Creativity

The need to create. We feel that need. While the outlets for creativity are endless, sorting through all the choices appealing to our own creative interests may take a lifetime. But, so what - it’s a journey and its fun. How glorious to put our hands and our hearts to work on creating a piece that is all ours, and “says” exactly what we want to say; that contains a piece of our heart and soul. Something we’re so proud of that we can’t wait to share it, especially with loved ones. The sharing and giving of that piece is the giving of a piece of ourselves; and there’s not a truer, more trusting, gift to be given. And it can be anything. A piece of writing, a piece of music, a quilt or other fiber art, jewelry, pottery, painting, photography, or a beezillion other lovely artistic, creative things. There’s no rule saying you have to find one area to be artistically creative in and stick with that one and only thing. There’s nothing stopping us from dipping into several different venues, only to walk away from some knowing that that particular art or craft is just not quite what we’re looking for. That it is just not making our soul sing. Its gotta make our soul sing. When it does, we know we have happened onto magic. It’s a pure gentleness that settles inside us. A whispered “yes.”

Sing. Now there’s something I’ve always wished I could do. I can’t. Surely and simply, I just can’t. But it doesn’t stop me from doing it. Sometimes I just let it rip. And I know my voice is as sweetly clear as Alison Krauss’. Pffft. In my own mind!! But, that’s O.K. It just feels terrific. Throwing your head back and making a joyful noise unto the Lord just feels good. And when I see Donald squinch his eyes up ‘cause I’ve hit a note that’s made his head hurt, I have to laugh out loud. Which makes him laugh out loud. Which makes Harley bark and run in circles. And you know - that feels pretty terrific too. Honestly - what’s better than a belly laugh and a much loved furry critter running circles around your feet?

Donald, on the other hand, sings beautifully. He’s more shy about it though, so when I happen upon him singing softly while he’s working, I stand very quietly and listen and let it fill my soul as tears fill my eyes. Tis a lovely thing.

Some folks may become quite well known for their endeavors, and they deserve our applause and our continued support. What could be lovelier and more agreeable than to be able to live your life and make your livelihood from doing what you love? But those many of us who won’t ever reach that particular dream will continue creating and learning and blooming by trying new outlets. Its just something inside wanting, and needing, to find a way out while proving to us over and over again that our need to express will not be denied.

I’m interested in hearing about what creative things you do. What do you do that makes your soul sing? And what have you tried, thought you’d love, only to find out it just really wasn’t what you had hoped?

I have a whole host of things I’ve tried. A few I have loved, a few I haven’t. Not many have captured my heart completely for the long haul, and some get tucked away for periods of time only to ease themselves back into my mind sometimes many years later needing to come out and play again.

Cooking. My very first "for fun" class ever as an adult was a cooking class. Ursula's Cooking School in Atlanta. I'm still, however, one of the most boring cooks on God's green earth. I leave the cooking to my friend Nan who is The Queen of Cooking. for real.

Music. Big sigh. I keep trying, but the fact of the matter is - this is hopeless. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket and I’m virtually tone deaf. Tried the guitar - ended up giving that to my cousin Bruce. We do have a dulcimer and it gets strummed on occasion - wish Donald would keep up with it a little more ‘cause he’s very good.

Basket making. I took a class and made the ugliest basket known to man. But because I just knew I was going to love it (I did not), I bought tons of basket making supplies which I promptly gave away.

Knitting. I took a knitting class about a million years ago. I knitted a sweater for a former husband, I knitted a sweater for my dad (which my mom now has and wears on really cold days). I knitted a popcorn pattern hat and mittens (which I still have). And that was the end of my knitting. Until just a few years ago when knitting made a big comeback. I love hand knitted pieces. Anything and everything hand knitted is beautiful to me. But I didn’t want to do sweaters or hats or mittens. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I just wanted to knit! Just endlessly knit. No patterns, nothing in particular as an end result. So I went to the local knitting shop (which is filled with such gorgeous threads and fibers I could move right in), and asked the young woman working there how much yarn I would need to knit (no purling) an afghan of a particular size. I just walked around the shop picking up skeins of yarn in shades of reds and pinks in different weights and textures. Needless to say, to a true knitter this was not the way things were done. The young woman was curious and a bit skeptical about what I wanted to do and asked me to let her know how it turned out. It turned out exactly as my heart’s eye had envisioned it. I love it. It makes me smile whenever I look at it draped over my favorite red chair. And my “need” to knit was sated. Who knows when it might return?

Needlepoint. I love to needlepoint. Somehow though, I’ve ended up with very little of it. The many, many pieces I did back when I was very much into needlepoint were all given as gifts, so I don’t have much of it around my own house. I do have one canvas that I’m working on. When I say “working on,” I mean I pull it out every so often and do a little, then it gets put away for awhile. This particular piece I'm working on has been in the works now for a few years. It’s a hoot and fun and colorful and whimsical. A group of women sitting around a pizza having a chat.
This canvas is from Maggie & Co., and the artist is Jerry Fenter.


Counted Cross Stitch. I love doing reproduction samplers. Or modern samplers that integrate old stitches that were in danger of disappearing. Doing just little crosses doesn’t appeal to me, but the more intricate stitches appeals to me greatly.

And I love how plain old floss has evolved into the gorgeous hand dyed works of art that it has. Just being surrounded by the gorgeous dyed linens and silks of today’s counted cross stitching is an aesthetic high.


Weaving. Took a class - several, actually. One from Betty Smith in Atlanta. Betty teaches at the John C. Campbell Folk School, or used to - I’ve lost track of her, but she is a weaver extraordinaire, and a great teacher. Took another class at the Chastain Arts Center in Atlanta, and at the Dream Weavers Studio in Atlanta. I love weaving. But I just don’t seem to “get” it. First of all, dressing the loom is not a fun thing to me. The fun part is throwing that shuttle and watching my work actually come alive. Dressing the loom involves some mathematics (eek!), and it takes a lot of time. I dressed a loom one time thinking I was going to have a beautiful, long shawl. I was surprised when I started throwing the shuttle and my shawl was done so quickly. What I ended up with was a belt. A short belt. Pitiful. The one piece I did make that I’m quite proud of is a gorgeous ivory silk boucle shawl. ‘Course, I could have bought one for less than 1/3 of what it cost me considering the cost of the silk and the class, but it is a beauty.

Pottery. Man oh man - did I ever want to be a potter. Mm mm. Let’s just say, I have a huge respect for potters. I no longer think pottery prices are too high. If you have zero strength in your hands, and if you don’t much care for mud dripping off your glasses, or stuck in your hair, being a potter may not be in your future either.

Jewelry making. That I love. I have only taken one class from local jewelry artisan Jim Rice which was a full semester long, and have some wonderful pieces that I’m very proud of.
But do I love it enough to want to take more classes and continue learning? Undecided.


My latest class was one I took last summer and I must say, I loved it. Some of you may have heard of Cathy Taylor who is a watercolor and collage artist. She did a one week class here in Boone at Cheap Joe’s Art Stuff. I’ve always had a fascination with collage art, and this was a class I loved.

Cheap Joe aka Joe Miller is quite the artist himself, and has built an unbelievable studio for guest artists to come and give classes. I cannot recommend these classes, or Cheap Joe’s supply house highly enough. Take a look on-line at his store, his set-up and the line-up of artists and classes and think about attending one. They are simply fantastic.

But.

Truth of the matter is that right now I’m doing hardly any of these things.

I read.
And I’ve discovered I quite like writing pieces just like this one.

And I fully expect that the circle will continue and one of these days will find me curled up in my red chair with a piece of needlework in my hands.

Whatever makes my soul sing at a particular time . . .

Sharon Wildwind - Home is the Place You Just Left

Sharon Wildwind is a northern writer with roots in the south. Or maybe she's a southern writer with her heart in the north. One way or another, she believes that while the past overtakes everyone, it doesn't have to overwhelm everyone. She spends most days at her computer, trying to get her characters to believe the same thing, while they go merrily about their ways figuring out who done it.


Home is the place you just left

If you live in North Carolina, I have bad news for you. The sky is not Carolina blue.

If you don’t live in North Carolina, or have no connections to the University of North Carolina, you probably don’t care. Unless you’re a professional artist, in which case you might want to know what we’re talking about here is Pantone reference color 278 or 282.

And, if you live in Alberta, as I do, you know that that beautiful, crystalline sky color we get in the fall and winter—shown below surrounding ruins of the old General Hospital in Calgary, with bits of modern Calgary peeking around the side— is Alberta blue.


This is, after all, a matter of perception and geography.

Decades ago, when I lived in North Carolina, I decided to write my first novel. Did I follow in the footsteps of Tarheel authors who choose the Blue Ridge Parkway’s color-drenched fall foliage or Cape Hatteras’s subtle tones of shifting sand, or the cool, gray stonework and lush green lawns of the state capital as the background against which to set my book?

Of course not. I picked a setting in northern Alberta, and for a very good reason. I wanted to do a snow story, something where the weather was part of the plot, where the climax took place in a blizzard, where characters discussed when would it snow, was it snowing, and how much more snow was expected.

There was one tiny problem. I’d never been to northern Alberta. I had no clue what the geography looked like. I had seen snow, first in Kansas, then in Western North Carolina, but how would prairie and Appalachian snows translate to snow in a tiny community an hour north of Fort Vermilion, Alberta?

This was long before the Internet existed, and though libraries cheerfully offered interlibrary loans, I never found a book with photos of the place my imagination wanted to go.

I didn’t care. Imbued with the energy of finally writing a book, I sat in North Carolina and wrote about the imaginary town of Whiskeyjack, Alberta, where bad things were happening, people were dying, and my heroine was the only one with enough insight and courage to save the town … only first, she had to learn to deal with snow.

Eventually I finished the book. And finished it again. And finished it again. And got a degree in creative writing. And immigrated to northern Alberta, where I finally got a look at the place I’d written about for almost a decade.


In case you’re curious, this is what a small town in northern Alberta looks like
at sunset on a winter day.

What I found amazing was the surprising number of things I’d gotten right about living in a small community that existed nowhere but in my imagination, and how much people did talk about the weather, and some, but not all of the effects snow had on everyday life.

And I learned that the sky color I had mistakenly, for years, called Carolina blue, was in reality called Alberta blue. At least, around these parts.

Fast forward almost a quarter of a century. I’m living in Alberta, I’m a published writer, and where are my current books set?

North Carolina: Asheville—Madison County—Fayetteville. I’m looking at the snow-covered ground outside my window, trying to recapture what Fort Bragg felt like on a summer evening, just at that point where blistering heat turned into almost bearable temperatures, the sprinklers came on in front of the Officer’s Club, and the odor of barbecued steak drifted through the stucco and red-tile roofs of senior officers’ country.



At least this time I have photos and memories to go by.










What I learned from living in one place and writing about another is to never underestimate a writer’s imagination. Yes, research is important, and eventually—preferably before a book goes looking for a publisher—a good writer must do some. If you don’t believe me, ask Kristy Montee and Kelly Nichols (AKA P. J. Parrish) about loons.

Sometimes knowing too much about a place kills spontaneity. Sometimes we have to trust ourselves as story-tellers and dive head-long into creating a place we know nothing about. The late poet, Richard Hugo, favored what he called triggering towns, places in which some thing—perhaps just the name of the town seen on a map—planted a poem in his head. In many cases these were not places he’d been; in fact, he said that having been to the town often hindered him. If, for his poem to work, he needed a red water tower next to the railroad track, but there was no such thing, he’d be stuck about whether to honor th e reality or just put the darn water tower where it should have been in the first place. So here’s to imaginary red water towers everywhere!

What's Left to Say, Part II - More on Aretha's Hat

I'm getting some notes from people about Aretha's hat (see video in my previous post, below).

Seems some folks don't really see the beauty I see in this hat.

Maybe its kinda like presidents.

Some of us don't see the same beauty in presidents either. BUT - that's not what I want to write about.

I'm still stuck on The Hat.

Here's the story of Aretha's Hat.

By COREY WILLIAMS Associated Press Writer
DETROIT January 22, 2009 (AP) The Associated Press

DETROIT - The calls began to flood Luke Song's hat shop not long after Aretha Franklin finished belting out "My Country, 'Tis of Thee" at President Barack Obama's inauguration.

Franklin, who wore a gray felt custom-designed hat from Mr. Song Millinery, has inadvertently caused an economic boom for the South Korean immigrant's store.

Song said he wasn't prepared for the hundreds of calls requesting the hat with a Swarovski rhinestone-bordered bow.

"We even have a lot of men calling to get it for their wives, mothers and grandmothers," Song said.

The hat worn by the "Queen of Soul" was hand-molded and would cost upward of $500 if it were for sale, the 36-year-old designer said. Customers instead were offered a satin ribbon version for $179.

"They want the same hat, but they understand it's for the 'Queen' only," he said. "Ninety-nine percent said, 'That's fine. I'll get the next best thing.'"

The family millinery has been in Detroit for about 25 years, and Franklin has been a customer for about 20 of those years. The store also sells to about 500 boutiques across the country.

"We always make hats for her for high-profile events, so for us, the inauguration really was no big deal," Song told The Associated Press on Thursday.

The design for Franklin's hat came from two different hats at the store.

"She walked through the shop and said 'I want that bow (put) on that hat,'" he said. "She had the coat already, but she needed the hat to set it off."


===

What's Left to Say

What's left to say about the inauguration?

I loved every minute.

I love this new feeling of hope. And seeing that hope reflected in the faces of so many. The smiles and the tears.

I loved watching those beautiful little girls who have the adventure of a lifetime ahead of them and hope they're able to keep their joyful exuberance for years and years to come. I love saying "our new president." And I love the obvious caring that radiates from he and his family when they're together. With all my heart, I wish them all the best things in life with a lot of laughter, love and gentleness.

While I tried to fight back the tears all day so I could watch what was going on, the moment I truly, truly lost it and just gave up was during the "First Dance." I loved this.



And oh man, I truly covet Aretha's hat.
i do love this hat.



Here's to lovely new beginnings.
And to Aretha's hat.

For Whom the Bus Rolls by Earl Staggs

Earl Staggs spent most of his life in Maryland and working as a salesman. When he and his wife gave up the cold winters of the north and moved south -- first to Florida and now in Fort Worth -- he decided to try something he’d always dreamed of. He’d always dreamed of being a fiction writer. That was in 1995, and the first step was to join a class at the local community college in Gainesville, Florida. The class happened to be about writing short mystery stories, so that’s where he started.

Over the next few years, his stories appeared in a number of magazines and anthologies. One of them brought home a Derringer Award as Best Short Mystery of the Year. He joined the Short Mystery Fiction Society and served as its Vice President, then President. He also served as Managing Editor of Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine, a role he feels was a great help in developing his own writing abilities.

After honing his skills with short stories, Earl wrote a mystery novel, MEMORY OF A MURDER, which received twelve Five Star reviews on Amazon.com and B&N.com.


For Whom the Bus Rolls
by Earl Staggs

When School Bus 141 rolls out of the lot in Southlake, Texas, the driver is concentrating on getting to his stops on time, picking up his students, and getting them to school safely. He may also be thinking about the next story he will write. I know because I’m that driver.

“Hey, Earl, I thought you were supposed to be a hot shot mystery writer. Turns out you’re only a school bus driver.”

“ONLY a school bus driver? Hold that thought, bubba. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”

Before I deal with him, I want to explain how I became a school bus driver. A few years ago, I retired from full time employment and jumped into becoming a writer. I’d always dreamed of writing, but never had time. It was the perfect time. I wrote some short stories and even started a novel. After a while, I discovered I didn’t like retirement. It occurred to me that if you don’t have to get up in the morning, go somewhere and do something, you can get old. I was not ready to get old. There was too much I still wanted to do. The solution? A part time job.

Finding a part time job, however, wasn’t easy. I wasn’t ready to put on a Walmart vest, stand by the entrance and say, “Welcome to Walmart. Want a cart?”

After a few weeks of looking, I found a sheet of paper in my front yard. It turned out to be a flyer from the local school district saying they had job openings for school bus drivers. “Hmmmmm,” I said. “Check it out.”

So I called the number, and went for an immediate interview. The hours, I learned, were perfect for a writer. Drivers worked two hours in the morning getting the kids to school and another two hours in the afternoon taking them home. In between would be about six hours of time free for my writing. An hour after I got back home from the interview, I received a call saying I’d been hired. Okay. Now what?

The now what turned into four weeks of studying for the test required to get the kind of license needed for the job, plus actual training on a real bus. Was I nervous the first few times I got behind the wheel on one of those big things? Oh, yeah. Those babies are huge. Plus, there’s that tail swing thing.

Tail swing, you see, comes into play because the rear wheels of a bus are some ten feet in front of the rear bumper. When you turn, the tail end of the bus lags behind and makes a wide swing, easily taking out anything in its path. You have to be very careful and make sure you have enough room to make the turn. (I was careful, but in my first year of driving, I clipped the side view mirror off a parked car. Not just any car, mind you. A brand new Cadillac.)

After I was fully licensed and trained, I was assigned to a Special Needs route. We say Special Needs, not Handicapped. The kids I carried were special and they had needs different from regular kids. Some of our students were in wheelchairs, some were autistic and non-communicative, most had learning disabilities. But they were beautiful and I came to know and love them. Two people are required on these buses. In addition to the driver, there’s a monitor, who sits in the back and takes care of any immediate needs the students might have.

Not that there weren’t problems. We always had to be on the lookout for seizures, which are not uncommon. We also had to be ready for outbursts of any kind. Some of the kids would suddenly scream for no apparent reason or decide to take off their clothes. Occasionally, an outburst involved physical violence.

On one such occasion, sixteen-year-old Markeiff, who was autistic and usually quiet, undid his seat belt and attacked my monitor. By the time I pulled over, secured the bus and went to her rescue, he had her pinned against the rear door. She had a good grip on his wrists, but he was kicking at her. I managed to wrestle Markeiff to the floor and lay on top of him. He tried to get free at first, but after two or three minutes, he relaxed. After another minute went by, I let him up. He went quietly to his seat, buckled his seat belt, and looked at me as if to say, “Okay, let’s go to school” as if nothing had happened. No one knew what triggered his episodes, but they happened occasionally, and after they were over, he was fine.

We had other episodes on the bus, some physical but not violent. Tyler was a wheelchair boy of eleven and every once in a while, he would announce he “had to go to the bathroom.” Well, there are no bathrooms on a school bus. That mean my monitor and I had to swing into action. While I pulled the bus over, she undid his straps and belts. I then carried him off the bus and held him upright beside it while he “went to the bathroom.” I’m happy to say he was capable of unzipping and lowering his own pants so I didn’t have to do that.

I’ve since switched to another school district and no longer drive Special Needs. Now I have regular kids from kindergarten to eighth grade, which is a whole new adventure. But I still love the job and still think it’s the best part time job in the world for a writer.

Now where’s that guy with the “only a school bus driver” remark?

Listen up, bubba. As a writer, I may never turn out the Great American Novel, and as a citizen, I may not find a cure for cancer or a solution to world peace. But you know what? As a school bus driver, I can make sure sixty-five kids get to school and back home safely every day and, someday, maybe one of them will cure cancer or achieve world peace. To me, that means something. ONLY a school bus driver? Ha! Make that PROUDLY a school bus driver.

And by the way, about that Great American Novel thing? I still have a shot at that.

Small Town Girl

Next week I'll have Earl Darlin' Staggs as the Meanderings and Muses Guest Blogger. As many of you may have figured out by now, I do dearly love Mr. Staggs.

I met Earl a few years ago at DorothyL and we've become fast friends. We both grew up in Maryland - Earl in Baltimore, and me in a small town on the Eastern Shore of Maryland named Cambridge, which is the home of my heart. While Earl and I were getting to know one another, sharing Maryland stories, I was also busy working on building a web page which is mostly a photo album. This was a labor of love that my adored cousin Bill got me started on when he started doing a Wilkinson family genealogy. I had boxes of wonderful old family pictures which I started scanning for him and decided they were such treasures, they needed preserving and to be placed where they could be accessed by the rest of the family. And ta da - a webpage is born. And it has grown from a few cherished old black and white photos to a treasure trove of memories - including vacation photos, friends and family photos, wedding album photos, Women Wearing Tiaras photos, Harley Barley photos, and The Class of '66 pictures from kindergarten right up through our 60th birthday party this past summer.

There's a section of photos of Old Cambridge and another section of Ocean City pictures. Seems Earl and I had some Ocean City ties we weren't aware of. Ocean City, MD is where Marylanders go, and have gone for years and years. Its an old fashioned beach town, old boardwalk included, with all the requisite boardwalk type shops, and carnival type games and rides. And there's a lot about that boardwalk that is exactly the same now as it was when I was a little girl. There are also beautiful white sandy beaches, and great restaurants. I love Ocean City.

A couple years ago, Donald and I borrowed a girl friend's condominum in Ocean City. She's an old and dear
friend I grew up with and have known forever. One of those girlfriends that we talked about here awhile back. Time can pass without us seeing one another, and then when we do get together, conversation just picks right up where it left off. This little condo of hers was perfectly situated just at the very end of the boardwalk, and a block back from the ocean with nothing but sand between it and us. We could sit on our balcony and watch the dolphins play. We could watch the surfers. And we could witness gorgeous sunsets, and you already know how I'm a nut for sunsets. And I don't think I've ever felt so at home in a place I've never been inside of before. It was a very weird experience, but I just settled in, enjoyed it and tried not to over-analyze it. But it gets even weirder. This condo is in the exact same spot that Earl Staggs' protagonist, Adam Kingston, lives in MEMORY OF A MURDER. That just set the tone for me for a book I thought I'd enjoy. Little did I know it would become I book I love.





Earl can also take credit for being one of the people most accountable for me being here at Meanderings and Muses, blogging away about anything and everything. He and I taking those walks down Maryland Memory Lane nudged something in me. The love I have for Cambridge and the memories I have of growing up there just started bubbling up; begging to be remembered. And shared.

So.

Here's a fun little Cambridge remembrance. Laws, I hope my dad forgives me for telling this one!

When I was growing up there were a couple of "stag" bars in Cambridge. Did y'all have those? No women. I don't know if they specifically ever said "No Women," or if women just wouldn't be caught dead in them. There was one on Race Street not far from our apartment called the D D Bar. It was owned by a friend of Dad's named Monk Bradley, and it was a wonderful little place. I loved it - it was one of those grown-up "Not Allowed" places I would sneak into; along with the other Race Steet kids. And then be surprised when my mom showed up at the door to get me 'cause someone had called her. The D-D Bar was long and narrow and dark. There were maybe 4 booths in the front, a real long bar with a brass foot rail. There were also pinball tables, a shuffleboard table and a dart board.

If Monk needed him on Saturdays, Daddy thought it was a great (and fun!) way to make some extra money.

We had a local radio station in Cambridge, and on Saturdays, Ed Brigham would make a phone call to give away a free prize to someone if they could answer the question of the day.

On this particular Saturday, Mother and I were home, and the radio was on, of course. We heard Mr. Brigham announce that the question of the day phone call was about to be made. And we, of course, were hoping our phone would ring. Well, it didn't, but we did hear a very familiar voice over the radio say "DD Bar, Al speaking."

How fun - my dad!!!!

Mr. Brigham said "Hey Al, this is Ed Brigham, how ya' doin'?" After a few minutes of small talk
exchanging some "how's the family" kinda stuff, Mr. Brigham told Dad he would win two free tickets to the Arcade Movie Theater if he could answer the question of the day.

You could hear all the local Cambridge bar flies talking and hollering in the background, pinball machines ping pinging and all that bar noise. So Dad yelled for everyone to quiet down 'cause Ed Brigham had a question.

The question was "How long is a decade?"

pfft.

Well, Mother and I laughed and she said she guessed she & Dad would be going downstairs to see a free movie soon. We lived in a wonderful old apartment over the Arcade Movie Theater. (In later posts I want to share some stories from this grand old apartment with you all).

Then we heard dad over the radio yelling to the guys in the bar "Ed wants to know how long is a DUCK EGG!!"

A duck egg.

Mother and I just about fell in the floor screaming we were laughing so hard.

You could hear all these men saying stuff like, "a Duck Egg? Hell, I don't know, Jim Bob - what do you think?" Answers like "2 inches, 3 inches - oh hell no, an inch and a half," and things like "Who the hell cares??" were all loud and clear over the radio. This went on for awhile and finally dad was laughing and said something like "Well, Ed, we think maybe an inch and a half."

Ed Brigham was hysterical and said "Al. Hazel is going to kill you. NOT a Duck Egg! A DECADE!!!!!!!!"

Dead silence on Dad's end. Then he started laughing really hard and started telling the guys in the bar that he'd made a mistake and what the question really was and you could hear those men laughing and laughing to beat the band.


For years anytime we went out to eat, especially in Ray Dayton's restaurant on Race Street, someone would holler "Hey Al! How long's a Duck Egg?!"

Heeey Baby, What's Your Font?

I love quizzes!

Do y'all?

Well, Lord knows - there's a gracious plenty of them available on-line. And sooner or later you're going to hear about them, or get tagged, or tagged with a meme (by the way, I have NO idea if I phrased that properly. Confession time here. To those of you - and there were quite a few - who wrote asking me what the hell a meme was. Why ask ME? Just 'cause I used the term?! Hmmm - does that mean a person is supposed to know what every word that falls out of their mouth is supposed to mean?? ruh roh, and oh my. - Another topic for another day. Meme - I looked it up. On-line. Enough about that).

Back to quizzes. I'm a lover of these little quizzes. I think it may harken back to the same fascination and addiction I have to lists. Cannot live without my lists. Can't pack without a list. Can't shop without a list. Can't function at work efficiently without a list. You name it, I have a list for it. Putting my hand on that list is sometimes sorta like one of these quizzes.

The latest quiz I'm just over the moon about is "What Font are You?" I love fonts. There's just something fun and jazzy about all the fonts available. I took this quiz, and while I love the look of the font it tells me I am, I'm less enamored with WHO it tells me I am. harumph.

It seems I am - - - - -

"Gosh, Mrs. Eaves. You enjoy the quiet, and don't understand why kids these days have to be so darn loud. You're a little fussy and a little old-fashioned, but you've got a big heart."

(i.e. - I am one very old fart. WHEN did this happen??).

Okeey doke - Now YOU guys take the quiz, O.K.? And I'm gonna be verrrry interested in hearing who you are!

Here's the quiz link:
http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/helvetica/quiz.html

by the way . . .
anyone else have a problem with the "Music" question??

Introducing - - Ta DA! Pat Browning

Pat Browning was born and raised in Oklahoma. She is a graduate of Oklahoma State University, and taught high school English before moving to California.

She was a longtime resident of the San Joaquin Valley before returning to her native Oklahoma.

Ms. Browning is a veteran traveler. Her globetrotting in the 1970s led her into the travel business, first as a travel agent, then as a correspondent for TravelAge West, a trade journal published in San Francisco. In the 1980s, her travel articles bore such exotic datelines as Tangier, Bombay, Budapest, Vienna, Dubrovnik, and Shanghai.

In the 1990s, Browning signed on full time as a newspaper reporter and columnist, first at The Selma Enterprise and then at The Hanford Sentinel. While at the Enterprise, her lifestyle coverage placed first two years in a row in the California Newspaper Publishers Association Better Newspapers Contest. She was also a finalist for the 1993 George F. Gruner Award for Meritorious Public Service in Journalism. At the Sentinel, her feature story on the
Japanese-American "Yankee Samurais" of WorId War II, placed second in the CNPA contest.

ABSINTHE OF MALICE is a reissue of FULL CIRCLE (published in 2001), and introduces the Penny Mackenzie mystery series. Browning is currently at work on the second book in the series.


LOOKING LIKE AUDREY HEPBURN
By Pat Browning

Agatha Raisin is Miss Marple in a garter belt. She’s feeling arthritic twinges that make her think of a hip replacement, but in LOVE, LIES AND LIQUOR (2006) she’s wearing flimsy knickers “in the hope of a hot date.”

What’s going on here? Forget that nonsense about 70 being the new 50 and 60 being the new 40. Sixty is what it is, and so is 70.

What’s going on is that some of our female amateur sleuths are getting older, if not always slower. M.C. Beaton’s Agatha Raisin hasn’t mellowed a whit. She’s dealing with murder, jewel thievery and romantic entanglements when her hip starts to hurt. For a moment she feels old and sick. But not too old or sick to face someone holding a gun and snarl, “Fry in hell, you bastard.”

Agatha’s polar opposite is the 70-something Charlotte Graham of Stefanie Matteson’s 10-book series. A retired but still glamorous actress, Charlotte is aging gracefully and philosophically. In MURDER UNDER THE PALMS (1997) she’s visiting friends in Palm Beach when fate reunites her with a man she fell in love with more than 50 years earlier.

Their shipboard romance had lasted four days. He went on to become a famous bandleader. They find the old attraction is still there and it’s easy to pick up where they left off.

Quoting: “She had reached the point in life where now was what mattered. Because the next day, the next week, the next year, either or both of them might not be around. Maybe this was what Ponce de Leon had discovered when he’d come to Florida seeking the fountain of youth … (T)hat only by coming to terms with death can you really find life.”

Charlotte and her old flame work together to solve a couple of murders and a mystery dating back to World War II.

In DEAD MAN’S ISLAND (1993) Carolyn Hart introduced her 70-something sleuth, Henrie O, who is more cosmopolitan than Agatha Raisin, more driven than Charlotte Graham. Henrie O has “dark eyes that have seen much and remembered much …” She is, in the best old-fashioned sense of the word, a dame. Think Lauren Bacall.

When the TV movie of DEAD MAN’S ISLAND was cast in 1996, the top roles went to Barbara Eden and William Shatner. Now, Eden is cute and perky; Shatner is a good old boy; but really … Henrie O, a former foreign correspondent, and her first love, publishing tycoon Chase Prescott, are right out of an Agatha Christie novel or a dark 1940s movie.

Henrie O’s description of their meeting 40 years after the end of the affair:
“He still moved with that commanding grace, the easy, confident, predatory swagger of a panther – beautiful, dark, fascinating, and infinitely dangerous …

“I knew what he saw. A slender, intense woman whose fire for life has not been quenched, a woman who still loves to laugh but who knows the world is bathed in tears.”

These two attractive senior citizens are at the heart of a ripping good murder mystery, set on a remote island off the South Carolina coast – with a hurricane on the way. Hart really piles it on, and adds a couple of neat twists at the end.

There are other female sleuths on the shady side of 60, but these are three of my favorites. They seem to age in real time without turning into cartoons. They’re still the women they’ve always been, they’re just getting older, right along with the rest of the population.

In fact, coming on strong are the baby boomers, hovering between middle age and seniority. One example is my own character, Penny Mackenzie, who’s staring down 50. In my work-in-rogress Penny catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror and wonders: “When did I stop looking like Audrey Hepburn? What’s next? Hot flashes? Chin whiskers?”

What’s next is a shower and a hot night in the sack, but this is about cozies. We take you only so far, then slam the bedroom door.

Cue Sam the Sham and The Pharoahs … “Matty told Hatty about a thing she saw ...
Had two big horns and a wooly jaw … WOO-LY BUL-LY, WOO-LY BUL-LY …”

Meme of Tears

Linda Richards tagged me for this Meme of Tears.

Linda asks (after Sandra Ruttan asked her), "What's hit you on an emotional level and made you cry?"

Sometimes when we're tagged in one of these memes, its tempting to ignore it and you're certainly welcome to do that!!! - Really! I, however, want very much to respond to this one, and Meanderings and Muses is the perfect spot for me to do that. But this is also going to be one I need time to think on before I start scribbling away.

Linda writes about walking down to the Inner Harbor in Baltimore on the final day of Bouchercon and having a good cry. She writes about it quite elegantly and I'm betting it will touch you and probably make you cry too. The woman writes like an angel. I, like Linda, tend to cry a lot, and for a lot of the same reasons she does (more on all that later), the irony is that I spent a bit of time having a huge boo hoo at the Inner Harbor during Bouchercon also. Not on the last day, which is probably a good thing - she and I might have met up and cried such buckets of tears together the water level in the harbor might have risen to flood level, and destroyed the City of Baltimore. And then what would Laura Lippman do?? She might have to move to a different city! Oh NO! And what would become of Tess??

enough of that. I'm getting goofy (imagine that).

When I get off on one of these tangents, Donald jumps in with "You really have read too many books." For shame! We all know that can never ever happen, but you see where he's coming from with all that, I'm sure.

Meandering back to the point . . .

please take a minute to read what Linda has written about what's hit her on an emotional level and made her cry. You'll love it. And in a few days, I'll maybe be able to write about it for myself. And maybe even be able to do it without crying.

In the meantime - y'all consider yourselves tagged. What has hit you on an emotional level and made you cry. An event, a book, a movie, a TV show - any or all of these?

Don't forget - this coming Monday Pat Browning will be here to kick off the Meanderings and Muses 2009 Dream Team. Pat is the author of ABSINTHE OF MALICE, a reissue of FULL CIRCLE (published in 2001), and introduces the Penny Mackenzie mystery series. Pat is currently at work on the second book in the series.

Girlfriends and Giggles

What feels better than a giggle?

Not much, unless its a full out belly laugh.

Tears rolling down your face?! Even Better!!!!

And being blessed with girlfriends to share these giggles and guffaws with is beyond measure.

There are several little pieces that float around the internet extolling the virtues of girlfriends. Some are funny, some are sweet, some are sappy - but what they all have in common, I think, is that they stem from that undefinable "something" that blossoms when you're spending time in the company of best girlfriends.

There's a magic about those times.

They're special in a way that should probably just be left to experience, and not analyzed or explained - but, just "be."

I am lucky enough to still have women in my life who I've known since I was a little girl. I consider them best friends, and more - they're family. Sisters of my heart, each of whom I cherish deeply. And since then I've met a few more women along the way who are still hanging in there with me; sharing a few tears, and a whole lot of giggles - who are cherished just as deeply. Lucky me - MORE sisters! What a blessing for this gal who is an only child!

But wait - there's still more; a few women who I've never laid eyes on, but share a deep bond with through our email conversations. Amazingly enough - these women have become every bit as dear to me as the women I'm able to spend face to face time with. Admittedly, I'm one of the last believers in this phenomenon. But. The proof is in the pudding, as they say. (What EXACTLY does that mean, anyhow???) It seemed to work with what I wanted to say, so I'm leaving it, but deconstructed it makes not a whit of sense to me.

Friends do tend, sometimes, to disappear out of our lives, but there are always going to be a few special people we click with, and something quite unexplainable happens. When it does, I believe quite strongly that it should be
embraced and nurtured and treasured. Life is short, and going through it without women who can grasp and understand fully, and without judgment, some of the things we think and feel is too sad to be comprehended.
If there's a woman who you're missing; someone who used to be an important piece of your life, but has somehow disappeared, put aside whatever the reason might have been that's interrupted your time together and reach out to her. Bring her back. If you're not needing one another right now, chances are you will on down the road.

In the meantime, let's celebrate our best gal pals right here.

Here are a couple of those fun, silly, friendship things that we've all seen on the internet a whole bunch of times - one is sweet and sappy, and one makes me hoot. And, I think, there's enough truth in each to make them a little less silly than they actually seem with first reading.

Two Types of Friends -- Real & Simple

A simple friend has never seen you cry.
A real friend has shoulders soggy from your tears.

A simple friend doesn't know your parents' first names.
A real friend has their phone numbers in his address book.

A simple friend brings a bottle of wine to your party.
A real friend comes early to help you cook and clean.

A simple friend hates it when you call after he has gone to bed.
A real friend asks you why you took so long to call.

A simple friend seeks to talk with you about their problems.
A real friend seeks to help you with your problems.

A simple friend wonders about your romantic history.
A real friend could blackmail you with it.

A simple friend, when visiting, acts like a guest.
A real friend opens your refrigerator and helps himself.

A simple friend thinks the friendship is over when you have an argument.
A real friend knows that it's not a friendship until after you've had a fight.

A simple friend expects you to always be there for them.
A real friend expects to always be there for you!

Author Unknown


and then, just so we don't get TOO carried away with ourselves being serious and/or sappy - truthful or not - let's have a dose of just plain ol' out and out fun with this one. Because girlfriends, if nothing else, can and need to show a great deal of irreverence from time to time.


Friendship Oath

*

When you are sad,
I will get you drunk and help you plot revenge against the jerk who made you sad.
*

When you are scared,
I will laugh at you and tease you about it every chance I get.
*

When you are worried,
I will tell you how much worse it could be and to quit complaining.
*

When you are confused,
I will use little words to explain it to your dumb ass.
*

And when you are lost,
I will answer my cell phone and give you directions.
*

When you are sick,
I will hold your hair while you pay homage to the porcelain god.
*

When you fall,
I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.


This is my oath, I pledge till the end.
Why you may ask?
Because you're my friend.

and A Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, everyone!

This is the time of year that we know there are certain things we can count on: Sentimentality seems to rise to a high level, we're encouraged to reflect on our lives, and we make lists. This nudge to do these things seems to come from all corners, including subliminal messages from our own brains. Why is that?? Is it because we've been programmed into a "Old Year/New Year let's reflect, let's make lists, let's watch a soppy movie and cry" mode over the years? Whatever it is, its all O.K. with me 'cause I am a constant list maker, I tend to over-analyze every action or inaction I make in my life, and I'd rather boo hoo over a soppy movie, or book, better than most anything I can think of.

Lists. This is indeed the time of year when lists are popping up all over the place. How many of you join me in being an avid list maker? I can’t pack for a trip without a list – even for a weekend. If I do, invariably I’ll get to wherever I’m going without my toothbrush or favorite jammies. But aside from all that, my very favorite lists are "Best of" lists.

Since most of the blogs I follow are written by writers and/or book lovers, it’s not surprising that most of them are doing their “Best of 2008” books. I love these! It is too fun to see how some of the same books show up on several lists, but even more fun to spot a book I’ve somehow missed and never heard of on some of them. And, of course, there are all sorts of additional “Best of 2008” lists up and running. Movie lists are also biggies. This isn't one I'm quite as interested in. We don't seem to get to the movies too much any more, and would rather just rent one to watch at home, or re-watch old ones on the classic movie stations - especially those old classics that I know I'm going to need a box of Kleenex next to me while we watch. And of course, there's always that list of "Favorite Classics." Or the "The Best Tear Jerker Movies." I love those! Firmly place "Imitation of Life" at the top of both these lists for me.

These lists go on endlessly, and I think they're all terrific fun. Janet Reid puts her own clever spin on it and has written about 8 things she loved in ’08.

And then there are the pieces being written about reflections on our lives. Not all of these are sentimental pieces, of course. And some of them aren't really reflections in the true sense of the word, but more of a "preview." One of my favorite writers also happens to write one of my very favorite blogs. Check out J.D. Rhoades' "What Fresh Hell is This?" for a preview of 2009.

And Laura Lippman has done her annual (this is #2, but its quickly becoming a tradition, I think) "One Word Resolution Challenge" at her Memory Project Blog.

So. I see I've gotten off on a tangent. Imagine that. But this blog IS after all named "Meanderings and Muses," so bear with me please while I meander and muse.

I knew I wanted to write a New Year's piece, but opened up this composing window to write without a clear thought in my head about what on earth it might be.

My friend Ken Lewis suggested I write about Uncus. Uncus was the dachsund we had when I was in high school. When I left for college Uncus took over my bedroom. The first weekend I came home from school for a visit I went out with friends one evening and when I came home, everyone was in bed. Including Uncus, who was loudly snoring away in my bed. Which, he, unfortunately for me, now considered (quite selfishly) to be his bed. And when I tried to get into "our" bed, he growled at me. Growled. At me. I was stunned. It scared me a little bit, but mostly it hurt my feelings. I'd only been gone a few weeks! I had shared this bed (when it was mine) with him for many years! I knocked on Mother and Dad's bedroom door to share my dilemma, and get a little help, but to no avail. "Oh, he's just kidding. Isn't that cute? ha ha. Just go to bed - he'll be fine." harumph. I don't remember all the details about how I convinced Uncus to share "the" bed, but we apparently came to an understanding about it all.

But I don't want to write about that.

I want to make my own list. My 10 Favorite Books of 2008. But its hard! Don't you think its hard to do a "Ten Best?" I admire those of you who can do that. I'm not going to try to do that. And instead of including just books in my list, I'm adding writers I've discovered this year who moved onto my "new favorite writer" list. Actually, because my memory is so bad, there may be some writers here who I actually discovered last year. But. Since this is my first year blogging, and so my first year for doing this list, who on earth is gonna know - right?! Well, in the spirit of transparency - I do do one of these lists every year at DorothyL, but I'm counting on everyone there having a memory as bad as mine.

In absolutely no particular order - - -

Friend of the Devil, Peter Robinson

Another Thing to Fall, Laura Lippman

Red Knife, William Kent Krueger

Death's Half Acre, Margaret Maron

The Drifter's Wheel, Phillip DePoy

Where Memories Lie, Deborah Crombie

Swan Peak, James Lee Burke

The Cluttered Corpse, Mary Jane Maffini

Buried Lies, Peter Rennebohm

Mightly Old Bones, Mary Saums

Another Man's Moccasins, Craig Johnson

Baby Shark's High Plains Redemption, Robert Fate

In a Dark Season, Vicki Lane

The Cruelest Month, Louise Penny

The Murder Stone, Louise Penny (available in the U.S. in Jan. under the title "A Rule Against Murder"

Killer Heat, Linda Fairstein

14, JT Ellison

The Black Hand, Will Thomas

Stalked, Brian Freeman

The Price, Alex Sokoloff

Defending Angels, Mary Stanton

Death Will Get You Sober, Liz Zelvin

The Fault Tree, Louise Ure

Hank Phillipi Ryan

Roberta Isleib

Sharon Wildwind

J.D. Rhoades

Brett Battles

Robert Gregory Browne

Zoe Sharp

Toni McGee Causey

Steve Hamilton

Evelyn David

Reed Farrel Coleman

Pari Noskin Taichert

Ken Bruen

Lee Child

(I know. I'm the last person on God's green earth to discover Ken Bruen and Lee Child. What can I say? I am an eejit).

O.K. - now I have to make myself not go back and re-read this list because I know there are books and writers I've just forgotten. One of the things I think I need to do is start keeping a log of what I'm reading. I do sort of do that at librarything.com but its not done by year, so its no help for end of the year "Best of" lists. But. Then again, since this "is" my blog, after all, I guess I can just come back and add to my list any ol' time I want to, huh? Cool!

Now its your turn! Let's hear your favorite books for the year, and what new writers did you discover in 2008 that went immediately on your favorite writers list? Let's see your lists. Or heck, if you have a totally different list you want to share with us, that'll be fun too. Whatever you want to do. Reflect? o.k. - go right ahead. And here's my New Year's hug to each of you.

p.s. - Yes, I did get new earbobs for Christmas! They're gorgeous honey amber drops, with a pendant to match. Santa is a lovely man.

Wishing you all the Happiest of Holidays!

So, what's Santa bringing everyone this year?!

I'm hoping for new earbobs.

Here's to everyone having their wishes come true.

Hugs, my friends -
Kaye

No, I most certainly am not shy . . . .

but I am an introvert.

I have tried and tried to explain to friends the difference between being an introvert and being shy, but people who are not introverts just don't really seem to hear what I'm saying, possibly because I'm not saying it well. But, one thing for sure, they just don't get it.

A friend, bless his heart, sent me this article which just about says it all.

http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200303/rauch

Many times, I've said I'd like to write about this subject, but I don't think I can say it all as well (and for sure not as succinctly, as this article does!), so I'm just going to toss it out here and see what you guys think and have to say about it.

I'm guessing there are probably a lot of you who join me in this condition. There are, of course, many different levels of introversion - from mild to off the scale. Depending on where someone falls on this scale, most of us are not, after all, totally socially inept. We do fare better socially if we're able to control, to some extent, our social environments, i.e., where they occur, when, and with whom. Pretty impossible to control all those things, so perhaps that's why a lot of us blog.

And is it why some of us who can't imagine enjoying ourselves in a big crowd of people love attending the mystery conventions that I know many of you attend, and which I've recently discovered an addiction to?

what do you think??

Why I'm Here, and Ta DA! - Introducing the Meanderings & Muses 2009 Dream Team

I have a cold.

I hate colds.

It would be so easy to fall into “poor pitiful me” stuff, and I’ll admit to a little of that, but honestly? Whining gets on my nerves, so I try awfully hard not to do it. ‘Course, I don’t always succeed, but dang - what can be more fun sometimes than an all-out wailing, poor, poor, pitiful me party, complete with a gallon of ice cream and one huge spoon while dressed in your favorite jammies. Boy howdy.

O.K. - two spoons.

Donald has the same cold and is fighting the pity party thing right along with me.

But. As tempting as it may be, I just can’t be pititful right now. Anyone who has been graced with the kind of support and friendship I have this week couldn’t dare allow themselves to fall into pitidom.

After years of not understanding the world of blogging and swearing it wasn’t for me, when I step back and take a look at where I am now, it makes my head swimmy. Not only am I writing a blog, I have what can only be a blogger’s dream team lined up to play with me for the whole of next year. Take a look at this list on the left - Gloriosa.

A lot of you are going to remember me saying I was not a fan of blogging. Talk about eating your words - oy. Though, I must say, in this particular instance, I am happy to do so. But. HOW did I get here, especially with this tremendous group of people agreeing to do guest spots at Meanderings and Muses, along with a group of people who have written me asking that I continue blogging after I wrote a couple of pieces, just because they enjoy what I have to say? How on earth did this happen?

Well, for one thing Meanderings and Muses wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Robin and Deborah who have written me with ideas and suggestions they want me to write about. They have shown a level of support and encouragement that has floored me, but as it happens, they've provided just the push I guess I needed to do this. I just didn't know it.

And I can tell you for sure it wouldn’t have happened without a group of people who need to remain nameless because it’s a VERY secret society. A group gathering almost daily on the internet to chat, gossip, support one another in a myriad of activities, and occasionally get irritated with one another. They’re the group of people who tapped my desire to write these pieces you’ve seen and will continue to see here. It a group I love without bounds.

Oh, O.K. - one name I gotta give up.

Earl Staggs. Or as you’ve seen me refer to him all over the internet; “Earl Darlin’.” Earl is one of my favorite people on God’s green earth. He’s also one of my favorite writers. He’s a master. If you haven’t read his short stories, you’re missing out. If you haven’t read his MEMORY OF A MURDER, gracious - what ARE you waiting for??

Additional reasons I'm here include that very first invitation to blog from Evelyn David at The Stiletto Gang (Thank You, Rhonda and Marian!), with follow up invites from JT Ellison at Murderati, and Rob Walker at Acme Authors, and Patti Abbott for her Friday's Forgotten Books. Thanks, guys - very much. More than I can say.

As for the guests you’re going to find here next year, as you can see they include writers who are well known, writers who are on their way to becoming well known, and some who are just getting started, bloggers, readers and mystery fans. If there’s one common thread, besides being lovers of books and words, its that each and every person you see here as a guest will write something that will touch you in some way. It might make you cry, or laugh, possibly anger you, or just make you think. Remember please, that it will not necessarily be an opinion that matches mine, but the very thought of censoring what someone says disgusts me as much as I’m sure it does you. It might be a light and fluffy piece about cooking or what someone did on their summer vacation, or it might be hard and tough. It might just be something they have on their mind and want to share or get off their chest. That’s what I’ve discovered blogging is all about. A sharing in which the writer invites others to participate and give back. An exchange of words, ideas and/or feelings in which things get tossed around and back and forth.

That’s another part of the puzzle of how I came to start Meanderings and Muses. I gave in and actually started reading blogs as I would hear about them. I swore I didn’t have time to do this - and really, who does? There are a beezillion of them out there. But as you browse your way through them you come to realize that while they’re not all for you, some of them are touching you in some way and you find yourself going back for more. Or they’re providing one place in which to give you information you’re interested in - such as one of my all time favorites; Sarah Weinman’s “Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind.”

There are several which have me captured, and I’ve added them here as a permanent part of Meanderings and Muses with links so that you can all get to them quickly. And will add more as I discover them, so send me recommendations, please! I don’t read them all every day, but I always know that when I do settle down for a day of catching up on things, they’re there and I’m going to enjoy them. They’re just like books in that some writers will appeal to you, while others will not. Its no surprise that some of my favorite blogs are written by some of my favorite writers. Over time, I am no longer surprised that some of them are written by people I’ve never heard of. Voices that may never find their way to the New York Times Best Seller list, or be the recipient of one of the awards given out at writer/fan conventions. And you know what - that’s not the goal for many of these writers. That does not, however, diminish their writing skills in any way. Not one iota. You know this to be true. So take a minute and take a peek at some of the blogs I have listed here and possibly discover a new voice you’ll enjoy.

What has evolved from the early days of blogging is that there are many bloggers who have a dedicated following. I know, for instance, that when I drop in at “Murderati” to see what any of those wonderful people (GREAT writers, every one!) have to say, the chances are that I’m going to run into the same folks leaving comments most days. They have become an integral part of the group. Seeing their responses is as interesting, and as important, as the original post. And what’s become obvious is that while we agree on a lot, there are things we’re not going to agree on. The interaction that then takes place is just like it would be if it were happening in the real world. A quick little snappy retort, some hurt feelings, some apologies and some making up. I find this phenomenon immensely intriguing.

So, I hope you’ll continue watching this spot. I can’t promise you there will be something new and exciting here every day - actually I can promise you that there won’t be! I have a job, and I have Donald and Harley, and I have to read (a LOT) or I get grumpy. One little tidbit I really do want to share (I'm a pushy old thing sometimes, you know). Women out there reading this who are not married. This is some good advice, people - listen up!! Make sure, please, if you do decide to marry, that you marry a man who makes you laugh. And if he can make you laugh every single day of your life for over 22 years like Donald Barley has me (well - O.K. - not "every" day, but a gracious plenty of 'em), you'll be able to handle whatever curves life throws at you.

So.

On January 12th one of my favorite people, a very good friend and an excellent writer, Pat Browning will kick off Meanderings and Muses, 2009. Mark your calendars and come see what she has to say and chat with her a bit. She wrote the book FULL CIRCLE, which has just been re-released under the title ABSINTHE OF MALICE. Its terrific! If you’re a member of the community of DorothyL, you’ve seen me and a bunch of other people rave about Pat's book.

Then dear friends, stick around. I can promise you a year filled with people you’ll enjoy. I know the schedule you see here will be changing, so keep your eye on it, please.

Which brings up a point. Emails and announcements. I know I’ve been sending out a lot of emails while this project has been getting off the ground. If you’re like me, they’re not really always appreciated. So tell me if you want your name removed from the mailing list. You are not going to hurt my feelings - I promise.

Happy Holidays, all!

Friday's Forgotten Books

This post originally appeared at Pattinase: Friday's Forgotten Books on Friday, December 5, 2008.

Patti Abbott does "Friday's Forgotten Books" every week at her blog - I encourage you all to check it out, and perhaps get with Patti about sending her your own choices for a favorite forgotten book.


Kaye Barley is a long time reader of most anything and a fairly new blogger also of most anything (http://meanderingsandmuses.blogspot.com/). She lives in the beautiful North Carolina mountains with her handsome husband of 22 years, Donald, and their faithful companion, Harley Doodle Barley - the cutest Corgi on God's green earth.

The Pierre Chambrun series by Hugh Pentecost

Hugh Pentecost. I thought I had remembered the PERFECT forgotten books. Perfect! Couldn’t wait to squeal about an author who I haven’t heard mentioned in forever. You can imagine how my chin hit the floor as I read Lesa Holstine’s November 28th blogwhen the name Hugh Pentecost jumped off the page at me.

But, Lesa and I do tend to enjoy a lot of the same books, so perhaps not too surprising. Except this was a series which ended in 1988! How ironic is it for the two of us to want to re-read and remember these books at exactly the same time, and want to bring them to “Friday’s Forgotten Books?” It gives even more emphasis to the fact that they deserve to be remembered. Lesa did her usual excellent job inbringing these books to life and stirring some interest.

If you haven’t already read the Pierre Chambrun series, I too encourage you to try to find them and give them a try. I think my love of and curiosity regarding all things having to do with hotels must stem from discovering Kay Thompson’s ELOISE at an early age. I find myself drawn to books which have hotels as a “character.” Especially a luxury hotel, which is a world unto itself. Upon discovering this series, I was in heaven. I continue re-reading the novels and short stories simply to lose myself in the Beaumont Hotel.

Hugh Pentecost was the pseudonym of Judson Philips (1903-1989). Philips was a founding member of the Mystery Writers of America and served as its third president, in addition to being Grand Master in 1973. Pentecost’s luxurious Beaumont Hotel is the leading character in 22 books. When asked if the Beaumont was based on the Plaza, the Ritz, or another luxury New York City hotel, Mr. Pentecost replied that although he knew these grandhotels well, none of them were as well known to him, nor as well loved, as his own Beaumont, which was as real to him as his own home.

While we don’t ever find Eloise scampering the halls of the Beaumont, there’s a host of interesting characters with their own stories and secrets to keep us entertained. At the start of the series, which was begun in 1962, we’re introduced to Pierre Chambrun who is the much admired, well loved, lord and master over the Beaumont. We’re also introduced to a cast of supporting characters – most of whom arestill employed by the hotel when the series ends in 1988. There are few character changes; but the changes are important to the series, and I think perhaps one of the reasons for its successful, long life. They include replacing Mr. Chambrun’s original insignificant secretary with the intriguing Ms. Ruysdale. The involvement between Chambrun and Ruysdale is developed slowly and intricately during the series until the very last line in the verylast book leaving no mistake as to the nature of their relationship.

Another important change is losing a likeable key character, Alison Barnwell, public relations manager. Alison marries and she and her husband move away from the city to open their own hotel. By replacing Alison with Mark Haskell, the series gains its “voice.” Its through Mark that the rest of the stories are told. The relationship between Mark and Pierre is very much like that between Nero Wolfe and Archie. A relationship which would not have been as wholly believable with a female character during this time period. One additional recurring character who remains a favorite is the elderly Mrs.Victoria Haven. Penthouse resident. One time stage star, and legendary beauty. A woman of great dignity, intelligence, mystery and humor. My favorite booksin the series are the ones which include Mrs. Haven.Into this close, closed and tight knit community fall the adventures of the richand famous, infamous, innocent or not so, scrupulous or unscrupulous, always intriguing visitors with mysteries begging to be solved.

I'm HOW old??

This post originally appeared at ACME AUTHOR LINKS on Friday, November 21, 2008

KAYE BARLEY IS ALMOST 60!

Kaye Barley with her Aunt, Eve Burchette, Harley, and her Mom, Hazel Wilkinson.

Thanks to my friend Rob Walker for inviting me to drop by. Rob just recently celebrated a milestone birthday. And I’m following right on his heels. We both agree that we cannot possibly be . . . . . - forget it, I can’t even say it!Let me try again.Six . . . Six . . . Sixty. Sixty years old. HOW did this happen?! I don’t feel 60. And am often told I don’t act 60 (this has not always been meant in a complimentary way)

But oh well, there you have it. Birthdays happen. The milestone birthdays sneak up on us. And while we’re bemoaning those milestone birthdays, other things happen. Like your mom having a birthday. We recently celebrated my mom’s 83rd birthday. At least, I did - only to be told the next week that she had actually just turned 82. Oh, the guilt. Hopefully, she’ll forget that unforgivable lapse. Especially seeing as how I did the exact same thing last year!!

Mom-Hazel Wilkinson

Funny, though, for all the talking she does about her memory and how bad it is, there are things she never forgets. Her only child forgetting how old she is might just be one of them (and as it should be). Before you all start thinking I’m being unkind, please know that she and I have, and always have had, a great relationship. She’s my buddy,and I feel pretty sure she would tell you that I’m hers.

We have not always been best friends though. When I was growing up, she never once let me forget that she was “The Mom.” She didn’t give a twig about being my friend; figuring I already had lots of friends, but I only had one mom, and it was a job she took very seriously.

And she did it well. For one thing, she read to me. And took me to the library. And she taught me how to bake Snickerdoodles. Like some of you, we’ve passed that curve of our family growing larger, and are on the other side of the slope, where its getting smaller, so when we invite family to spend the weekend to celebrate the occasion of Mother’s birth its not as though there’s a house full of people. Just me and Donald and Harley. My mom, her sister Eve, and Eve’s husband J.T. A small little group.

My mom is the second oldest in a family of 11. They’re not all still with us, and those who are live pretty far away and aren’t able to travel long distances for get-togethers any more.

It was a fun weekend. We did all those things families do when they get together - whether they’re a big group, or a small group. We ate too much. We stayed up too late. We told the same stories we tell everytime we’re together. We laughed hysterically, and boo hooed a little.
And we missed the ones who were not there.

It was a perfect weekend, melancholy and nostalgia notwithstanding, and I loved every second of it. But oh laws, did I get tired. Seemed like every time I turned around someone was saying “sweetie, would you bring me a fresh cup ofcoffee/coke/wine/whatever, please.”

At one point during the weekend when I felt as though everyone was well settled,and that they were doing fine at entertaining themselves, and that they all had their beverage of choice, I slipped off to the bedroom to close the door and read. I’m used to a lot of quiet time, and quiet time is in short supply in an itty bitty house with three extra people.

This was just what I needed. I am after all, almost 60! I get tired too you know! But then, you know what? The door opened and peeking around at me was this very short little woman with fluffy white hair, and the sweetest smile and thebrightest eyes, wanting to know if I was O.K. I invited her in and she climbed up on the bed next to me, took my hand and thanked me for having her over for her birthday. And she told me what a good daughter she thought I was.

Next thing I know here comes another woman, this one a little taller, but with the same sweet smile and the same bright eyes - peeking around the door at us,wanting to know if we were O.K. We invited her in and she climbed up on the bed with us. She patted my hand and told me what a good niece she thought Iwas. I put my book away, fluffed up pillows for us all, and asked who might want a fresh cup of coffee.

Quiet time and that book would be there tomorrow when everyone else had gone home. Tomorrow I can go back to being almost 60. Today it feels nice being 6 and being told what a good girl I am.

Kaye -- this was lovely, well put, so well put. Loved the way it came full circle! - Rob Walker


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