Silent Night Nancy M Bell

To find out more about Storm's Christmas and other books by Nancy please click on the cover.

Christmas festivities change over the years. When we're young things are so simple.
We always put the tree up on December 20th as that was my birthday. Mom and Dad never wanted to put the tree up earlier than that as we always had a real tree and they worried that it would dry out.
We had these really cool bubble lights that were all different colors but got really hot when you left them on too long. There was a fluffy white angel on top.
One Christmas Eve when we were still outside in the driveway just getting out of the car Wendy and I got a huge surprise. There, coming down the Cooney’s driveway, who were our next door neighbors, was Santa Claus!

We both screamed and then bolted for the back door. If Santa came while were still up and awake he wouldn’t leave us anything. We tore through the back door into the kitchen and down the back hall to the bedroom. With our wet snow boots and coats still on Wendy and I scrambled into bed and pulled the covers over our heads. I had a harder time getting into bed as I had to climb up into the top bunk, but I made it. Mom and Dad came in and tried to get us to take off our coats and boots and change into night clothes. Wendy and I wouldn’t budge, we were pretending to be asleep so that Santa would leave our presents. We were sure that he was coming to our house any moment because we KNEW he just next door and he hadn’t been to our house next. He must have already been to Jo-anne and John Lee’s place because they lived on the other side of the Cooneys, so we had to be next. Mom and Dad must have removed our boots after we were asleep because they were gone in the morning. And Santa did leave our presents for us that year.

Then we get older and things get a little more complicated. Boyfriends and eventually husbands enter the scene and there are now two families with sometimes conflicting traditions to juggle. And then babies come, and bring with them a whole new dimension to the planning and logistics of the holidays. Somehow we survive the chaos and suddenly the babies aren't babies anymore. They grow up and acquire girlfriends and obligations beyond out small family circle. The years pass so quickly it's hard to fathom the reality of it.

And then our family circle grows smaller as children and their spouses go their own ways, often taking them far away from the home place. Though we are always together in our hearts, there is now a new meaning to Silent Night. No squeals of laughter on Christmas morning, tons of leftovers from a Christmas turkey cooked for only two. Looking down the years, I see the thread of my ancestors walking the same journey that I do, from maiden to mother to crone. Ahead of me I see the line of my descendants, walking the same journey as life spans wax and wane. There is a certain surety in the notion, the players may change but the story goes on forever.

Wishing you and yours the happiest of holiday seasons. Welcome back the light on Solstice Night.

www.nancymbell.ca

A Christmas Story -- Janet Lane Walters #MFRWAuthor #BWLAuthor #Christmas Story #Children

I wrote this story many years ago. At that time my children were young and I was into reading stories to them. They always asked me to write them a story and so I did.

 

The Urn of Fate

Pedro tossed a stone down the hill and sighed. He felt a tugging at his woolen scarf and turned to stroke Blanca, his pet merino sheep.

“Si, Blanca, soon it will be time to go down but I must think now. Jaime’s coming for a few days. Can you imagine, he’s to be my special friend until next Christmas?”

Pedro put his arm around Blanca and she settled beside him. Christmas hadn’t been good this year. Pedro frowned as he remembered how excited he’d been when his grandmother, Abuela, had picked up the Urn of Fate and started to draw names. Pedro had held his breath.

Last year, Tio Carlos had been his special friend. Tio Carlos had given him Blanca and had taught him many things about being a shepherd.

This year, Abuela had drawn Jaime’s name to be Pedro’s special friend. Pedro wondered what Jaime would give him. Jaime always had his nose in a book.

Pedro had been so disappointed he had run from the room, saying he had to feed Blanca and the chickens. His eyes had burned with tears. Abuela had planned the whole thing but it wouldn’t work. He and Jamie could never be special friends.

“Pedro, Pedro, come quickly,” his mother called.

Pedro rose slowly and untied Blanca’s rope. “We must go, little one.” He and Blanca made their way cautiously down the hill. Blanca was going to lamb soon and Pedro took special care of her. She was his future. Someday, he would have the largest flock of sheep in Spain.

“Pedro, I want you to take some eggs to Abuela.”

“Si, Mamacita,” said Pedro. “First, I must put Blanca in her pen.”

“Let Jaime do that while you gather the eggs.”

Pedro hadn’t noticed Jaime standing in the doorway. “Hello, Jaime,” he said. “I’ll get the eggs and you put Blanca in her pen. Be sure the door is shut.”

“May I pet her?” asked Jaime.

“Sure.”

As the boys started down the hill to their grandmother’s, Jaime said. “Blanca is a merino. I read they produce fine wool.”

Pedro grinned. Maybe Jaime wouldn’t be so bad after all.

When they reached their grandmother’s house, Pedro carried the eggs in. Jaime followed him.

“Good day, Abuela,” said Jaime.

Abuela took the eggs. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad Jaime could visit you. It will do you good to be outdoors more, Jaime.”

“Si Abuela,” Jaime said.

“And you, Pedro, Jaime can interest you in books. The schoolmaster has been talking to me.”

“I don’t need books. I’m going to be a shepherd.”

“Some knowledge might help.”

“Si, Abuela,” said Pedro. “Come, Jaime, Mamacita will have supper ready.”

The sky was growing dark and the wind had begun to blow.

“Hurry, Jaime,” said Pedro. “It’s going to snow and Tio Carlos said Blanca might have her lamb any time. I want to be with her.”

“Can you only think of that smelly sheep,” said Jaime. “Tio Carlos always smells like sheep.”

“So will I. I’m going to be a shepherd.”

“And I’m going to be a school teacher.”

When they reached home, Jaime went to the house but Pedro headed for Blanca’s pen. A few minutes alter, he burst into the house. “Blanca’s gone! It’s all your fault, Jaime. The door wasn’t closed tight.” He ran out.

“Pedro, wait for me,” called Jaime. “I’ll help you.” He pulled on his coat and tried to tuck the loose ends of his scarf in as he ran after Jaime. “I’m sorry I didn’t do it right.”

“I should have done it myself,” said Pedro. “Blanca, Blanca!” He tried to follow the tracks Blanca had left.

The wind began to blow and snow swirled through the air. Finally, Pedro stopped and slumped to the ground.

“It’s no use. The wind has hidden her tracks.”

“Pedro,” called Jaime. “Here’s a bit of wool on this bush. We must search like the American Indians do. I studied them in English class. We’ll find her.”

Pedro stumbled after Jaime. Each time Jaime found a new sign of Blanca’s travels, Pedro was amazed. The storm was so thick he could hardly see Jaime.

“I must rest,” Jaime said.

“But look, there’s a big lump in front of those bushes over there.”

Pedro ran forward. “We’ve found her. Oh, Blanca, why did you run away?”

He knelt beside Blanca on the ground.  His eyes widened when he saw the two lambs nestled against her. “Jaime, come quickly. Blanca has two lambs. We must get them home.”

“Pedro,” Jaime screamed.

Pedro turned and saw Jaime lying on the ground. He ran over.

“I tripped on a tree root,” said Jaime. “My ankle hurts. I can’t stand. Now we’ll never get Blanca and her two lambs home.”

“You found Blanca and I will get us home,” said Pedro.

Pedro found some stout branches and put one on either side of Jaime’s injured leg. He tied them with his and Jaime’s scarves. Then he carried Blanca and the lambs to Jaime.

“Put the lambs in your coat to keep them warm while I try to make some kind of sled with some of these pine branches. I’m glad you didn’t take Blanca’s rope off. We can use that.”

After Pedro wove the branches together, he put Jaime and Blanca on the makeshift sled. He tugged on the short rope and started down the hill. The sled bounced over the uneven ground and Pedro thought it might fall apart before they got far. He hoped he could find some shelter for Jaime and Blanca so he could continue home for help.

“Pedro,” said Jaime. “Sheep are soft. Can we be friends?”

“Didn’t the Urn of Fate choose us?” said Pedro. “Maybe you can find me some books about sheep.”

“Pedro, look. There are some lights moving up the hill.”

Pedro looked up. Mamacita must have called men from the village to look for us. We’re almost home, my Blanca, my two lambs and my special friend. Here we are,” he shouted.

The End

The Banting Legacy, by J.C. Kavanagh

Darkness Descends, 

Book 2 of the award-winning Twisted Climb series

I live in rural Ontario, Canada, near the town of Alliston (population approximately 20,000). The town is about 15 minutes from home and is my typical shopping destination. Alliston is well known for its potatoes (vying for Canada's top spot vs Prince Edward Island), and the enormous Honda production facility, which encompasses 45 acres and employs 4,000 people.  Though it has grown by 25% since the 2011 Census, the town is still small enough to maintain that 'country charm' sought after by city dwellers.

But what Alliston is most famous for is not pototatoes or Honda vehicles. Alliston is the birth-place of the renowned scientist, physician and painter, Sir Frederick Banting.

Sir Frederick Banting, 1891 - 1941

Few people know the diverse traits of the man famous for co-discovering the insulin treatment for diabetes. Born in Alliston, Ontario in 1891, Banting was the youngest of five children. He attended public school in Alliston and later attended Victoria College, part of the University of Toronto. He enrolled in the General Arts program and, believe it or not, failed in his first year. However, despite that setback, he was accepted into the university's medical program in 1912. World War I intervened and in 1915, Banting joined the medical corps of the army. As there were insufficient doctors to support the troops, Banting's class was fast-tracked and he graduated in December 2016, reporting for military duty the very next day. Despite being wounded at the Battle of Cambrai in northern France, Banting continued to provide medical assistance to comrades for the next 16 hours. A year later, in 1919, he was awarded the Military Cross for heroism.

Military Cross of Canada

Banting returned to Canada after the war, taking up orthopedic medicine and working as resident surgeon at Toronto's Hospital for Sick Children. He moved his practice to London, Ontario and also taught orthopedics and anthropology part-time at the University of Western Ontario. It was there that his interest in diabetes unfolded. Dr. Banting had been asked to give a lecture on the pancreas, a gland organ located between the stomach and small intestine where enzymes, or digestive juices, are secreted into the small intestine. While researching reports from other medical scientists, he read that many of his colleagues believed the disease called 'diabetes' was the result of an insufficient hormone named insulin and that this hormone was secreted by the pancreas. A theory had been proposed that insulin was instrumental in regulating the body's glucose/sugar level. The lack of insulin led to an increase of sugar in the blood and these high sugar levels were found in the patient's urine. But back in 1920, when Banting was preparing his lecture, the purpose of the hormone insulin was not confirmed. Therefore, those suffering from diabetes had no protocols to contain the disease and death was almost always inevitable. The condition was more common in children and therefore referred to as Juvenile Diabetes, indicating that the body produced little or no insulin. Banting believed that by introducing insulin into the patient, it would support the non-functioning pancreas. The problem was how to find and extract the hormone. With the support of Dr. John Macleod, professor of physiology at the University of Toronto, Banting began experimenting ways to extract insulin from the pancreas of animals. His experiments were successful and he was able to produce insulin for human use. In 1922, Banting opened a private practice in Toronto and began treating diabetic patients. According to Wikipedia, Banting's first American patient was the daughter of U.S. Secretary of State, Charles Evans Hughes.

In 1923, in recognition of their life-saving work, Banting and Macleod were jointly awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology/Medicine. Banting was 32 years old and is still the youngest Nobel laureate to receive the prize in Physiology/Medicine. That same year, the government of Canada granted Banting a lifetime annuity to continue his work in the field of diabetic / insulin treatment.

Banting's artistic endeavours were also elevated during this time. He became friends with two of Canada's famous The Group of Seven artists, A.Y. Jackson and Lawren Harris. Accompanying Jackson on sketching expeditions, the two travelled to the Arctic and along the St. Lawrence River, and Banting's sketches were widely regarded as some of the best amateur art of its time.

Sir Frederick Banting (right) and Canadian artist A.Y. Jackson from The Group of Seven,
sketch on the ship S.S. Beothic along the Canadian arctic coast, 1927

A Banting canvas circa 1927 and  titled “French River,”
was painted during a sketching adventure with A.Y. Jackson in Sudbury, Ontario.
Only 200 known canvasses are in existence today.
The most expensive, “Rooftops, Quebec City,” sold for $76,050 in 2008. 

In recognition of his contribution to humanity, King George V awarded Banting a knighthood in 1934, bestowing upon him the official title, 'Sir.' 

Sir Frederick Banting continued his medical practice and research for many years, working in Toronto and London, Ontario. However, his genius was not dedicated solely to the production of insulin. In 1938, he lead a Royal Canadian Air Force team researching the physiological problems - blackouts - that pilots encountered while flying high-altitude combat aircraft. He was also instrumental in the creation of the anti-gravity suit, or 'G-suit,' designed by Wilbur Franks, a fellow medical scientist. Together, they developed the pressurized suit that prevented pilots from 'blacking out' from g-forces exerted during turning or diving. According to The Canadian Encyclopedia, NASA's space suit is a refined version of Franks' G-suit.

Wilbur Frank, inventor of the anti-gravity, or G-suit

World War II was underway when Banting undertook a new project - the treatment of mustard gas burns. The British, the U.S., Soviets and Germans were stockpiling tons of the chemical, which was used with horrifying results in chemical warfare. It was said that Banting even tested the gas and proposed treatment on himself, to determine its effectiveness.

In February of 1941, Banting was travelling via airplane to England, departing from Gander, Newfoundland. He was going to meet with colleague Wilbur Franks, and conduct tests on the new 'flying suit' Franks had developed. Shortly after takeoff, the two engines failed and the plane crashed in Musgrave Harbour, Newfoundland. Two of the four people on board died instantly, but Banting and the American pilot, Joseph Mackey, survived the crash. Sadly though, Banting died the next day due to his injuries. He was 49 years old. (Of note, the stunt pilot later founded his own airline, Mackey Airlines. The business ceased operations in 1981.)

The birthplace of Sir Frederick Banting in Alliston, Ontario.
The Banting homestead is also called Ballyfin, due to the Banting family's Irish roots.

Sir Frederick Banting's family farm in Alliston, Ontario was bequeathed to the Ontario Historical Society (OHS) by his late nephew, in 1998. The local government offered the OHS $1 million to purchase the land, with the intention of handing over the property and buildings to the Sir Frederick Banting Legacy Foundation. The Foundation planned to erect a Camp for Diabetic Youths. However, the OHS reneged on the deal and sold the property to a housing development company for more than $2 million. Not to be outdone, the local government designated the property under the Ontario Heritage Act, preventing commercial development on the lands. Though it was strenuously objected to by the property development company, the designation was approved by the Ontario Conservation Review board and in 2007, the property was officially designated a Heritage Site. Today, the buildings house Banting's Diabetes Management and Education Centre. If you would like more information on Sir Frederick Banting, visit www.bantinglegacy.ca

The Banting cairn is a five-ton granite ball symbolizing the impact
the discovery of insulin had on the world, and stands guard at the entrance to
the Banting homestead in Alliston, Ontario.

After all these accomplishments, it is no wonder then, that Sir Frederick Banting was voted one of the top 10 Greatest Canadians of all time in a 2004 CBC poll. His legacy thrives in the lives of many. The local high school is named after him and a good number of educational awards are bestowed in his name.

Sourced from Wikipedia, The Canadian Encyclopedia, Banting Legacy, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, Madhunt.com

J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2)

voted Best Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll, and

Best YA Book Finalist from The Word Guild, Canada

AND

The Twisted Climb (Book 1)

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)

Grandparenting – The Joys and the Pitfalls

A Visit to the Grandparents by Adolph Tidemand 1859

Everyone undergoes life-changing events. Some are happy, others sad. Becoming a grandparent is, without doubt, a uniquely exciting and enriching experience. Research suggests that grandchildren find exceptional emotional and mental benefits in their relationships with grandparents. A bond of genetically-disposed acceptance and trust is formed between the two. Kids who grow up with emotional closeness with grandparents are less likely to become depressed as adults, one study shows. This well-being extends into the teenage years.

Children find grandparents to be a major source of support during family disruptions. They are taken as role models and mentors for younger generations. Sometimes they're playmates for their grandchildren. They are important in teaching values, introducing ethnic heritage and passing on family traditions.

For grandparents, the presence of grandchildren provide tangible health and emotional benefits. Caring for little ones keep adults mentally sharp, boost social connections and stave off depression. Grandparents who babysit grandkids live longer than same age adults without child-rearing responsibilites, according to recent research. 

While becoming a grandparent bring much joy, some pitfalls may occur, especially in relations between grandparents and their adult children. Even if one has raised a dozen kids, the new parents will assume that grandparents know nothing about raising children. The rule for grandparents is not to offer guidance unless requested. Better to bite the tongue than to offer unasked-for advice.

In the excitement of becoming grandparents, some tread on the toes of the parents when it comes to rules on how to raise the child. Grandparents have to remember that the primary caretaker will always be the parents. Boundaries need to be respected.

Sometimes the birth of a grandchild can trigger old or buried emotions, relating to childhood or control issues. This can occur both with the parents and the grandparents. These will usually go away with time and goodwill on both sides.

Somewhere along the line, both have to let go of expectations. The grandparents may not have as much access to the grandchildren as they desire, and parents may not receive as much support as they want. It is best to live in the moment, to be grateful for pleasant surprises and to enjoy what fortune brings.

Mohan Ashtakala (www.mohanashtakala.com) is the author of 'The Yoga Zapper' a Fantasy and 'KarmaNation' a Literary Romance. He is published by Books We Love (www.bookswelove.com)

Christmases Past by Sheila Claydon

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Everyone is writing about Christmas so I will too but not about this one. Instead I'm remembering Christmases past.

There was the one in Denmark where we drank Julebryg, a special Christmas beer for the festive season. It is released at exactly 8.59 pm on the first Friday of November by the 140 Tuborg Brewery and it fuels most holiday festivities for the next six weeks. And then it's gone. It's a strong, dark pilsner (5.6 percent alcohol by volume which takes the unwary foreigner by surprise)  and J-Day, as it is known, is far and away the biggest day of the year for Tuborg. Danes  pack the bars and spill into the streets where they  sing and dance and wear silly hats provided free by the brewery, all for the chance to get a first taste and welcome the start of the festive season by raising their glasses with a hearty 'Skål!'

And Skål was indeed our most used word that Christmas. Although our hosts were family friends, not all of them spoke much English, so because our Danish is very limited, everyone shouted Skål and  raised a glass whenever they ran out of words. It wasn't just beer either. There was plenty of wine later in the day,  and schnapps was always available, even at breakfast, because this was a farming family, used to coming in cold from tending the animals and drinking a warming shot of schnapps while they refuelled. The breakfast food was very different from what we were used to, too.  Curried herrings  on  dark rye bread, or thick slices of sausage and meatballs, all served as a smørrebrød (open sandwich). Then there was Christmas lunch. This was goose with creamed cabbage and potatoes followed by  risalamande, which is a rice pudding with vanilla, almonds and whipped cream served with warm cherry sauce. The risalamande contained a lucky silver charm so we all had to be very careful about what we swallowed and bit into until someone found it. Gifts were exchanged on Christmas Eve, just before a midnight service at the local Lutheran church where the priest, in his starched white ruff and 3-peaked hat was just a little scary, although not as scary as the real candles that burned all night on the real Christmas tree in a farmhouse with a thatched straw roof. I don't think my husband, who is a health and safety expert, slept a wink. It was, however, a wonderful Christmas.

Then there were the two we spent in Australia, where, after a token Christmas lunch at the request of our son who misses his English Christmases, it was beach trips and B-B-Q's all the way with huge, succulent prawns, whole salmon and thick wagu steak, washed down with some of the fine wines from Australia's famous Hunter Valley and of course the inevitable stubbie (bottle of beer) or tinny (can of beer). Australians are amongst the friendliest people in the world when they've had a drink or two so there were many parties as well, but whenever glasses were raised it was still with  a very English 'Cheers' despite the many language differences between our nations. The difference is that Australians also use 'Cheers' for a great many other things, often with the word mate added. It's used as a 'thank you', or a 'well done' or maybe just 'I heard you' or 'I agree with you'.  Of course after a week of sun, sea and surf and a lot of celebrating the climax to an Australian Christmas is always the firework display on Sydney Harbour Bridge, and we are lucky enough to have friends who live directly opposite...so what's not to like.

Our strangest Christmas by far was in China though. In a country where the 4000 year old tradition of the Chinese New Year (otherwise known as the Spring Festival) is by far the most important calendar event, as well as being the longest holiday of the year, Christmas is nevertheless celebrated by its more cosmopolitan inhabitants. While it is not a religious festival nor a public holiday many Chinese  still consider it a time for celebration when, particularly the younger generation, shop, party and feast. In the cities many of the shops are decorated and there are Christmas grottos where Shen Dan Lao Ren (Santa Claus) greets the children and hands out gifts. The food is very different of course and rarely served at home. Instead, most Chinese people who celebrate Christmas see it as a happy occasion for get-togethers of friends and relatives. Christmas parties might be  at a friend's house, but equally they might be at a McDonald's, a karaoke cafe, a restaurant, or a bar. There is a festive atmosphere, and people enjoy the decorations and the Christmas music. Having said that, with a son who craves a traditional Christmas meal if at all possible, I did receive my biggest challenge in China as you can see from the photo below! I got there though despite being used to a ready prepared turkey, and we then ate out for the rest of the holiday. These celebratory meals took place mostly at huge round tables where we were surrounded by smiling Chinese friends whose own version of Cheers is 干杯 Gānbēi, a word they used a great deal as wine and spirits flowed copiously, and we ate an amazing variety of food, none of which we could name as our Mandarin is next to non existent so we had to rely on our Chinese host to order for us.

So thanks to a globe trotting son, my husband and I can celebrate Christmas in several languages even if our only skill is to say the equivalent of Cheers as we raise a festive glass.

Season of Story and Song

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In December, many cultures celebrate the return of the light in the midst of darkness.  Part of this celebration comes in storytelling and song, For many Native American and First People’s cultures winter was the time for story, and we all know a good story, don’t we?  When the missionaries came to the Huron/Wendat people, they brought the Christmas story, translated into the language and cultural traditions of the people.  And so, to this day, we have the haunting and lovely Huron Carol. This year I look forward to singing it to my new grandchild, quite the little light himself!

'Twas in the moon of wintertime

When all the birds had fled

That mighty Gitchi Manitou

Sent angel choirs instead

Before their light the stars grew dim

And wandering hunters heard the hymn…

Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born

Jesus ahathonhia!

Within a lodge of broken bark

The tender Babe was found

A ragged robe of rabbit skin

Enwrapp'd His beauty round

And as the hunter braves drew nigh

The angel song rang loud and high…

The earliest moon of wintertime

Is not so round and fair

As was the ring of glory

On the helpless infant there

The chiefs from far before him knelt

With gifts of fur and beaver pelt…

O children of the forest free,

Sons, daughters of Manitou,

The Holy Child of earth and heaven

Is born today for you.

Come kneel before the radiant Boy

Who brings you beauty, peace and joy…

A Jane Austen Christmas

                             

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On a recent trip to Ottawa, Ontario, I went to a play. Miss Bennet: Christmas at Pemberley, a new work produced by Ottawa Little Theatre. Fans of Jane Austen's classic novel, Pride and Prejudice, will instantly recognize the cues in the play's title. Pride and Prejudice is the story of the five Bennet sisters, living in early 19th century England, in search of husbands for fulfillment and financial survival. The novel's hero, Mr. Darcy, owned Pemberley, a great estate.

'Pemberley' in one of the numerous Pride and Prejudice screen adaptations

Christmas at Pemberley takes place two years after Pride and Prejudice. The play opens with Elizabeth Darcy nee Bennet admiring her newfangled holiday decoration, a Christmas tree. Mr. Darcy is appalled by the outdoor tree in his living room. Elizabeth's challenge to his conventionality is true to her character developed in Pride and Prejudice, but I find this domestic conflict lacks the zing of their verbal sparring in the novel. The problem with all Austen novel sequels is that once the lovers resolve their all their problems they become boring. That's why Jane Austen ended their stories at this point. But readers like me keep wanting more of the Bennets and Darcys.

The Christmas tree tradition came to Britain with King George III's German-born wife, Charlotte of Mecklenberg-Strelitz 

The heroine of Christmas at Pemberley is the overlooked middle Bennet sister, Mary. In the novel, Austen portrays Mary as drearily bookish, Mary also seeks attention by forcing her mediocre piano playing on hapless attendees at neighbourhood parties. The authors of the new play rightly realized that Mary's love of reading and music has a positive side. She wants more from life than her sisters. When the family gathers at Pemberley this Christmas, Mary meets her soul mate, Darcy's equally bookish cousin. It doesn't hurt that the cousin is handsome and rich.

But romantic complications and misunderstandings ensue. Most of them are initiated by Lydia, the selfish youngest Bennet sister who'd foolishly eloped with the scoundrel Wickham. Their hasty marriage has fallen apart and Lydia wants the rich cousin for herself.

I won't give away the rest of the plot, except to say that when Jane, the perpetually sunny oldest Bennet sister sympathizes with Lydia and treats her with kindness, Lydia changes. For me, this was the most surprising character development in the play. Who knew Lydia had it in her?

The five Bennet sisters

In the play, I also liked the guy friendship between Darcy and Jane's sunny husband, Bingley. After the men discuss the problems between Mary and the cousin, they agree they must do something to help. Darcy and Bingley jump to their feet and say, "Let's go to the sisters," instantly recognizing that relationship repair isn't guy territory.

Colin Firth, my favourite screen Darcy, with his friend Bingley

Calgary Playwright Eugene Stickland has said that writing a Christmas play is a practical move for writers because theatre companies across the country look for ones to produce every year. A good play for the season results in repeated royalties for the author.

This has got me thinking about Kitty, Bennet sister # 4 and the most overlooked sister of all. Austen portrays her in the novel as no more than Lydia's sidekick, lacking the pizazz of her younger sister. Kitty is absent from the Pemberley play's Christmas shenanigans, merely referred to as spending the holidays in London. This makes Kitty almost a blank slate for a modern writer. If Lydia can change, why not Kitty?

My Austen-inspired play would focus on Kitty emerging from the shadows of her colourful sisters and growing into her own person. Set at Christmastime, somewhere in Austen-land. Kitty will need a suitor who's right for her, perhaps a man who has also been overlooked. Plenty of complications and misunderstandings along the way will lead them to true romance. A winning Jane Austen Christmas.

   

Catalogs, Junk Mail, Solicitations & Pain at Christmas by Karla Stover

   

               
Historical mystery                Murder in Tacoma, WA.    Murder on Hood Canal


     The day before Thanksgiving, my husband and I went to put flowers on my parents' grave sites. When we returned home, Mom had a solicitation from the insurance company, Kaiser Permanente, and together they had a request for money. The week before, three Dr. Leonard catalogs arrived. Those are regularly followed by Blair, Haband, the Salvation Army, Disabled Veterans, Indian tribes, and I can't, right now, think of who all else.

     Being an orphan is horrible, at the best of times, but the constant reminders coming through the mail make it even worse. And everything sent to my parents is passed on to me because I was the executor and have a forwarding address at the post office.

    When they first passed away, I tried sending notes back to the various solicitors letting them know about their deaths. Fat lot of good that did! And, of course, their names have been sold. Today, the Emerald Queen (EQC) Hotel & Casino sent a fold-out flier of coming events. My folks never went to the EQC, let alone used any sort of identification there.

It hurts to have this come, to be constantly reminded that I will never see my folks again. I wish I knew how to make it all stop.
   

Holiday Traditions

I come from a family with three sisters and a brother which made the Christmas holidays fun because there were a lot of presents under the tree! For the first seventeen years of my life, Dad was in the Air Force and that meant moving every few years, but regardless of whether we lived in South Carolina, Florida, Georgia or Texas; Japan or Kwajalein, our Christmas traditions arrived right along with the Mayflower Moving Van.

We always got a Life Saver^© story book; we hung stockings on a pretend fireplace. We girls dressed alike in outfits Mom had made for midnight church service on Christmas Eve.  And we would always peek under Mom’s bed because that’s where she always hid the Christmas presents. (My own children were well into college before I quit giving them Life Saver^© storybooks.)

One of my holiday traditions was writing Christmas stories for my family and friends. Over the years there were stories about Christmases in the past, Christmas ghosts, holiday memories and even lumberjacks who helped Santa. One of these stories, "Once upon a Christmas Wish" was about a small coal mining town in Pennsylvania called Snow. Even in the midst of the coal mine shutting down, the children of the town decided to celebrate the holiday with a snow sculpture festival. This story so captured me that I decided to write a mainstream novel based in Snow. Again, the snow festival was such a huge part of the story that I even invented a fictitious website all about the town and its many businesses. 

That story is "Always Believe". It’s a story about family and friendships and maybe even a miracle or two. Emma doesn't believe in the enchantment of Christmas, but then she and her dad move to Snow, where even the stores have holiday names. What is she supposed to think when her new friend, Charlie, pulls her into the magic of the holiday by insisting he knows the location of Santa's workshop?

Letters to Santa tend to be another tradition of the holiday. But what happens when a typographical error causes hundreds of letters to Santa to end up at a Chicago Cosmetic Company? Because of an error in ad copy, CEO Chantilly Morrison is inundated with letters from children, whose scribbled wishes tug at her heart. She hires an investigator to find the letter writers so she can throw a huge Christmas party and make the children's fantasies come true. AJ Anderson can find the unfindable, whether it's lost artifacts or people and he's very good at his job. But when Chanti dumps hundreds of letters in his lap with the directive to find the children -- before Christmas Eve -- he knows the request is impossible, but the woman is irresistible. Should he use his skills to make her Christmas wish come true, or can he use the countdown to Christmas to find the key that unlocks the lady's heart?

I wish you all the best of the holidays, in whatever way you celebrate and with whatever traditions you hold dear. If one of your traditions just happens to be reading a fun holiday story, I invite you to grab a copy of “Always Believe” or “If Wishes Were Magic”, both available from http://bookswelove.net/authors/baldwin-barbara-romance/

Barbara Baldwin

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

Advent calendars by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo BWL Author Page

I would be lying if I said I wasn't counting the days before Christmas, mainly because I take care of my five-year-old granddaughter every morning, and the first thing we do while we're eating breakfast together is to check the date and month on the calendar. Now that we're in December, we also count the days before Christmas Eve and then she opens her two Advent calendars.

I debated which Advent calendar to buy her before I settled on the chocolate and the Lego calendars. There are so many different ones on the market, but like many Christmas traditions, where or when did this one start?

Advent calendars originated in the 1800s in the German-speaking world when parents began to think up different ways to illustrate the remaining time until Advent for their children in order to highlight the special, holiday atmosphere of the season.


Some parents added a new picture with Christmas themes to their wall or windows each day leading up to Christmas Eve or Day. Other made 24 lines with chalk on cabinet doors or door frames, then allowed the children to wipe away one stroke each day.

In Austria, they made “heaven ladders” on which one progressed down the ladder rung by rung each day, illustrating the concept of God coming down to Earth. And in Scandinavia, a candle was divided into 24 segments and a segment was burned every day until Christmas.

In the late 1800s, they started making “Christmas clocks”. The face of the clock was divided into 24 segments (some adorned with song texts or Bible verses) and the hands moved one step further each day.

Then in 1908, inspired by his childhood memories,  Gerhard Lang (1881-1974) commercialized the first print Advent calendar. As a child he'd received 24 cookies sewn onto the lid of a box by his mother and he was allowed to eat one of them every day during the Advent period.

Lang's calendar didn’t have any little doors  to open...yet. It was composed of two printed parts: one page contained 24 pictures to cut out, and a cardboard page on which there were 24 boxes, each with a poem composed by Lang. The children could cut out one picture each day, read a verse and glue the picture on it. On December 24th the Christ child, dressed in white, was glued in place.

In 1920, the first Advent calendar with little doors or windows to open appeared, and around 1926, Lang created the "Christmas Rose", the first Advent calendar with 20 pieces of chocolate from the Stollwerck company.

Over the decades, the calendars evolved in shapes and content, from chocolate, to cheese, to toys, to wine tree, and everything in between, but one thing hasn't changed. It still counts the days until Christmas, building up the excitement in both children and adults.

Only 17 days until Christmas...

Wishing everyone a joyous holiday season!

JS

 J. S. Marlo's Website

The NaNoWriMo Experience by Eileen O'Finlan

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Click here to visit Eileen O'Finlan's website

For the past few years I've been reading about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in the writing magazines to which I subscribe. It sounded interesting, but I had yet to give it a try. The goal is to write 50,000 words in thirty days starting on November 1st.

I've been working on Erin's Children, the sequel to Kelegeen for some time. As with any historical novel, there is a ton of research to do before the writing can begin, continuing right up through the final draft. That eats up a lot of time, but it's necessary for an historically accurate story. Once I had enough research under my belt to begin writing, I realized that between a full-time job, caring for my mom who turned 93 in October, and various other obligations, I was having trouble finding time to write. So as November was approaching, I remembered that November is National Novel Writing Month and jumped on the NaNoWriMo bandwagon in hopes it would help me kick my writing into high gear.

As of the writing of this post (it's 11:43 p.m. on November 30th) I have logged in at 50,039 words. I did it with just over two hours to spare. The first draft of the novel is still incomplete, but I certainly got a gigantic chunk of it written. Besides hitting the 50,000 word goal, I was determined to write every day of November. It took a lot of discipline and a bit of sacrifice (mostly in the area of sleep), but I did it. Thirty consecutive days of writing. Granted some days saw a lot more words hit the screen than others. I only wrote one paragraph on Thanksgiving morning before taking off for my cousin's house in Connecticut, but I did it just to keep my writing streak alive. 

One huge benefit of NaNoWriMo is that it fostered a disciplined writing regimen that should help me complete my novel within an acceptable time frame.

So, how do I feel having completed my first NaNoWriMo and met the 50,000 words in 30 days goal? Thrilled, self-confident, energized, more in love with writing than ever, and very, very sleep deprived!