Archive for the ‘Blog’ Category

Not Walking Today

Just Listening

There’s a church behind my home. Do not start judging. I can’t either. I’ve never been inside and I’ve seen the front only once. It appears Christian because it has a steeple and when “Googled”, it reads that it is. I rarely see anyone walking outside, but then I am its backyard or it’s in mine.

Here’s the interesting part:

At 9a, 12p, 3p, and 6pm it correctly announces the hour in a subtle “Westminsterly” manner.

Wait! Here’s the better part:

It plays a hymn, only one verse, but still I find myself addicted. I stop and listen. It makes me wait a bit then I am flooded with memories: my childhood New England churches, my father’s voice, and my mother’s humming. The words often come to me, but not always. Sometimes I try to pick out the notes on my piano, whose lower F is devastatingly ill.

Again, wait! Here’s the Best Part:

It makes me smile.





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Types of Drills and Worry

A few weeks ago I caught a short news documentary concerning a public school safety drill. This one was in a fourth grade class and, like a fire drill, everyone knew what to expect. All were rehearsed. With the exceptions of three visiting parents and the film crew, the children and teacher seemed normal.

The difference was the reason.

This was an Active Shooter Drill.

It sent chills to this retired public school teacher. Oh, we had practiced fire, tornado, and  the post 911 era lockdowns, but never because of guns. Since the painful nightmare of Sandy Hook, I wondered what I would do as the teacher, how would I react? Should we, as taxpayers, support police officers on our campuses? Should we arm teachers? That one really worried as I prayed for my precious granddaughters.

Then my antique-collecting memory brought forth a vision of diving beneath my own fourth grade wooden desk and slapping one arm over my eyes and one over my neck. Twisted into a ball, hoping my dress covered my white cotton panties, I waited for the teacher to announce, “You may come up now.” As children we wondered if we were really protected from an atomic bomb. Did our parents wonder why their children were still not safe after they had fought WWII?

Now, I wonder and worry why there’s little to no gun control. Why must our grandchildren learn “An Active Shooter Drill”?  In their future will they wonder what on earth were the adults were thinking?


PS: Yes, I am drafting, revising, editing, and searching for an agent. Hopefully, after the midterms, I will be able to think less politically. Silly Me.



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Happy Birthday

This is better late than never.

Today (no, last week) our flexible but fragile US Constitution is 231 years old; strong in ill-wind, but vulnerable to evil manipulations. We are strong and a wealthy nation. This equates to power. That power is converted by the greedy. Through decades of bribes, the gerrymandering of our election districts have managed to tilt the scales of our beloved justice and convinced the majority to ignore issues. Many of us, myself included, were not vigilant; did not listen, read, and research.

Now, our faces have been slapped. This behavior is similar to German history in the 1930’s. At this moment I am in a lovely 1931 home and I realized it was built during the world’s great depression by a wealthy family. The home was far and above the average possibilities. Did they manipulate the numbers or were they wisely informed and flexible?

Strange how our 231 years of constitutional living can be read on both sides of our coins.

Now, Hurricane Florence got the better of my internet; hence I’m late. Yet, my thoughts are recorded on my favorite yellow pads and I have managed to start revisions of my first novel, Swamp Run. I am now agent searching. “Just Sayin’ ”


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A Warning

For me to switch my reading genre from historical fiction to political non-fiction is shaking my world. I keep a sloppy romance on my phone to grab and re-read if I go into an attack of anxious fits; to escape, quite literally.

I recently read Madelaine Albright’s  Fascism: A Warning because I woke up the day after the last national election in shock.  Yes, I’m slow at reacting. Now, I want to know why. I know why I’m slow, but what happened? Why is the world more anxious than normal? Why are “we” mad at Canada of all places? Why are there border security checks in Maine? Why does this southerner shut her mouth when I want to scream? Why didn’t I see this coming?

Madame Secretary explains fascism through history and how in the past it too surprised the uninformed; the “Oh my God!” types like me. In her last chapter she asked the reader to be aware, to answer a few questions and if the answers were yes then we’re in trouble. Do you look for easy answers even when the problem is serious? Are hoping you will not be asked to give your opinion? Do our leaders value only the strong? Do our leaders claim to speak for everybody?

She pointed out a lesson. President Lincoln never mocked the downtrodden or bragged about his own accomplishments, nor exhibited personal cruelty. He had a “largeness of soul”.



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Don’t Drain on Me

Don’t brag about how busy you are. If busy is a negative, do not read on. My busy is so blooming positive, I’m ready to burst.

A few Friday’s ago I bought an adorable monster house and thoroughly enjoyed a three hour French dinner with dear French friends – the way it is suppose to be. The next day I moved out of one small lake home into the adorable monster. Two days later I flew to Nantucket to eat fresh lobster rolls and reunite with several absolutely perfect relatives – yes, there a few. This holiday concluded with a coffee frappe at an ancestral ice cream shop favorite.

Flew home to my younger daughter’s wedding planning celebration and older granddaughter’s third birthday party. Still writing and packing boxes of books to travel from our normal home – there one? – to our adorable monster.

This time busy is a positive.





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“Writers need liability insurance!” I was advised. First I researched the definitions of such a monster gamble, then I researched the possibilities.


For years I paid the piper in the extreme. Good Gravy! I will not disclose the amount I paid per book. Embarrassment hurts.

Anyway, a painful realization of some of the trickery from the insurance industry was switched on by my  family source of all important information, our car repairman. He said my homeowners policy should cover me in the odd event that my historical mysteries would offend so much that someone would sue. It took  nine  phone calls and three office, in-your-face, visits, but yes, my homeowners policy does indeed cover my home office “products” – my six novels.

Yet, from under my creation-station desk appeared a new evil from the state in which I live.  “They” want home product producers to have an LLC (lucky lunatic cuties). “They” want to keep track of me, just in case  (Justin Case – my teddy bear). “They” must be worried that I might make money from writing.

“They said my “company” needed a name. LLC

Every year since I got a postcard reminder to renew my LLC online. For two years all went well. Then their website changed. Good Gravy, what a mess.

I reverted to snail-mail. My frustration levels matched my embarrassment. My lack of techo-smarts screamed.



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Eras of Dreams

It is sad. My Era#1 is suffering a slow death. My publisher is closing and returning the rights to my SIX NOVELS. Amazon is taking her (his?) sweet time to painfully remove them from their pages. By my estimates, (and I am trying to be realistic, not my forte’ – I do write fiction),  Era #2 will last two years. In that time I will meet my goals: revise my SIX NOVELS  (well, maybe three), draft my new mystery, and blog my political venom more bravely.

Yes, there is an Era#3. I hope. Within that third magical span, there might be new mysteries, agents for my revised SIX NOVELS, and some pleased publishers. This blessed grandmother dreams of healthy and safe futures for my Grand Girls. I dream of automatic rifles rusting away in a barn for banned weapons. I dream of a White House filled with compassion and sanity. I dream of clean water everywhere; especially in eastern North Carolina. I also dream of an end to the use of fracking fossil fuels.

Since my age is nearly fossilized – I understand these things.

Therefore, I may dream of several new Eras.


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