

Best wishes to all on the Spring equinox!

 

        Mohan Ashtakala (mohanauthor.com) is the author of "Karma Nation," a literary romance and "The Yoga Zapper," a fantasy. He is published by Books We Love. (www.bookswelove.com)

Sunday, March 14, 2021

The Poignancy of Covid Separations...by Sheila Claydon

 


Click here for my BWL page

This is about children. They feature a lot in my romances because they feature a lot in my life in the form of grandchildren and their friends. Animals also feature ditto. Authors are always told to write about the things they know, so I do...at least to some extent. And certainly as far as children are concerned. 

All of my granddaughters love books and all of them enjoy writing stories and poems, many of which give the family pleasure as they note the progress being made and the imagination being shared. Just occasionally, however, things become a little more poignant, none more than this letter from my 6 year old granddaughter who lives in Hong Kong. She and her parents were due to spend 6 weeks with us in the summer of 2020 but Covid put paid to that as they weren't allowed to leave Hong Kong. So now we continue, as we always have, to talk on Skype and to share thoughts on a WhatsApp Family Chat. This includes everyone in the immediate UK family. 

Due to the time difference we often wake up in the morning to messages and photos that have been sent while we were asleep and this is what arrived last week. 


Given that we are way past Christmas we are taking the greeting as it is intended. We also love the idiosyncratic spellings, the pink pen and the various stickers. The message, sent without any prompting from her parents, is heartrending though. In our UK family we have dogs, cats and a horse, some of which she has already met, and all of whom she has seen on Skype. A Hong Kong high-rise is not the place for pets, however, so she is living for the day when she can play with them all and ride the horse on a leading rein, as she was expecting to do last summer.

Having said that she is managing pretty well on Skype in the interim. She's been known to send her eldest cousin messages during a university lecture and call us up while we are out walking the dog and take the walk through the fields with us. We also manage to play games like UNO or Chess online after a fashion, read books or write stories, and, if they are with her, be introduced to many of her little friends.  It's amazing what can be achieved with technology and we consider ourselves very lucky to be able to maintain such a close relationship across the miles. It doesn't make up for that poignant little letter though. Nothing will.

On a lighter note, the middle granddaughter is known for her sense of humour and dry wit. These came into play this week when, to her disgust, she was told that because it was International Book Day she had to dress up as a character from a book she liked. At 14, she thought the whole thing was ridiculous in  the way only a teenager can, especially as lessons were still online! She is, however, a very dutiful student, so when the day came she chose Harry Potter as her character. She then mentally donned his invisibility cloak by keeping her camera turned off during her online English lesson. I don't know what costumes her classmates came up with but what I do know is that she won first prize. Obviously her English teacher has a sense of humour too. It has kept the whole family laughing all week. 

Now she is back in the classroom and so is our granddaughter in Hong Kong, and hopefully it won't be too long before we can all meet up again. In the meantime I have another book to write...children will feature!!

Saturday, March 13, 2021

Mad About the Movies

 

Here's what popped up at the Laramie awards ceremony as ... the Grand Prize Winner!

Find my books here

It’s movie awards season again, looking different because of the pandemic. Most of the films this year can be seen on television, either pay-per-view or on a streaming service.


I have a great passion for good movie storytelling, so I will don my tiara and let you know my favorites of the year —



  1. Hamilton (Disney +) Just in time for the lockdown came the vibrant life of a little-known Founding Father via Lin-Manuel Miranda, inspired by Ron Chernow’s biography. Wow, from it’s dazzling choreography and camerawork, perfect color-blind casting, and  many musical styles, you’ll feel you have the best seat in the house.   Suggestion: turn the closed captions on because you don’t want to miss a word of the fast-paced music.
  2. One Night in Miami (Amazon) A wonderful enlargement on the Broadway play about an evening in 1964 when Jim Brown, Malcolm X, and Sam Cook celebrated the prize fight win of young Cassius Clay (later known as Mohamed Ali). Wonderfully acted. Directed by Regina King with assurance and an evocative color pallet. Leslie Odom Jr. (Aaron Burr in Hamilton) turns in a heart-breaking, nuanced performance as Sam Cooke.
  3. Greyhound (Apple +) Has Tom Hanks plowing the Atlantic as a first time captain of his mostly teen-aged crew. It’s 1942 and their task is protecting a convoy of 37 ships carrying thousands of soldiers and supplies around Nazi U-boats. Not a moment of this movie is wasted and the relationship that develops between beleaguered Hanks and his cook is an added bonus.
  4. The Prom (Netflix) is a musical as escapist and frothy as Hamilton is serious, with its glitz, hammy acting, and back-to-back-to-back divas. But by the end it had won me over. The young lovers Jo Ellen Pellman and Ariana DeBose and a charming turn as a high school teacher by Keegan-Michael Key keep us caring about what happens next. See this one in your local movie theater when you can, as I think it would be enhanced by a communal experience, like the Mama Mia movies are.
  5. Trial of the Chicago Seven (Netflix) Spellbinding courtroom drama in the capable hands of Aaron Sorkin who wrote and directed. Set in the aftermath of the riot at the 1968 Democratic Convention. You’ll find many unsettling parallels to current events. Strong performances by entire cast, but Sasha Baron Cohen’s Abbie Hoffman is a Sacred Clown for the ages.
  6. News of the World (Universal) Yeah, I’m a Tom Hanks fan. I also love a good Western and this is a great one, combining a fateful journey and Indian captivity plot with suspense galore. Tom’s an itinerant news reader entertainer charged with returning captive Helena Zengel to her relatives. Together they travel a Reconstruction Era Texas fraught with dangers and astonishing moments of grace. Pay attention to the musical score of this one—it’s a knock-out.


So there you have it, Eileen’s favorite movies of the year of the plague. I’m so glad 

I had them to keep me company. 


See you at the movies!




Friday, March 12, 2021

Meghan, Harry & The Crown


                                  Please click this link for author, book and purchase information

Like millions of people in North America and Britain, I watched the recent Oprah Winfrey interview with Meghan Markle and Prince Harry. When the couple married almost three years ago, my husband and I happened to be in the UK on vacation. We visited the church at Windsor Castle, where the wedding would take place and watched the preparations underway. On May 19, 2018, the day of the event, we took a train from the Lake District to Edinburgh. At the decorated train station, a woman set up a festive table with afternoon tea for sale.  


Meghan and Harry’s honeymoon with the press and public deteriorated quickly after that, as did their relationships with people in the royal family. A year ago they gave up their duties as senior royals and moved to Canada, a Commonwealth nation where Meghan had lived and worked as an actress. When the UK and Canada refused to pay for their long-term security, they settled in California with plans to pursue non-regal ventures. In their interview with Oprah, they said that unfair and hurtful treatment by members of the royal family, the palace establishment and the British media forced them to take these steps. 

Everyone I know, including me, has watched the Netflix series The Crown, which chronicles the life of Queen Elizabeth II from girlhood to recent times. A theme I take from the series is that the personal lives of royal family members come second to protecting and preserving the institution of The Crown. In the Oprah interview, Harry said that all of his relatives are trapped in their royal roles. The Netflix show suggested the Queen might have been happier living a simple life in the countryside with her horses and dogs. But then she wouldn’t have fame, fortune and a place in history. Many would choose the trap. 

The media loves drama. It sells newspapers and gets people to watch shows like the “bombshell” and “explosive” Oprah interview. The UK tabloids exploited and maybe created the Meghan vs Kate conflict. This narrative serves The Crown if  Kate generally comes across better, since she’s a future queen. Harry told Oprah that the royal family needs positive coverage by the press. The monarchy isn’t secure forever and the country has many anti-royalists. While the Queen is beloved, her successor Prince Charles isn’t. But Will and Kate look on track to replacing the Queen in people’s hearts. They also have three children ahead of Harry in the line of succession. Harry's drop to the # 6 spot makes him less important to The Crown. That's why their son wasn't made a prince and perhaps why the palace made little effort to protect Meghan from media criticism and lies, as she said in the Oprah interview. 



Both Harry and Meghan made a point of telling Oprah they still get along well with his grandmother, Queen Elizabeth. Harry followed up the interview by making it clear that the Queen and Prince Philip weren’t the unnamed royals who made racist remarks that were arguably the interview’s biggest bombshell revelation. This shows that the young couple's intentions haven't strayed completely away from their prime roles as members of the royal family—to protect and preserve the person who embodies The Crown. 

 

Me with Harry and Meghan in Windsor, UK, May 2018
  


Thursday, March 11, 2021

The Great Omelet Caper as told to Karla Stover

  

     I am a huge fan of the humorist, Jeanne Robertson, and one of her philosophies is to try and find at least one humorous thing that happened during your day. My problem is---is the following story I wrote from an experience that happened to a friend of mine funny or is it schadenfreude

Here it is:

     Thank goodness in the New Millennium—which really isn’t all that new anymore—it was possible for thirty-something businessman, wearing after-five attire, to sit in a bar late at night and have a drink without being eyed, and raked over by suspicious minds.  Well, almost possible, anyway, but “shame, shame, shame,” as Gomer Pyle used to say, on their potty minds. My friend, DJ was business professional, whose job as a stock broker required a lot of socializing. And that’s what he’d been doing, on a Thursday night in Bellevue, Washington, Seattle’s sophisticated neighbor.

     Earlier in the evening, one of his clients, a gallery owner and artist in his own right, had an art showing. DJ had attended, done the wine-and-cheese thing, and trolled for new clients—unsuccessfully, as it turned out, and left around 11:00 p.m. Along with some of the art lovers he’d gone to kill the effects of the wine with a cup of coffee at a swanky restaurant and lounge called Benjie's, but they’d left, he was blissfully alone, enjoying the ambiance and the relative quiet.

     Benjie’s was located in the penthouse of a bank building. Its décor was chrome and black leather with recessed lighting and wide floor-to-ceiling windows. Even if blurred by Puget Sound rain, they framed the city lights and eliminated most of the street noise. Another part of the architecture was the bar, which was designed to let people watch the chefs at work. Benjie’s specialty was omelets for the light-night, crowd. DJ was a regular because he liked to sit at the bar and listen to snatches of the cook’s conversations, and watch their economy of movements as they prepared the orders coming in.

     That Thursday night DJ heard enough of the waiter’s whispered conversations to know that there was tension in the air. Apparently, Vinnie, the head chef, had been cooking steadily since 10:00 a.m. that morning—nearly 12 hours standing at the hot stoves.  While he flipped eggs and cheese in a small pan, it was obvious the long day was taking its toll. Tufts of bleached blond hair stuck out from under his tall, white hat. The hat, itself, was decidedly askew. His apron was fresh, but his face glistened with steam and sweat. His slightly hunched posture looked so tense, DJ later told me his own neck and shoulders began to ache, sort of a kitchen couvade.

     Three of the waiters on duty, two men and a woman, all young and collegiate-looking, seemed just a little anxious, but one, a man named Kirt, was apparently oblivious to the tension. He was also oblivious to the fact that he was giving Vinnie extra aggravation. DJ was familiar with Kirt; he had a bubbly personality and treated every patron as if they were a welcomed regular.  However, he stopped and talked too much—annoying under the best of circumstances and a powder keg under the worst.  And that night, circumstances were at their worst.  Vinnie snatched the order slips out of Kirt’s hand, and barked out his name when the orders were ready for pick up. Unfortunately, due to his chatting, Kirt didn’t always hear his call, and his name seemed to be called four times more often than those of his fellow waiters. It was a situation ripe for potential. 

     “Kirt, please." Vinnie slapped yet another dish on the bar between the kitchen and the lounge.

     Kirt was at the far end of the room, taking another order and didn’t hear.

     “Kirt, order up,” Vinnie called again.

     That time Kirt heard, but a man at a window table detained him.

     “Kirt! Get your ass in here!” The over-heated cook roared.

     Kirt’s fellow waiters stepped aside to clear a path, and Kirt responded immediately, practically speed walking through the archway into the kitchen.  Just before loading his arms from wrist to elbow with assorted-sized plates, he gave another order to Vinnie.

     “Tell them there’s none left,” Vinnie snapped, as he looked at the new request.

     “Tell them yourself,” Kirt snapped back.

     With a lot of unnecessary clatter, Vinnie slammed his way through a refrigerator and several cupboards.  After gathering his ingredients, he mixed, poured, and stirred in a series of small, round-bottomed sauce pans. DJ said he never saw him leave the stove for a minute, but suddenly the unmistakable odor of burning food began to waft ever-so-gently toward the bar. That was evidently Vinnie’s own particular boiling point. With a magnificent and enviable windup, he snatched the offending pan off the stove and heaved it and its contents against a far wall. The pan ricocheted back, left a black mark on the white paint, and dropped conveniently into a nearby garbage can with a cacophony that stopped the diner’s conversations. A sunshine yellow assault of eggs, milk and various-colored peppers flew up in a leap Nureyev would have envied. A confetti of ingredients splattered the walls and appliances in a six-foot radius, but most of it hit the wall near the black mark. Like a slow-motion action sequence, the goo slid slowly and inexorably toward the floor, leaving cheery streaks of yellow dotted with red and green.

     For a moment the room was so quiet even the distant sounds of freeway traffic could be heard. Then conversations resumed as the waiters and remaining kitchen staff raced to the scene like reporters to the site of a disaster. The wall’s egg-tempura vanished under an assault of paper towels. While some hands wiped the appliances down, others patted Vinnie soothingly, talking softly in attempts to diffuse the situation.

    “That was the last order, Vinnie.”

     “You’ve had a really long day.”

     “Go home; we’ll take care of things.”

     Impervious to it all, Vinnie pushed everybody aside and stormed out through the lounge, his apron strings floating behind him.

     It was over in a flash.  The majority of the diners probably weren’t even aware of the great drama

 that had just taken place. DJ was just lucky enough to have seen it all from start to finish. And what a

great ending since he didn’t particularly like omelets.

SO---funny or unkind to laugh?






Wednesday, March 10, 2021

Short Stories

 


            Have you ever tried to capture a childhood memory -- that illusive remnant of an adventure softened by the shadows of time? As adults, we might wonder if those events really happened, or if they are only figments of our imagination.  We might laugh now at our naiveté, but at the time, those painted carousel horses were very much alive, the pirate ship held tons of gold, and the cowboys always won.                    For me, there was a candy dish; but not your ordinary candy dish of course…

            "Are we there yet?"

The road was bumpy, and Dad swerved to miss a snake slithering across the gravel.  It was hot, but July is always hot in Iowa, and back in 1956, air conditioning wasn't included on the sticker price of our Chevy station wagon.  It didn't bother me, though, because I was seven years old.  I was tough, and not about to let hot weather stop me from enjoying the drive that would take me to my adventure.

            Bugs splattered against the windshield, and a big grasshopper ricocheted off the rear view mirror to land on the back seat.  Dad said to get it out of the car, but one look at those beady eyes convinced me it wouldn't hurt if the grasshopper went with us. 

            Dad was taking me to my Aunt Bea's -- a farm with horses and other animals and homemade cookies and my cousin Craig.  We would take baths in a galvanized tub hardly big enough to sit in; we had to hand-pump water into the kitchen sink.  We played from sun-up until Aunt Bea rang the huge dinner bell, then after meals we played some more.

            At that time, there were no convenience stores on the corners, no public swimming pools and skating rinks or shopping at the mall every afternoon.  There were no computers, video games or cell phones; no colored TV in every room or central air conditioning. 

             Instead, we had acres and acres of green grass and blue sky in which to play; square hay bales to hide behind when playing cowboys; a big house with a huge porch and cookies hot from the oven.  Our imaginations never limited the source of our adventures, and we didn't need a lot of toys to occupy our time.  Unless, of course, you counted the dollar's worth of plastic cowboys we bought at the local Five & Dime. 

            Aunt Bea had a big old farmhouse -- far too large for just the three of them, so the front rooms had been closed off by a set of pocket doors.  White slipcovers blanketed the furniture and the draperies were always closed. Voices echoed eerily off the chill walls and hardwood floors should anyone happen to step into what looked like a mausoleum.    

            It was as though an entirely different family lived there, but they were never home.  Even so, you had to walk past the connecting doors quietly, for it wouldn't be polite to disturb them. 

            "Don't say a word," my cousin would whisper, a finger to his lips.  Of course, I believed him -- he was older than me and he lived there all the time.

            It was more fun living in the back of the house, anyway, because there were two kitchens.  In one, Aunt Bea put up summer vegetables from the garden.  There were big wooden worktables, the pump to get water into the sink, and a big, pot-bellied stove. 

            Aunt Bea made cookies in the other kitchen.  It was by the living room, where Uncle Clair watched black & white TV and an old sidesaddle hung on the wall.  My cousin and I would lie on the hardwood floor and play with little cars that went in a metal garage and rolled down the ramp to the car wash.

            Every day we played cowboys, hiding behind hay bales and shooting at each other with plastic handled pistols.  We'd take turns being the cowboys and bad guys because it was only fun when there was someone to shoot at.  After all, with just two of us, it would be too easy to steal horses from imaginary outlaws.  Even so, it was easy to get bored.  So we would hide out and try to decide what to do next.

            We could go get something to eat or drink.  It was hot and we played hard.  Of course, we couldn't just walk in and ask -- that would have been too simple -- so we decided to sneak in through the front of the house.

            The old weathered boards of the porch creaked beneath our bare feet.  The screen door swayed on rusty hinges and created eerie noises that belonged to the inky night, not to broad daylight.  I giggled and my cousin shushed me -- we couldn't dare be caught.  We silently crept closer to the door, keeping low beneath the windows.  Craig turned the handle -- a soft click and the door squeaked open, inch by noisy inch.  I held my breath, sure that any second we would be discovered.  Craig pushed on the big wooden door -- I grabbed his arm and hung on.  After all, he was bigger than me and much, much braver.

            Shadows loomed gigantic across the wood floors.  Shrouded furniture turned to ghostly shapes before our eyes and towered larger than any monster either of us had ever seen.

            "Let's go," I whimpered, ready to forget the entire escapade.

            "We can't," Craig jerked me to a stop and pointed. 

            There, like a glittering crystal crown, a candy dish perched on top of the dark wood coffee table.  We stood in silent awe as it beckoned us.  Sunshine filtered through a gap in the draperies to form a spotlight, causing the crystal to wink knowingly at us.  Dust motes floated down the sunbeams and danced around the crystal, paying homage.

            We crept on hands and knees now, our eyes wide and our hearts pounding.  Any minute unbidden creatures would jump up and screech at us from behind the white sheets.  Beasts from beneath the couch would snatch our legs and drag us, screaming and fighting, beneath the draped edge, never to be heard from again. 

            Regardless of the danger, we slithered closer, for the candy dish proved a stronger lure than the threat of unseen monsters.

            Even as our grubby hands touched the sparkling cut glass, we cast furtive glances over our shoulders toward the doors that separated this section from the real house.  Craig whispered to be careful, for we not only had to remove the lid without letting it click against the side, but we must put it back so no one would know we had been there. 

            Our adventure became more difficult the minute Craig lifted the lid.  It had a fluted edge, and if the little curves didn't fit together just right, it would fall off to the side and break.  Not to mention making an incredible noise. 

            I could hear Aunt Bea moving around in the kitchen on the other side of the pocket doors.  The dog barked outside, and a horse neighed in the distance.  My heart beat louder than any ordinary noise, and I knew for sure she could hear us.  I held my breath as I reached into the bowl.  My hand closed around the prize -- sweet, hard bits of sugar.  As quietly as we had come, we left, pulling the door softly closed behind us.

            Those few seconds were as long as we could remain quiet.  With whoops of laughter, we jumped off the porch and raced for the hay bales, falling down to the ground only after we were safely out of sight and no one the wiser.  We laughed as we ate the spoils of our adventure, arguing already over who would lead the secret raid tomorrow.

            We never questioned the reason for a candy dish in a room no one ever entered.  After a week of raids on the ghostly haunt, we never once thought it unusual that the candy dish, sitting alone in a room never used, was always full.  After all, it was summer on the farm, and at seven years of age, it's easy to believe in magic.

***

If you like short stories for a change of pace, I invite you to grab a copy of “Before Tomorrow Comes” -- Can five women with tender hearts find the love they deserve before their secrets and pasts are exposed? This, and all my romance novels are available at Books we Love www.bookswelove.net.

Here’s hoping your memories are magic.

Barb Baldwin

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

https://bookswelove.net/baldwin-barbara/


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