My Memorial Day Wish

It never ceases to amaze me that the human race has survived this far. For one thing, earth is not a stable environment. Tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanoes, mudslides, sinkholes, and fires threaten us on a regular basis. Our precarious situation is made even worse by war. Billions of dollars are being used to kill other human beings as countries regularly drop bombs on each other. 

Meanwhile there's the threat of disease. Hantavirus and Ebola are frightening illnesses. Not enough money is spent on finding ways to prevent the spread of these horrible plagues. Not enough money is spent on research to discover vaccines to eradicate these afflictions.

Yet, with clear threats to the entire globe, many people continue to argue and blame each other for the problems. 

Why can't we get along? Why can't we have peace?

💕 💖 💕 💖 💕

The Promise of Beach Plums

 Hubby and I went to Sandy Hook just in time to see the beach plums blossoming. In order to have beach plums, we need pollinators. So, I was delighted to see this bumble bee helping out the process. Beach plums are not very big--about the size of a grape, though not as sweet. But the fruit makes a very tasty jam. Of course, other animals like beach plums. For instance, the herds of deer on Sandy Hook enjoy the fruit, too. 

Hopefully, there will be a few beach plums for me to nibble on come fall. But simply seeing the white blossoms all over the Hook was a cheerful site. Kudos to the bees, too. 

LOVE’S GIFT Is the Winner!

LOVE’S GIFT was the First Place Winner in the historical category of the NJ Romance Writers’ Golden Leaf contest. I joined the NJ Romance Writers way back in 1988, when I didn’t know much about writing a book. I learned quite a bit over the years. So, I am grateful to NJRW for helping me along in my publishing journey. 

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The Way Mom Made Pysanky Eggs

 My grandmother was Slovak and my grandfather was Czech. So, my mother dyed Easter eggs in her own Slavic way. At Easter she used a straight pin pushed into the eraser, dipped the head of the straight pin into the hot wax of  a candle, and applied the wax to an egg. Then she dyed the egg. Once the egg dried, she applied more wax and dipped the egg into another dye. There are special wax pens, called kistka, that apply the wax in a more efficient manner. But Mom always used the straight pin stuck into an eraser to do the job. Also, Mom never followed any specific pattern. She was an artist and enjoyed making up her own designs.

I’ve continued to use Mom’s rudimentary approach to decorating eggs for Easter. My daughters usually join me in this endeavor. It’s a slow process that leaves ample time for talk. So, while our eggs are not the fanciest pysanky eggs, they are made with care, following an old tradition. Also, we don’t blow out the inside of the eggs. We eat the boiled eggs. 😁

How do you dye eggs? What are your Easter traditions?

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My Contest Winning Books

Reviews are very important to all authors. A positive review can help to convince someone to buy a book.  There will always be negative reviews, but those are often outweighed by the many readers who appreciated the story.

Contests are helpful in selling books as well as long as the contests are reputable ones. Several of my books have been winners or finaled in contests, which is why I call myself an award-winning author--because I am. 

The first book of mine that was published, SEA OF HOPE, won the 2002 EPPIE Award Winner for Best Inspirational Novel.

HEAVEN'S BLUE was an EPPIE Award Winner for Best Inspirational Fiction.

PATRIOT'S COURAGE won the NEST Award (National Excellence in Story Telling) for Best Inspirational. 

THE COWBOY'S MIRACLE won third place in the Ancient City Romance Writers' Heart of Excellence Readers' Choice Award and was named a finalist in the EPIC eBook Awards. 

LOVE'S GIFT is a finalist for the Golden Leaf Award from the New Jersey Romance Writers.

THE KEEPER'S PROMISE was an EPPIE finalist for Inspiration Fiction in 2009. (This book was later released as THE KEEPER'S SECRET by Prism Lux in 2024.

IRONS IN THE FIRE was awarded Best Small Press Paranormal in the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards.

Those are the accolades for several of my books. However, there are far more reviews than awards. Most of my books are very inexpensive and some are available with Kindle Unlimited. Many are also available for free from Hoopla and Libby library apps. 

Take some time off and read a good book! 

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The Salt Mine

 Way back in 1973, I signed up for the Summer Study in Italy course, which was offered through Trenton State College—now The College of New Jersey. (I really hate it when colleges change their names.) A colleague of mine suggested the tour because she went on it and loved every moment of it. I signed up, saved my money, and when June came I flew off to France with the tour group. The course included six weeks in Italy, but there was initially a week in Paris and at the end of the tour, a week in Munich. 

The photo above was taken on that last week in Germany when we went down into a salt mine. Everyone donned special protective clothing and boarded a small train. The salt mine was large and to me, it smelled salty. 😆 It was a fun way to end our time together. After eight weeks, we all knew each other quite well. 

I took two courses on that trip, an art history course and a watercolor course. The credits transferred toward the graduate degree I was pursuing at Jersey City State College—now the New Jersey City University. (Why did they have to change the name?) 

It was the first time I was away from home for such a long amount of time and I was homesick for a while—until my cousin wandered into town. He was touring Europe that summer, too, and his mother instructed him to visit me. He showed me the letter she wrote to him as proof.😂

I brought my guitar with me, but also discovered the residenza where we stayed in Florence had a piano in the basement. I bought a crochet hook when we landed in Paris. LOL! Some things about me never change. Obviously, I had homework but I enjoy being busy all the time. I wasn’t writing any books at the time though I wrote many, many letters home. The internet hadn’t been invented and phone calls were practically impossible. I still have all the letters. Those are a real treasure to me. 

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I Did It!!!

I did it again! I wrote 30,000 words in the month of February on my current Work-In-Progress for the JeRoWriMo challenge. I still don’t have a name for the book but it is set in 1918 in New Jersey, which is one of my favorite places. 😊

The JeRoWritMo Challenge is a wonderful way to focus on writing. There are cheerleaders who acknowledge each writer’s success in typing out the words every day. It’s a wonderful way to push through and get the words down. 

I am very grateful to the New Jersey Romance Writers for hosting this challenge. 

❤ ❤ ❤

LOVE’S GIFT IS A FINALIST!

LOVE’S GIFT is a finalist in the NJ Romance Writers’ Golden Leaf Awards! I am thrilled. 🤩 

https://www.amazon.com/Loves-Gift-Penelope-Marzec-ebook/dp/B0D49BZ5P4 

 

Do You Like Snow?

We are supposed to have a significant snowstorm. We have stocked up on food. We have battery lanterns and wood for the fireplace in case we lose power. I am not looking forward to digging out.

When I was young, I used to love snow. School would close and I could go sledding and make snowmen. I loved ice skating. I'd shovel the snow off the ice and have my personal skating rink. I tried skiing in my twenties, but it was an expensive hobby because more often than not, there wasn't enough snow in this part of NJ.

I don't ever remember being cold.

Then I grew up. Snowstorms create problems. Now I worry. I worry about my nearest and dearest driving in the snow. I worry about heavy ice on tree limbs. I worry about slipping on the ice. 

Nevertheless, falling snow is still pretty to see. I like the quiet that settles on the neighborhood as sound is muffled by the soft coating. I still find it magical to wake up and see a world of glittering diamond dust on all the trees and bushes. 

I always study the snowflakes on the sleeve of my coat and on my mittens to see if each one is really unique. I take photographs of the snow even though I have to put on extra layers of clothing so I don't feel the cold as much. 

Waiting for the snow to stop is also a great time to read books. 

But then the storm ends. The peace of the neighborhood ends, too, as snowblowers, plows, and shovels struggle to move the white stuff out of the way. 

Stay safe everyone. 

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Reflecting

      I took this photo in one of our local parks on a cloudy but mild day. Without any wind, the lake became a mirror, reflecting everything perfectly. I was sitting on a bench opposite the one in the photo and doing some mental reflecting. My oldest daughter gave me a very lovely notebook for Christmas. When I'm writing a book, I usually type out the story. I can type much faster than I can write by hand. However, I decided to use the notebook for reflections of the past. Life was very different in the 1950s when I was a child growing up in a small neighborhood. Maybe someday my granddaughter would be interested in reading about my experiences. Of course, I'll be writing in cursive so I hope she learns how to decipher my flowing script. 😄

     But I'll still be typing out another book, too. I've entered the JeRoWriMo challenge again in hopes of writing out 30,000 words in the month of February. Wish me luck. 

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Guest Post: THE SECRET INGREDIENT by Kirsten Clark

My guest today is Kirsten Clark. She developed a deep and abiding love for stories at a young age, and has been plotting how to become an author ever since. When not writing sweet romances, she can be found in the classroom teaching at her local college, curled up with a cup of coffee and a good book, or baking chocolate cake while listening to podcasts. A graduate of the Universities of Alberta and British Columbia, she lives in Alberta, Canada with her husband and two children, who keep her on her toes.

     Kirsten's latest release is The Secret Ingredient. It's about the Holy Grounds shop which runs on two things: the nutty, caramel scent of coffee and Sebastien Davenport's beloved cranberry-gingerbread muffins.

     When the pastry chef collapses days before Christmas, owner Bridgette Calloway faces an impossible morning rush and an even harder truth: the beloved chef she's leaned on may need her more than ever.
     When a frightening diagnosis upends Seb's independence and he's at his lowest, it's his boss he finds himself calling. Perhaps she's more than a boss after all… Bridgette shows up with a Bible, Chinese takeout, and the solid courage he didn't know he needed. In the hush of winter and a kitchen dusted with flour and light, their friendship warms into something deeper. But fear, pride, and new limitations could cost them more than a holiday menu.
     As carols ring and candlelight glows, Bridgette and Seb are thrust into uncharted territory and must make a choice. Will they retreat into safety, or put their trust in the God who writes love stories in unexpected places like a coffee sleeve, a baker's bench, and prayer whispered over racks of cooling pastries?

Now for an excerpt! Enjoy!

     Bridgette pulled a pan of muffins from the oven before silencing a blaring alarm. “Iris, the tops are pointy. Again.”

     Iris didn't speak but wrinkled her nose as she joined Bridgette in the kitchen, inspecting the latest batch.

     “I must’ve overmixed the batter.” Bridgette sucked in a breath in a futile attempt to hold back the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I, I...I made sure to weigh the flour and to set the oven properly to temperature, and I even used a timer for the stand mixer and these darn muffin tops still came out looking like mountains!”

     “I see that,” Iris said mildly, knotting a forest green apron around her hips before turning to wash her hands in the shiny industrial sink. “Sebastien never overmixes the batter,” she shot over her shoulder.

     Bridgette swallowed a sigh, resigning herself to the incoming tears. Iris was...Iris. A cosmetology student with purple hair. Chunky silver necklaces. Thick eyeliner. And she was also right. Seb’s muffins always came out perfect. What was she going to do?

     Bridgette pulled up the bottom of her apron, wiping her eyes. Crying was OK. She was only human after all. But, she thought, clacking a perfectly manicured nail on the shiny metal counter, she also had a job to do. Bridgette allowed a pause, holding up a hand to admire the sparkles in her latest manicure. The garnet has been a good choice this time. Very Christmassy. She shook her head as if to clear cobwebs. No, no time for pretty things. Focus.

     Because even without Sebastien, Bridgette had to have baking to offer her customers. When the usual crowd walked through her front door they expected to be greeted with the nutty, caramel scent of coffee and—in December—the warm spiciness of Seb’s famous cranberry gingerbread muffins, just as much as they expected catchy worship music playing over the speakers and Bible verses on their drink sleeves. The muffins were an integral part of what made Holy Grounds, well, Holy Grounds.

One reviewer called this story, "...an enjoyable and heartwarming story that proves God still answers prayer."

Visit Kirsten's website at: https://www.kirstenclarkauthor.com/

Get your copy of THE SECRET INGREDIENT now at:

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Guest Post: Crocuses For Christmas by Carol James

 

      My guest today is Carol James, an Air Force brat. The longest Carol ever lived in one place was a year and a half. Maybe that’s why, when she and her husband bought their first home forty-two years ago, they stayed put. She lives in Lilburn, GA with her husband, Jim, and a perky Jack Russell Terrier, Zoe.

     Loving intriguing stories with happy endings, she writes Redemptive Romance. She has had five full length novels and five Christmas novellas published. Her debut novel, Rescuing Faith, was an Amazon number one best-seller. Visit her website to sign up for her newsletter and get a free short story: https://www.carol-james.com
     When she’s not walking Zoe, Carol enjoys spending time with her husband, children, and grandchildren, as well as traveling. On Sundays, she loves serving in the production department at her church. And most days, in the late hours of the night, you’ll find her bringing her newest novel to life.

Carol's latest release is CROCUSES FOR CHRISTMAS. What's it about? Read this: 

     When Matthew Dawson loses his wife in an automobile accident, he struggles to raise his three-year-old daughter, Emma, alone. He decides to hire a live-in nanny to take care of Emma, when he returns to work.

      Matt asks the principal of Emma’s school for recommendations, and she suggests Hannah Collins. Hannah is a highly-experienced nanny who has recently moved to Crescent Bluff from the United Kingdom.

      When Matt interviews Hannah, he knows she’s perfect for the position. But he’s concerned about Emma’s reaction. After Hannah and Emma meet each other, Matt makes Hannah an offer. Not only does Hannah immediately fall in love with Emma, she’s attracted to Matt and hopes to help this sweet family heal from their loss.

     The more Matt and Hannah are around each other, the more they become attracted to one another and must make some difficult choices for their futures. When Christmas nears, the crocuses in Matt’s yard bloom early as a sign of hope, new life, joy, and new beginnings.

 

Now for an excerpt from this wonderful story!

     Matthew Dawson held his wife in his arms and tickled her face and neck with kisses. If he didn’t have to work today, he’d stay here in their haven with the love of his life beside him. The only woman he’d ever loved. The only woman he ever would. He groaned. Any second now, the alarm on his phone would play their song, the singer declaring she would always love her sweetheart. As he would always love his sweet Natalie.

      Their song floated from the radio on his nightstand and filled their room. He slipped his hand to the other side of the bed. The smooth, cool fabric of the sheets met his touch. As reality set in, he opened his eyes and jerked himself up. He’d been dreaming. The space beside him was empty. The sheets unruffled. The pillow smooth. No Natalie. Not today…not last night…not ever again.

      “Matt.” Mom’s voice crept up the stairs, piercing his mournful solitude, reminding him this was not a dream. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes.” He didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life in bed. 

      After easing back the covers, he struggled to sit up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, ready to perform his morning ritual, and then trudged to her closet and opened the door. He stepped inside, turned on the light, and buried his face in her pink dress. Her scent still lingered, but as each day passed, its strength faded a little more. Before long, it would be gone. Just like she was.

      He left the closet and padded down the hallway. He paused at Emma’s door and eased it closed until only a crack remained. Large enough to hear her if she cried out, but small enough to muffle most of the morning noise…although she’d never had a problem sleeping. She might look like her mother, but she slept like him. Or at least, the way he used to.

      The bottom stair creaked as he stepped into the entry hall. He’d promised Nat he’d fix it. But he never had. He’d always assumed he’d have time. Later. But time wasn’t a bank account where he could deposit more funds to increase his balance and withdraw some to use when his cache ran low.

      If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have taken advantage of every moment. He’d have worked less and played more. He’d have travelled less and worked from the office or from home more. He’d learned the hard way that life was about where you invested your time…not your money.

You can find Carol's website at: https://www.carol-james.com/

Crocuses for Christmas can be found at: 

Amazon 

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Kobo 

 

Apple Books

Pelican Book Group

Guest Post: CHESTER'S MIRACLE by M. Jean Pike

My guest today is a New York girl who fell in love with Ohio, M. Jean Pike writes about love and life in small town America. The author of twelve Christian romance and inspirational women’s fiction novels, Jean combines an insatiable curiosity about human nature with her Christian faith to bring readers unforgettable tales of life, love, and the inner workings of the human heart. 

Her latest release is a Christmas novella, CHESTER'S MIRACLE. Here's the blurb: 

What if the wrong turn leads to the love you've always prayed for? Aimee dreams of love, but her small Ohio town offers little hope. Until she meets Max online. His charm sweeps her off her feet, and she agrees to meet him for a Christmas Eve service in the West Virginia mountains. But before she leaves, she rescues Chester, a senior service dog facing euthanasia, and brings him along for the ride. When a blizzard strands her on a mountain road, Aimee's fairytale date turns into a nightmare: Max's number is disconnected, his profile deleted, and her car is buried in snow. Cold, scared, and alone, she prays for a miracle—only to be found by Marty, a kind-hearted mountain man with a heart as warm as the fire in his cabin. Marty's been praying for love. But Aimee's been burned, and trust doesn't come easy, even when Chester works his own kind of magic. As Christmas unfolds, Aimee must decide: Is Marty the answer to prayer, or is she too afraid to take a leap of faith? A heartwarming Christian romance about trust, divine timing, and miracles that find us when we least expect them. Perfect for fans of holiday love stories, rescue dogs, and mountain men who believe in second chances.

 

That sounds wonderful! Now read an excerpt.

She inched up the slippery hill, up and up and up. Dusk had given way to winter dark, and Aimee’s hands and feet felt frozen solid. Removing one hand from the wheel, she nudged up the heat. When her glance returned to the road, she gasped. An animal stood by the shoulder, poised to dart in front of her. A large dog or a small deer. It was too dark to tell. Detecting motion in her headlights, she pressed the brakes. 

It turned out it was neither a dog or a deer, but by the time she made out the outline of the rotted tree, what she’d thought were ears were just small, jagged limbs. Her car was spinning again, sliding off the road and down the side of the hill. She braced for a crash, but heard only a dull thunk, as the car bumped to a stop. 

Chester slid to the floor. 

“Oh, Chester!” She groped for him and pulled him into her lap, cradling him close. “I’m so sorry. Are you OK?” 

He answered with a slobbery kiss on her cheek. 

“I got us stuck, but I know a trick,” Aimee told him. She put the car in reverse and pressed the gas, then eased it into drive. Forward and back, forward and back as she’d been taught in Driver’s Ed class years before. The wheels spun, tossing snow like confetti as the car burrowed deeper into the ground.

 Forward and back, forward and back. The headlights dimmed and went dark. The radio fell silent as the car sputtered and died.

 “I think we’re out of gas.” Tears fell again. “Lord, I’m in a jam, and I don’t know what to do.” 

She fumbled for the phone. Even without a signal she should be able to call 911, wasn’t that how it worked? “OK, Chester. I’m calling for help. Someone will be here any minute.” 

Except the call did not go through. She checked her phone again for signal strength. Not even one bar. Great. 

Lord please help me. You’re the only one who can…

She sat there in the dark, desperately trying to think through her situation. She could get out and walk, but to where? She hadn’t seen civilization in miles. And besides that, it was bitter out and she had no socks or gloves. She and Chester would freeze to death. Or they could freeze in the comfort of the car. 

Lord, I need a miracle. I need an angel…

She’d heard of people dying of hypothermia in situations like this. Simply falling asleep and not waking up. She sang every Christmas carol she could recall, anything to stay awake for just a moment more. After some time had passed, her throat was raw and her teeth chattered nonstop. She felt the calm of sleep overtaking her.

 The whine of an engine broke the silence, and the soft glow of approaching light flashed across her windshield. A pair of snowmobiles slowed, and then stopped on the ridge above her. Two figures disembarked, one very large, the other, very small.

In the light of their headlamps, the larger of the two scrambled down the incline, coming fast toward Aimee’s car. After a moment, the beam of a flashlight lit his path. A man. He was enormous, with a dark beard, his hair dark and wild where it sprang from the sides of his hat. He looked like a mountain man and in her dazed state, Aimee didn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved. His muffled shout drifted to her through the closed window. Her frozen fingers couldn’t manage the door handle. 

Chester growled a warning deep in his throat. 

Aimee wanted to reassure the dog, but her teeth were chattering so hard, she couldn’t speak. 

The man’s face appeared outside her driver’s side window. 

Three things happened simultaneously. 

The man yanked open the door. 

Aimee screamed. 

And Chester bared his teeth, his growl becoming a ferocious bark as he sank his teeth into the man’s outstretched hand.

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

This is a story you must read! It's on sale, too, for only $0.99! 

Warm up your holiday with this sweet read. 

Buy it at: 

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Health Care for All

Love is a beautiful thing. As Paul said in 1 Corinthians 13:7, "It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." 

This past weekend, I saw a newly married couple. They were so sweet. They didn't have a big wedding, though they might hold a gathering in the future. However, for now, the handsome groom is basically saving his bride's life because her medications are very expensive. 

I know of another couple who were in similar circumstances. She had cancer. He married her. They are living happily ever after. 

In this country, you don't have to be a knight in shining armor but you do need a decent health care plan. I pray our representatives will work toward getting health care for all in this country. 

💕💖💕💖💕

What Were the Old Days Like?

All the Cousins on Grandma and Grandpa's Hill

I must be looking my age--at least on some days. Recently, one much younger woman asked me what it was like in the old days. I gave her a quick one word answer. I told her it was different. She thought it must have been nice. Truthfully, it was nice--sometimes. However, it most definitely was different. 

In the photo above are my cousins on my mother's side of the family along with my sisters, my brother, and me. I'm the tall girl with the dark hair. My brother is the other tall kid. We are all in my grandparents yard in Pennsylvania. My parents drove out to Pennsylvania once a year so my mother could see all her relatives. Sometimes, we went into Ohio to see more of the relatives. We drove in the summertime and we did not have air conditioning in the car. My father had a two-week vacation, so we had a time limit. 

The rest of the year, my mother wrote to her family. Only in the most extreme cases did anyone ever talk on the phone because long-distance calls were expensive. So, unlike today, communication in the old days with distant relatives was limited. 

We didn't travel by plane because that was too expensive as well. Once, when my grandfather had a heart attack, I went out to Pennsylvania with my mother on a bus. Fortunately, my grandfather recuperated. But I learned that I didn't particularly like long bus rides. 

There was television but the channels were quite limited. There was radio, but when we were driving through the mountains of Pennsylvania we couldn't always pull in any stations. So, we sang. 

Nevertheless, it was great fun seeing my cousins, my grandparents, aunts, and uncles. They all had wonderful stories to tell. Listening to everyone talk was the best part of the trip. It was as if they made up for a year of not seeing each other for all the time they spent talking. 

For my family, that was our vacation. We didn't go to any amusement parks. We simply spent time with the relatives. That was good enough and we were happy to see them. We weren't bored either. 

Things were different, but it was fine with us. 

💗💕💗💕💗

 

Longer Nights and More Reading!

We'll be going back to Eastern Standard Time very soon. The sun goes down earlier every night and the nights grow longer. My antidote to the gathering gloom is to read more books. I like to get cozy on the couch with a blanket, a hot cup of herbal tea, and a book. I don't care if the book is an ebook or a paper book. The words tell the story. I am one of those people who likes to see the words and savor every one of them. I rarely listen to audiobooks. But listening to a book is good for those who enjoy getting the story that way. 

It is so easy to get books nowadays for almost nothing or free. In addition to public libraries, there are the library apps--like Hoopla and Libby--where you can download books instantly for free. Thrift shops still have plenty of books, too. Our local AAUW runs a book shop in the basement of a local church. I've gotten plenty of books there. 

As an author at Pelican Book Group, I have read many books published by other authors in that group. However, if one of my daughters hands me a book, I'll read it. If I'm at a book sale and a cover grabs my attention, I'm likely to pick it up and buy it. The world is full of wonderful stories. 😀

I post the books I've read along with my reviews on Goodreads, BookBub, and Librarything. I usually give high ratings because I really like the stories. There are very few books I haven't liked. If I don't like a book, I don't give it a review. As an author, I know how important book reviews are. 

So, my advice is to stock up on books for the longer nights. After all, as Madeleine L'Engle said, "A book, too, can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe.” 

📕 📖 📗 📘 📙 📚

 

The Gift of Laughter

When I became pregnant with my first daughter, I was delighted. I believed I knew all about babies since I had two much younger sisters. I learned at a young age how to care for little ones. What I didn't realize was how exhausted I would be after giving birth.  I didn't have to go right back to work, but breast-feeding my baby--even at night, changing her diapers, bathing her, doing tons of laundry, and still making dinner left me worn out. In addition, my adorable daughter would cry for about two hours every evening due to a bit of colic. Then I would sing to her, rock her, and pray I would get a few solid hours of sleep. 

Slowly, she started to sleep longer each night and so did I. That helped. She grew more adorable, too. Not long after she went beyond the two month mark, I placed her on an old bed in the spare room for a moment. That bed had ancient springs which made it very bouncy. I tapped it a few times and my daughter bounced a little. She smiled. I pressed a bit harder and she bounced a bit more. Then, something miraculous happened. She laughed. A real laugh. I was so impressed, I bounced her a bit more and she laughed again. I laughed, too. It was if in that moment she became a genuine human. 

I didn't want to make all the milk slosh around in her tummy, so I stopped bouncing her. But when hubby came home from work, he tried bouncing her, too. It was a memorable joyous moment. 

Laughter is a gift and it's good for everyone's health. There's a page on the Mayo Clinic's website where you can find all the benefits that come from laughter:  https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/stress-management/in-depth/stress-relief/art-20044456  On that page one of the points made is to find a way to laugh about your own situations. I can look back at several situations in my life which were stressful at the time, but now when I recall those moments with other family members who were there, we laugh. Sometimes, we laugh so hard tears come out of our eyes. 

It's a good feeling.

So, look for the silly stuff and have a good laugh. It's good for your health.

Guest Post: SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING by O.R. Sykora

My guest for today is Olivia Sykora. She has always been fascinated by allegorical stories. C.S. Lewis sits on the top of her favorite authors list, and then George MacDonald with his glorious fairytales. Hannah Hurnard’s classic story, Hinds’ Feet on High Places, became a significant allegory in Olivia’s life and faith journey, and she searched for further books that could communicate spiritual truths through accessible, exciting stories. Now, Olivia has crafted a new allegorical fantasy for modern readers to enjoy. Son of the Mountain King, the first book in the Mountain King trilogy tells the greatest love and adventure story: the story of God’s love for His people. 

Check out Olivia's website at www.orsykora.com

Here is the back cover blurb for her new book, SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING.

     When an invasion threatens the land of the Mountain King, the fate of the people rests on the shoulders of young governor Judah. She has sworn to prove herself a skillful leader by protecting her kingdom from foes, but difficulty and danger surround her.

     Then Judah’s life is saved by two different men who divide her loyalty. One, a fascinating healer, captures the hearts of Judah and her people. The other, a mysterious shepherd, forces Judah to question what she believes to be true.

     When a conspiracy comes to light that could destroy Judah and her kingdom, a single choice might cost her people everything. Will the headstrong leader prove herself—or find herself trapped?

Now read an excerpt from the book!

That night, the familiar squeak of wood rent the air as Mesda shoved closed the old oak door. A shaft of light poured through a gap at the bottom. As this part of the castle was rarely visited after dark, she did not worry about being seen.  

        This story had begun long before.  

That night, an old woman spread a large piece of parchment on the rough table, unaware at that time of how many lives would be affected by what she was to record. A sense of urgency bade Mesda hurry the work that must be finished in the coming hours. Dragging the other two pieces of furniture in what she liked to call her “cell,” the woman arranged the tools of her trade on a plain cot and turned the three-legged stool until its worn seat faced the table. Time was short. She grumbled as the parchment persisted in rolling like a potato bug. Stones which had chipped from the crumbling walls finally solved the problem. Mesda then placed her two most important objects alongside the parchment: a stained, worn pot of black ink and a graceful quill. With one final critical look at the tip, she sighed and closed her eyes.  

Words came to the woman as they always did. Quietly, insistently. Her hand flew across the page. Strong, elegant, like a heron soaring over the Great River. Words poured out until precise black marks flooded the parchment. Her long braid brushed her back with furious rhythm. Hours slipped by, driven by the urgency within to complete the task given by the Master.  

The moon had risen high to send light through the tiny upper window before the woman finally paused. Only then did she lower her quill and allow her forehead to drop to the table as she listened.  

        It was complete.  

Mesda stretched her neck and shoulders slowly. Her hands were numb, but she knew pain would come soon, sharp and strong. Meanwhile, the moon gazed through the window, an ancient friend who surely would not tire of an old woman’s mumblings. “I am getting old.” She winced. Needlelike sensations were beginning at her fingertips. “I do not know why the Master thinks me still worthy of the work.” The cot groaned in harmony with her bones as she crawled onto it and lay with a grunt. Surely, her sister would tolerate waiting for a few minutes more.  

Her sister. 

Mesda stretched, watching the moon. Perhaps her sister was right to pursue a warrior’s life instead of a scholar’s path. She’d had her excitement, and now she gracefully doled out advice and justice like so many nuggets while the scholar-scribe had continued to work her neck into a spasm. Still. There was honor in all work assigned by the Master, warrior and scribe alike. 

Mesda smiled, grateful for her own part, awash with a moment of youth until a twinge in her shoulder brought her back. It was time to rise. By now, her sister would be impatiently waiting to receive the scroll and deliver it yet farther to the governors.

My Review of SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING

     Judah, the governor of Marah, was betrothed to the son of the Mountain King before she was born. She never met him, but he sent her lovely gifts and wrote elegant letters to her. She is told that if she ever needs his aid, she has only to ask for it. But Judah is independent and believes she can handle her problems. When she becomes ill, she is reminded to ask for the help of the Mountain King, but instead she seeks out a healer who is called the Enlightened One. He cures her but she loses the hearing in one ear. It is Kiran, the Enlightened One, who tells her she is a princess and can become a queen by marriage. 

    Then one day shepherds arrive in Marah with wool. There had been no sheep or shepherds in Marah since the time of the Destruction before Judah was born. She befriends the shepherd, Abel, who teaches her the ways of a shepherd.

    Nevertheless, Judah has far more to learn in this story than the simple ways of a shepherd. She must realize who she can trust and who is a traitor. 

    This is a fascinating allegory which held my attention to the very end. 

This wonderful book is available at many book distributors.

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Google

Pelican

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One Summer Long Ago

 The photo above shows my Uncle Robbie, my grandfather, my father, and my Uncle Gene--the baby my father is holding. In the summertime, my grandparents and, in fact, the entire Kierce clan who lived in Jersey City went to Belford, NJ, for the summer. That's where this picture was taken. They stayed in small bungalows, but it was better than being in the city. Those were the days of no air conditioning. From what my father said, my great-grandmother would serve up heaping mounds of potatoes with meat patties simmered in tomato sauce, which doesn't seem like an Irish dish, but that's what they ate. My father loved it and he asked my mother to make it frequently. Dad called it the "Belford Special." I still make it now and then, continuing to call it the "Belford Special." 😊

Last week, my Uncle Gene died. I will miss him. Everyone in that generation who stayed in the little bungalows during the summer in Belford has now passed away. The scary thought is that my sister, my cousins, and I are now the elders. We are the ones who are supposed to be wise. While our generation has experienced plenty of turmoil, I don't know whether any of us have all that much wisdom. We grew up in different times. But we have wonderful examples of fine folks to emulate and hopefully, that will help us. 

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UNCHAINED MELODY by Clare Revell

I've read several of Clare's books and enjoyed each of them. She lives in a small town just outside Reading, England with her husband, whom she married in 1992, two of their three grown children, unfriendly mini-panther, aka Tilly the cat and newest member Ty the dog. Clare is half English and half Welsh, which makes watching rugby interesting at times as it doesn’t matter who wins.

Writing from an early childhood and encouraged by her teachers, she graduated from rewriting fairy stories through fan fiction to using her own original characters and enjoys writing an eclectic mix of romance, crime fiction and children's stories. When she's not writing, she can be found reading, crocheting or doing the many piles of laundry the occupants of her house manage to make.

Her books are based in the UK, with a couple of exceptions, thus, although the spelling may be American in some of them, the books contain British language and terminology and the more recent ones are written in UK English

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The first draft of every novel is hand written. By the way, she claims working from home is a myth and invented by someone who doesn't have a dog!

Clare's latest book is UNCHAINED MELODY.  The setting is Candlewick Lodge, the only home Raven Faulkner has ever known—one her family has run since 1820. When the bell—which according to legend, rings to warn of danger—chimes just before a tree falls on the lodge, Raven tells herself it’s a coincidence. Just as well, because Raven doesn’t have time to decipher supernatural messages. Her biggest worry is keeping her family’s legacy alive.
Fame and fortune are not all they’re cracked up to be. Just as well, after Isaiah Beringer’s meteoric music career nosedives. He’s sure God wants him on the mission field, but every mission society he’s applied to thinks otherwise. Needing someplace secluded and peaceful to lick his wounds and figure out what God wants of him, he books into Candlewick. The problem? The woman who runs the lodge turns out to be his biggest fan.
Rising repair costs and failing health make the future uncertain. Unless Raven and Isaiah can work together to write a new ending to the unchained melody of the Lodge.

I received an advanced copy of Unchained Melody. Read my review below.  

Raven Faulkner is saved by the bell—literally.  There’s a superstition about the old bell on the archway at the Candlewick Lodge, but when it rings one night during a thunderstorm, Raven gets out of bed before a tree falls on the roof.  The damage from the tree is extensive, but that’s not Raven’s only worry. Her grandfather wants to sell the lodge, which has been in the family for generations. 
Isaiah Beringer gave up his successful music career because it clashed with his faith. Despite his number one rock  hits, when he tried gospel music none of his fans liked it. He decides to hide out at the Candlewick Lodge. What he doesn’t know is that Raven is a huge fan. 
Though Raven is beset with enormous trouble, she switches rooms for her guests to a different wing in the lodge. While she is a fan of Isaiah, she acts professionally toward him. However, he is willing to help her. Her grandparents said guests should never do any work at the lodge, but she  is overwhelmed and accepts his aid. She has another guest at the lodge who is decidedly obnoxious, but she manages to deal politely with him.
Raven’s burdens mount. The family discussions about the lodge prove interesting but when Raven’s grandfather turns ill, things go from bad to worse. The twisted trail of clues that lead to why Raven’s grandfather is so intent on selling the historical property is complex and an intriguing part of the story. The gentle relationship that blooms between Raven and Isaiah is charming as this compelling tale winds through the history of the old lodge and the people who have called it home for so long.  

You can find Unchained Melody at:

Amazon

Apple

Barnes&Noble

Kobo

Pelican Book Group

Check out Clare Revell's website at: https://clarerevell.com/