Wedding Rings by J. S. Marlo

 

 

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

I welcomed a daughter-in-love last month. She is the love of my son’s life, and I couldn’t have picked a better woman for him.

After they got engaged last Christmas, my new daughter and I shared some interesting conversations about wedding rings. She’d read that the wedding ring is supposed to go first on your finger, then you slip the engagement ring back afterward, so she was wondering when or if she was supposed to switch her engagement ring to her right hand before putting it back to her left ring on top of her wedding ring.

I’ll admit staring a bit weirdly at her, only because I had never heard of wearing the wedding ring first. When I got married thirty-eight years ago, there was no Internet. New couples basically followed the traditions set by their parents/grandparents. My mother and my grandmothers wore their engagement rings next to their knuckles, then when they got married, their husbands slipped their wedding bands on top. There was no taking rings off or switching hands. It was simple and straightforward.

So, I did some research on the Internet about wedding rings, and stumbled on some very unusual ones along the way.

The first wedding rings are believed to date back to ancient Egypt, some 3,000 to 4,000 years ago. Egyptians wore their rings on the fourth finger of the left hand, believing that a vein from that finger led directly to the heart. The Romans call this the “vena amoris”, or “vein of love”.

The early Asian civilizations were certainly not as romantic as the Romans. Weddings were seen as a legal contract between a man and a woman, and the wedding rings were considered a physical representation of that binding contract. Therefore,

couples would seal their marriage with puzzle wedding rings which would immediately fall apart if they tried to remove them from their fingers.

Wearing your wedding ring on the left hand is not a global tradition, mainly for one of these two reasons:

-  The word left is derived from the Latin word meaning sinister. Therefore, wearing it on the left hand is considered unlucky or evil.

-  In the Bible it was the practice to wear rings on the right hand, the hand of authority and power, completing the pledge of commitment.

This holds true in countries like Russia, Poland, Norway, Austria, Denmark, Latvia, Bulgaria, Ukraine, Spain, Portugal, Greece, and India.

Interestingly enough, in Sweden and Chile, it is not just brides-to-be that receive engagement rings, men wear them too.

In many cultures, it was traditional for only the woman to wear a wedding ring, but it changed during World War II. Many servicemen began wearing their wedding rings as a sign of commitment and as a way to remember their wives while stationed overseas.

As far as which ring should come first? My new daughter was right about most traditions favoring the wedding ring, but it is also not uncommon to stack them starting with the first one that was received. So, like me, she is wearing her wedding ring on top of her engagement ring.

Happy Reading & Stay Safe

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

John Porter Bowman and The Haunted Mansion Book Shop by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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One of my favorite spooky sites in Vermont is the Bowman Mausoleum in Cuttingsville across the street from what used to be The Haunted Mansion Book Shop. 

When my grandparents were alive, my family traveled several times a year from our home in Massachusetts to their home in Vergennes, Vermont. On the way, we always stopped in Cuttingsville to check out the book shop and get a glimpse of the mysterious figure in the cemetery. 

The figure is John Porter Bowman, or rather a statue of him. Bowman was a Vermonter who, in 1852, moved to Stony Creek, New York with his wife, Jennie where he became the wealthy owner of a tannery.  The couple welcomed their first child, Addie, in 1854. Sadly, the baby died at only four months. Another daugher, Ella, was born in 1856. Ella died at age nineteen, followed within a year by Bowman's wife. 

Having lost his entire family, the deeply grieving John Bowman moved back to Vermont where he purchased land in Cuttingsville, the town where he first learned the tanning trade. At Laurel Glen Cemetery he had a mausoleum built by over 100 skilled stonecutters. The bodies of his wife and two daughters were brought to Vermont and interred in the mausoleum in 1881. After that he had a mansion which he named Laurel Hall, built across the street so that he would be near his family and could visit them often. At the same time, he commissioned a statue of himself, dressed in a mourning cloak and carrying a mourning wreath. The statue was placed just outside the mausoleum's door. Grief is etched into the statues face as Mr. Bowman eternally mourns his family.

             

    The Bowman Mausoleum                                        John Porter Bowman in mourning

Bowman also had a greenhouse built on the cemetery property in order to always have fresh flowers available to adorn the final resting place of his loved ones. Once completed the mausoleum became a tourist attraction. Vistors came by the thousands. Bowman had a guest book placed inside and hired a guide to provide tours.

In 1891 John Porter Bowman died and joined his family for eternal rest inside the mausoleum. He left money specifically for the upkeep of Laurel Hall. Perhaps he believed in reincarnation because the instructions he left behind were for a caretaker to not only keep Laurel Hall in good condition, but to have the table set for the family's dinner every night in case he and his loved ones decided to return for a hot meal. The funds ran out in 1953 and most of the furnishings were sold.

By the time I was a teen, a couple had purchased the property and turned it into a book store. Perhaps it was due to the mausoleum being prominent at the top of the hill directly across from the mansion or maybe it was all the stories about both the mausoleum and the house being haunted or maybe it was the odd request for the table to be set every night, but whatever the reason the new owners decided to christen it The Haunted Mansion Book Shop. It certainly drew attention.

Laurel Hall - The Bowman Mansion and for a while 

The Haunted Mansion Book Shop

Many a strange tale was told about the place which naturally made my teen self eager to check it out. Over the years that we traveled back and forth to my grandparents' house in Vergennes we made it a habit to stop at the book shop. It may have been nothing more than the power of suggestion, but I did get a creepy feeling (that I relished!) every time I entered it. 

Sadly, the book shop is now closed though the historial society still maintains the property.

Writing a Historical Novel ~ Part 2 by Rosemary Morrise

 

To find more of Rosemary's work please click on the cover above.

Writing a Historical Novel - Part Two.

Food and Drink in The British Isles.

Beware of Anachronisms.

 

I suspended belief when I began to read a medieval novel set in England written by one of a famous publishing house’s authors.

An armed Norman knight in full armour with a shield on his back scaled a castle’s stone wall to rescue the heroine locked in a turret. He is described climbing through a lancet window (an impossible feat). The maiden welcomed him and asked him if he would like to have a cup of coffee, and eggs and bacon with fried bread for breakfast.

My mind boggled! Coffee was not imported to medieval England and, even if the beauty in distress had the means to cook, she would not have served that food for breakfast.

What people ate in the past can be a minefield of errors for me and other historical novelists. Prior to Christopher Columbus’ return from the New World potatoes were not known in the Old World. Novelists should never assume that because potato blight caused famine in Ireland potatoes reached the British Isles before the late 1500’s.

An error in novels by American novelists is often the assumption that, on the other side of the big pond, corn means sweetcorn. It does not. The old corn markets were held to sell wheat.

Tomatoes, also introduced from the New World were rare and, at first, considered poisonous. Later, people did not know whether they should be eaten as a fruit or a vegetable.

Fresh fruit and vegetables were eaten in season unless, for example, strawberries were grown in a hothouse owned by a very wealthy person. Strawberries ripened at the end of May or in June. If they were eaten at any other time of the year they would have been preserved. I imagine a thrifty housewife serving them as a treat in winter.

When I write historical fiction, I check and double check what my characters eat and drink. Once, I assumed Camembert cheese was imported from France in the early nineteenth century and described a character enjoying some in1813. I researched Camembert and found out it was first made in 1790, and not produced in large quantities until the 1890’s.

There were no bars or boxes of chocolates. At first it was served as a hot drink made with grated cacao whisked with milk sugar and water or from cacao paste. Ladies drank it first thing in the morning, and chocolate houses later supplanted by coffee houses, were popular.

Eight of my novels are set in the ever-popular Regency era, so I have included are a few notes from my research that helped me avoid anachronisms.

“Vegetables are cheapest when they come into full season. All vegetables are best if dressed as soon as gathered; and are in greatest perfection before they begin to flower. Most articles for pickling will be in their prime from July and August; but walnuts not later than the middle of July; and mushrooms and white cabbage in September and October.

Herbs should be gathered on a dry day, and when the roots are completely cut off and perfectly well cleaned from dust, etc., they should be divided into small bunches and dried very quick by heat of a stove or in a Dutch oven before a common fire, rather than by the heat of the sun, taking care they be not burnt When dry put them into bags and hang them up in a dry place, or pound them and sift them through a hair sieve, and keep them in bottles closely stopped. Sweet and savoury herbs are best in fragrance from May to August, according to their kinds. The flavour and fragrance of fresh herbs are much finer than those that are dried.”

 

http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

 

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

A True-Life Horror Story: Jumping Worm Villains! S.L. Carlson

 

I am S. L. Carlson, a proud and grateful BWL Publishing Inc. author. My books can be viewed and purchased by visiting    https://www.bookswelove.net/carlson-s-l

October is a grand month for scary stories, and I do appreciate a good fright. I once wrote a children’s book filled with spine-tingling ghost stories set around the Great Lakes. Obviously, I also love fantasy creatures, like unicorns, dragons, trolls, etc., all of which you’ll find in my Unicorn Chronicles. There’s also the fact that every good tale requires (by Author’s Law, I’m told) an evil villain. But these creatures which I’ve recently discovered are not fantasy creatures. They are real. This post concerns a true-life horror story, about critters called jumping worms.

I do love nature. I love being outside more than inside, feeling the sun, rain, or snow on my skin, watching wildflowers bloom and fade, hearing the birds and breezes through the trees, and the rustling of cornstalks in autumn. 

All my novels are set in the outdoors. But jumping worms are threatening to change my genre from fantasy to science fiction.

“Experts suggest that individuals shouldn't purchase the worms for bait, gardening or composting—and should only buy compost or mulch that has been adequately heated to reduce the spread of egg casings, which do not survive temperatures over 104 degrees Fahrenheit, Newsweek reports.” — from the Smithsonian Magazine

Fact: Jumping worms are asexual, so it only takes one to create many.

Fact: They change the soil content in a negative way, eating nutrients from the soil and leaving behind a granular soil that looks like coffee grinds which prevent plants from growing — plants in your garden, plants in your yard, plants and trees in forests. (Are you appreciating why this post is a true-life horror story?)

“Jumping worms, known also as Asian jumping worms, crazy worms, Alabama jumpers and snake worms, are invasive earthworms first found in Wisconsin in 2013. Native to eastern Asia, they present challenges to homeowners, gardeners and forest managers. Jumping worms get their name from their behavior. When handled, they violently thrash, spring into the air and can even shed their tails to escape.” (From dnr.wi.gov Keyword: jumping worms)

“Jumping worms may have been brought to North America in the 19th century with plants and other imported horticultural and agricultural materials. Since then, the worms have spread. As of 2021, the invaders can be found in Wisconsin, Missouri, Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Nebraska, Ohio, Texas, Louisiana, Indiana, Kansas, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee and Oklahoma”, reports Jason Murdock for Newsweek.

Facts: Jumping worms are bigger than regular earthworms and live nearer the surface. They wiggle, twist and jump about a foot off the ground. They die off in winter — hurray — but their egg castings survive in frigid weather — boo! The cocoons can also be transported in potted plants which are sold in stores, or even in mulch.

Fact: It is difficult to kill a jumping worm because they have five hearts. If you smash one with your boot or spade, parts will most likely survive. If you cut it up, you might be creating five new worms.

“To control jumping worm populations in smaller areas like residential gardens, researchers suggest individuals remove any adult worms they find, place them in a plastic bag, leave them in the sun for at least ten minutes and then throw them away”, Newsweek reports.

How’s this post for a scary Halloween story? They scare the heebie-jeebies out of me. Then again, as an author, I do respect and appreciate the roles of villains So do not be surprised if you find some of these slimy, evil jumping worms in a future novel.

 

Enjoy your villains.

 

S. L. Carlson Blog & Website: https://authorslcarlson.wordpress.com

BWL Inc. Publisher Author Page: https://www.bookswelove.net/carlson-s-l

 

A Writer in the Okanagan Valley by Diane Bator

 

Dead Without Remorse by Diane Bator

Sometimes even writers need to take a few days off to regroup before they face total burnout. After a loooonnnngggg summer between writing and being back to work in the office, I was fortunate to have some time off with a few of the ones I love and fly out to Kelowna. Aside from having to show proof of vaccination and wear masks, the trip seemed almost normal.

Our first view of the Okanagan!

My brother joked there are 400 vineyards between the airport in Kelowna where we landed to where we stayed on holidays this fall near Osoyoos. While he and my mom are impressed I can keep storylines and whole series in my head, I’m baffled at how he knows every road and every vineyard in the Okanagan!

It was wonderful to taste wines, eat meals I didn’t have to cook, and stop to smell the roses. Literally. We came across a couple lovely vineyards with showy roses.

Despite being on vacation and making a vow not to work, my writer brain was eager to learn more about wines, vines, and how things worked. I took as many pictures of the vines and plants as I did of the wines we tasted and bought. All of those things sparked a few ideas for future books. Or a series.

How could a mystery writer not wonder how long a body would last in a wine vat?

Or how to poison people using wine or even the grapes?

After having seen more than a few Hallmark movies featuring wines and vineyards, the possiblities for a cozy or two seem limitless. The opportunity to taste wines and learn  more about the fermentation process helped too. And how they press the green grapes for the juice.

We also took time to savour the fresh fruit. Amazing to see apples nearly the size of my hand! That set off a whole thought of someone moving to the valley to take a break from life and pick fruit... Mostly me!

I can honestly say I kept my word and didn't do any real writing. I took a break and read a couple books on the plane, but enjoyed my time away from my computer and work. 

Now I'm back, refreshed and awaiting the wine we shipped home. While I wait, I have time to do some research for the things we can do next time we go. Places to research for my future book ideas while I sip my BC wines!

Have a wonderful October! Cheers,

Diane

Life Must Go On

 We've often heard the show must go on, and I guess it's true, Although many shows have been canceled for various reasons, sickness, weather, death. etc. 

Life is never canceled. I recently experienced the death of my brother-in-law, one of my husband's and my best friends. But our loss is nothing compared to the loss of his children, but especially his wife. Our lives will go on with the day-to-day events, shopping doctor's appointments, etc. And their kids will return to work, caring for their families, etc. But his wife, how does her life go on? She's alone, doesn't work, and has nothing to take her mind off him. Nothing to look forward to. Her loss is so much greater than ours. 

Right now, everyone keeps in contact, her kids stop in every day, but how long will that last? Eventually, their lives will return to normal, Their kids demand attention, sports, school activities, interfere, and she's left to fend for herself. 

How does one recover from such a loss? She's never worked, her husband didn't want her to, and at her age what kind of job could she get anyway? Does she even want to work? She's never had a hobby, never made friends outside of her family, she didn't need to she had him. He was her life. Since he retired, every waking moment was spent with him. Everything they did, they did together. He didn't have outside friends either, They had friends as a couple. Their life revolved around each other. 

We did so much together, cookouts, card games, just hanging out. We will miss that. But she will miss it more. I pray she finds some friends, some outlet to help her cope. a hobby, some interest that will help ease the pain as time goes on. Because, yes, life must go on. 

You can find all of my books at BWL 

New Releases for October 2021, A New Holiday Contest and October's Free Book

 

 

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Woodstock by Eden Monroe

 

 

More on Eden Monroe's books here

Almost Broken takes place in Woodstock.

No, not that Woodstock. This story is set in one of the other thirty-four Woodstocks found in seven countries around the world. Actually, the name Woodstock is so popular, some countries have more than one. Canada, the UK and Jamaica all have two Woodstocks; Australia has four; South Africa and New Zealand each have one, but the Woodstock winner is the United States with twenty-two, including the namesake for arguably the most famous rock festival in history. Actually, the 1969 Woodstock festival was staged on Max Yasgur’s farm in Bethel, New York, some sixty miles away from the town of Woodstock. 

In any event, the small town that serves as the setting for Almost Broken is Woodstock, New Brunswick, Canada, located in beautiful Carleton County, not far from the US border at Houlton, Maine. And also, because you’re never very far from a river in New Brunswick, including in Woodstock, the St. John and Meduxnekeag rivers play a pivotal role in this romantic suspense about struggle and triumph.

The history of this Woodstock location has its own colourful cast of forefathers, when in 1783, the area was settled by disbanded veterans of DeLancey’s Brigade following the American Revolutionary War. The first incorporated town in New Brunswick in 1856, Woodstock has plenty of local charm. But aside from it being a nice place to live and visit, it’s special to me because it’s where my best friend lives, and it never fails to remind me of countless good times spent there. Of course there’s a Main Street marching proudly through it, serving not only as a gentle reminder of a storied downtown of days past, but also a vibrant example that the town’s lifeblood still flows deep, rich and strong as it continues to reinvent itself with an abundance of modern amenities.

 

The Carleton County Courthouse stands sentinel on Main Street on a warm August day, an imposing presence in this former Shiretown. I think of Blaise Callaghan of Almost Broken as the gavel sounds its damning echo, and his life takes a dramatic and unexpected turn, exposing the terrible underbelly of things heretofore unimaginable. That judge’s decision left Blaise grappling with a painful new reality, while he struggles to hold onto important remnants of his past.

“He closed his eyes as a natural longing washed over him. He could definitely feel a connection with this woman. ‘I can’t, but thank you,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper, very much aware of his six p.m. to six a.m. curfew and the fact that his parole officer had warned him that he’d never know when he’d come to his house to check up on him. Otherwise he’d be temped to soothe his soul in the arms of this beautiful woman.

‘All right then,’ she said quietly. ‘I understand.’

“She started to get out then turned back. ‘I’m going to go now,’ she said leaning imperceptibly closer, and his lips found hers. It was a great kiss, fired by mutual desire, and it deepened quickly before they broke it off, breathless, both needing more, but knowing it would never happen.

“She reached up and smoothed the hair back off his forehead in an affectionate gesture as she gazed into his eyes. ‘Good-bye, Blaise Callaghan. Stay strong and take care of yourself. I wish for you all good things.’

“He watched as she got into her car and drove away. She was a desirable woman, there was no mistaking that, but if it had been possible to get together, it would have only been for one night. No one could compare to Sophie. No one.”

The sun beats down with often relentless intensity on this idyllic little town, the flags fluttering in a gentle afternoon breeze on Main Street. Meanwhile, Blaise still finds himself in the middle of a nightmare as shadows begin to lengthen around him….

“Thirst tortured him, his throat having turned to dust hours ago. He could see the river through the trees; hear the waves lapping and that only added to his torment. Could he crawl there and get a drink?  He moaned, or was it a call for help? Certainly, the crows that frequented the trees around him could do nothing, except mock him unmercifully.”