In Memory

Below is a photo of me and my brother at Disneyland. He was a navigator/bombardier in the Air Force and flew in the F-111 which was at that time an experimental fighter jet. His plane crashed in New Mexico a year after this picture was taken. He was twenty-five years old at the time of his death.



He did not die in the jungles of Vietnam, but he served his country nevertheless.

Both of my grandfathers served in World War I. My father served in World War II and his brother died on an island in the Pacific. My mother served in World War II, too, as did her brothers.

For all those who protect our country, I offer my thanks and prayers today.

May we soon have peace.

An Opening

The students of Parsons School of Design had their thesis show last night. Hubby and I took the train into Manhattan again to see daughter #2's exhibit--which you can see below.



She replaced the door leading to a rest room in the gallery with another door that had an LCD screen. Instead of the usual man or woman symbol, the picture changed--or morphed--from a man into a woman and back as people passed the sensor installed above the door.

It was a popular exhibit and a few people actually used the rest room--both men and women. Daughter #2 stood by filming the reactions. Hubby and I presented her with roses to celebrate the occasion.

Of course, getting to Parsons by subway was a new experience. Neither my husband nor I had been on a subway in at least thirty years. We've gone into the city, but we've driven our own car. So last night, when we tried to get the Metro card to open the turnstile to enter the subway, we did not have any success until the subway attendant told us we had to swipe the card through with attitude. "You're in NY now," he said. "You've got to do it with attitude."

Okay. I swiped that card more forcefully and it did work.

There are homeless people here and there in the city. Yesterday was a cold, rainy, and dreary day. I saw one bag lady so covered in black plastic bags leaning on a cart also covered in black plastic that at first I thought she and her cart were a pile of garbage.

Nevertheless, I find the subterranean world of Penn Station fascinating with all the shops, restaurants, and bars far beneath the street. We had arrived in Penn Station at rush hour and the swarms of people running for their trains is--in itself--an amazing sight to see.

Graduation!

Today daughter #2 graduated from Parsons with a Masters in Design and Technology. The graduation ceremony was held in the theatre at Madison Square Garden. My hubby and I took the train to Manhattan. The weather felt more like March than May--cold and rainy.

We emerged from the depths of Penn Station into the hustle and bustle of Seventh Avenue. I contacted our daughter by cell phone and discovered she had not left her apartment yet--29 blocks south of where we were. However, she said she would be there in a half an hour.

We went across the street to a Roy Rogers restaurant for lunch. Afterwards, we stood on the corner of 33rd Street and 7th Avenue looking for our daughter. I called her on the cell phone and she said she was at the same intersection. However, she was on the opposite corner and it took a few minutes before I finally spotted her face in that sea of people.

After the graduation, we had to use the cell phones again to locate each other. (Cell phones are a wonderful invention!) Then we took some photos. Here's one of us.



After the pictures, we ate supper at Sbarro's restaurant--also across the street from Madison Square Garden. Daughter #2 showed us where to catch our train home and we left all the hustle and bustle behind us. New York is a rather exciting place, but I like peace and quiet, too.

My Friend, the Harp Player

There's an article on my friend, Mary LeBus, in the Asbury Park Press. You can see it at:

Harpist is happy to pull some strings

What the article does not mention is Mary's skill in playing Scrabble. She plays Scrabble like some people play Poker. Her harp playing truly is wonderful, but I'm just jealous that she always beats me at Scrabble. :^)

Pet Cemetery

In today's Asbury Park Press there is an article about a very upscale final resting place for pets.

You can read the article at:

Final resting place for pets

In the story, Bob Jordan quotes Howard Schoor as saying pet funerals will cost "from a couple of hundred dollars to a couple of thousand dollars." Schoor has big plans.

We have always buried our pets in the backyard. It hasn't cost us anything. Of course, we never had any large pets. I can understand that the burial of a dead horse would be a gigantic undertaking. However, for parakeets, fish, and guinea pigs, the backyard has been sufficient.

We have always embellished the burial with a pertinent reading of the scriptures and a prayer. One of the most distressing pet burials happened to be the one for Pansy, a sweet little guinea pig. She happened to die on one of those miserable winter days when the weather outside consisted of sleet and freezing rain. My husband, at work, instructed me to use the post hole digger. I did that, but then the hole filled up with rain. I had to use the old manual boat pump to remove the water before we could place the deceased Pansy in the hole.

I was rather broken up about the event, in addition, I was exhausted from all my digging. My middle daughter read the twenty-third psalm.

When spring arrived, our youngest daughter planted some crocuses and daffodils at the site. I think it is much nicer so have our furry friends here in the backyard. Maybe there are some people who don't know how to use a post hole digger--or those who have a dead horse--but I won't be spending large amounts of money for our little pets.

If You Want To Know...

Romance Junkies posted the review for Prince of the Mist. So for anyone interested in reading it you just go to:

Prince of the Mist

My favorite quote by Romance Junkies reviewer, Billie Jo:

PRINCE OF THE MIST is a charming, sexy, and fun read.  Penelope Marzec outdoes herself again with another magical love story that kept me enthralled from the beginning to the end."

I located the review by searching for my name on the internet. Often, a reviewer will send an email to let the author know that the review has been posted on the internet--but sometimes they don't. Then I have to go find it--and I am not the only author with this problem.

My writer friends who do this sort of thing on a regular basis have coined a new term for it--"googling." I google myself frequently. When I'm procrastinating, I google members of my family.

At last count, I received 308 links for my name in .29 seconds. Compare that with 1,420,000 for "Nora Roberts" in .08 seconds.

Such is life. 

Our Changing Society

I teach in a pre-k class. Most of the kiddies in my class are already five and they will all be going to kindergarten in the fall. Five is a wonderful age.

Today I read them a book titled OWEN, a Caldercott Honor book, it was written by Kevin Henkes. It's a cute story about Owen who has a blanket named Fuzzy which he refuses to give up. Finally, with kindergarten approaching, Owen's mother gets the bright idea of cutting up the blanket and stitching it into handkerchiefs.

At that point in the story, the kids all looked up at me and asked, "What's a handkerchief?"

I wish I had brought one in to show them. However, I suggested that perhaps their grandfather might carry one in his pocket. A few of the kids nodded with understanding. One of them said her grandmother carried a handkerchief.

Times have changed. Everyone uses tissues nowadays. I still have a few dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs tucked in my drawer--one of which I carried with me, tucked underneath the bouquet, on the day I was married.

Next time I read that story, I guess have to bring in a handkerchief. Such a simple thing, but it's becoming obsolete in a society where everything is disposable.

Stroking My Ego

I received two more terrific reviews on "Prince of the Mist" yesterday--one with 5 Coffee Cups from the Coffee Time Romance review site, and a 4.5 review from the Romance Junkies' site. Getting wonderful reviews is one of the perks of writing. I get my ego stroked and I feel absolved from the responsibility for the layers of dust in my house.

Writing each of my books has been a long process with lots of hours spent in a chair in front of the computer. For me it has meant not watching television, not going out to lunch, ignoring friends, and being in a fog most of the time whenever one of my family members is talking to me--although my family has gotten rather used to it. They can tell when I'm not "in the real world."

My writer friends all talk about "filling the well"--that's what we do in between writing projects. For me, it mostly means cleaning the house as well as contacting all the people I have ignored while I've been submerged in my fictional world.

So fueled by my great reviews, I'll tackle some of that dust today. No doubt, some other story idea will attack me while I'm dusting though. I'm at the mercy of my muse.

My New Review

I just received the first review on my latest release, Prince of the Mist. It's at ecataromance for anyone who wants to read the whole review. Here's the link:

http://www.ecataromance.com/html/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=1089

Of course, there is one sentence I adored. "Penelope Marzec is a very talented author who keeps her readers hooked with this fabulous story which is full of fun, passion and intrigue." It made my day. :^)

Yesterday, I was up at 4:30 am, my head swirling with ideas for my current work-in-progress. I started jotting down notes, but even after that I found I couldn't sleep, so I gave up trying to rest, turned on the computer and typed.

Then I went to work as usual. Fortunately, I did not fall asleep on the job.

Homemade Music

We visited with my hubby's nephew and family this past weekend. The nephew's daughter was to receive her First Communion. We drove five hours in the pouring rain on Saturday and arrived in time for take-out pizza. We stayed at the house and slept in the First Communicant's bed. Oh well. She didn't seem to mind.

We haven't seen the nephew and his wife in a year, so it was nice to catch up. The conversation flowed, helped by generous servings of wine.

The most unusual part of the visit was how truly fascinated the children were by my husband's accordion playing. The night we arrived, my hubby pulled out the accordion and proceeded to go through his usual repetoire. The kids rearranged the furniture in the living room to resemble something more like a theater.

The next day, after the First Communion, the kids clamored for my hubby to put on another show. The kids and their small guests watched in fascination as my hubby entertained. Some of the adult guests enjoyed the music, too.




My hubby loves an audience. He used to play the organ at church for a while--that way he had a captive audience. However, these youngsters who listened with such rapt attention made him very happy.

I wonder if any of them will ever be inspired to play an accordion.

It's Still Cold At The Beach

My husband loves to go to the beach, and I do, too. However, hubby always assumes that whenever it is sunny and mild several miles inland, the same weather will prevail at the beach. I know better because I grew up by the water. It is invariably at least ten degrees cooler at the beach plus there is a stiff breeze blowing as well. Hubby grew up in Greenpoint.

We went to the beach today. Though there had been showers in the morning, the sun came out in the afternoon. I brought my jacket. Hubby did not want to bring his, but decided to toss it in the car at the last moment. It was a good thing he did. Only a few people had left their footprints in the sand today. The water was choppy and the air was misty. To me, it was a great day for a walk along the water's edge. Hubby wanted to know how long it will be before it's a good day for the beach. I told him that might be in July.

But I like it better now, when there's nobody there except the sea gulls. Today I listened to the lulling sound of the surf. In July, somebody's CD player will be blasting out music.

A Day of Romance

I had a very nice time at the library today. I was given flowers, balloons, and even lunch. Six other romance writers and I were part of a Day of Romance celebration. People strolled through the library and talked with us. Some of them bought books. Some just picked up our bookmarks.

What I enjoyed most was talking with the other writers. We discussed covers and plots--a little bit about our real lives, but a lot about the book business. The librarians never told us to be quiet. :^) In fact, one of them seemed to be an interested listener.

I hope we get invited back!

Some Creep Stole My Car Radio

There are mean people in this world--nasty, rotten low-life thieves who have no qualms about taking what they want. One of those creeps ran off with my car radio and CD player. Inside the CD player was my favorite Dixie Chicks CD. None of my other CDs were taken. I guess the creep does not have the same musical interests as I do.

The day started out so well. I had no idea some miscreant would have a hankering for my car radio. At 7:45 a.m. this morning, I pulled into the parking lot of a very nice hotel. I was excited about attending a writers' workshop. I parked my car as close to the front of the hotel as possible--which was not all that close but in a direct line of sight to the entrance.

I spent the day happily drinking in tips on writing. The presentation was terrific and sparked a lot of good ideas that will help me in editing my own book.

At 4 p.m. when the workshop ended, I went back to my car. I opened the door to find the car radio gone. Where the radio used to be was a big empty space with wires hanging out. The plastic trim around the radio had been tossed on the passenger seat. The glove compartment had been opened, but the hoodlum did not snitch the two maxipads. This was a rather upsetting experience. I never had anyone steal my car radio until today. I suddenly did not feel very safe in the middle of the parking lot.

I went back into the hotel. They wrote up a report and called the police for me. A young, but good-looking policeman arrived and looked at my car. He said whoever took the radio, popped the lock on the door to open my car. He seemed surprised that the radio had been stolen in broad daylight. He got back into his car, tapped my phone number into his laptop, and asked a few more questions. He handed me a Post-It note with the phone number of the police department and the number and my case number. In two business days, I can get a copy of the report, which I can then give to my insurance agent.

I got back into my car while the police officer was still there. I worried whether the engine would start, but it did.

So now I'm wondering what good is locking the door of the car if thieves can easily pop the lock? Why bother?

I'm Catholic and I know I have to forgive the thug. I have prayed for him--so he better watch out, his conscience will be bothering him soon. Hopefully, he'll reconsider before he breaks into someone else's car.

Still, one good thing came out of the incident. If I need to put a young, but good-looking policeman into one of my novels it won't be a problem to dream him up.

Is Anyone Reading Anymore?

Today my husband and I drove out to Long Island with daughter #3. She has been getting treated for a back problem and today she had an epidural. (Not fun.) I brought along my Rocket to read the latest e-book I had loaded in there while I sat in the waiting room. My husband brought along his model railroad magazine. There was a man sitting across from us in the waiting room reading a novel and another man a few chairs away who was also reading a novel.

The television was blaring away, but nobody was watching it. Two women were sleeping. Another man was whistling--I could not recognize the tune, I don't think he had any particular melody in mind. There were magazines scattered on a table, but few people picked them up.

We were there for a l-o-n-g time. My husband went outside after a while to walk around the area. He found a Subway sandwich shop where we later grabbed something to eat.

It amazed me to see so many people who were not reading. With a loved one going through a medical procedure, a book is the perfect distraction.

Our daughter got through the epidural just fine, though it will be a few days before we know if it was effective.

Perhaps novels and other books should be available in all waiting rooms. Certainly, the televisions should be turned off. Nobody is watching the box and it is wasting electricity.

I finished it!

I ended my sixth novel, A Rush Of Light, this morning. I spent my spring break this week dedicated to the task of getting to the end. I still have to edit the book once more, and there are a few plot points that need ironing out. But it is essentially done--on time. :^)

Today, I'll celebrate by going to an art show with Mom and Dad.