A Lot To Love, Plenty To Hate by Margo Hoornstra

I live in the upper Midwest. As I write this it's snowing - again - still - forever, it seems. Near white out conditions in fact.


According to those who know such things, we are already way above our usual snowfall totals for an entire year. With much more to come before Spring.


If that furry little guy from Pennsylvania is to be believed. 


I'm beginning to HATE Winter. Which is odd for me since usually I LOVE Winter. Gliding and spinning on razor sharp ice skates. The swoosh, swoosh rhythm of cross country skis.


By its Nature - pun intended - Winter begs to be described.



 A blast of Arctic air rolling into the streets.


The first breath on an icy morning, nostrils flash frozen.


Frigid air crackles, snow creaks underfoot.


Freezing rain traps trees and bushes in tombs of ice.

Fingers gone numb.


Wind pelting, eyes watering.    

 Slick roads. Cars slide sideways.


Iced over puddles.

Mittens, scarves, hats and boots.


Warm lips kiss a chilled cheek.


Engine heated air flows into a newly started car.


Seasoned wood sizzling in the grate.


Extra blankets on the bed.


A loved one snuggled close.




Okay, so maybe Winter does offer some instances to LOVE.


Relatives in Arizona brag about abundant sunshine, temperatures in the eighties.


Oh, good. Something else to HATE. Not them, of course, just when they do that.


Happy Spring, Everyone! Eventually!


Margo


My days to blog here are the 11th and 23th. Please check out my WEBSITE

Two of my latest titles, Only If You Dare and Night Stars and Mourning Doves have recently been released from the DEARLY BELOVED series.





These novellas, along with some short stories there for free, are available on my AUTHOR PAGE at The Wild Rose Press.

Motherhood vs. Parenting by Leah St. James

I love being a mom. I have two grown sons, and I’ve loved being their mom from those joyous moments I knew they were growing inside, to the euphoric instants of birth and through the years, watching them mature to the wonderful men they are today.

Visiting the Penn State Nittany Lion at
University Park, Pa. My son said, "Hey,
there's a guy in there!"

Being a mom is the laughter from the “So big!” game, the anxious pride of watching that first competition or recital, the bittersweet happiness of witnessing your child fall in love. Being a mom is the fear that grips every fiber of your body and soul while nurses wheel your child toward surgery, the despair of learning your child has an incurable medical condition but knowing you must be strong to help him cope.  A mom is a fixer, a peace-maker, a boo-boo kisser and a shoulder to cry on.

When my son changed majors, requiring
a couple more years of school than
we had expected, it seemed like
graduation day would never come.
When it did, I wanted proof!

I love being a mom, even in those fearful times, but sometimes I really hate being a parent.

Where mom is the nurturer, the fierce protector, a parent is the enforcer.

A parent has the task of telling a young son that, despite what Daddy told him, it’s NOT okay to relieve himself against the tree in the schoolyard... when the second-grade girls are 20 feet away. A parent compels a child to face someone he’s hurt, to make amends. A parent meets with teachers and guidance counselors to develop strategies that will, hopefully, turn that child’s schoolroom performance from weak to strong. A parent sits in a waiting room in the local police station while officers have a conversation with her just-turned 18-year-old, then has her own conversation when he’s released.

A parent metes out time-outs and forces her child to face the hard facts of life, and those moments truly are harder on the parent than the child.

It’s far easier to turn a blind eye to a child’s “little white lie,” or to explain away poor behavior than it is to confront it and call it out for what it is. Nobody likes dishing out uncomfortable truths, and it goes against a mom’s nurturing instinct when she has to deliver those realities to someone whose life she would save over her own.

A parent has to understand, far more than the child, that tough love is often the best kind of love.

When I was a little girl, we had a female cat that had kittens. My mom found homes for the kittens, but one day, one of the kittens made its way back to our house. I remember the kitten standing on our porch, meowing to come inside. And I vividly remember our sweet, loving mama cat peering through the glass, growling and hissing until the kitten ran off. (I can only hope the kitten made it home!)

I was horrified. How could our mother cat have turned her own child away? My mother, my parent, said, “She’s doing her job, honey. She’s taught him everything he needs to survive, and now it’s his turn to make a life for himself.”

It took me years to understand that lesson, but I remembered it as I raised my boys, and I’ve often wondered if our cat felt the pain I’ve felt when having to “parent” one of my sons.

Still, the joy of being a mom is worth every painful moment of parenting. I love my boys--every joyous and the not-so-joyous moment--and I'm so blessed, and proud, to be both their mom and their parent.
____________________

Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the enduring power of love. Visit Leah at LeahStJames.com , Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest.

Cabin Fever by Barbara Edwards

Winter is taking its toll. I’m not only bored by the long days inside, I’m depressed and logy. And I’m in Florida, missing the fifty inches of snow piled in my yard, the repeating storms and bad roads, the shut-in feeling when the night falls at four pm.

We’ve had our bad weather here in the Panhandle. It snowed twenty miles North an event that occurs every thirty or forty years. Rain has preceded every storm in Georgia, South Carolina, on up. Heavy rain that keeps me inside and makes the internet connection act like a drunken butterfly.

In between the storms has been an unbelievably thick fog. If you remember the horror movie, “The Fog,” then you have a good idea what it’s been like taking the dog for his necessary walk.

The isolation has drained any energy from my muse. I want to sleep late, go to bed early and eat comfort foods. I know that sounds familiar. Ah, hot tea, popcorn, chocolate, I could go on for hours.

When I spent the winters in Connecticut I had a few tricks to get

me through the draggy days. I had a fish tank with a grow light under the hood. Surprisingly, watching the little guys dart around made me smile. A mood enhancer. I graduated to several potted plants under a grow light. I set it on a timer to glow twelve hours a day and put it next to my desk. Seeing tiny shoots of green grow helped to remind me that spring was around the corner.
This too shall pass.

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Elvis, James Dean, and Family by Alicia Dean

I had trouble coming up with a post for this theme. Love and Hate, sure, lots of ways to go there, but my fellow Roses did such a great job of covering the theme, I was stumped. So, lazy as it may seem, I recycled/tweaked a few of my Facebook posts. They represent things I love (and something to hate), so I thought it fitting. If you’re my FB friend, they might sound familiar, so forgive me.

ELVIS: (LOVE him, HATE that he died so young)

A lot of people have given me the business (that’s a phrase from Leave it to Beaver, by the way, LOVE it! :)) over the years for being an Elvis fan. That's okay, I don't regret one second of loving Elvis. Being a fan has enriched my life in many, many ways. I've met a lot of awesome people and made a lot of good friends as a result of being an Elvis fan. There have been times when I've been feeling low and listening to Elvis music lifted my spirits. I saw him in concert three times, and those are experiences I will always treasure. For my fortieth birthday, my amazing sister  and my wonderful brother-in-law took me to Memphis. We went to Graceland and Beale Street and Sun Studios. That was the trip of a lifetime. Elvis was a true legend and an entertainer such as the world has never seen and will never see again. Even if you don't like him, you have to acknowledge that his popularity is mind-boggling. Graceland is the most visited house in the US, next to the White House (and that's not so much a home as it is a live-in office). When my kids and niece and I went to Graceland this past July, there were fans ranging in age from toddlers to grandparents. People come from all over the world to visit his home, just as they did to see him in concert. Elvis gave a fortune to charities, he adored and revered his mother, and he served in the armed forces, just when his career was taking off. As far as he knew, a two-year absence could have killed his chances at stardom. But of course, we all know that didn't happen. Can you imagine someone like Justin Beiber pausing in his career to serve two years in the army? Even if there wasn't a war going on? Neither can I. So...like him or not, Elvis was, and will forever be, the most successful and revolutionary entertainer to ever live.

ANOTHER ELVIS NOTE:

I settled in front of the tv with my  laptop and watched the Jailhouse Rock DVD. I was going it to help with inspiration and tone for my 50's story. I was so absorbed in the movie, I couldn't focus on writing. He was so 'Young and Beautiful' (A song from the movie). I was a tad emotional, for some reason. I guess because it was such a hopeful time, before he went into the army, before he lost his mother. And seeing them taking him away in an ambulance, so sad. This is one of my favorite clips from the movie. He was such a sexy beast. ;) Sigh... This only takes a moment to watch, so please check it out. (Ignore the Turkish or whatever language the subtitles are in)

JAMES DEAN: (LOVE him, too, and HATE that he died REALLY young)

I am once again fascinated with James Dean. So many interesting and tragic facts about his life and death. Did you know that he only starred in three movies and only lived to see ONE released? Crazy that he is such a huge legend. I think his untimely death and the mystery and drama surrounding him contributed greatly to his legendary status. Although, I also think he was a phenomenal actor, and extremely sexy and charismatic.  I watched Rebel Without a Cause the other night for research on my 50's story (I hadn't seen it in years). Then I bought all three of his movies in a boxed set. I always thought he was the only one involved/at fault in his accident, but the other driver turned in front of him. The driver survived, but wasn't charged as being at fault. Can you imagine living your life as the person who caused James Dean's death?

MOM: (I am so blessed to have her. LOVE her so much. HATE that she has to be in a nursing home instead of home with her family. HATE that we lost my dad in ’94. LOVE the memories I have of him)

I went to see Mom this evening and Christi and Madi arrived at the same time. We all three went in and were visiting with her, and Mom was telling us how surprised she was that we came, because she never gets any visitors. We assured her that she did, but she just forgets. We told her that her friend, Thedis was there to see her today, because she comes every Wednesday, plus, there was a Valentine card from her on Mom's table. Mom insisted that Thedis had NOT been there today. As we're talking, Madi leans against the nightstand, out of Mom's line of vision. In a few minutes, Mom says, "So, when is my Madi going to come see me?" Christi and I look at each other and kind of snicker, and Mom says, "What? I suppose you're going to tell me SHE already came to see me today too?" LOL. Poor thing.

This is a pic of my precious niece, Madison, and my mother.

MY KIDS: (LOVE them so, so much. Nothing to hate there, except that I don’t have the room to share all the amazing, funny, and dramatic stories of being their mother)

SO, I’ll just share a pick of me and my kiddos doing something we all LOVE – at a Vampire Diaries Convention.

Lana, Me, Presley (yes, I named him Presley, LOL), Lacey

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my entire family, and there are a ton of beautiful, lovable, sometimes crazy members, but the post can only be so long, right? 

WRITING: LOVE it, but I HATE that sometimes the stories don’t flow, and that I don’t have the time I would like to devote to it. One thing I have learned, if I keep at it, at some point, the story clicks, and I start to LOVE the process again.

Here is a brief and extremely rough excerpt of my current Work in Progress, End of Lonely Street, a short story set in the 1950’s:

Chapter One

Toby Lawson closed her eyes and shut out all sounds of the diner, except for Elvis Presley’s voice. He was crooning about how she was the only one for him…no matter where he went or what he did… he’d spend his whole life loving her…

Rough hands landed on her waist, and she snapped her eyes open. Wes Markham’s hateful face replaced the image of Elvis’ beautiful, crooked smile and smoldering blue eyes.

“Let me go.” She gritted her teeth, keeping her voice low. If her boss, Mr. Winstead, knew there was trouble on account of her, he’d go nutty. He’d barely let her have the job in the first place. Everyone in Mapleton knew the Lawson women were trouble.

“Come on, sugar. If you like that hip swivel, Presley ain’t the only one who’s got it. I got it too.” He took his left hand off her waist so he could run it over his slicked down hair and gave her a big-toothed, wolfish smile. “Only we’d be naked.”

Toby gripped his right wrist with one hand, tightening her hold on the utensils she held in the other. “I said let me go. Now!”

“Aw, come on.” He tugged until she was full against him, until his bulge pressed against her stomach.

She gasped in shock, and nausea tightened her throat. “Wes Markham, I’m warning you…”

He pulled her tighter.  “Your momma’s a whole lot friendlier than you are. They say the apple don’t fall far from the tree, so how’s about you cut the pretense and we go someplace quiet? Winstead won’t miss you for a few minutes.”

Her cheeks heated. She didn’t dare look around. No doubt the customers were watching, listening. Elvis had stopped singing and everyone in the place could hear what he’d said about her mother. It wasn’t like they didn’t all know, though. Constance Lawson hadn’t exactly kept her escapades a secret.

Toby clenched her teeth and brandished the utensils. She spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Release me this instant, or I swear, you’ll be pulling this steak knife out of your eyeball.”

He held her gaze for a split second, then gave a laugh that was somewhere between nervous and furious. “Sure, sure. Okay.” He released her and stepped back. “I was just foolin’ around anyway. I got better things to do with my time than waste it on a used up chick like you.”

Muffled laughter rose around her. Oh God, she could crawl into a hole right now.

“How about you apologize to the lady, then beat it?”

Toby whirled at the male voice. Noah Rivers stood behind her, looking handsome and sharp in his police uniform. She’d heard he was back, but hadn’t seen him until now. And what a time to have a reunion.

Wes licked his lips and darted a glance around the diner. He stuck his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged. “I didn’t mean no harm. Like I said, just funnin’.”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “Like I said, tell that to the lady.”

Wes frowned and glared at Toby. “Sorry, Toby. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Toby nodded but didn’t speak.

“Now get out of here.” Noah gestured with his head.

Wes tugged on the edges of his letterman jacket—three years out of high school and still couldn’t let go of the jock mentality--then stalked to the door, his two buddies following behind.

“Thank you.” Toby brushed her hands over her paper apron, self-conscious that she looked like this, when Noah looked like, well…that. “I was doing fine on my own though.”

“Yeah, sure you were. But he ticked me off, so that was just for me.” He crossed his arms and studied her with his hypnotic, golden brown eyes. “How have you been, Toby?”

“Good.” She tried to take a deep breath, but it got stuck somewhere between her stomach and her throat. “You? I heard you were back. A police officer. I never would have pictured that for you.”

“Why not?” He grinned. “Because I was hell on wheels?”

She smiled back. “Something like that.”

“A couple of years in the Marines will take the rebel right out of a guy.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Toby searched for something to say, but failed. What more could be said?

I’ve missed you…

No other guy can make me feel the way you do…

Wish I hadn’t caught you kissing my mother…

In all fairness, her mother had kissed him, but since Toby could never erase that image from her mind, the blame didn’t matter.

Free Books and Cowboys - What's Not to Love? by Jannine Gallant

Yep, Asking For Trouble is free for five days only on Amazon! You can get your copy HERE.

Why should you download it, you might ask? I know, I know—there are a gazillion free books floating around out there. What makes mine special? We all think are books are special, right? That's why we love them. So let's see if I can come up with a few reasons Asking For Trouble is unique. And, I'll give you some book snippets to keep you interested. (I hope!)

1) My hero is a cowboy who makes his living with a chainsaw.

Only one thing in the state of Texas was louder than the whine of Cole Matheson’s chainsaw—the red-haired demon child he called a nephew. Easing a final cut into the cedar antler of the life-sized moose, he killed the engine, pushed safety glasses up beneath the brim of his weathered tan Stetson, and turned on the ladder to stare down at the baby squirming in his brother’s grip.

“How do you stand that racket?”

The screaming stopped, leaving blessed silence, as the ten-month-old grinned a mostly toothless smile and waved pudgy arms.

“What kind of question is that coming from a man who makes a living with a chainsaw?”

2) My hero uses duct tape to fix his problems—okay, lots of guys do that. But how many use it on a baby?

She raised her hands, palms out. “I change enough diapers during working hours—where I’m paid. Go ahead.”

His pleading look had probably charmed plenty of women out of their panties. Miranda crossed her legs.

“I suck at it. Please.”

Drawing in a breath, she silently called herself a sucker, but finally relented. “Fine.” Laying Jackson on his back, she slid down his little blue jeans—and stared in utter disbelief. Silver duct tape wrapped around the disposable diaper in a diabolical pattern. Maybe if she had some scissors… Lifting her chin, she met Cole’s gaze and raised one brow.

His cheeks reddened. “The diapers kept coming loose and falling off. Duct tape fixes everything.”

3) My hero proposes with a purple plastic ring.

The door slapped, and his boots thumped. When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling before her with his fist held out. Slowly, he turned it over and opened it. On his palm rested a purple rubber circle with yellow stars stamped into it. Miranda pressed a hand against her mouth to keep from laughing.

“It came off one of Jackson’s toys, and I stuck it in a drawer to keep him from eating it.” Cole took her hand and held it tightly between his. “I love you more than chocolate bars and chainsaws. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man in Texas?”

Does Miranda say yes? Download the book to find out. Did I mention it's free Feb. 18-22. LOL Just click HERE.

Thanks for stopping by. For more info on all my books, visit my website.

Three Weeks by Betsy Ashton

Our topic this month is love and hate. Love is easy, since this is Valentine's Day month. It is also the 11th anniversary of my mother's passing from lung cancer. I offer up a different look at love. It took me seven years and twenty-four minutes to write this poem, seven years to be able to put grief aside and write, twenty-four minutes to put the words down on paper. The poem came fully formed on a dawn walk. I changed one word.

Warning: you may want to grab your tissues.

This one's for you, Mini-Mommy. With love from YBDK.

THREE WEEKS

I thought we’d have more time.

She lived with us after it was too hard to live alone.

She had her chores, self-imposed.

She laughed, chattered, kept us happy.

She was a pain in the ass, sometimes.

I thought we’d have more time.

She said she didn’t feel right one afternoon.

No, she’d never felt exactly like that before.

Is it pneumonia?

No.

Is it bronchitis?

No. It’s different.

Do you want to go to the emergency room?

It’s icy out. I’ll see how I feel in the morning.

I thought we’d have more time.

It’s still icy but I think we need to go, she said.

Okay. I put the ready-bag in the car.

It’s pneumonia, they said.

Let’s get some x-rays.

Yes. It’s pneumonia. There’s fluid.

I thought we’d have more time.

The biopsy said different.

Dr. Elizabeth called it cancer.

Too far along. No real treatment.

Too tiny at 81 pounds.

Too old at 81.

How long, she asked.

Not long.

I thought we’d have more time.

One option, Dr. Elizabeth said.

Hospice.

She thought about it and decided.

Hospice. No heroics.

I thought we’d have more time.

We were together every day.

I read to her when she couldn’t hold a book.

Role reversal from childhood.

I listened to her stories, told so many times before.

I told her my dreams, my hopes.

She told me hers.

Wayposts to guide my way forward.

We shared more deeply than ever before.

I thought we’d have more time.

Days passed.

Stories, until she couldn’t speak.

Then hand squeezes.

Smiles in between lengthy naps.

I stored the moments to turn into memories.

Later.

I told her I loved her.

Hand squeeze.

I told her she’d done a good job.

Hand squeeze.

I thought we’d have more time.

I told her, her job was done.

Tight hand squeeze.

I told her she could go when she was ready.

Double hand squeeze.

She opened her eyes and looked at me.

One last smile, one look upward.

She was gone.

Three weeks from “it’s cancer” to death.

Mom,

            I

                 thought

                          we’d

                                 have

                                         more

                                                time.

###

Betsy Ashton is the author of Mad Max Unintended Consequences. This poem appears in Voices from Smith Mountain Lake, an anthology that came out in 2013. It was featured on Radio IQ, the local NPR station, as well as on national NPR for Mother's Day, 2012.

No Time For Hate

by Jena Galifany

Hate is an emotion I'd rather not think about. The negativity can destroy lives. I have better things to do with my life than think about hating someone or something. Even in my writing, I've not focused on the hate emotion. It is there but I don't focus on it.

In ShadowsForge 1: Three Times a Hero, Alexis is running from her abusive boy friend. She's scared and trying to be brave about her situation but focuses on the new man in her life, Ty Synclair.

In ShadowsForge 2: Trials on Tour, there is a hater. He wants the band dead because his woman was with one of the band members. I focused more on his inability to fulfill his purpose.

In ShadowsForge 3: Retaking America, there is a conflict between two of the band members over an obvious issue: a woman. I focused on the competition.

In ShadowsForge 4: The Long Way Home, we find out about Brian's history and conflict in his teen years due to hate. The story shows how much a bad history can make a mess of a current situation.

Shyanne's Secret has a case of hate that costs a man his life, so to speak. (I don't want to spoil the story). Most of the story is about the recovery of the girl who lost her mind due to her father's hate.

Okay, so I guess I have spend some time with the hate factor. But, how can we know the joy of love without knowing the pain of hate? It is relative. (Thank you, Mr. Einstein.)

I must confess, I hate inactivity. I hate writer's block. I hate waiting for something to get done and usually jump in and do it myself, just so it is finished. I hate a lack of writing time when I have a new story knocking around in my brain. I also hate the fact that I let my group down by forgetting to post last month. =(  Sorry!

I feel better now. I can go on and live my life without hate...unless it needs to rear its ugly head in a new novel. I guess that would be alright.

For more information and excerpts from the ShadowsForge Series and Shyanne's Secret, stop by Whiskey Creek Press and read the first chapter of each book for free.

Hope your Valentine's Day was wonderful. I know mine was.

Cheers,
Jena