Write about Birthdays

 

No, it's not my birthday, but it is someone's birthday today. A lot of 'someones' actually. So what does writing have to do with birthdays? 

The other day, our quote was from Isabel Allende. She said, "Write what should not be forgotten." Birthdays should be commemorated in writing as well as celebrating with cake and candles, presents and good wishes. No matter how old we are, we remember birthday celebrations and school parties. Some have five stars, and a few make it to only one star for one reason or another.

Mothers and fathers remember 'birth' days. Our parents don't forget the day we were born. There are often funny stories connected or ones of fear if something was not quite right with the birth. Most birth days are happy ones. If you've never written about the day each of your children were born, do it soon. It would be a gift for your them no matter how old they are now. 

Do you have a memory of a special party your parents hosted for you in your growing up years? Write about it. How old were you? Where was it held? Who were the guests? Did you receive a special present? Does one birthday stand out among all the others? 

I can count two birthdays that were very special for me. My twelfth and sixteenth were ones I remember with great fondness. When I was about to turn twelve, the mother of another girl in my class called my mother. Carol and I had birthdays about the same time in May. Her mother suggested a birthday luncheon for the two of us at their house. We had an hour and fifteen minutes for lunch, so there was time. The mothers each made part of the lunch, and the girls in our class were all invited. But the very special part of that day was that our teacher was also invited. Mr. Biddinger was the first male teacher in our grade school, a recent WWII veteran, and adored by every person in our class. He came to our birthday luncheon party and brought a corsage made of pink carnations for each of us. I wouldn't have cared if it had been made of dandelions, for the fact that came from a teacher I loved was the best part. 

When I was a bout to turn sixteen, my mother had a baby, my third brother. She was in the hospital for over a week, which was common at the time, and I was in charge of cooking and more at home. My best friend, Kay, had asked me to come over to her house for an overnight. I told my dad I wouldn't go, would wait until another time. He insisted that I go, that he and the two brothers at home would be fine. He drove me to Kay's house on that Friday night. It turned out to be a Sweet Sixteen Surprise party for me. All my friends from school were there. I was overwhelmed and thrilled. It was the custom at that time for each girl to contribute money to purchase the birthday person a cashmere sweater. Short sleeves, jewel neck, worn with a strand of pearls--a staple in that era (50s). Two special birthdays that I have never forgotten. 

What if you never had a birthday party? That's sad, but it's also worth writing about. It's a part of your personal history. Some families go all out to celebrate birthdays, while others don't make a lot out of birthdays. 

Maybe you have planned a special birthday party for someone else. Why not write about that and add it to your Family Stories book? Perhaps you attended a specail party that is worth writing about. 

Birthday gifts can be expensive, homemade, or a small gift that cost very little. It's not the gift that is important, but the giver and the occasion. There are stories to be written about gifts received. 

Birthdays are worth writing about, from the day of your birth to the age you are now. Milestone birthdays can be memorable, too. Turning 21, or 50, or 80, or 100! 

Pondering on Books

 

Today's photo is of two things I love. Books and flowers! I post a floral photo on my Facebook page every morning. They give me a lift, and judging from the response, others feel the same way. 

My blog, however, focuses on the books rather than the flowers. I have loved books ever since my mother read to me when I was a toddler. I have a vivid memory of sitting next to her, as close as I could get, while she read me a picture book about a character named Mr. Flibbertyjibbet. I don't remember what the story was about, but I do clearly remember Mother reading and and the name of the character. One that would appeal to a small child, for sure. 

My mother took me to the public library when I was in kindergarten and had learned to write my name. To get a library card then, you had to be able to sign your name on a card the librarian produced. It must have taken a bit of time to print Nancy Julien in the space given. But, once that was done, the librarian at the desk held my hand and showed me where the books I would like were shelved. Another very clear memory. In fact, I have a personal essay about that experience, including a detailed description of the librarian, who became my friend through the years I used our local library. 

I don't think I ever thanked my mother for taking me to the library at an early age, but I certainly should have in later years. She introduced me to a life long love of books.

As I grew older, books became an essential in my life. I moved from the children's section in the library to the books for teens, now known as YA. Then, it was on to the adult section where I found untold wonders waiting for me. It was there that I found a book by Pearl S. Buck, became a devout follower, reading as many of her books as our library held. 

There has never been a time in my life when I didn't read for pleasure. Even as a working adult, then a busy mom later, I found time to read. No, I made time to read. I have often said in a blog post that writers who claim there is no time left for them to write should look at the problem in a different way. You can make time to write, just as I did with reading. Now, in my senior years with fewer must-do parts of my life, I have more time to read. 

I received that first library card when I was five, and now I'm an octogenarian, and I still use the library on a regular basis. I do occasionally read books on the Kindle, but I prefer making a visit to the library every 3-4 weeks, searching the New Book shelves, then back to the stacks where myriad books await for a reader to select them. For me, there is a feeling of comfort when I visit the library. I sorely missed it when the library was closed to the public during the worst months of the pandemic. 

The first time I ventured back for a visit, I was moved to write a poem about the experience when I returned home. 

Lost in the Land of Books

I went to the library today,

just now opened again

after this pandemic calamity.

Lights ablaze, the stacks hushed,

staff ready to help, but distanced,

sanitizer stations like sentries.

And then, I was completely lost

in the land of books, where perverts 

and pirates, heroes, and heroines

reposed on sanitized shelves.

mine for the choosing.

Imagination my companion

as I read one frontispiece

after another, slowly studied myriad

book covers to see which called to me.

Losing track of time, I pulled

book after book from 

the shelves and returned some, 

kept others to take home.

from this land of books.

I went to the library today,

the anticipation of what I’d

find there bringing warmth 

to my literary soul, 

soothing in these tough times.

I noted the librarian’s smile

in her eyes above her mask

as she checked out my books.

“Nice to see you again,” she said.

I replied, “So nice to be here.” 

                    --Nancy Julien Kopp (c)

Yes, flowers and books are two of the joys of my life. I would be totally lost without them. How about you? What are two of your greatest joys in life? 

Christmas Greetings and One More Memory

 

NOTE:  NEXT POST WILL BE TUESDAY, DECEMBER 27

This is my last post before Christmas arrives. I want to wish all who celebrate this special holiday a very Merry Christmas. 

For those who celebrate Hanukkah or Kwanza this month, my holiday greetings to you, too. 

My wish is that you will all celebrate with family and friends, whether in person or in heart. Weather problems and illnesses can cause some holiday plans to be postponed or cancelled. It is then we must use all our technology implements to stay in touch. We have so many ways of contacting those far away, much unlike in days of yore. Sometimes, there was no way to let people know you couldn't make it. And hearts were heavy as they spent Christmas alone. 

The epic storm that crawled across the USA this week has changed many plans. Some will only be delayed, but whenever you are together to celebrate is fine. It doesn't need to be on the very day. Illness doesn't step aside for holidays either. 

Wherever you are and whenever you celebrate, I hope you will tell family stories and be moved to write some of them later. Gather around your holiday tabels, laden with food, and start with "I remember..."

Today's final Christmas memory story is about the year we celbrated Christmas with family a little over two weeks after the holiday. It was the Christmas of the Big Snow!

The Christmas of the Big Snow

We finalized the 2009 Christmas plans at Thanksgiving when both our children’s families gathered around the dining room table. We would celebrate a week early in Texas with Kirk’s family, then go to Karen’s in-law’s on Christmas Day and on to her house the next day. All set to celebrate with both our children—or so we thought.

On Friday, Christmas was only four days away, and I still had some gift wrapping to do and a few things to bake. The radio and TV announcers kept repeating that we might have snow for Christmas—lots of it! But I didn’t worry about it as storms here in central Kansas so often ended up veering either north or south of us. We usually don’t put much stock in the reports until we see the first flakes of snow.

By Wednesday afternoon, the weather people repeated words like blizzard and drifting and icy roads. I looked out the window off and on but all we had was rain and foggy conditions. It looked dismal but not threatening. Still, something told me I’d better run to the grocery store and pick up some “just in case” steaks to have on hand. 

I finished wrapping the gifts for Karen’s family and one for Steve’s parents that evening. Thursday morning, I made the last batch of cookies and cinnamon rolls to take with us on Christmas Day. The family traditional rolls left a lingering spicy scent in the warm kitchen. Not a flake of snow in sight. I scoffed at the weatherman on our local radio station when he predicted a record snow. 

I work as a volunteer at our hospital gift shop on Thursday afternoons. As Ken and I ate lunch on that Christmas Eve afternoon, the first flakes drifted from the sky. I must have looked worried because Ken said, “I’ll take you to the hospital and pick you up in time to get to church by five.” 

I helped customers, most of whom were hospital employees, select last-minute gifts all that afternoon. Christmas music flowed through the shop. I kept watch out the shop’s big picture windows as the continuing snow turned the world white. The wind picked up and I saw the snow swirling as it fell, trees bowing down just like the Three Kings who visited Baby Jesus. 

People who came in from outside stamped their feet, shaking snow from their jackets. We heard things like “It’s piling up fast out there!” and “The roads are pretty slick.”  “Wind’s getting a lot worse.” The manager decided to close at 4, so I called Ken and asked him to pick me up sooner than planned. As I buttoned my coat and pulled on gloves, I told myself it was sure to stop soon. 

The moment I got outside, I had trouble staying on my feet in the whipping wind. The bitter cold seeped through my coat in only seconds. Once I got inside the car, we started creeping home on roads that were getting worse by the minute. The usually short drive seemed like an eternity.

 “Maybe we shouldn’t try to go to church,” I said.

Ken agreed, but I felt a real pang of regret. It would be the first Christmas Eve service we’d ever missed in the 45 years of our marriage. Later, we heard that nearly all the churches canceled services.

Our house felt warm and welcoming, and we were soon in our comfy chairs in the living room. The wind howled outside, as we sipped wine and nibbled on cheese and crackers while we watched the weather report. They kept repeating that word blizzard and then added record amounts of snow, then high winds to cause major drifting. Karen and Steve were already at his parents’ house, so I didn’t worry about them. They were safe and enjoying Christmas Eve with family. And Kirk and Amy were in Mississippi where there was no snow. We had heat and lights and plenty of food in the house. But I had definite misgivings about our plans for Christmas Day. The roaring wind taunted me like a playground bully.

We’ve been married long enough that Ken answered my question before I even got the words out. “The roads will be cleared by late tomorrow morning when we leave.” And I believed him! But it snowed all night and was still snowing and blowing Christmas morning. The gifts were ready, the food I was taking waited in the fridge and pantry.

We opened the gifts we had for each other, then ate a hot breakfast with some of the cinnamon rolls as a Christmas treat. And still the snow came. Ken tried to clear the driveway, but it was slow going with the drifts along one side. 

Reports on radio and TV warned people to stay off the highways as they were snow-packed and icy and would remain so all day. We looked at each other and made a silent decision to stay home. Finally, Ken said, “You’d better call Karen and tell her.” 

We had the ‘just in case’ steaks for dinner and a choice of many kinds of Christmas cookies for dessert. The phone rang off and on all day, and we made some calls to family in other states, but the day seemed to creep by. We knew we weren’t the only ones whose plans had changed. We had power, unlike some, so I tried to be grateful, but I kept thinking about our grandchildren. 

We were disappointed but not devastated. Once the roads were cleared and traffic could move safely, we’d make the trip to Karen’s house on the 26th and have Christmas. Her small children wouldn’t mind repeating the gift opening one more day. But the roads weren’t much better the next day and reports of accidents and drifting along the interstate made us use more caution than usual. Those 120 miles could turn into an all-day, very tense drive. We stayed home.

Karen and Steve had to go back to work on Monday, and on Wednesday, Ken fell and ended up in the hospital with a mild concussion, so we had a further delay. Would we ever have Christmas with this part of our family? 

On the ninth of January, we packed the car with the unopened gifts and the food taken from the freezer. We made our way to Kansas City on clear, dry roads. The big snow was a memory, the disappointing Christmas Day pushed aside. It didn’t matter what day we celebrated with our children and grandchildren, whether early or late, it was Christmas in our hearts and we relished being together. That holiday, however, will always be “the Christmas of the big snow.” 

(c)

New Movie Adaptation of An Old Story

 

This morning's Kansas City Star newspaper had a review of a new movie coming to theaters tomorrow. It's titled "Sprited" and tells the story of Scrooge in the old, beloved tale " A Christmas Carol." written by Charles Dickens in 1843. There have been other adaptations of this beloved tale, but this one is as up to date as you can get. The Scrooge character is now named Clint Briggs, and he is a modern day media consultant and avid Twitter user. The transformation does not happen overnight as Dickens portrayed but over a full year. The movie is a musical, and the review says it is filled with irreverent humor. Sounds like a very different version of the original. This, of course, is not the first time the story of Scrooge and the ghosts of past, present, and future has been retold. 

I am one who does not like retold or new adaptations of already beloved, popular books, whether in story form or a movie. The message about morality in "A Christmas Carol" is important and as needed today as it was in the 1800s. As I read the reveiw this morning, I wondered what Mr. Dickens would think of this latest version of his story. Would he applaud it or mutter and grumble? We'll never know, of course. 

"Spirited" is not the first movie based on a popular story or book of long ago. Two days ago, I was driving somewhere and heard on the radio about the wonderful stage show, then movie, called "Showboat." The book, by Edna Ferber, came out in 1926, and one year later Flo Ziedfield, turned the story into a stage play musical that became immensely popular, which then spinned off into the movie version. The music for the play was written by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein and also used in the movie. With the short time between book and play, Ziegfield must have purchased the rights from the author. 

There have been many other book to stage play to movie versions of other novels. Some stay quite true to the original while others take great liberties, as it seems has been done with "Spirited." That does not appeal to me, but it may to many others who will flock to the theaters to watch the film. 

I prefer adaptations of the novel to stay true to the story. Please don't change the ending. Apparently, the ending in "Spirited" is quite dramatically changed. How, they don't say. Have to pay the price of the ticket to find out. 

What is your feeling? Do you like modern versions of an old, beloved story? Or do you prefer to keep the original as is when a movie is made or a play written? Part of me thinks that these 'adapters' should try to write something new instead of borrowing from a master writer. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. 

Book Review: The Garden of Evening Mists

 

Today, I have a book review for you written by Kate Reynolds, author of Ernestine, a fine historical fiction novel. The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng sounds like a great read. Let's see what Ms Reynolds has to say about the book

The Garden of Evening Mists, by Tan Twan Eng, is one of those books that likely will haunt a reader in the wee, small hours of the morning. For one thing, it’s beautifully written, featuring clear-eyed, understated prose and an engrossing story that casts light on a time and place few westerners really know. (Well, this westerner didn’t know much about either the time or the place.) For another, the theme – memory – with all its wistful sweetness and thorns, reminds us that time flees too quickly for all of us. This is a story of looking back, of understanding and coming to terms with the past.

The place is Malaya in 1951. Yun Ling Teoh is a judge retiring from her years on the bench in Kuala Lumpur. She has served on the War Crimes Tribunal, exacting justice for atrocities committed in the years when the Japanese occupied Malaya. But the judge is hardly a disinterested party. She, along with her beloved sister, had been prisoners in one of those same cruel Japanese prison camps. Judge Teoh is deeply scarred, physically and emotionally. She survived the camps. Her sister did not.

The reader learns that Judge Teoh has been diagnosed with aphasia, which will soon bring about a loss of ability to express herself or understand words. She will lose her memories as well. 

The judge decides to compose her memoirs in her former home in the Cameron Highlands near the Majuba Tea Estate. It is in this account of Judge Teo’s life that a reader is introduced to her former mentor, Aritomo, a Japanese master gardener and artist. Some years back, Judge Teoh had asked this man to create a garden in honor of her dead sister, despite memories of the cruelty she suffered in prison. The judge writes of how she had to swallow her hatred of the Japanese to ask her former enemy for help. But Aritomo is, after all, an accomplished gardener, and what better way to remember Judge Teoh’s sister than to create a lovely garden that will live forever? After all, “Gardens were created to approximate the idea of a paradise in the afterlife.”

In creating a Japanese garden, Judge Teoh must face her hatred of all things Japanese and her own dark memories. Her relationship with Aritomo, the master gardener, takes unexpected turns throughout the novel.

The story weaves back and forth in time between the years she spent with Aritomo in his garden and the present when she knows her own life is ending. In unlocking the past, Judge Teoh faces her own frailties and the terrible failures in her past. 

I found the time switches confusing at times, and my own unfamiliarity with Malaya made it hard to connect with the geography. But when The Garden of Evening Mists wanders back and forth in time, slowing peeling back the layers to Judge Teoh’s life and secrets, I am spellbound. Read it for the elegant language or read it for the history or read it for insight into Eastern culture. But do read it.

Book Review: Down Riverton Road

 

Down Riverton Road is Betty J. Crow's second novel. I would list it under women's fiction. You'll find romance, mystery, and the supernatural in this story of Olivia Rustin, a divorced artist from St. Louis who seeks a new start. She moves to a small town outside of Austin, Texas in the scenic Hill Country.

A realtor guides her to a cottage to rent on the outskirts of a ranch. A perfect spot for Olivia to pursue her dream of selling her paintings. She meets Alex Carleton, who owns the ranch and her cottage. They have a strong attraction but Livvy doesn't want a relationship after her first bad marriage. Her home is broken into, and she is visited by a supernatural spirit. She learns that there is a mystery in this small community of Cypress, Texas. Alec's brother, Wade, and Ashlegih, a woman who was their friend have both disappeared. Wade's fiance, Blair, is left wondering and fearing what has happened.

The ghost leads Livvy to a journal that gives clues to the mystery. She is determined to solve it even though someone is watching and stalking her. Her attraction to Alec grows stronger as she settles in to life in her new home, paints, and meets others. 

Livvy's journey to find out what happened to Wade and Ashliegh takes many twists and turns, as does her romance with Alec. I don't want to give more of the plot for fear of telling too much, but I can tell you that Down Riverton Road will keep you interested.

I would give this novel five stars. It is well written and held my interest from start to finish. In fact, I found myself wanting to get back to the book soon after I had read one section, eager to start reading again. Definitely a sign of a good book. 

There is a fine sense of place, good descriptions, and realistic dialogue throughout. Some books drag a bit in spots. Down Riverton Road does not. It keeps a good pace from start to finish. The story is about love, family, and friends. 

You can find it at Amazon in Kindle and paperback form for $4.99 and $10.99. 

Betty J. Crow has published two novels and three books of short stories. She lives and writes in Oklahoma.

Book Review: A Little Scandal in St. Andrews

 

I've been away this week enjoying a lovely vacation in Scotland. Not there in person but through Christina Hamlett's newest book titled A Little Scandal in St. Andrews. You may remember a book review here on Book 1 of this  cozy mystery series about an amateur sleuth in the UK. 

In Book 1, A Little Larceny in Lynmouth, we met Rochelle Reid, known to friends as Rocky. She lands in the small seaside village of Lynmouth after losing her job in London. The old house turned into flats that she moves into turns out to be the scene of a murder. In this first book, Rocky solves the case and finds a boyfriend at the same time. 

In her newest book, author, Christina Hamlett (also a many times guest blogger here) takes us on a delightful romp during a championship golf tournament at St. Andrews in Scotland. Rocky and her boyfriend, Jon Tapping, stay in Rusacks Hotel, historied and famed. 

Rocky has her old job back and a flat in London and Jon in her life. All is well. Then, she is asked by company execs, including Clive, a friend from Lynmouth who is with M15, to go to St. Andrews and keep an eye on a list of people they give her. Besides being what she considers a paid vacation, they enlist Jon to go along and arrange for him to be a caddy to Kevin Chan, one of the tournament golfers. What could possibly go wrong? Plenty!

Rocky is to reperesent her company, which is a sponsor of the tournament. She has her list of people to engage and watch. A Saudi prince and his wife, six golfers from various countries, one of them an Italian playboy, an American woman who heads a pharmaceutical company, and a wealthy American couple who look more like an elderly man and his granddaughter. 

The hotel's Assistant Manager for Guest Relations easily becomes a confidant and keeps Rocky informed of many happenings within the hotel guests. She also meets a sleazy appearing photographer who is there to capture the elite clientele on film. 

Before long, there is a murder and priceless jewels that disappear. True to her nature, Rocky starts investigating with Jon's help. Jon, whom she thought was a fishmonger when she met him in Lynmouth, but actually the son of a titled couple, is a willing accomplice. He checks things from his position as caddy, and Rocky concentrates on the hotel guests.

There are twists and turns, a bit of romance, and the murder and theft finally solved. I must admit that I had not figured out who had committed murder, and I had only a mild suspicion regarding the jewel theft. Thus, I kept turning pages to find out who and what and how. 

Besides the delightful story, I felt as if I had stayed at the famous Rusacks Hotel myself. The descriptions were vivid but not overdone. Cozy mysteries bring us a tale without horror, violence, and avid sexual scenes. Instead, A Little Scandal in St. Andrews offers a dual mystery, some humor, and a little romance. As an added treat, the first pages of Book 3, A Little Drama in Dunster is included at the end of Book 2. Rocky's fans will want to read about her next adventure.

You can purchase the book at Amazon in Kindle and paperback forms. $3.99 for the Kindle version and $16.90 for the paperback.