Guest Post: THE TIME FOR HEALING by Ramona K. Cecil

My guest today is Ramona K. Cecil who lives in southern Indiana. A wife, mother, grandmother, and author, she writes historical romance novels for the Christian market. She and her husband have been married for forty-seven years and are now empty-nesters with two grown daughters and three young-adult grandchildren. Their home in Seymour, Indiana, is the “small town” made famous in rocker John Mellencamp’s song of the same name. Ramona has always loved history, especially the history of her Hoosier state. Like The Time for Healing, many of her stories are set in Indiana’s past. When not writing, her hobbies include reading, gardening, and visiting places of historical interest.

Her latest novel, The Time for Healing, releases August 7^th with Pelican Book Group. This award-winning story is inspired by a real life event—The Pigeon Roost Massacre—that happened in 1812 about thirty miles south of her home.  

 

Winner - Best in Fiction 

Indiana Faith and Writing Contest 2014

Ginny Red Fawn McLain, a Shawnee medicine woman, is thrust back into the world of her birth family twelve years after her abduction. While she eschews the Christianity preached by her birth uncle who found her, Ginny's heart refuses to shun his friend and fellow Christian minister, Jeremiah Dunbar. Jeremiah is immediately smitten with his friend's long-lost niece. But unless Ginny Red Fawn joins Christ's fold—something she adamantly resists—any future with the woman he loves is impossible.

Now for a real treat! An excerpt from the book. Sit back and enjoy. 

A soft, moist touch against his lips jerked Jeremiah awake. At the sight of the white Indian girl kneeling over him, myriad emotions darted around his chest like a bevy of barn swallows. Surely she had not… 

Red Fawn dipped her finger into a little wooden bowl then touched it to his lips, moistening them with an oily salve. “I am sorry to wake you, but the sun is rising in the sky, and your friend asked me to bring you medicines.” 

Jeremiah pushed up to a sitting position on his woolen-blanket cot. Heat suffused his neck and face at his initial mistaken impression of her actions. He poked out the tip of his tongue to taste the oil she’d spread over his cracked lips. The sweet, light taste told him it must be either plant or mineral based. 

“It is sweet birch oil,” she said, answering his silent question. “It will heal your lips and make the skin soft again.” Her smile transformed her features from comely to breathtakingly beautiful. 

“You speak English well.” He found it surprising that she hadn’t lost the language of her childhood during her years with the Shawnee. 

She set the bowl aside. “My father wanted me to keep the white man’s language and to teach it to him and my mother. He said it would be good for our family and our tribe when dealing with the whites, so we spoke it often in our home.” 

“Where is Zeb?” Jeremiah cleared his burning throat and glanced around the longhouse. He needed to direct his thoughts away from this girl who made his heart hammer like a woodpecker’s beak on a dead log.

            “He has gone to Chief Great Hawk’s lodge to tell him what is written in the book you brought,” she said, her voice turning harder. She walked to the fire, bent over a steaming iron pot, and stirred its contents with a shaved stick. 

She spoke as if the Bible was new to her, but Zeb said the Shawnee had taken her at the age of six. Jeremiah recalled his own sixth year vividly. That year, his family had traveled from Kentucky to Indiana, and his mother gave birth to his brother Joel in the Conestoga along the way. He and his seven-year-old sister, Dorcas, had kept three-year-old Lydia occupied by fishing for crawdads on a creek bank during Mother’s travails. It seemed inconceivable that this girl, who remembered her given name as Ginny McLain, had no memory of her parents or Zeb and his wife, Ruth, setting her on their laps and telling her stories from the Scriptures. 

“Surely, you remember the Bible. I remember the Bible stories my ma and pa told me and my sisters when I was six.”

She stopped stirring the sweet-smelling contents of the pot and became still. At her silence, hope leapt in Jeremiah that perhaps he’d jogged a long-buried memory in her.

Without answering him, she grasped the pot handle with a scrap of wool material to protect her hand, lifted the pot from the fire, and set it on a flat rock. She dipped an earthen bowl into the pot and then carried the vessel to him. She set the bowl on the ground in front of him. “When it is cool enough, drink it. It will heal your sore throat.”

As she walked out of the longhouse, an ache not associated with his illness throbbed in Jeremiah’s chest. Regret filled him. God had given him an opportunity to share Christ with Red Fawn, and he had squandered it.

💕💕💕

The book is available now as a pre-order at Amazon.

You can also find it at Barnes & Noble.

The paperback is at Thrift Books and the Book Depository.

I Haven't Taken Many Photos This Year

With the coronavirus lockdown from March onward, I did not take as many photos as usual. All the gigs for hubby's band were cancelled or postponed. All parties, meetings, and conferences were cancelled as well. Even family get-togethers have been few and socially distant.😞

I have taken far more screen shots than ever before of Zoom meetings and FaceTime chats. However, even as the restrictions eased in our state, I rarely brought my camera along when we went out. But one evening last week, I remembered to bring along the camera when we went to the park. I thought I might be lucky and capture a nice sunset. Instead, I found a whole gaggle of geese on the lake. The geese were not socially distant from each other. They stayed close to each other and were very wary of strangers--like me. 

But the incident reminded me that the world is still beautiful. The flowers are blooming. The apples are growing bigger in the orchard. The birds are singing sweetly in the trees. 

Though we must stay safe, we should enjoy the moment. And take more pictures. 

Guest Post: SEASON OF HOPE, by Carol James

My guest today is Carol James, an author of inspirational fiction, in particular redemptive romance. She lives in a small town outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her husband, Jim, and a perky Jack Russell "Terrorist," Zoe. Having always loved intriguing stories with happy endings, she was moved to begin writing to encourage others as she'd been encouraged by the works of other authors of inspirational fiction. Carol enjoys spending time with her husband, children, and grandchildren, traveling with friends, and serving in the production department at her church. She’s a Frappuccino and soccer aficionado.

Find out more about Carol at https://www.carol-james.com

 

Carol's latest release is SEASON OF HOPE. 

Here's the blurb: 

Hope Stockton’s life is dead, frozen in a winter of guilt, deceit, and fear. When handsome young pastor, Josh Lewis, comes to serve in her church, she wonders if she can trust him with her past. Will he be able to help her answer the questions that have been buried in her heart for years? Or will his own secrets drive them apart and prevent him from helping Hope find her spring of forgiveness?

Set in small town Texas in the years during and following the Vietnam war, Season of Hope is a story of forgiveness and restoration.

And now for a real treat! Settle into a comfy chair, grab a a cup of tea and read the first chapter. 

 

1974 

            As adrenaline surged through her body, Hope pushed her head back against the car seat and waited for the shaking to subside. 

            Breathe. Just breathe. 

            Her knuckles actually were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard in the battle to keep the car on the road. She glanced up into the rearview mirror. How Mattie had slept through the exploding tire was incomprehensible. The car had swerved from one side of the road to the other as it fishtailed and made a one hundred eighty degree turn. And yet, he slept. 

            But he was OK—they both were OK—and that was all that mattered. 

            The music of Elton John‘s latest hit filled the car. She pried her fingers from the wheel and, hand trembling, reached over and turned the radio off. 

            “Mattie, wake up, honey.” 

            Mattie sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked out the window. “We’re not at the church.” Sleepy confusion clouded his face. 

            “No. Not yet. We’re on the back road to Crescent Bluff, baby. We had a flat tire, so I need you to take a couple of your cars and go sit under that tree over there while I change it, OK?” 

            “Can I help you?” 

            “No. It’s too dangerous.” 

            “But, Mommy…” 

            “No arguing, Mattie. Please, just obey me.”

            Pushing open the door, he grabbed some cars and then tramped up the small rise and plopped down under a live oak. He wasn’t happy, but he was doing as she’d asked. He’d always been obedient. 

            She pulled the owner’s manual from the glove compartment. The gravel along the shoulder crunched underfoot as she walked back to the trunk of the car. Years ago, when she'd first gotten her driver’s license, Dad had made her change a tire—just so she’d know how. That was the one and only time she’d ever done it, but she was pretty sure she remembered all the steps. How hard could it be, anyway? It was just a matter of unscrewing and re-screwing a few nuts and swapping out a tire. 

            She opened the trunk and lifted up the carpeting and the cover under it to expose the spare tire. Now she needed to find the jack and that wrench thing. There they were. She pulled them out of the trunk and placed them on the ground. 

            The lug nuts that held the spare in place came off easily with the lug wrench, but getting the tire out and not rubbing it against her sundress would be a trick. She took an old towel that was in the trunk, draped it over the tire, lifted it out, and then dropped it on the ground. So far, so good. She glanced up at Mattie. He was still sitting under the tree. 

            “Excuse me.” 

            She jumped and peeked around the trunk lid. A tall man wearing gray pants, a white dress shirt, and black wing-tip shoes stood by the front of her car. A black Mercedes was parked on the shoulder of the road several yards away. It was older, but still one of the expensive models. She’d been so engrossed in getting the tire out that she hadn’t even heard the car pull up. 

            “Do you need some help?” 

            Here she was, on a deserted Texas road in the middle of nowhere with her five-year-old son. No houses within several miles, no service stations with pay phones where she could call for help. And now this stranger shows up. If she’d been alone, the answer would have been an easy “yes.” But Mattie was with her, and she couldn’t let anything happen to him. 

            Mr. Preppy had dark brown hair, a bit long on top, and the most striking blue eyes she’d ever seen. The combination was surprisingly attractive. He was handsome enough, all right, but he was also completely unfamiliar. 

            Crescent Bluff was a fairly small town, and she’d lived here long enough to know just about everyone. He wasn’t from around here. She definitely would have remembered those Texas-winter-sky eyes. As he smiled, goose bumps covered her arms. That should have been an impossibility in ninety-degree Texas spring weather. 

            “Are you OK? I was a ways behind you, but I saw what happened. You did a great job keeping the car on the road and out of the ditch. You could have really been hurt.” 

            He was right. They were late, and she’d been going way too fast on this little country road when the tire blew. The outcome could have been tragically different. As the emotions she’d been trying to keep under control suddenly burst loose, tears filled her eyes. Maybe he’d think they were from the acrid smell of burnt rubber still lingering in the air. Quickly looking away, she took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” 

            “I imagine the whole thing was pretty scary. Why don’t you let me change that tire for you?” 

            If only she’d agreed to go to the church early with Dee, they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. 

            “I appreciate your offer, but I’m perfectly capable of changing a tire,” she answered with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “This won’t be the first time I’ve had to. I’m sure I can handle it just fine.” More than anything, she wanted him gone. 

            “Mommy, who’s that?” Mattie tugged on the hem of her dress. 

            “Mattie, go back to the tree and stay there.” 

            The stranger’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize you had a passenger with you.” He bent down and smiled at Mattie. “Hello there, young man. How’re you?” 

            Mattie’s brow creased. He looked first at Hope and then back at the man. “My mommy won’t let me talk to strangers.” 

            Hope’s face burned with embarrassment. She certainly didn’t want to offend this man who’d stopped to help. But then again, she didn’t know him, and people couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially after last week when that woman and her daughter from Waco were assaulted by a man who’d offered them a ride when their truck ran out of gas. He’d been driving a black car, and the police still hadn’t caught him.

            “Your mother’s a very wise woman. That’s a good rule to have.” The man stepped toward them and then knelt down on one knee, smiled, and held out his hand. “Let me introduce myself so we’re not strangers. I’m Josh.” 

            Mattie grinned, took the stranger’s hand, and pumped it up and down. “Hi, Mr. Doss. My name’s Mattie.” 

            “Nice to meet you, Mattie. Now we know each other.” The ex-stranger winked, stood, and turned toward Hope. “Now, how about that tire?” 

            She grabbed Mattie’s hand and pulled him back beside her. “Thanks for the offer, but we’re fine. Besides, it looks as if you’re headed to some appointment, and I certainly wouldn’t want to hold you up.” 

            When he glanced at his watch, the gold emblem on the face shone in the afternoon sun. If he was a criminal, he was a successful one. 

That was an unsettling thought. 

            “I’ve got time.” 

            “Well, Josh, I don’t. I hope you won’t think me rude, but I’m in a hurry, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to get this done.” 

            Giving her a thumbs-up with his right hand, he smiled again. “Gotcha. Well, I guess I’ll head on. Nice to meet you, Mattie, and you, too, Mattie’s Mom.” 

            “Bye, Mr. Doss.” 

            Josh waved and then walked back toward his car, his shape distorted by the heat waves rising from the asphalt. The car, the clothes, the watch. Not many men his age around these parts could afford stuff like that. 

            Maybe Mattie sitting by the tree wasn’t such a good idea. She wouldn’t be able to see him while she was changing the tire. “Mattie, you can come here with me as long as you sit in the grass and stay off the shoulder of the road.”

            “Thanks, Mommy.” 

            As the Mercedes inched past them, Josh’s voice sounded through the open window, “Don’t forget to place the jack in the slot.” 

            “Oh, the slot. Yeah, sure, the slot. Absolutely.” She stood stone still. She wouldn’t position the jack with him watching. 

            “It’s closer in.” 

            Suddenly her mind and her heart began arguing. She didn’t need to prove anything. She could change this tire if she really had to, but she didn’t. Josh seemed very willing. Yet, she didn’t know him. He did have a black car—of course, so did millions of other men—and she couldn’t take a chance with Mattie’s safety. He was all she had left. 

            But then if something happened and she got hurt or she couldn’t change the tire, being stranded out here might prove more dangerous than taking a chance with Josh. 

            “But I’m sure you knew that.” 

            “Knew what?” 

            “About the slot.” 

            “Oh, of course.” As he began to roll up his window, she blurted out, “Wait. I think maybe I’ve changed my mind.” 

            “Your prerogative.” He grinned as he pulled forward and back off onto the shoulder of the road. He stepped out of the car and removed his dress shirt. His form-fitting white t-shirt accentuated muscles the roomy Oxford cloth shirt had hidden. 

            She glanced at his license plate and committed it to memory. Taking Mattie’s hand, she bent down and looked him straight in the eyes. “Mr. Josh is going to change the tire for us. You stay right beside me, sweetie.” She forced herself to smile and kept her voice even so he wouldn’t see she was nervous. 

            As Josh squatted down to position the jack, Mattie jerked free from Hope’s grip and jumped over beside him. Taking in every movement, Mattie asked, “Whatcha doing? Can I watch?” 

            “Mattie, leave Mr. Josh alone.” Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. She moved to bring Mattie back. 

            Josh flashed a smile up at her. “He’s fine.” He turned to Mattie. “In fact, I could use some help. How about if you hold the lug nuts for me? We don’t want to lose them.” 

            He must be used to being around children. Maybe he had some of his own. She glanced at his left hand to see if he was married. She’d be less nervous if he was. No ring, but that didn’t really mean anything. Some married men never wore a wedding band. 

            Josh seemed nice enough, but a cautious voice sounded in her mind. Letting her guard down could get them in trouble. She’d never forgive herself if she lost Mattie. Her breathing matched her racing heart. He was too close to “Mr. Doss.” 

            “Mattie, did you hear me? We need to go back over to the shoulder right now, young man!” 

            “But, Mom, Mr. Doss needs me to help him.” 

            “Mattie…" She reached down to take his hand. 

            “It’s OK. Thanks, buddy. You better mind your mom. I’ll be done in a minute.” 

            Frowning, Mattie put down the lug nuts and trudged over to the side of the road with her. He pulled his hand free, plopped down a few feet away, and sulked. 

            Besides being muscular, Josh was very tall, well over six feet. She was five ten, and he towered over her. She couldn’t protect Mattie if she needed to. If they’d been in Dee’s truck, she could have used the pistol in the glove compartment. But they weren’t. 

            If Josh were going to harm them, he probably wouldn’t go to the trouble to change the tire. She searched the roadside for something she could use as a weapon should she need one. 

            Josh already had the spare tire on. Obviously, he’d done this before. He reached for the lug wrench and tightened the bolts. Turning back toward her, Josh smiled. ‚Almost done. You’ll need to get some air in that spare. You can drive it for a short distance, but it’s pretty low.‛ He set the lug wrench down, picked up the jack and the blown tire, and threw them into the trunk. 

            Hope grabbed the lug wrench and hid it behind her back. 

            When Josh returned, he scanned the ground. “Let’s see. Where’d I put…” 

            “Um, thank you very much for your help. I’m sorry you got so dirty. Here, you can use this to wipe off.” She tossed him the towel to avoid stepping any closer. 

            As he caught it, his gaze went toward her right hand. 

            She pulled the wrench farther behind her. 

            His forehead wrinkled, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but then stopped. Instead, he smiled, cleared his throat, and took a few steps back. 

            Her heart rate slowed as the space between them widened. 

            “Thanks for the towel. This’ll be fine until I can get to a service station to wash up.” He moved away from her toward the back of her car and slammed the trunk lid shut. 

            “Can I pay you something for your trouble?” 

            “I wouldn’t dream of it. Just wanted to help. If my sister and her son had gotten stranded like this, I hope someone would’ve stopped. You know, this day and time, stopping to help people can be dangerous. You have to be careful. You just never know what might happen. Take care.” He tossed back the towel. 

            Josh smiled, and turned toward Mattie. “Bye, buddy. Thanks for your help.” He raised his hand to his forehead in a relaxed salute. 

            Mattie stood and saluted back. “Bye, Mr. Doss.” 

            Josh walked back to his car, climbed in, and headed on down the highway toward Crescent Bluff. 

            Relief flooded over her as she vacillated between laughing and crying. She tossed the wrench and towel onto the back floorboard, and then she and Mattie climbed into the car to head toward the church. 

            If she hadn’t promised Lynn and Dee she’d come to the dinner, she would’ve turned around and gone back home. She hadn’t wanted to go to church tonight in the first place, and now she would be late to meet the new pastor. 

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Find the book at your favorite online bookstore:

 Pelican Book Group, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple Books, and Google! 

Check out her other books, too. 

Sometimes I Wonder What Happened To....

     We went to the beach this evening. It's much cooler at that time of the day when the evening breezes blow in. I really do not enjoy broiling on the sand in the heat of the day. On the way we drove past the public beach in Sea Bright. It's not a large beach. We were headed to Sandy Hook, which has far more space. However, whenever I pass that one small public beach I always wonder what happened to one man we met on the eve of Superstorm Sandy. 

     Hubby and I had driven to the shore that day to see how the coming storm was affecting the ocean. The storm wasn't due to hit until the following day but as we stood there watching the foaming waves chew at the sand, I knew I had never seen anything quite as threatening and I've seen plenty of storms in my lifetime. We didn't stay long, but as we walked back to our car we saw one man frantically digging sand and bagging it. He said he was making sandbags for his house. He loaded his sandbag into his car and went right back to fill up another bag. 

     I felt sorry for him. Sea Bright is a small town with the ocean on one side and a channel fed by two large rivers on the other side. Despite a huge seawall on the ocean side, the town floods on a regular basis whenever there are hurricanes or nor'easters. 

     Superstorm Sandy was a massive and powerful storm. It destroyed many homes in Sea Bright as well as thousands of other homes all along the shoreline of New Jersey and New York. But I still wonder about that young man and whether his home was saved after all his efforts.

The Accordionist and the Singing Cow

Hubby was The Music Man at Longstreet Farm for many, many years. He regularly entertained at the farmhouse, playing old time songs. Longstreet Farm always had an exhibit at the county fair and hubby was regularly scheduled to play during the fair. One Sunday, he played for two hours as usual, but during his performance one unhappy cow continually mooed. The cow had voiced her displeasure all day. It evidently did not like being at the fair, in a small pen, and missed its cow companions.

After hubby's two hour gig was up, he decided to play specifically for the cow--to see if music really does calm the savage beastie. The video below is the result. :-)

My Book Trailer for PATRIOT'S PRIDE

I spent a considerable amount of time putting together a book trailer for PATRIOT'S PRIDE. You can view the result of my efforts below. I have fun with this type of activity. I keep expenses at a minimum by using as many of my own photos as possible. I purchased the video of the sailing ship and the man writing with a quill pen, but the castle is actually Lambert Castle in Paterson, NJ, which I've visited a few times. I snapped the photo of the antique medical apparatus at an encampment at Sandy Hook.

To make inexpensive book trailers, I strongly suggest you walk around with a camera and take photos of everything.

The video was made with iMovie on my Mac. 

The book is available for FREE with #KindleUnlimited. Go to https://www.amazon.com/Patriots-Pride-Penelope-Marzec-ebook/dp/B07QMYKX4V/

Faith and Worn Out Shoes

The photo above shows my mother and her sister at their First Holy Communion. They are the two girls on the right. Times were hard. My grandfather was a coal miner. He and my grandmother had seven children. My mother and her sister were the oldest. Then came five boys. Despite a lack of money, my grandparents were very adept at making ends meet. My grandmother sewed clothes. She grew vegetables and canned them. Nothing was wasted. 

However, when it came time for my mother to be confirmed as a Catholic there was a problem. The church was miles away. My mother wore out her shoes walking back and forth to receive instructions in the faith. My grandfather patched her shoes with rubber tires, but there was no money to buy new shoes. So, my mother did not finish the necessary preparation and was not confirmed. 

Many years later, when my mother was to marry my father in the Catholic Church, the priest asked my mother to promise to be confirmed afterward. My mother kept her promise, but it took her a while. When my brother and I were confirmed, my mother was, too. She did not dress in a rented gown as my brother and I did. She wore a light blue suit. My brother and I were in the front of the church with our peers. My mother was in the back of the church with other adults. 

Even though she received her confirmation at a much later age, my mother always had a deep faith and knew the Scriptures, not only quoting the verses but proving her conviction with action. When she learned of hungry neighbors, she gave them food. When someone was ill, she baked for them. When someone needed a ride, she gave them a ride. She listened to the troubles of the neighbors and gave them advice. I always thought she ought to hang out a shingle as the neighborhood psychiatrist. 😊

She may have worn out her shoes as a youngster, but she held fast to her belief. 

This Bent Tree

I always wondered about this tree. Why is it bent like that? Could it be one of the trees the Native Americans used as a trail marker?

I found a website that lists many of the reasons this particular tree would not be one the Native Americans used to mark a trail. There is a river nearby, which would make a trail marker useful. However, this tree is not an oak. It's a tulip tree--and it's rather young. It's doesn't bend down very low either. 

Have you found any bent trees? Check out https://tiphero.com/bent-tree-meaning to see if it might be a Native American trail marker. 

Cover Reveal for PATRIOT'S COURAGE!

I am delighted with the cover for PATRIOT'S COURAGE! This is the third book in my Patriots series and reveals what happens when the twins, Ryan and Lewis, decide to use their father's promissory note to get land in the Ohio Territory. Soldiers in the Revolutionary War were promised one hundred acres of land, which applied to them or their heirs. (You can read about that in another post https://penelopemarzec.blogspot.com/2014/06/one-hundred-acres.html.)

The book will be released in September. I can hardly wait!

Pandemic Truth

This is my father when he was a young reporter. Dad always sought the truth and checked his sources. Read more about him at https://rawdatafalloutfromthecoronavirus.blogspot.com/2020/05/pandemic-truth-marzec.html

Patience

I saw this fisherman one day at the beach. He stood there for a long time. While I was there, he didn't catch anything, but he sure had a lot of patience.

I haven't gone fishing in a long time. When I was a youngster, I fished in the lake behind our house. My brother put the worm on the hook for me. It was exciting when I caught a fish, but most of the time fishing required quiet. I had to sit and wait, and wait. I was never fond of fishing.

Writing requires patience, too. Unlike fishing, writing is a nice, clean activity. However, it requires hours and hours of time. In addition, the odds of becoming rich are rather low. Then there are the rejections, the rewrites, and the marketing.

Marketing is the most annoying thing about writing for me. It's almost equivalent to putting a slimy worm on a hook, but to catch readers that's what a writer has to do. A writer has to be patient in marketing. It's an ongoing activity and the rewards aren't always immediately obvious. But just like that fisherman, you reel in the line, cast off again, and wait.

But in the meantime, you can write another book and that's the fun part. 😊

No Time for Books?

I know a lot of people who don't read books. Some are friends, some are relatives, and some are coworkers. Many of them have college degrees. I could list their names here but that would be mean and it still wouldn't make them pick up a book and read it. They all have a reason for not reading. They tell me they are too busy. They often read magazines, or the newspaper. But they never sit down with a book in their hands and read it from the beginning to the end. Never.

I think this is very sad. Those who don't read are missing out on some amazing adventures. But more importantly, they are wrong about the time needed to read a book. Reading does not have to take much time at all. There are millions of audio books--and you can borrow them at the library for nothing. You don't even have to visit the library, you can download them from the library's website and then add them to your iPod. You can listen to them while driving to work, exercising, or folding the laundry. Seriously, what else are you going to do while folding laundry? Listen to Lady Gaga?

For those who own a Kindle, there are books that are speech enabled. The Kindle can read the books to you. You can dust the living room or crochet an afghan while listening to the latest Janet Evanovich novel. Better yet, you can listen one of my novels.

Books are special. Every book allows the reader to enter into someone else's mind. Please get into a book soon. It really doesn't take any time at all.

Guest Post: COOKING UP A MYSTERY, by Gail Pallotta

 My guest today is Gail Pallotta, a wife, Mom, swimmer and bargain shopper who loves God, beach sunsets and getting together with friends and family. A 2013 Grace Awards finalist, she’s a Reader’s Favorite 2017 Book Award winner and a TopShelf 2020 Book Awards Nominee. She’s published six books, poems, short stories and several hundred articles. Some of her articles appear in anthologies while two are in museums. 

Gail's latest book is COOKING UP A MYSTERY! Here's the blurb:

Laney Eskridge worked to put her husband through dental school. Then he left with another woman. Laney is on edge from the emotional scars and her parents' deaths. Then she hears unexplained noises in her new tea house, and her anxiety is tripled. Add a budding romance with Eric—a guy with a fear of commitment—and it's all too much to handle. She cuts ties with Eric and plunges into making her business pay off.
When Eric discovers that Laney's in danger, he vows to protect her. But can he make a lasting promise? Will she trust him? . . .and when they overhear a threat that could cause national turmoil, will anyone believe them? There's more brewing than herbal tea in Cooking up a Mystery.

And now for the excerpt! 😉

Eric pointed at the picture of the man riding the huge tricycle. “Is that it?”

The sound of several pots clanking one right after the other drifted into the dining area. Did he not hear the racket? Laney opened her mouth to ask, but snapped it shut. The last thing she wanted to do was say she heard a commotion when there was none. Eric would think she had a bad psychological problem. She put her hand over her mouth. Did she? “Yes, but go ahead and eat your cookie.” She jumped at the sound of more bonks. She would’ve sworn someone ran into the trashcan in her kitchen, not out back. She gazed at Eric. He munched as though nothing distracted him. She had to ask. No! Thuds pounded the floor in the kitchen. Laney was sure of it. Eric had to have heard them. She opened her mouth.

“About the painting, I believe you said one of your customers gave it to you.”

Buy it at :

AMAZON!

BARNES & NOBLE

PELICAN BOOK GROUP

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Make a Wish

If you found a magic dandelion puff capable of granting one wish, what would you ask for? I know exactly what my request would be. I would ask for a vaccine for the coronavirus. Since magic dandelion puffs don't exist, prayer is a far better use of my time. I must be patient in order to remain safe.

Still, I've been busy while we're in lockdown. I've crocheted thirty-four little preemie hats--so far. I've made face masks. I watched Michael Moore's latest movie, Planet of the Humans, which is free on YouTube and which I think everyone should watch. I listened to the podcast of Radio Influenza--which is not very cheerful, but if you think things are bad now, you should listen to it. Back in 1918 people didn't even have pain relievers.

I am writing--or rather rewriting. I cook and do laundry and occasionally clean something--which often includes vacuuming up the potato chip crumbs hubby manages to drop under the futon. (Some things take a special talent.) I pulled out the watercolors and made a painting of a very fat robin. Hubby thought I should put a worm in its mouth but I didn't. Now and then I do exercises and I usually try to walk a bit as well, but that's not as interesting as it used to be since all the parks are closed. 😟

I cannot stop worrying, but I've gotten into a routine of sorts and find I am less anxious than I was at the beginning of all this. Keeping in touch with everyone has been a huge blessing. Video chats may not be the same as physically being with loved ones, but just seeing their faces is a comfort.

How are you doing?

Pandemic Fashion

That’s me with my homemade mask. Due to the coronavirus, everyone must wear a mask in public. It may help slow the spread of the virus—not that a double thickness of cotton will protect the wearer of such a mask from getting the disease. However, the mask might protect others from those who are contagious, but have not developed symptoms as yet.

But acquiring masks during a pandemic isn’t an easy task. Just assembling the raw materials for such an endeavor isn’t easy either.

I can crochet, I can paint, and I can write. But sewing is another matter. Read about my experience at:

https://rawdatafalloutfromthecoronavirus.blogspot.com/2020/04/virus-distractions-marzec.html

Let me know what you used for a mask.

The Bubble Lady

Image by misku from Pixabay 

On Palm Sunday, since it was a beautiful day, hubby and I went to Sandy Hook. We parked in Lot A to watch the surfers. The surf was churning and the surfers had a tough time catching those huge waves. We watched for a while, worrying about the guys in the water and counting to make sure they were still there. 

There weren't many people at all on that stretch of sand. Then a woman without any shoes on her feet walked to the edge of the water and held up a bubble wand. She let the wind make bubbles—lots of bubbles. Her legs were bare and she wore a bright yellow skirt. The wind carried her bubbles over the dunes toward the bay. I wondered why she was doing that. Did she have a gallon of bubble juice she wanted to get rid of? Was she celebrating something? A divorce? Or was she simply trying to cheer herself and others and relieve their coronavirus anxiety?

I'll never know. It was chilly that day and after a while, hubby and I wanted to be warm again, so we walked back to the car. We passed a pair of lovely white sandals with iridescent straps. I figured the sandals belonged to the bubble lady.

A few days later, Sandy Hook--along with all the state and county parks in New Jersey--was closed. Maybe, when the parks open again I'll make bubbles to celebrate.