A Housewife’s Tale: Cleaning the refrigerator, and what happened next.

Fly Away Snow Goose

http://amzn.to/2jZPtIR

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/fly-away-snow-goose-nits-it-ah-golika-xah-1

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fly-away-snow-goose-canadian-historical-brides-collection-book-8-juliet-waldron/1127581811?ean=2940158604010

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/752162

Thanksgiving is coming. My husband cooks Indian food incessantly and our fridge is redolent of hot sauce, curry, Garam Masala, cumin etc. I decide, therefore, to clean before next week when I will be attempting to store mashed potatoes and turkey in there. I want my bland and traditional leftovers to stay that way for the brief time they will be in residence. 

Things accumulate inside refrigerators. Along with the withered cucumber and the lone apple, staring at me are four quarter full bottles of wine, cluttering the top shelf. We are not big wine drinkers and so, if we have guests who do like it, we buy a bottle to be sociable but usually end up with a bit left.

I’m always rationalizing that I’ll use the red wine in beef burgundy, and the white wine with baked fish or chicken recipes, but, somehow, as we’ve been conscientiously eating less meat this year, none of these “plan-overs” have come to fruition. Now the bottles face me, accusing me of wastefulness. I am after all, a Yankee, raised with an ethic of “Use it up. Wear it out. Make do or do without.”

Not only cleaning (never a big favorite of mine) but a decision now faces me, a test of my frugality. After some hesitation, an inner voice instructs: “Bite the bullet!” I pick up the first bottle, Beaujolais, and look at it.  Some sediment in the bottom. I uncork it; I smell it, then take a swig. Not worth spitting out, but nah! Down the drain it goes.

Next comes a bottle of champagne.  Lordy! That must have been from my birthday last February, so it’s been around for a while. A hopeful swig, ‘cause I like Champagne a lot, but it’s flat as a pancake, and so it follows the Beaujolais down the drain. Here’s a bottle of Spanish Red, strong and lively, which, after another taste, I decide can stay for around until I do make that beef burgundy. 

Next up, a Malbec. There really isn’t much left but it tastes a lot better than the others. Shortly thereafter, I’ve got the Malbec in a glass and am sitting at the table, with a box of crackers.

It’s just about 5 P.M, going dark outside early as it does since “fall back.” I notice the last, perfectly ripe pear in the center bowl. It would be shame to let it go over. Perhaps I’ll get up again and collect a knife to cut it with. As I pass the fridge once more, I remember the last slice of baby Swiss cheese in the fridge’s upper drawer.  

Soon, light illuminating the table, I’m having a civilized snack of cheese, crackers, wine and pear. My head’s a little head swirly from the wine tasting. 

This will do for supper. The fridge can wait until tomorrow.

~~Juliet Waldron 

All My Historical Novels


http://www.julietwaldron.com
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004HIX4GS
https://www.facebook.com/jwhistfic/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel
http://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/

http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/

Jumping Mouse

See all my historical novels @

http://julietwaldron.com/books.htm

KOBO

Smashwords

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

This is an attempt at  retelling of a "plains Indian" story I read a long time ago in a powerful book called The Seven Arrows by Hyemeyohsts Storm. These are tales of tribes called by their white man names Cheyenne, Crow and Sioux. Their actual names, according to this author, were Painted Arrow, the Little Black Eagle, and the Brother People, names with true poetry and power. I hope to honor my fellow author, John Wisdomkeeper, who has spent his life reclaiming his heritage, by offering a First Nations' tale for this month's blog. We will walk through the four directions and then upward toward the Sacred Mountain.

Little mouse was busy, as are all of his kind, searching, searching, gathering seeds, eating seeds, but today there was a new sound, a roaring, roaring in his ears.
"Do you hear a noise, my brother?" He asked another mouse who was nearby, also busy with his work.
"No, no, I hear no noise. Let me be now. I am busy with my work."
But the first mouse still heard the noise and it puzzled him. He asked the same question of the next mouse he encountered, as they scrambled through the grasses, but the answer here was rude: "Have you lost your wits? I hear no noise. Go away; I am too busy now."
But the roaring did not stop. Then the mouse heard a voice.
"Little Brother, I hear the noise. It is the sound of a river."
Little mouse looked up and saw a Raccoon.
"Would you like me to show you?"
The mouse thought when I find out it will be a help to all the others, perhaps with our examining and collecting, the work the Great Spirit has set for us. So he went with the Raccoon and soon he saw the river.
The river was astonishing. It was large; it roared; it cried; it sang. The mouse was dumbstruck.
"It is a Great Thing," said Raccoon. "Let me take you, small seeker, to meet a friend who lives here. I too need to go about my business here at the river."
They walked along the edge until they found a quiet backwater they found some lily pads. Upon one of these sat a frog.
"This is my friend," said Raccoon. "He was seeking to know about the river."
Raccoon left the mouse and went about his business of of finding food and washing it in the river.  The mouse had never met a Frog before--so green and very strange, half in the water and half out of it.
He as filled with wonder when the Frog spoke and said, "I have the gift of living above and below water, and my name is Water Keeper. Would you like a Medicine gift from me?"
"Oh! A Medicine gift for me? Yes!"
"Crouch down and jump up as high as you can, look up as you jump, and you will see something," said the frog.
Little mouse did as he was told and as he jumped, he suddenly caught sight of a prairie and beyond, a most beautiful mountain. When he fell to earth, though, he slipped on the mud and fell into the river. Angry and scared, he pulled himself out, shaking off the water.
"Never mind being wet," said the Frog. "Did you see the Great Medicine?"
The mouse had to admit that the sight was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen.
"Now you have a new name," said the Frog. "Jumping Mouse."
The mouse returned to his people, but no one cared about what he had seen. They were all too busy. Besides, he was all wet and maybe, they thought, crazy. Still, Jumping Mouse continued to think of the wonder of the great world that he had seen.
Now the prairie called to him, but because it was open, it was a dangerous place for a mouse to go. Still one day, he decided he would run out upon it and try to reach the sacred mountain. So, although he was terrified, he ran and he ran, fearing any moment that an eagle or other bird of prey would find him and eat him. At last he found a patch of sage and grasses and went in to hide. There was another mouse there and he asked Jumping Mouse to stay with him there, for there was plenty to eat and much to investigate, there under the sage. "Can you see the Sacred Mountain and the River from here?" 
"No, I cannot see them, but I know they are there."
This was not good enough for Jumping Mouse. The desire to stand upon the sacred mountain filled his mind, and he knew he'd have to go on, despite his terror of the eagles. So, after resting and eating, he dared to cross the prairie again, running this time till his heart was near to bursting, always fearing the shadow which could so fatally fall upon him. 
Finally, he found another patch of grass and brush and ran in, glad to be alive and puffing and panting. When his own breathing quieted, he heard the sound of another's breath coming and going, only very hard and loud and pained. He crept toward the sound and saw an enormous Being, so huge, so very woolly, lying in the brush.
"I am Buffalo," said the Great Being, when he saw the mouse staring in wonder at him. "But I am dying."
"I am trying to reach the Sacred Mountain and wondered if you could help me get there, but now I see you cannot. I am very sorry you must die. You seem far too great a Being for such an ordinary fate."
"I can only be cured by the eye of a mouse."
Jumping mouse was very frightened at that. He ran away into a mound of grass to hide and think. He thought for a long time and finally decided that he had two eyes and that he could spare one. So he returned to the Buffalo and said, "Brother Buffalo, you may have one of my eyes."
And it was gone! The mouse felt even more frightened now, with only one eye to see the world through, and so many eagles hunting everywhere.
After a time, Brother Buffalo stood up and said "Now I am well, Little Brother. I give you my thanks and the thanks of The People to whom I will be a gift because of what you have given. I will soon be a give-away Gift to the People as Creator intended. Let me take you to the foot of the Sacred Mountain. Walk beneath my belly and do not fear I will step on you, for I walk the Sun Dance Path."
So Jumping Mouse ran along beneath the belly of the Buffalo safe from eagles until they reached the slopes of the Sacred Mountain. Mouse looked up and up, seeing the rocky way ahead, but wanting to climb higher. The Buffalo spoke and said, "I can go no higher up these rocks, for now I must return to The People to become a Gift to them. You stay here, Little Brother, safe in these rocks, and another Guide will come."
The mouse was still very frightened when the Buffalo left, for above him, even with one eye, he could see the eagles circling. 
After a time, a wolf came down the slope, but he was walking in circles. When Jumping Mouse spoke to him, he only said, "Wolf- Wolf -Wolf." Wolf moved slowly and stumbled as he went, like a man who had drunk too much of the stinging water and lost his mind.
In Jumping Mouse's mind a voice, said, "You must give your other eye to the Wolf, little Brother if you wish to reach the top of the sacred mountain."
Jumping Mouse shed tears. How would he see the Sacred Mountain he had so longed for when he was blind? The smells, the sounds of wind and birds and trees, would be all that was left for him. Nevertheless, he would at last reach the top of the Sacred Mountain! And so he gave up his remaining eye.
"Thank you, dear Little Brother," said the Wolf. "Now I have my wits again, and I will take you to the top of the mountain." Very gently and carefully, the Wolf led Jumping Mouse along, up and up, until they reached the side of a lake. Jumping Mouse could no longer see, but he could smell the clean fresh water, and he and the Wolf drank deep and refreshed themselves.
"Now I must leave you here," said Brother Wolf, "for there are others I must guide to this place."
Jumping Mouse understood that the Wolf followed his duty, but he was terribly afraid, for he could tell by how the wind blew that this place was without cover. He felt sure that the eagles would find him here. 
He sat there, by the lake, feeling the sun on his back, until a shadow passed over him. He crouched down low and waited for the claws of the eagle. 

Jumping Mouse awoke. His vision was back, both eyes, but very blurry. "I can see! I can see!" he cried. All the colors were bright, so bright and beautiful that he could almost hear them. He heard a voice, saying, "Hello, my Brother. Do you want some Medicine?" 
"Some Medicine for me? Yes! Yes!" Jumping Mouse replied.
"Then crouch down as low as you can and jump as high you can."
Jumping Mouse did so, crouching low and then jumping with all his might and main, with the pure joy of being alive. This time, the wind caught him and blew him upward, Higher and Higher. 
"Do not be afraid," said the Voice. "Hang onto the wind and trust."
Jumping Mouse did. He was going higher and higher, wind blowing around him, sun shining. His eyesight had cleared and now he saw the Sacred Mountain with the beautiful clear lake below him and the wide prairie beyond. There, on a lily pad in the Medicine lake, he saw his old friend, the Frog, Water Keeper.
"You have a new name now," shouted the Frog. "You are Eagle."




~~Juliet Waldron

See all my historical novels @

http://julietwaldron.com/books.htm

KOBO

Smashwords

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Red & White, at War in the World, and in her Blood.

about what he had seen.

The Wonder of Words by A.M.Westerling

Dialogue is one of the most useful tools an author has. You can use it to move the plot along because the characters tell what’s going to happen rather than the author. It happens in real time so it’s a nice change of pace. It presents information such as back story (one character talking to another.) It’s also useful as another means to develop conflict – one character arguing with another. However, as an author of historical romance, dialogue is an important tool to identify a character. Word usage and slang defines a person and consequently defines the era in which that character lives. 


When I write dialogue, I have my trusty Merriam Webster Tenth Edition Collegiate Dictionary by my side. (It’s a little frayed along the bottom, an indicator of how much I pull it off the shelf.)  

I use the dictionary to check when a word came into usage and for that you can blame my technical background on my obsession with details. For example, I wanted to use ‘poppycock’ in the book I’m working on now. It came into usage in 1865 which doesn’t work for my story as it’s set in 1800. 


Katherine Pym, co-author of Pillars of Avalon (along with Jude Pittman), Book 5 from the Canadian Historical Brides Collection, does a terrific job of using dialogue to define the era. Here’s an excerpt from the book:


“Aye.” Frances dashed some numbers along another line. “The warehouse is large, it only seems empty.” She regarded Sara with a smile. “You’ve done very well provisioning the fleet. Do not think otherwise.” Something caught her eye. “Oiy, you there, where’s the other barrel of wine? I shall not have any thievery committed under our very noses.” Waving her ledger, she advanced sharply on a fellow carrying a cask upon his shoulder.
“What does you want, young lass?” he snarled at her. “Shouldn’t you be home with thy mamma, eating mashed gruel?”
Frances’ back stiffened and Sara knew the man would regret his impertinence. “I beg your pardon? Do you have an incontinent liver that needs correction? I shall call the Watch and have you carried away for rude and disorderly behaviour.” She leaned forward and hissed. “It will surely happen. Now, answer me truthfully. Where’s the other cask of wine?”


Reading this, you know it’s not a contemporary story. Words and phrases like oiy, thievery, thy mamma, mashed gruel, incontinent liver, call the Watch, suggest an earlier time period.

The following excerpt from Barkerville Beginnings, Book 4 of the collection shows another example of how speech defines a person. It’s obvious Robert McTague is a Scot by his word usage ie “me da’s croft” “ma’self” "nae" and his reference to Culloden as well as calling Harrison a “Sassenach”. 


Not only that, in talking to Harrison, Robert gives us a little information on Barkerville ie how many miners there were during the height of the Cariboo Gold Rush. As well, a  bit of back story for both characters is revealed ie Robert comes from a poor farmer’s croft and like most other miners has travelled a fair distance to get to Barkerville and Harrison knows a thing or two about horses. 


“Harrison entered Mundorf Stables. “Hello,” he shouted, scanning the stalls. Most were empty and through the open double doors at the rear he noticed his mule team huddled together in the corner of the pen. Nancy, ears pricked forward, hung her head over the top rail, no doubt plotting her escape. At least they were here where he’d left them last night so it appeared the livery owner was a trustworthy sort. However, trustworthy enough to negotiate some sort of bargain remained to be seen.
A red-haired man with a full red beard wandered out from one of the stalls. Harrison recognized him as the fellow he’d shared his breakfast table with this morning.
A grin ripped through the man’s beard, revealing front teeth buckled together. “Well, look who’s here.” He gestured to the map under Harrison’s arm. “See you took my advice and went to the commissioner’s office.” He held out his hand. “We didn’t get around to exchanging names this morning. Robert McTague.”
The Scottish burr in his voice sounded out of place and Harrison knew from their brief chat at breakfast that the other man had also traveled halfway around the world to join in on Cariboo gold fever. He grasped Robert’s hand, giving it a good shake. The other man’s firm grip put Harrison at ease immediately.
“Harrison St. John. I made it there but I don’t know what to do now. Other than see to my livestock.” 
“I’m here doing the same thing ma’self. Rode in on my horse but he didn’t take too well to the trail. I’m resting him up for now and hoping for the best. Hate to shoot the beast although I hate to see him suffer too.”
“Been here long?”
Robert shook his head. “Maybe a week. But long enough to know this isn’t quite what I expected.” He laughed. “I’ve washed a few pans of gravel on some of the abandoned claims and only found enough gold dust ta pay for my food but I hate to give up. There’s naught for me back home.”
“Scotland?”
“Aye. Me da’s croft is full to bursting so I thought to make my own way in the world. From your accent, I’d wager you’re English.”
“Indeed. By way of Manchester.”
The other man chuckled. “Well, we won’t talk about Culloden, now will we?”
Harrison grinned. “No, I think not.” He pointed into the stall. “Is this the fellow you’re nursing?”
Robert’s face fell. “Aye. That’s Brutus.”
“I know a thing or two about horses. Let me take a look at him.” He ran his hands over the animal’s withers, flanks and on down its legs. “He feels sound enough. A bit bony perhaps but I’d give him another day or two of rest and some good feed before you decide anything.” The horse, a bay gelding, rubbed his nose against Harrison’s shoulder and for an instant he felt a pang of regret for the four he sold to finance his journey here. One day, he vowed, he’d have another set, equally as fine as the first.
“I’d thought the same. Time is the best healer.” Robert patted the horse’s nose.
“Do you know many people here? Have you met a fellow by the name of Edmund Chadwick?”
“Nae, can’t say that I have. But hearsay has it there’s upwards of ten thousand men here and up and around the hills. Could be he’s not made his way into town for some time. These miners can get caught up with the fever and not wanting to leave their claims unless necessary.” He clamped his lips, which made the hairs of his beard stand up around his mouth like a pin cushion, and regarded Harrison through narrowed eyes. “I’m looking for a partner. Two heads being better than one and all that. Until now, I haven’t met anyone I’m wanting to spend time with. But I’m thinking a Sassenach might be a good choice. You lot being pigheaded and all.” He chuckled and held out his hand again. “What do you think?”
“Partner? You don’t know anything about me.”
“You’ve a flair for horses and Brutus has taken to you, that’s good enough for me. And like I said, you Englishmen are pigheaded as far as I can tell. That’ll stand a man in good stead out here.”
Harrison stared at the other man’s outstretched hand. His first inclination was to decline the offer until he noted the trimmed, albeit dirty, fingernails and the calluses on Robert’s palm. The sign of honest labour. He raised his gaze and studied the other man’s face. Or rather, only his eyes and forehead seeing as how his unruly beard covered everything else including his neck.
Robert returned his gaze with guileless blue eyes. “Well?” he prompted.
Still Harrison didn’t reply. Here he was, in Barkerville, with a wagon full of supplies and nary an inkling of what to use them for. It might be helpful to have a partner, especially someone already familiar with what to expect. It made sense that the two would be stronger and more productive together. Besides, half of something was better than all of nothing.
He grabbed the Scot’s hand. “You’ve got yourself a partner. Where to now?”
“Let’s find a saloon. The whiskey out here is rotgut but ‘tis good enough to wet your whistle and raise a toast or two to God and country.” Robert chuckled. “And Cariboo gold.””


Dialogue makes the characters and story come alive!

You can find "Pillars of Avalon", "Barkerville Beginnings" and the rest of the Canadian Historical Brides Collection here: www.bookswelove.com/canadian-historical-brides 

Christmas Traditions by Victoria Chatham

I'm late, I'm late, I'm very, very late! That's what comes of looking at the wrong calendar but I have finally caught up with myself!

Our post for December is about traditions, holiday or otherwise. I can’t say my family ever had ongoing traditions because we all moved about – a lot. It came with the territory of service families and I think because of that we just got to enjoy Christmas as it came, regardless of where we were or who we were with.

Once I had my own home and family, things changed a little. For a family vacation one summer, we took a holiday cottage for two weeks in Robin Hood’s Bay, Yorkshire. The last thing I expected to find in a local pottery were unpainted porcelain nativity figures. They were discounted so I bought the full set of Mary and Joseph, baby Jesus in his manger, the three kings, two shepherds, a camel, a donkey, a selection of sheep and finally the angel. I don’t remember the cost, but after we got home, I spent weeks hand-painting them. I worked with several brushes, even one that I shaved down until there was only one hair so I could complete the facial details. That one badger’s hair did sterling service, but I needed a magnifying glass to see what I was doing. Once the figures were painted, then we built the stable and my children did a wonderful job of constructing it from popsicle sticks, cardboard, and real straw to thatch it with. It also had battery operated flashlight bulbs set in the interior corners of the roof, so everyone could clearly see it. It was the first decoration we set up and the last one we put away.

Our Nativity set reminded us that Christmas wasn’t about the gifts we gave or received, but about compassion, peace, and hope for a better future. I have no photographs of it as, at that time, no one in the family had or cared to have a camera. It’s in my memory, and maybe my children’s too. I hope it is.

So, to all of you, have a very happy Christmas, celebrate the season with your own traditions, and I wish you all a wonderful New Year.

AVAILABLE HERE

Visit Victoria here:

AT BOOKS WE LOVE

 ON FACEBOOK

 MY WEBSITE

   

Wedding Memories by Nancy M Bell

For more info click here.

My Goodness! Wedding memories...that's a long time ago I'm afraid. It will be 42 years next May 7th that we've been married. We got married on the first Saturday in May which is Kentucky Derby Day. Seattle Slew, who went on to sire many stakes winning offspring, won the Derby in 1977. Half my guests went home to watch the race between the ceremony and the reception. Us? We went to the barn to have pictures taken with my horse Brandy, Brandance Kaine if you want to be formal. You gotta love my Barbra Streisand hair, this was in the era of the Kris Kristofferson and Barbra Streisand A Star is Born. Ye gads, what was I thinking???

On our 24th Anniversary we went to the Kentucky Derby. Had to fly into Nashville and drive to Louisville. Got a hotel in Lexington and toured the beautiful bluegrass horse country. Saw Claiborne Farms, ABC Farms and so many more. It was an amazing adventure. Fusaichi Pegasus won the Derby that year. His bloodlines include Native Dancer on the top as well as Count Fleet (another derby winner) and Nasrullah, Polynesien, and on his dam's side he has Northern Dancer - the 1964 winner of the Derby and bred by Windfield Farms- Nearctic who goes back to Nearco, and Halo - who sired Sunny's Halo (a Canadian horse who won the 1983 Derby) and Sunday Silence who won the 1989 Derby, and Hail to Reason.
It was hot as all get out and all along the small side roads leading to the grounds of Churchill Downs were tents set up in small front yards selling BBQ and all sorts of amazing food. It was like all of Louisville was having a street party. We didn't have seats, just rush tickets so we staked out a place by the first turn. We could see the start gate and were pretty close to the finish line. The first turn in the infield is where families congregate, the Clubhouse turn is where the college kids hangout and is pretty wild. Lots of Planters Punch and Mint Julep consumed and it was not cheap! We got the souvenir glass but it was pretty small. Only one for us. LOL

Here are some photos from our wedding day. You'll notice Brandy is not thrilled about my veil flying in his face. Stupid thing stuck to everything including Doug's tuxedo jacket. Epic fail! LOL

The Wedding Party.

We were so young and so certain we knew what we were doing. I've never regretted it. I was 20 and Doug was 21. We met at a wedding on my 19th birthday where he was an usher and I caught the bride's bouquet. it was a wedding neither of us really wanted to be at (except in my case the free birthday booze as this was still in the era of free open bars at weddings. We got engaged on my 20th birthday and married the following May.

Until next month, stay well and happy.