You Had to be There - A Summer Memory by Roseanne Dowell

Summer is a magical time in the life of a child and it was no less for me. I’ve always loved summer, especially in the fifties when I was young and carefree. It was a time of happiness and

contentment.  Secure in the love of my family, I enjoyed the summer days and nights.  We spent the days riding bikes, playing kick the can, hide and seek, baseball, and tag.  It’s so clear in my mind, it could have been yesterday instead of fifty plus years ago. 

My memories go back to warm summer days in Cleveland, Ohio.  Days spent waiting anxiously for my father to come home from work.  At the first sign of nice weather, my mother brought out the picnic basket. Every day in the nice weather, she packed it and had it ready to go.

While Dad washed up, we packed the car and before you knew it, we were on our way to our special place, Lagoon, named for the small lake nearby, Actually more like a pond.. The name sounded spooky, probably because in 1954 the movie Creature From the Black Lagoon was so popular. Not that I ever saw it, I didn't and still don’t care to. Spooky movies and I don’t get along.

We jumped out of the car and immediately begin gathering kindling while Mom and Dad brought the picnic basket and cooler to the table. No charcoal for us, wood was free and plentiful. After picking up the smaller twigs, we ran towards the woods looking for larger branches to use for firewood and. long skinny sticks for roasting marshmallows after dinner. Mom crumpled up old newspaper and started the fire and let Dad relax. She added the larger wood as the fire started smoldering.

My brothers, sisters, and I bickered and competed to see who could break the larger dead branches we had gathered. Holding the branch with one hand, we  jumped on it. Naturally, my brothers, being older and bigger, won. My sisters and I broke the smaller ones.  We held each end and cracked them across our knees. Even now I can hear the snap as the brittle branches splintered. Mom and Dad laughed at our antics unless we got too rough. Once the fire settled down to hot coals, my parents cooked, and we played.

Not far from our table and near the bridle path stood an old tree  with a crooked branch big enough to sit on . We called it our horse tree.  My sisters and I climbed the tree and watched the world while my brothers played baseball.  Sometimes we made up stories about the people who drove by. Riders often came down the path next to us, and we jumped down from our loft, talked to them, and petted the horses. That was before my fear of horses.

 Three or four of us could fit on that thick old limb, and we thought we were so high up that no one could see us At least we thought they couldn't. Far up to a child is a lot different than to an adult. . We often sat up there until dinnertime.  After dinner, we usually went for a walk by the lake with our parents or our brothers. We weren't allowed to go alone until we got older

On Wednesdays and weekends,my aunt, uncle, and cousins came on the picnic with us. We had some great baseball games  with ten kids and four adults. We played out in the dusty old field, screaming “go to third, or run home” and shouting “catch it, throw it home” jumping up and down as our team scored a run or someone in the field caught the ball.  Being the second youngest of six kids I didn't hit the ball very far, but the adults made allowances for us younger kids. They let the ball roll past them if we managed to hit it. But there was fierce competition between us kids and even my brothers didn't give us a break. After the game, our parents relaxed or played horseshoes.

While they visited with each other, we were allowed to go almost anywhere as long as the older boys were with us.  One of my favorite memories is going for walks up a long hill. At the end of the road, an old house stood surrounded by trees and covered in ivy. Dirty windows stared at us from their ivy-covered facade. An overgrown yard hid the sidewalk. The house looked spooky, probably abandoned, but we didn't know that then.

My brothers told us a witch lived there so we couldn't get too close. We slowed down the closer we got to the house. A little more than halfway up, one of my brothers yelled, "she's coming" or "there she is." We raced back down the hill like our lives depended on it. At the bottom, we stopped out of breath and laughed, thinking we outran her.

No matter how scared we were, we  begged to go back. I think we hoped to see her one day. Of course, neither my sisters or I ever saw her. Thinking back, I'm sure no one lived there, but even as a child I had a wild imaginatIon. Not that I was the only one, my sisters and cousin imagined the same thing. 

When we got a little older, my sisters, our cousin, and I were allowed to wander by off by ourselves. We even conjured up enough courage to go up the hill alone. Not that we ever made it all the way up. It never failed one or the other of us  thought we saw someone moving in the window or our brothers sneaked up out of the woods and scared the daylights out of us. As usual we ran like the devil was chasing us. After we caught our breaths, we took after the boys, never quite quick enough to catch them. 

I miss those days.  Many of the people are gone now, but the memory remains of that simpler time. A time when all we had to worry about was doing our chores, picnics, gathering sticks for kindling, playing and pretending. It was a time when fun, imaginations, and love abounded, and summer days were magical.

We went back to Lagoon several years ago for a family reunion. The tree still stands, but the witch's house, alas, was gone. We told our children and grandchildren these tales. They listened politely, smiling and nodding, but they didn't find the humor or magic in the story as we did. 

I guess you had to be there

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Taking over the police chief’s job in her hometown should have been easy for Callie Johnson. At least that's what she thought. After working in a big city, small town crime would be a breeze. What a surprise when she arrives to find her grandmother, the judge, accused of murder. As if that wasn't enough she’s attacked while walking to her car. Between criminal investigations, her nutty family’s antics and her Aunt Beatrice Lulu's matchmaking, Callie definitely has her work cut out for her. Will her grandmother be exonerated? Can Callie ward off her aunt’s unsuitable suitors? What other surprises were in store for her? More importantly, can she find the person who attacked her?

I just don't get some people by Michelle Lee

I have been encouraged by many of the BWL authors to share a little bit about myself - rather than just my thoughts on covers and images.  So here is another of those posts  ...

As I am sure you have figured out already, based on past posts of mine, I am a nature lover.  What you might not know is that, although I have issues with how some zoos operate, I support the zoo concept.

There is a quote that I strongly believe in.  It goes ...

"In the end we will conserve only what we love; 

we will love only what we understand; 

and we will understand only what we are taught." 

(Baba Dioum, 1968)

For many people, zoos are the only way they will ever have exposure to some animals, and to the need for conservation.  Zoos also provide a repository of genetic material for animals that are quickly going extinct in the wild.

So it was with a heavy heart that I read an article where a wolf at the Menominee Park Zoo was put down because of the actions of people - any of which had they stopped and actually thought about things along the way, could have prevented the situation.

What do I mean by that?

A gate to a restricted area was left open.  Had the employee made sure to do what they were supposed to, the area would have been secured.  It might seem a small oversight, but when you have wild animals under your care - animals that depend on your for their safety and health, as well as depend on you to keep unauthorized people away, then that small oversight is a big deal.

A parent, who wanted a picture of the wolves in the exhibit CHOSE to go into a clearly marked restricted area.  Not only that, the parent CHOSE to take their young child with them.  Now as a parent myself, I remember when my daughter was young and constantly into things. Some place like, oh gee, a zoo meant I needed to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn't wander off, attempt to pull a feather from a peacock, climb up the rail and lean into the elephant exhibit, etc.  So the parent made a bad error in judgement and placed the desire to get a picture, from an area they knew they were not allowed in to, to override their duty to their child.

As a result - while the parent was getting their picture of a beautiful wolf - their child was attempting to have its own encounter.  Now many small children don't view dogs as a threat - and in fact view them as playful and a friend.  This is natural. As we all know, wolves are the ancestral line for the modern dog - so to a small child, they can appear to be one and the same.  So it should come as no surprise that the child attempted to pet and/or play with the wolf through the less rigorously controlled fencing.  Zoo enclosures are regulated strictly by AZA to protect patrons.  Zoo keeper areas are a little more relaxed because they are behind gates, and the relationship necessitates some access to the animals by the keepers.  So in this situation, the child was able to get close enough to the WILD WOLF that it, feeling threatened, nipped at the child.

As a result - there was a potential for rabies.

Now here is where things get a little rocky.  Rabies vaccines have not been "proven" completely effective for wolves - because to prove the effectiveness you have to kill the animal and dissect the brain after first giving the vaccine and then introducing the rabies virus.  For a species we are trying to increase numbers of - killing off the required amount to prove the effectiveness of the vaccine is unnecessary.  Those in the zoo who are in danger of being bitten have all had the necessary vaccine themselves.

So with potential exposure, even thought the wolf had had the vaccine, without the 'proven effectiveness' of the vaccine - there were only three possibilities.

1.  Wait and see - which is not a good option, since there is no cure for rabies- just a preventative.  So had the wolf had rabies, and infected the child, the child would have died.

2. Kill the wolf, dissect the brain - and then if it showed positive, give the child the rabies vaccine series of shots.  If this is done quick enough, the child survives.

3. Just go ahead and give the child the series of shots.

The parents were given the choice of what they wanted done.

What did they chose?  Option 2.

Now I understand the rabies vaccines are not comfortable.  In fact, they hurt.  And we are not talking just one injection, but a series of them.  Having worked in animal rehab myself, I have enough friends who have had the vaccines to know they are not pleasant.

That said - because of the zoo employee messing up, because of the parent choosing to go into a restricted area and then further compounding the situation by NOT WATCHING THEIR CHILD, the wolf was put down.  The wolf did not attack viciously.  It didn't charge or aggressively come after the child.  A stranger was in its 'safe place' attempting to touch it, and the animal simply reacted.

I know, had it been me, and I was the parent who acted foolishly, I would have opted for my child to have the vaccine and more than likely, would have gotten my own set - not because of any fear of the disease, but to suffer as my child was.  I know that I would not have opted to kill an innocent creature for my own stupidity.

So what about you?  Any thoughts on this situation?

~ Michelle

If you are interested in a more lighthearted post about animals ... check out

BLACK AND WHITE AND SHIFTERS ALL OVER

A Paean to Tidiness by Sheila Claydon

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I've been thinking about the heroines in my books and discovered a very surprising thing. All of them are tidy. They have the odd moment of course...like single mum Kerry in Double Fault when she's trying to juggle childcare with setting up a new business, or Ellie in Cabin Fever when she's too busy thinking about charismatic Drew Pennington-Smith to bother to pick up her clothes, but despite these falls from grace, they are still tidy. Why? The answer is simple. Every one of my heroines is a strong, successful woman who is holding down a busy job while trying to cope with the messiness of her emotions. In Saving Katy Gray I even dedicate a whole chapter of the book to Katy's attempts to introduce some order into her elderly patient's life. Nor is it wasted when the hero visits.

So is life too short to peel a grape? Is a tidy house really a sign of a wasted life, or as the modern update says, the sign of a broken computer? Even Einstein got in on the act with his sarcastic - “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?”

There are many, many more and we've probably all heard most of them, laughed at them, identified with them, and even quoted some of them. Why? Because it's good to have an excuse when we're so pressured that we can't keep up with the demands of daily life. We all prefer to think of ourselves as interesting so if the accepted norm is that we can't be interesting and organised and tidy, then we'll celebrate messiness and chaos.

A great many of the people who are the successes of modern society don't buy this however. (Einstein excepted!)

Bill Gates, Richard Branson. Donald Trump, the late Steve Jobs, Angelina Jolie. Jerry Seinfield, Fashion designer Roksanda Ilincic and many, many others, all are or were notoriously tidy. To them, organisation, 'to do' lists, tidy desks are a means to an end. Without them they wouldn't have the time to be creative or, more importantly, put their creative ideas into action. 

Indeed, when I worked in the corporate world I learned very quickly that the most successful managers were, almost without exception, those with tidy desks and clean shoes! Think about it.  If someone has time to polish their shoes before work, then they are probably meticulous in every area of their lives...not a bad character trait if you want to succeed.

I prefer this quote:  'If you can organize your kitchen, you can organize your life.' Ditto your desk. That doesn't mean that you can't let things get untidy. Far from it. What it does mean though, is that you have to clean up afterwards, just like my heroines. 

If you've never faced pile of washing up from the night before at the start of a new day and not experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach then maybe you're the exception. As far as I'm concerned though, a new day is a day full of infinite possibilities, it's the day when I might just have the idea that will become a best seller, so if I have to start it by sorting out my messy from the day before, well that just ain't going to happen. I'll probably have lost the will to live before I'm halfway through. In future then I'm going to live by my new mantra:

Organize your life around your dreams - and watch them come true.

All Sheila's books and her organised and tidy heroines can be found on Amazon at http://amzn.to/ZSyLpf

She's also on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/SheilaClaydon.author or visit her website at http://sheilaclaydon.com

My Self Defense Class

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My friend, Crystal takes Ju Jutsu and she said that her instructor, Warren, lets people come out for a free class before deciding if they want to take lessons. She asked me if I want to try a free class. I had been thinking of learning some sort of self-defense so I accepted her invitation.

     On the Monday evening I wore leggings and a t-shirt fully expecting to watch from the sidelines and maybe try a couple of moves. Crystal told me to remove my shoes before walking on the mats and then took me to a room where she found a white canvas gi jacket that fit. I donned it over my t-shirt and wrapped the left side over the right. Crystal showed me the proper way to tie the obi or belt.

     Everyone in the class did their own stretching and then Warren had us run around the room, first forward, then backwards, then sideways. Once that was done he said. "Line up senior to junior." I knew I was the oldest one there so I headed to the beginning of the line. Everyone looked askance at me and grinned.

     "I'm the most senior person here," I said. But, apparently, the line up isn't by age. I headed to the last of the line. The person at the end gave me a warm welcome.

     "At least now I'm not the newest member," he said.

     The instructor then told us to do forward rolls. The others immediately took turns rolling their way across the room. Warren stood beside me and showed me how to put the back on my left hand on the mat, tuck my head and shoulder down, and push off with my back leg. Talk about being disoriented and dizzy when I sat up. Definitely not like the summersaults I used to do as a child.

     "Do it again," he encouraged.

     I knelt, put the back of my hand down, tucked and, after a deep breath, pushed off. Same result only this time I also felt a bit queasy. I guess I shouldn't have eaten before coming. After the third time I quit and watched the others. Warren called out for backward rolls. He looked at me with his eyebrow raised. I shook my head.

     When everyone had practiced their rolls, Warren ran through a demonstration on how to get out from under an attacker when he has you pinned on the ground and is sitting on top of you. I watched others do it then tried it myself. So long as my attacker gives me lots of time and offers me a few helpful hints, I will be able to break his hold.

     Warren did tell me that I should not waste my energy struggling against an attacker. It will just weaken me, he said. He showed me a choke hold to use that is easy and effective.

     Ju means gentle, pliable or yielding and jutsu means technique and is the manipulating of your opponent's force against himself. It was developed to fight the armed samurai of feudal Japan in close combat by using throws, pins, or joint locks. Over the centuries ju jutsu evolved into different types of martial arts around the world, some of students practicing potentially fatal moves and also learning break falling skills so they can practice dangerous throws.

     Since the beginning, students of ju jutsu trained in formal kimonos. In 1907, the founder of Judo introduced a uniform called the judogi. The gi consists of three parts: a heavy jacket called a uwagi, light canvas pants, shitabaki, and the cotton belt, obi.

     At the end of the class Warren said I could come back for two more free lessons. I must have really impressed him. However, while I was glad to have had the opportunity to try a ju jutsu class I didn't return for my other two free lessons. I decided I didn't like throwing myself or other people around on a mat.

     Since I was a teenager, I have practiced my own techniques to prevent being attacked that have served me well. I try not to be on the streets after dark but if I am walking at night I stride confidently with my head up and shoulders back. Attackers are cowards and they look for someone weak whom they can overpower. I carry my car keys spaced between my fingers to use for stabbing or slashing. I wear pants which are harder for an attacker to get into and low shoes or running shoes so I can get away easier. New technology has given us panic buttons on our key fobs which can be pressed to start our vehicle's horn blaring. I keep mine handy.

     And I've noticed in books and on television shows that the women who are attacked and even killed are always wearing matching panties and bra. Just to be on the safe side, I never do.

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The Travelling Detective Series boxed set:

Illegally Dead

The Only Shadow In The House

Whistler's Murder

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FAN FLIRTING by Karla Stover 

                 

The morning after her coming-out ball, a young debutant sits in the family drawing room pretending to read while her mother writes letters and a parlor maid feeds the fire. When the doorbell rings, the debutant looks up, hope written on her face.  After a few long moments, a  footman appears carrying a silver tray on which rests a nosegay of deep red carnations tied with a piece of blue plaid wool.  “Who are they from?” asks the mother. “There’s no note,” says the girl. But she caresses the ribbon and smiles.  Surely this is the Napier plaid, she thinks, remembering the Scotsman with whom she’d danced the previous night. And surely he knows red carnations mean, ‘Alas for my poor heart’ in the language of flowers. And so she plans her fan flirting for the next dance.

The fan’s subtle language is now dead, but in the days when women were less bold, knowing that looking at a man while carrying an open fan in the left hand meant, “Come talk to me.”  And that perhaps later, after seeing her mother frown, the girl is smart enough to twirl the fan in her left hand, letting the man know, “We are being watched.” The Victorian woman carried on entire conversations with her fan.

At the next ball, the debutant sees the Scotsman and holds her fan in her right hand in front of her face, “Follow me,” and then, oh so subtly, touches it with the tip of her finger, “I wish to speak with you.”

But wait! What is her would-be suitor doing? In agitation, the deb passes her fan from hand to hand—“I see that you are looking at another woman.” The Scotsman half-smiles and nods in her direction, but in vain. The slow-moving fan cooling the girl’s flushed cheeks speaks as loudly as words: “Don’t waste your time. I don’t care about you.”  He appears at her side but she uses the fan to tap her ear, “I wish to get rid of you.”

The hour grows late; the debutant’s mother beckons but the young man refuses to leave her side. She rests the fan on her lips for a moment with her little finger extended: “I don’t trust you. Goodbye.”

And then, at the door, she half-turns, and uses the fan to move a wisp of hair off her forehead: “Don’t forget me.”

In 1923, Agnes Miller wrote Linger-nots and the Mystery House, a young adult mystery. In the book, the Linger-nots discover a secret room containing war artifacts by interpreting clues left in the flowers a young seamstress used when making her sampler—the language of flowers. In the animated opening of Mystery on PBS’s “Masterpiece Theatre”, a lady is seen holding a fan in front of her face—fan language.

You never know what will pop up and where.

                                                

                                                        

Wedding Card by Cheryl Wright

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As you can probably imagine, I've made quite a few wedding cards over the years.  It's not always easy because I try to make my cards fairly unique.


I recently found a website with a lovely wedding card that was totally different to what I'd seen in the past, so I had to try it. This one uses a paper doily. It looks as though it would be quite complicated, and even time-consuming, but really it's not. (If I can do it, anyone can!)

The background was done with an embossing folder (from Stampin' Up!), and the greeting is from a very old duo set from Gina K Designs. If you are interested in learning how to do the fold, click here.

(It looks like the dress is just one piece, but it's two pieces joined together.)

Sometimes the simplest of designs are the most appealing.

I hope you've enjoyed this card. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next time!

Links:

My website:  www.cheryl-wright.com 
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Hey, Dad! It's Your Day by Tia Dani

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When we decided to write about Father's Day, a friend, father of two and a non-romance writer, asked, "How can Father's Day have anything to do with writing a romance novel?"

"Au contraire," Tia replied. "Fatherhood could have much to do with it." She mentioned books where the beloved heroes were raising a child or children...and how it only took a heroine's arrival to sweeten the mix. And, of course, men, who weren't fathers, but became one under unusual circumstances. She proceeded to inform him about Secret Baby books.

He shook his head. "Secret babies? You're kidding, right?"

"Nope." She grinned. "There are even stories where the heroine (the mother) doesn't know when or how her baby was conceived."

"Oh." He walked away totally befuddled.

We loved it. Befuddling men is fun.

Let's take a look at the special day that venerates those proud, paternal-driven papas. Fathers have been around since Adam first fertilized Eve, but, it wasn't until the early1900's ministers and women's magazines seriously touted the righteousness of fatherhood. Whatever for we have no idea. We decided to go look into the reason.

It began with Mr. William Jackson Smart. His daughter, Sonora Smart (a neat first name, isn't it?), aka Mrs. John Bruce Dodd of Spokane Washington, came up with the idea in 1909 while listening to a Mother's Day sermon (a holiday which originated two years earlier.)

Sonora, along with five brothers, had been raised by their widowed father, a Civil War veteran. Following the death of his wife in childbirth, Smart struggled to work his eastern Washington farm, while keeping his children clothed, fed and properly reared.

Mr. Smart, an admirable man, considering in the early 20th Century men frequently lost their wives to childbirth. The majority remarried quickly so they wouldn't have to care for children, specifically newborn infants, alone.

Widowed men, often farmers, looked for a widow with children. Marrying her, he not only had a woman seeing to his home and children, her offspring were needed help with the never-ending farm chores. Many second marriages turned into genuine love, others didn't, but both ways, more children were born and families often grew as large as 6 to 15 kids living at home at one time. Now, that's what we call being a fertile father.

Sonora Dodd's proposal was met with enthusiasm by local ministers. The date suggested was the fifth of June (William Smart's birthday), but many of the ministers needed more time to write their sermons, so the celebration was moved to the 19th, the third Sunday of the month.

Word spread and newspapers across the country endorsed this new holiday. One notable supporter to Mrs. Dodd's idea was orator and political leader William Jennings Bryan. He wrote "...too much emphasis cannot be placed upon the relation between parent and child." However, even with notable support and the holiday being accepted across the nation, members of the all-male Congress at the time felt to proclaim the day official might be interpreted as a self-congratulatory pat on the back. (Go figure, huh?) So the holiday remained a minor one.

But it didn't remain a silent one. In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson and his family personally observed the holiday, and President Calvin Coolidge wrote in 1924 that states, if they so wished, should do whatever they wanted as far as celebrating the holiday.

In 1937, New York City founded a National Father's Day Committee and decided to choose a theme for each Father's Day and select a Father of the Year.

In 1957, Senator Margaret Chase Smith wrote to Congress saying Americans should honor both parents. To single out just one and omit the other was "...the most grievous insult imaginable."

Yet, it wasn’t until 1966 when President Lyndon B. Johnson signed a presidential proclamation declaring the 3rd Sunday of June to be identified as Father's Day. In April of 1972, President Richard Nixon signed it into Public Law 92-278.

How about that? It took 62 years for fathers to be officially recognized!

Go...Dads!

Here's a bit of trivia for you. Did you know the Romans observed a Father's Day, every February...but...just for dead ones. Think about it. It could be an interesting twist for a Secret Baby story.

Here's some of our family photos. 

Tia's great-grandparents, George and Katharina Meir (later changed to Meyers) because my great-grandfather wanted to sound more American.

Katharina married George after he lost his first wife, leaving him with two children. Katharina too was a widow with three children. All together they had 10 children.  And, yes, they had a large farm. Everyone worked. Including my grandmother, Elizabeth. Despite she was a girl, she worked along side her father out in the fields

Tia with her dad. Note bandage on my chin. Fell off a stone ledge and split open my chin. Had to have stitches. What can I say, I was quite a rough and tumble kid.

 Grandparents JW and Emma Eaton. Emma was also a second wife. However they didn’t live on a farm. My grandfather owned a barbershop and ice cream parlor. Can’t remember if my grandmother had been married before. I don’t think she had been. But between them they had quite a few children. Can’t remember right now what the total was, darn it. What I do remember my dad was the last one born.

                                                                       Dani and her dad.

            Yes, I'm the little baby he's holding. Uncle Hershel sitting on the curb. This is in southern California.

                                                                                                                                           

Dani's grandparents.

Grandpa H.L Christian and his second wife, Mae. Grandpa had 6 kids when she married him and together they had 6 more including my mom. The little girl in picture is my mother. All worked the farm in Arkansas.

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