Journey into the Past by Amber Leigh Williams

 

ALW

There’s been a lot of change here on the home front lately. I’m happy to say all the change has been good! This holiday season, we will be adding a new addition to our family! Our priorities are shifting slowly as the hub and I prepare for Mini Me’s November arrival. It’s also shifted my focus back because I’ve always wanted to explore my ancestry in a more in-depth way. It’s always interesting to have access to where your family comes from and what they gave to the world. And I’m absolutely sure at some point Mini Me will want to know a bit more about his/her ancestors, too. So I decided to go exploring....

I started with both sides of the family – my husband’s and mine. I know very little about his grandparents and great-grandparents, much less anyone who lived more than a century or more back and where they came from. This will require talking to some in-laws who are more in the know. My goal is to trace his family tree at least four generations back in time. The same goes for my mother’s side of the family. While I know a respectable amount of information about my maternal grandmother’s life and the people who came before her, I know less about my maternal grandfather’s line. Plans for more digging there. My father had his paternal history traced back to some of the earliest Williamses who lived in America after their immigration from Europe. I’m looking forward to receiving a copy of it so I can fill in those lines on Mini Me’s family tree….

The part of the family I have explored more than any other so far is my paternal grandmother’s. A few years back, one of my many second cousins on that side of the family (my grandmother is the youngest of nine children) put together an in-depth ancestral report. Recently, I sat down and had the pleasure of reading it all the way through - all two-hundred-and-eight pages! It goes back to early American settlers and even further back into the areas of Europe where they actually came from. I knew that my paternal grandfather’s line could be traced back primarily to Germany, but I had no idea that three branches on my grandmother’s family tree were German as well. There have been rumors in the family for years that we have Irish roots as well. I was thrilled to see this confirmed by the fourth branch on my grandmother’s family tree, which comes from Antrim County in the Ulster Province of Northern Ireland.

This wasn’t the only interesting thing I found in my maternal grandmother’s ancestry. In the report, I found a copy of prisoner of war records from the American Civil War which lists my grandmother’s great-grandfather as a private of the Confederate Soldiers of America. He served at Fort Gaines on Dauphin Island, Alabama and fought at the Battle of Decatur. He was captured in 1865 and held prisoner at Fort Blakely near Daphne, Alabama. The interesting thing about my great-great-great grandfather’s imprisonment at Fort Blakely and his service at Fort Gaines is that I’ve lived within thirty miles of both forts for over half my life. My husband and his brothers have been riding bicycles on the hilly Fort Blakely trails since they were youngsters. I can’t wait to go back and explore Fort Blakely again now that I know I’ll be walking the same ground as one of my ancestors….



On my great-grandfather’s side of the family, my family tree crisscrosses with a couple of historical figures. For example, there are records of one John Stewart from Scotland in 1695 who was supposedly born the son of the Duke of Berwick who, according to the report, was the illegitimate son of King James II of England. I’d say that’s a pretty remarkable family footnote. Another footnote includes the fact that one James Taylor from England (circa 1635) immigrated to America as a baby on the ship Truelove. Among his descendants is my father, me…and President Zachary Taylor.

It will be a challenging adventure exploring all the other branches of my family tree as well as my husband’s. I can’t wait to get started on the next phase. Until then, I’d love to hear your favorite stories from your family tree! Take it away....

I also leave you with Donald Duck's family tree.... Happy exploring!

Reunions by Jannine Gallant

I couldn’t settle on one of our topics for this post. Usually I’m inspired, but this month, not so much. So, I’m going to stray a little. June is about graduations – which brings to mind reunions. It’s been a while since I posted about my Class of ’85 books. This series, published by The Wild Rose Press, wrapped up early this spring. My last book for the series came out a year ago. I’ve read every one of these books, over twenty of them. They are great stories about people revisiting their past and learning something about life and love in the process. The common link in the series is that either the hero or heroine (or both) was a member of the Summerville High class of ’85. He or she receives an invitation to a 25^th high school reunion in Summerville on the shore of beautiful Lake Ontario. These books have gotten terrific reviews. But, frankly, sales stink!

So, I’ll ask the million dollar question – why? Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d have to say a large portion of the women who read romances fall into the over forty category. (I know I do!) The characters in this series have a lot more in common with our readers than they do with a twenty-something hottie. So, why do books about older heroes and heroines not attract the attention I feel they deserve? Are crow’s feet a little too close to home for comfort? Would you, as a reader, rather escape into a world full of shape shifters, cowboys, or a setting from days gone by than read about a woman who has grown children and is on husband number 2? In the contest between escapism and reality, I have a sneaking suspicion reality comes out the loser. I’d love to know why you chose one sub-genre of romance over another to read. Please share your thoughts.

I’ll leave you with a really fun excerpt from Maybe This Time, my third and final book in the Class of ’85 series. This is the scene that inspired me to write the book. I hope you enjoy it!

Chloe Lane stood on the set of the hit reality dating show, Get Lei’d, with five other women, wondering if she’d completely lost her mind. All the other contestants were beautiful and young, painfully young. Sweat beaded her brow despite the tropical breeze blowing through the open cabana. Nerves shredded her stomach lining. She was forty-three years old and the mother of a teenage daughter for God’s sake. She had no business being on stage with the twenty-something girls still in contention.

Why had she let Sarah talk her into this madness? Why hadn’t Rafe sent her home weeks ago? Sure they’d had fun on the extravagant dates arranged by the show, but a long term relationship between the two of them didn’t seem likely.

Lamont stopped in front of her, opened his makeup case with a flick of his manicured nails, and clicked his tongue. Chloe gritted her teeth and concentrated on not kicking the annoying little man. If he made one more comment about her crow’s feet she’d scream.

His black brows lowered, and he wielded the touch up brush with more force than finesse. “Please, no close-ups on this one. I’m good, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Bruce Kildare, the director, paused in his endless pacing; his voice boomed across the set. “We want her to look her age. That’s why the viewers love her. Cougars are all the rage.”

Blurbs and buy links for all my Class of ’85 books are on my website. Thanks for visiting!

REMEMBERING DAD

THAT'S MY DAD

When I was growing up, there was nobody like my dad in my eyes. As many a small young girl, I put my dad on a pedestal. Although to be honest, I had to share him and not only with my siblings. He was a basketball coach. Gosh, thinking back now bring back so many memories.

Some of my best memories surrounded his basketball games. As I said, my dad was a high school basketball coach, a pretty good one at that. He almost won National High School Basketball coach of the year twice (1977 and 1987). He holds records in Mississippi that probably won't ever be broken and he did it all by instilling a belief into players that made them into a team.

When my own children were playing sports, I was always looking for a coach like my dad...someone to inspire belief in a cause and confidence within them. My kids were never that fortunate, but to be fair there aren't many coaches like my dad.

You remember the movie Hoosiers. My dad's biggest accomplishment as a coach was kinda like that.

On March 8, 1969, New Site Royals (Class B) beat Jackson Wingfield's Falcons (AA) to win Mississippi's Grand Slam. This gave New Site the first overall crown for a team other than an AA school.  The Grand Slam was abolished in 1982 because it was deemed unfair for the advantage obviously stood with the much larger schools. (I believe they may have reinstated it- I'm not for certain). Unfortunately, I've kinda lost touch with basketball in Mississippi. What a game! I was only eight at the time, but I remember it so well. Up here in Boston, everyone lives and breathes professional sports, but let me tell you there is nothing like the high school games in Mississippi. I miss them.

To me, Dad was amazing. He won move than 80% of his games in his 29 years of coaching and more astonishing- he never had a losing record. More important than records was the man himself. He believed in his kids, teaching them more than basketball. In all his years of coaching, Coach Caveness never once cut a kid.

Dad passed away when he was only 57 of a heart attack. He never knew I began writing. My first attempt was his autobiography, really meant for his family and friends. I need to revise it to republish it. (Honestly I think he would cringe to know I wrote romance...although my love for history came from him...he was also a history teacher.)

He may be gone, but he left behind a legacy. I'll leave you with something he wrote.

Basketball

Basketball is more than a game. Basketball is hard work; endless hours of practice; driving yourself to your limit; never quitting; picking up yourself after a fall and doing it all over again; knowing and enacting your role into the best you can be; working along side your teammates to accomplish your goal; understanding you are only as good as your team; when things don't go your way or might not be fair in your view- you don't abandon your dreams; you might have to take another road to the end you hope to achieve but whatever course you choose, you never stop.


For you don't necessarily have to be the best to achieve your end, but to do your best. For when your team works in unison as such there is no limit to what that team cam accomplish.


Basketball is much more than just a game. It is more a way to live your life.

Coach Gerald Caveness

1932-1990

June 16th - One of the Sweetest days of the Year by Jena Galifany

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to National Fudge Day! Ah, that sweet confection that melts in the mouth and brings so much pleasure to the taster.

Fudge comes in so many different flavors, there are bound to be one (or more) that will please your taste buds. There is chocolate, caramel, maple, peanut butter, and marshmallow. I’ve found in my search for into on this tasty day there is even peppermint, orange cream or white fudge.

Originally known as Scottish Tablet back in the 17^th century, it has evolved into the treat it is today. Then, it was not as tasty, lacked chocolate and had a harder texture. I found this information on www.punchbowl.com .

Upon further research, I found that American legend holds that the name was derived from a culinary accident that not only developed the new dessert but also the expletive used when making a mistake. “FUDGE!”

The original recipe has been around since the 1800s but many alterations have been made to enhance and/or simplify the procedure. Although the original recipe required the utmost precision, modern recipes have simplified the process, making it so much easier for chocoholics to indulge.

For those who are now ready to rush to the kitchen and whip up a batch to celebrate this delightful day, here are a few online recipes to help you along.

http://www.verybestbaking.com

http://www.fudge-recipes.net 

- this page has links to other recipes as well.

http://www.countrykitchensa.com/

- another collection of fudgy ideas.

I hope you take a few moments to celebrate National Fudge Day. It may not be one of the holidays that made America great, but it will certainly make your family happier and your day just a little bit sweeter.

Cheers!

Jena Galifany

ShadowsForge Series – Whiskey Creek Press

Shyanne’s Secret – Whiskey Creek Press

Her Perfect Man – Red Rose Publishing

Love Lifted Me – Red Rose Publishing

Everything's Coming up Roses by Alison Henderson

June is Rose Month, so I thought I’d share some pictures of the roses in my garden. I adore roses. I have nine bushes of three varieties across the south-facing front of my house in suburban Minneapolis. Roses are one of my favorite flowers and, interestingly, have several connections to my writing career.

First, I blog here at the Roses of Prose. I love my fellow Roses and am thrilled to be a member, but it wasn’t always so. In January of 2011, the Roses of Prose held a contest to choose a new Rose. I’d previously been a guest and decided to apply. Contestants wrote an introductory post, and the readers voted. I wasn’t chosen, but I swallowed my disappointment and continued to follow the blog. A few months later, the Roses of Prose re-organized, and I raised my hand again. This time—success! And the rest, as they say, is history.

The second Rose in my life is my publisher. I have two full length novels published by The Wild Rose Press and a novella coming out in the next few months. My road to publication and TWRP was long and convoluted and paved with “no’s” from agents and other publishers. However, I refused to give up and have been rewarded with a wonderful publishing relationship.

Finally, there’s my garden. It takes fortitude, optimism, and stubbornness to grow roses in Minnesota. Even though I grow super-hardy shrub roses developed for the northern plains, I occasionally lose a bush or two after a difficult winter. No matter. In the spring, I march off to the garden center, buy replacements, and vow to mulch better next year. If you want beautiful flowers in this climate, you accept setbacks and carry on.

Do you see a pattern here? I have both a successful rose garden and a career as a published author because of perseverance. It hasn’t always been easy, but my prize is being surrounded by lovely roses. Who could ask for more?

Alison

www.alisonhenderson.com

Whoohooo!

Okay, I’m one day away from the metamorphosis into Summer Chris (see June 4^th post). I can feel School Chris loosening up on the reins. She’s already let some of her students call her by her first name. A very big deal. Her classroom is packed up and tidied. Her desk is cleared off. All papers have been returned to students. All lockers have been emptied. She waits for tomorrow, 3:05 p.m. to be exact, when Room 211 will be closed for business.
 

And though she’ll no doubt bounce around the room Daffy Duck-style, yelling “Whoohoo,” this time comes with a bit of sadness too. Another set of fifth graders are being shipped to The Middle School. Gasp! They’re ready for it. I know they are, but a part of me wants to keep them for another year. Maybe two. I’ve come to like these kids. They’ve grown on me, and I wouldn’t mind hanging out with them for a little longer.

Many of them will come back to visit, and it’s fun to hear what they’ve been up to and what they’re learning, but they’ll never be “mine” again. I know many of them are nervous about going to middle school. They have doubts, concerns, fears. What they don’t know is that I’m nervous too. Nervous about the new fifth graders I’ll be getting. I only know the new kids as fourth graders. I’ve only seen them quickly in passing in the hallway or out on the recess yard where they were no doubt acting like…well, like fourth graders. They haven’t achieved that fifth grade cool that I so love.

I’ve been watching the fourth graders warily this week, trying to decide if they’ll get my jokes or will I end up making some of them cry? I hate when that happens. I can be kind of sarcastic and most fifth graders get it, but these fourth graders? I don’t know. They look sort of…fragile.

And just thinking of how far my current fifth graders have come and having to start all over from square one with the new batch makes me cringe. Ugh. It’s like backtracking, and I’m solidly a moving forward type of gal. Sure, I can improve upon the lessons I did this year, but what if my tricks don’t work on this new crop? What if I don’t connect with them?

What if they don’t like me?

I somehow have to charm another whole set of forty-five kids, get them to respect me, and teach them everything a fifth grader needs to know. Aww, shucks. Can’t I just keep the kids I have?

I, of course, realize that I can’t keep my darlings. I must pass them off so they can expand their horizons, and I’m sure the new kids will work out just fine. That doesn’t stop me from worrying just a little about that day looming at the end of August—The First Day of School. Crazy, right? Here I am, just a day away from the beginning of my Summer vacation and the conclusion of a successful school year, and I’m already anxious about the new school year ahead.

Clearly, I need this Summer vacation, right? Time to unwind, regroup, plan my battle strategy for those new fifth graders. They will like me, and I’ll like them, and that’s just how it’s going to be.      

So, I’ll wish my current students farewell and good luck tomorrow. I’ll put School Chris away. I’ll listen to “Summertime” by D.J. Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince when I get home like I do every year to kick off the Summer vacation, and I’ll dance around my house in celebration.

 
A part of me, however, will wonder what next year brings…

Who was your favorite elementary school teacher? Why?

Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com
www.nighteternal.weebly.com  

Goldfish I have known

Aquarium month! Oh, that sounds so simple, conjuring visions of little fish tanks with happy fish swimming around inside.

I got into the aquarium habit when I foolishly purchased some goldfish for a small pond we had in Minnesota. The pond wasn't deep enough for the fish to overwinter, so I had to buy an aquarium in which to house them in the winter.

P.I.T.A. Seriously. It morphed into a BIG fish tank (where my spouse grew plants), the fish produced more fish, the pond became too small and .... eventually it was all sold and voila: no more aquariums!

Here's a story I wrote when we had the pond (I wrote many such stories about Nature Girl in the wild). We nicknamed our house "Chateau Boles-Wilso" because apparently we were on mailing lists that appended our two last names (but did not have room for all the letters). 

Anyway: Here you go: Nature Girl (my nickname) defends the Goldfish...

 -----------------------------------------------------------------

Many of our readers are aware of the fact that I, Nature Girl, once again expanded the family to include several Finned Friends of the Gold Fish variety.  Said FF are swimming contentedly in the new pond in the gardens of the Chateau Boles-Wilso.

Last week, a Pond Crisis was narrowly averted -- the chemical balance of the pond had gone askew (due to dumbness on the part of moi). A quick trip to the Wet Pet Fish Store resulted in the Magic Chemical Enzyme, which righted the chemical imbalance.  <whew>.  Crisis averted.

I was relaxing next to the pond after performing the weekly water tests (which confirmed that the crisis was averted) when I noticed an odd stick in the water.  No, an odd stick that was bouncing around in the pond. No, IT WAS A SNAKE!!!!!

I leapt into attack mode; no way was a lousy snake going to eat the FF (all of whom proved that they have brains of one molecule or less because they merrily swam around, oblivious to the Evil Intruder in their midst). Grabbing my trusty dowels (used to pull out Icky Things from the pond), I whapped at the snake, who promptly slithered ACROSS THE SURFACE (I thought only certain Christians could do that) of the pond and burrowed under some rocks at the side of the pond.   

I proceeded to whap on the rocks, trying to drive it out so I could snag it with my sticks. The FF, in the meantime, took the whapping to mean that it was food time, because taps on the rocks have meant that in the past.  They queued up in their Food Spot, dangerously exposed to the Vermin in the Pond. I hastily tossed some food in to them, luring them over to the other side of the pond.  Then, without thought of injury or Care for Self, I promptly moved the rocks to expose THE EVIL ONE.  The BIG Evil One.

It slithered to the bottom of the pond; oh, shit, panic.  How to get it out.  I started grabbing plants (all of whom are floaters and thus, not attached, so to speak) and tossed them out onto the beach.  The FF were merrily chomping away on fish flakes, oblivious to the lurking Beast of 10,000 fathoms (okay, .5 fathom, maybe). I saw it, coiled around the bottom, near the pump.  Taking a deep breath, I plunged a hand in to the pond (yes, dumb, because I had no idea what kind of snake it was.  But the FF were in danger, so into danger I went).

I suspect the sight of a disembodied hand coming toward it awakened primal fears of octupi, because the snake slithered upwards and flopped up onto the bank, facing me.  It proceeded to coil up and HISS at me (how dare it!), and I got my first good look at it.  At least two feet long, maybe longer; black, with long yellow stripes; about an inch wide, maybe fatter. Nasty thing.  I plunged at it with my dowels, undoubtedly looking like an aging Zorro with wooden sticks.  It slithered into the water again, and I once again started pulling out plants and diverting the FF, who had polished off their krill and were bobbing around, looking for more (I flung some pellets at them; they probably talked about this all night -- "wow, good chow today, I wonder why"  "maybe that big floating stick had something to do with it").

I probed and poked for about 10 minutes, but I couldn't find it.  I even (shudder) rolled up my pants and cautiously got into the pond to feel around the pump (I put on a pair of garden gloves, in case the damn thing could bite me).  Somehow, it slithered away while my back was turned. I lifted all the rocks (surprising a few toads, who jumped in the pond and I then had to capture and release them -- my, they are slippery little dudes, aren't they?)  When I was finally convinced that the Evil One had left, I collapsed on the bank, watched by the still hungry FF. 

  

What the heck.  I tossed them some more krill and got myself a beer out of the fridge and sat down and congratulated myself on surviving the attack of the Beast of .5 Fathoms.

The Evil One has not been sighted since. I can only hope that I have convinced it that This Is Not The Pond For You and You Are Not Wanted Here.  I rearranged some of the rocks so Evil Ones cannot sunbathe there, nor can they hide out and surprise those who enjoy ponds.  A quick look in my books assured me that this was a garter snake -- lethal to FF, but not to NG.

Let this be a lesson to us all.  Ponds, while nice, can harbor Not So Nice Visitors.  Passports should be required, so we could examine them at the border and reject those we don't want. However, this is Nature, and it just don't work that way.