A Phenomenal Woman's Graduation

Yesterday my youngest graduated from high school. A milestone in her life. My baby has graduated! So much of life in front of her. So much of life in front of her. I hope so much for my daughter as I do for all my children. Graduation is the mark of a new beginning. It made me think of a poem by Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can't touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them

They say they still can't see.

I say,

It's in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It's in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need of my care,

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me. 

It's what I wish for my daughter to become the woman she desires to become...anything that's before her I want her to strive to do if its her wish. I want the sky to be the limit.

AMAZON, BARNES AND NOBLE

I wrote Whispers of a Legend because of my daughters. I wanted both of them to understand that the road before them winds but to live...really live...you will persevere and hold to your dreams.   

Camping in Yosemite by Jannine Gallant

I’m going to combine two of this month’s themes – Great Outdoors and National Camping Month to show you what I consider to be one of the most incredible locations on earth. Of all the places I’ve camped (and there have been many over the years scattered across a good portion of the country), Yosemite is my favorite. It doesn’t get any more beautiful than this magical park filled with granite peaks and cascading waterfalls. It truly takes your breath away.

I’ve camped in Yosemite off and on since I was a teenager, experiencing its beauty with my parents, friends, my husband, and my daughters over the years. There’s something about the continuity of coming back over and over to a special place that feeds your soul. And the best thing about the great outdoors is it’s always changing, offering something new and different with each season.

We camp the old fashioned way—in a tent. When I was young and a little more energetic, we escaped the crowds with backpacks, heading into the backcountry where we only came across an occasional hiker or bear. With young kids, we settled for camping in the more traditional manner, but we found a way around the hassle of reservations acquired months in advance (when luck was with you.) Camp 4 is a walk-in

campground, no reservations taken. Each site holds up to six people, and it is favored by rock climbers. You leave your car in the lot and haul your gear to the site. Sometimes you share. Everyone is very friendly. Our favorite time to go is mid-week during spring break in April. The waterfalls are raging, trails aren’t as crowded, and campsites are relatively easy to get. It’s cold during the evening, but not too hot during the day.

The only problem – no dogs on the trails! So maybe Yosemite isn’t perfect after all. I hope you’ve enjoyed the photos. For information on my books, visit my website, or purchase them from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online sites.

Great Outdoors Month by Jena Galifany

June has been designated Great Outdoors Month. It is the time to get out in the open as much as possible and enjoy the world around you. I live in the high desert so being outside in the daytime can be hazardous to my health. Temperatures can reach from high nineties to the low hundreds. It is better to get the outdoor time in after the sun goes down.

Doug and Steve @ Knotts 2011

What can be done after the sun goes down that’s fun for the kids? Did you ever play hide and seek? It’s a simple childhood game where one person is “It”. That person would cover their eyes and count to twenty while the others all hide. Then the It person has to find them. If they are found but can make it to the counting spot, aka “home” before It tags them, they are free. If It is looking for someone else, the others can try to run for “home” and be free. Simple, right?

Now, our version of the game is this: Everyone wears black clothing that they don’t care if they get wet in and a sturdy pair of old sneakers. Each player is armed with a super-soaker and a squirt gun. Have a centrally located plastic kitchen sized garbage can filled with water. Floating in that water is a large stockpile of water balloons ready for use. If an attack is going on a balloon can be scooped from the container as you run by. These are ammo for every one to use.

The game is now played along these lines. No lights should be on in the yard so hiding can be creative. Be sure that there is nothing that can be a hazard in the dark yard. You don’t want anyone to fall during the game. Everyone hides. I’ve hidden by lying down in the shadow of a fence. I suggest checking for ants before trying this. My husband has spent time sniping from up in a tree. My youngest took a pail of water balloons up into her tree house and clobbered anyone who tried to sneak by below her. She was only five when she did this.

Now, everyone is It and everyone is fair game. The players may take up a hiding place to snipe from or if they are more adventurous, they can go out hunting the others. It’s all good fun and cooling in the summer heat. I have two and a half acres so our games got to be rather large.

 For her sixteenth birthday, my older daughter wanted a game of water wars, our name for the game. She wanted to have a couple of her friends on her team and she wanted to “hunt” boys. My son, my nephew, and my husband were the branded targets for the night. The girls had a blast keeping the guys on the run.

One should note that after the game has ended, be sure to let all the targets know. After the girls had their fill of hunting, they came in to watch a movie and eat popcorn. After a while, I noticed that my husband was missing. I went out to the yard and found him. He’d been sitting up in a tree, getting eaten by bugs, waiting for the girls to sneak by. No one told him that they were coming in for the night. Now, there’s dedication to fun in the out doors!

Jen in meditation @ Knotts 2011

All of this fun can take place once the sun goes down, after a barbeque or a day spent back-packing or taking a nature walk at a local park. The important thing is to get outside and enjoy the health benefits of fresh air and exercise.

What are your favorite out door games? Did you ever have a Badminton set or a croquet set out in your yard? We did when I was a kid. We also had a large tent set up in the back yard all the time. I spend a lot of time in that tent. My siblings and I were always out side and we had a great time. How about you?

Cheers!

 _____________________________
Jena Galifany writes in the genre of sweet romance and adventure. She can be found at her WEBSITE, or on Facebook.

Guest Judy Nickles Remembers Times Past

Times Past, Times Remembered

            When I started to school in 1950, I already understood that many of our fathers had gone to a war we couldn’t quite remember, and some hadn’t returned. Being patriotic wasn’t questionable in any sense—rather, patriotism was ingrained in us from birth.

            My hometown in West Texas had been the home of an air force base (it remains today) and a bombardier training school (now the regional airport) where my father flew a desk until he shipped out to California to await the invasion of Japan. Fortunately for him and hundreds of thousands of others, the men were ordered off the ship and back to barracks because the war ended before sailing got underway.

            My mother kept the newspapers from December 7, 1941, V-E Day, and V-J Day. They are full of pictures of young men who were not so fortunate as my father. The brittle yellow pages, crumbling now with age, are still a reminder of a generation to whom we owe so much.

            Though I got the idea for Dancing with Velvet from an old photo of a now-demolished hotel where people, both young and old, danced to the music of live bands in the Roof Garden overlooking the quiet downtown streets, there was no question the story would take place during an era that shaped my life and those of my friends—the years known as World War II.

            Today, when I fly in or out of the small airport, I am greeted by an oil painting prominently displayed: two brothers, Jack and Mark Mathis. Jack received the Medal of Honor posthumously and is buried in the local cemetery. Shortly afterwards, Mark’s plane went down on a bombing run. His body was never recovered.

Read their story at  http://www.homeofheroes.com/wings/part2/05_mathis.html It’s a long story but well worth the time.

            Dancing with Velvet is a love song to my hometown and a salute to the brave young men who passed through it from 1942-1945.

In the waning days of the Great Depression, Celeste Riley wonders if life will always be the same: going to work, coming home to keep house for her widowed father who ignores her. She clings to her married sister, Coralee, and the recurring dream of a blue velvet curtain and a faceless lover who beckons her beyond it. Then a blue velvet dress in the window of a local department store seems to promise the change in her life she so desperately longs for. When she dances in the arms of traveling salesman Kent Goddard at the Roof Garden, she is sure she has found the man of her dreams and is crushed when he disappears from her life. Then, soon after Pearl Harbor propels the United States into war, he returns in uniform as a student at the new bombardier training school. A wartime separation threatens their deepening relationship. Then Celeste realizes that what she doesn’t know about the man of her dreams may become her worst nightmare.

With the world at war, it’s tempting to live only for today, because tomorrow may never come. But Celeste wants more. Read the first chapter of this vintage romance and view the video trailer at my website.

BUY LINKS

http://www.amazon.com/Dancing-With-Velvet-Judy-Nickles/dp/1612171990/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1336431981&sr=1-1

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=624

Find me on the web at:

http://www.judythewordplace.blogspot.com

http://www.judynickles.com

http://www.twitter.com/BigChiefTablet

https://www.facebook.com/VintageRomanceAuthor

https://www.facebook.com/judy.nickles

http://www.youtube.com/user/JudyNickles/feed

Things My Mother Taught Me...

By Glenys O'Connell ( @GlenysOConnell )

Even though we deal in dreams and fantasy, every now and again Real Life intrudes even on the lives of fiction writers. I've just been through such a patch, tossed around by a mischievous Universe, to land gasping on the shore of what I hope will be a wee bit of peace and quiet. Time to write again, please!

The result is that I've missed several of my Roses of Prose blog dates. Gee, guys, I hope you missed me….

Anyway, this means that I'm chasing my tail to catch up and so this blog post is quick and simple, inspired by the words of a friend who once told me: "Suddenly, out of the blue, I found myself talking (or yelling) at my kids in my mother's voice. OMG, it was very scary." Well, yes, been there, done that.

Mother's Day was one of the themes for this month and I'm happy - and relieved - to say my kids remembered it with flowers, cards and chocolate. Yes, they know my weaknesses well.

And then in church, the minister handed out these words of explanation which I'm going to share with you now. I'm afraid I don’t know who write them, but whoever you are, you are a very wise soul. So, here goes:

WHAT MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME:

My mother taught me RELIGION: When I spilled grape juice on the carpet, she instructed: "You better pray the stain comes out."

My mother taught me LOGIC:  From her decisive words: "Because I said so, that's why."

My mother taught me FORESIGHT: "Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident.

My mother taught me IRONY: "Keep laughing, and I'll give you something to cry about."

My mother taught me about STAMINA: "You'll sit there 'til all that spinach is finished."

My mother taught me about WEATHER: "It looks like a tornado swept through your room."

And last, but by no means least:

My mother taught me about the CIRCLE OF LIFE: "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out…"

Yep, sometimes I've heard my Mother's voice when I've been talking to my kids. Fortunately, they never did listen to me, so no harm done.  Right?

So here's a belated Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms out there - may you speak in your own voice, but with the wisdom of all your fore-mothers.

Glenys O'Connell has survived the growing up of all four of her children, plus countless pets of all varieties. She thinks she's still speaking in her own voice, except when she gets too involved with her imaginary friends, er, characters. Her latest book, Naked Writing:The No Frills Way to Write Your Book, is now available in print on Amazon, here

Guest Ute Carbone and Double Trouble

I started the P-Town Queen in third person. Traditionally, romances are written this way and P-Town Queen is a romantic comedy. I ran into trouble about fifty pages in. The hero was doing fine, but the heroine…not so much.  I was having a hard time relating to her and couldn’t quite figure out why. It finally occurred to me that it was because, in third, I wasn’t getting to see the real Nikki.  On a whim, I switched to first, telling the tale from the heroines point of view and then the hero’s in alternating chapters. The story started to take off and I knew I’d done the right thing in switching.

But now I had another niggling problem. The hero and heroine don’t know each other in the beginning and, in fact, live entirely separate lives.  Because I was using two first person POVs, I had to have not one but two hooks to open the book.   This was a little tricky and took several tries.

The story begins with Nikki in Chapter one:

I did not blow up the Mona Lisa. Not only did I not blow up the Mona Lisa--an old leaker  of a boat whose blowing up could be construed as a favor to the aptly named Rusty Cook--I did not blow up any part of Rusty’s marina. My brothers will, of course, say otherwise. They had quite the laugh at my expense over coffee at Ella’s Place.

Rusty had been on the lookout for a boat for me. It had taken a lot of gumption and crow-eating to get to a place where I could consider buying a boat. I needed a cheap one, because God only knew how much money I’d be able to squeeze out of the Massachusetts Bay Commission via the research grant proposal I’d spent three long months laboring to produce.

The head of the commission was Ned Anderson. Ned, a brilliant shark researcher in his own right, had tumbled a long way: to full time administrator of a bullshit state commission. Though to hear Ned say it, it wasn’t a tumble but a reward for all the years he’d spent roughing it on a California channel island-- an island that only had electricity every other day-- in order to unlock the mystery of white shark feeding behavior. I had spent five years on that island with Ned. We were married at the time.

And here’s the start of Chapter Two, where Marco is introduced:

I’ll never make gnocchi again. Don’t get me wrong, I like a nice gnocchi and I do it up pretty good, if I do say so myself. With just the right balance of cream and garlic, it’s food for the angels as my Nona would have said. But some foods, they have memories attached, and gnocchi, that’s a memory I’d just as soon forget.

It was me and Angelo Del Rossi in the kitchen at Roma’s. Angie, he’s this big slow thug of a guy. Jesus and Mary, he didn’t know a paring knife from a carving knife and was not likely to learn anytime soon. I was cooking for my silent partner, Fat Phil Lazario. Fat Phil would have owned the place outright if he didn’t need somebody who knew what was what in the kitchen. Fat Phil was also my father-in-law, being as I had been married to his daughter, Lark, for a few months. Only, by then, things with Lark and me weren’t so good and the week before all this happened, I’d moved out of the apartment. Lark wasn’t about to tell her old man that I was living in the storage room on account of the fact that she had lied and cheated. But I got to thinking that if I came clean, Phil would recognize my value and see that Roma’s could be a real jewel in downtown Newark, an up and coming area, and he’d keep his end of the bargain we’d struck and finance the place until I could buy it outright. Truth was that he’d probably keep up his end because then he could continue meeting with questionable people about questionable business propositions about which I would plead ignorance. Which was my end of the bargain. I just hoped, that after hearing my side of the story about what happened between me and Lark, Phil would think twice about meeting with some questionable guy about ending our partnership on a permanent basis.

Do you like books with multiple first person points of view? Or does it drive you to distraction? I’ve heard reactions both ways.

The P-Town Queen will be available on June 4!

Here’s the blurb:

Nikki Silva feels like she’s blown up her life even as her brothers tease her about blowing up a boat called the Mona Lisa. Divorced, funding for her shark research cut off, she’s moved back to Provincetown to live with her father in her childhood home. Nikki hopes to regain herself. She’s written a grant proposal for the newly formed Massachusetts Bay Commission to fund a study that will get her back to the sort of research she loves. The commission is run by her ex-husband Ned, who would rather have a migraine than give money to his ex-wife.

            Marco Tornetti wants to turn a hole-in-the-wall Newark spaghetti joint into a trendy bistro. His silent partner, Fat Phil Lagosa, wants to use the place to solicit questionable business deals.  When Fat Phil accuses Marco of a double cross and has him taken for a ride by one of his hit men, Marco knows he’s in too deep.

            Marco escapes the hit man and takes the first bus out of the New York metropolitan area, a bus chartered by the Greater Teaneck Gay Men’s Choir and headed for Provincetown. Marco figures that Phil would never look for him in Provincetown‘s gay community. But when he meets Nikki and falls hard for her, he finds that pretending to be gay isn’t as easy as it would seem.

Ute Carbone Bio

I'm a novelist and sometimes poet who lives in Southern New Hampshire. I’ve been married to the same great guy for a lot of years. We have two grown sons. I love hiking, skiing, and generally communing with nature. I'm a big fan of wine, chocolate, theater, and really good stories.

I write women’s literary fiction, romantic comedy, and just a bit of romance. My women’s literary novel, Blueberry Truth, was published in August of 2011.  I have two romantic comedies due for release: The P-town Queen,   in June 2012 and Afterglow, in January 2013. My novella, The Whisper of Time  is to be released in summer 2012.   And my short story trilogy, I’ll be Seeing You, will be released in summer 2013.

You can find me at:  http://UteCarbone.com ; or at my blog:  http://ute-carbone.blogspot.com/  on twitter at  http://twitter.com/#!/Wildwords2 and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ute-Carbone/234417796596443

Honoring Those Who Have Gone Before Us

--By Vonnie Davis
Last weekend Calvin and I went to an Indian Powwow (Monacan Indians, Amherst, Virginia). Both of his grandmothers were members of this tribe. There we viewed Native American tribal dances and examined hand-made crafts that were for sale. On one vender’s table I found a stack of papers on each of which someone had printed a poem.

I was struck by its beauty, both in imagery and thought. I had never heard of the poem, but after Googling it, I found it has been around for decades, a favorite for eulogies. I think it a powerful, comforting piece. 

Don’t stand at my grave and weep
For I’m not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

 

AS YOU CELEBRATE MEMORIAL DAY, REMEMBER

OUR FREEDOM DID NOT COME CHEAPLY.

REMEMBER OUR FALLEN MILITARY PERSONNEL.

(To my grandson serving in Afghanistan: Stay safe, Joshua)