tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20767725169942968462024-03-05T06:04:58.456-05:00The Family Treethyme"People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle." - THICH NHAT HANHBecke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-52464003782682206162022-05-13T20:41:00.002-04:002022-05-13T20:41:51.556-04:00TURNING POINTS ARE MORE FUN IN FICTION<p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><i>This is reprinted from the Romance University blog, where it was published on April 19, 2011</i></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><i>The RU blog is on a permanent hiatus.</i></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></em></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Ashton Winchell’s left leg, which was currently wrapped around her husband’s neck, was getting a cramp.</em></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">With those words, written on December 11, 2007, I took my first baby steps into the world of romance writing. I considered myself a professional writer—after all, I’d written six non-fiction books, including two book club selections, and well over 1,000 articles. I figured I knew a thing or two about putting words on paper.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Right.</em></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">It’s okay—go ahead and laugh at my naiveté. If I’d known then what I know now, I might have shut down the computer and gone back to reading romances instead of trying to write them. My blind ignorance served me well, since I didn’t realize how clueless I was. It’s like the old Garth Brooks’ song—I could have missed the pain, but then I would have missed the dance.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">I didn’t start my fiction writing career until I was well into <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">*cough* </em>middle age. (Assuming I live to be 100…) I made up for my late start by writing fast. I completed my first novel on January 6, 2008—the first in a long series of my own, personal NaNoWriMos. As soon as I finished the first draft, I joined RWA National and the Ohio Valley chapter of RWA—the best decision I ever made—and that’s when the roller coaster ride really began.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">I called my contemporary romance OVER EASY. I didn’t have any critique partners, so I entered OVER EASY in three contests, figuring it was well worth the cost to get impartial feedback. No one was more shocked than I was when it finaled in all three contests. My second story didn’t do so well—in fact, it came in dead last in the only contest I entered it in. It was the first of many reality checks.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Three years and five months on, I’m still not published—thank God! I look back on my old stories and break out into a cold sweat when I realize I submitted those to agents and editors. Back then, I thought those manuscripts were pretty darn good. I thought they were finished, polished, ready to hit the publishing world by storm. Oh yeah—kill me now.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Those rejections, the same ones that left me with a sick feeling when I opened the emails, were actually a gift. Because of those rejections, I was forced to go back and figure out what I was doing wrong. As I pored over books on writing craft and took workshop after workshop, I began to wonder if I was doing anything <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">right</em>.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">The dreaded Imposter Syndrome set in. Who did I think I was, someone without so much as an English degree trying to write books? Did I honestly think anyone would shell out hard cash to read this drivel? Then I’d read books by my favorite authors—Jennifer Crusie, Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Suzanne Brockmann, for example—to see how the masters did it. It was enough to drive me to drink.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Then I had a light bulb moment: this was goal, motivation and conflict in spades. I wasn’t losing my mind, I’d just hit a turning point. I’d accepted the freaking call, and there was no turning back. That’s when I knew I was in this for the long haul. I might be writing dreck, but dreck can be revised.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">I’ve learned so much it kind of scares me, because there’s so much more I’m struggling to master. I think my writing skills have improved a lot, but Imposter Syndrome is always hovering in the background, waiting to smack me upside the head.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Can I trust my judgment? It’s hard not to second-guess myself. Not so long ago I thought my early stories were good. At least now I have the benefit of some excellent critique partners. A lot of critique partners, in fact—so many that if I ever do sell, I’ll need a whole separate book to thank them all.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">If I had Dorothy Parker’s way with words, I’d leave you with a few sparkling words of wisdom, but if I had her way with words I’d be published by now. Instead, I’ll share a few things I’ve learned:</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*Good critique partners are worth their weight in chocolate</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*You can always revise, but you have to write it first</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*Every writer has days when they think they can’t write. Every one of us.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*Time spent in Google searches is directly proportionate to the amount of free time you have (I can spend an entire afternoon trying to find the perfect name for a character.)</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*The times it’s hardest to persevere are the times you need perseverance most</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*An over-abundance of dialogue tags can put the brakes on a scene</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*Keep an eye out for overused words: like, but, was, had, just</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*After a certain point, taking workshops becomes avoidance. Trust yourself and write.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">*Write. And write. And write. Because writing isn’t just what we do—it’s who we are.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Above my computer is a plaque my friend Keri gave me. It says, “I’d give up chocolate, but I’m no quitter.” Let’s face it—if writing were chocolate, none of us would quit.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 15px;">Writing is <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">not </em>easy. Next to giving birth, it’s the hardest thing I’ve done. It doesn’t get easier, but aren’t all good books full of conflict? My current WIP is a wolfish paranormal romance called THE GODDESS OF MICHIGAN AVENUE. It’s not quite there yet, but I’m getting closer to achieving my goal. This time, I want to get it right, whatever it takes. Bring on that next turning point, baby—a little conflict will make the happy ending even sweeter.</p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">***</span> </p>Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-51595744932187634262022-03-14T05:19:00.000-04:002022-03-14T05:19:36.768-04:00My Nutty FamilyThese pictures were taken at my niece's wedding reception. So much fun!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPR8hv0z98bz9Tz8Qs4hDJbv17UppeMjO36KFhIgm8ydPFuyyI7BQACir3_ZCPm16ZB9hy1Uq0XLWriPnax5p7upk2PoSkLpxhC3tjot_igGe92MISBrtZGjdYQrUGLOo6G-3utxGF5Vc/s1600/Jess+and+Jon+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPR8hv0z98bz9Tz8Qs4hDJbv17UppeMjO36KFhIgm8ydPFuyyI7BQACir3_ZCPm16ZB9hy1Uq0XLWriPnax5p7upk2PoSkLpxhC3tjot_igGe92MISBrtZGjdYQrUGLOo6G-3utxGF5Vc/s320/Jess+and+Jon+2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-55204663235566098412021-12-31T22:18:00.013-05:002022-03-11T18:22:00.019-05:00Who Reads Romance, Anyway<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC3RSqmK9GUd58p83m8vKHP-4SEo8ooYICHh-LGi-EzlAyKmIPN80lEXQ7sc7WKC1p59HZwY0bteLKfAiGt5KHnBHtAMqT8xOAPxRBmdiD9uPxpuYoAFx5eaEc5SLAyGsmfPU6hUZAQ_RnTYDFGSFmjCHfOKjt7j6ZWFVKne4qIkwDVJW3zmq8gOU1=s960" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC3RSqmK9GUd58p83m8vKHP-4SEo8ooYICHh-LGi-EzlAyKmIPN80lEXQ7sc7WKC1p59HZwY0bteLKfAiGt5KHnBHtAMqT8xOAPxRBmdiD9uPxpuYoAFx5eaEc5SLAyGsmfPU6hUZAQ_RnTYDFGSFmjCHfOKjt7j6ZWFVKne4qIkwDVJW3zmq8gOU1=w640-h566" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">Now isn't this the perfect picture to illustrate an article about romance? She was the ring-bearer.</h4><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">By
Becke Martin Davis<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Who
reads romance? Hmmm, judging by that show of hands, it looks like most of you
do. But a fair number of romance readers are still in the closet, based on my personal,
totally unscientific online research. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Reading
romance is sort of a guilty secret – millions of women and a growing number of
men read (and write) romance, but some are awfully shy about it. Non-romance
readers might be surprised to learn that Romance/Erotica was ranked the top
selling book genre in 2014, bringing in $1.44 billion.</span><sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> 1</span></sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">That said, a
report from Publishers Weekly noted that sales in all genres except Graphic
Novels and Westerns fell in 2014. <sup>2</sup> The pandemic has probably
brought book sales back up again, but I haven’t done the research on 2020
sales.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I’m
an obsessive reader, but as a grandma, I’m not in publishers’ preferred
demographic for readers. That’s okay – the more people who read romance, the
more of my favorite authors will be able to shed their day jobs and write. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">“According
to Nielsen’s Romance Book Buyer Report, romance book buyers are getting
younger—with an average age of 42, down from 44 in 2013. This makes the genre’s
average age similar to the age for fiction overall. In addition, 44% of these
readers are aged 18-44. . . These core romance fans are avid readers who stay
very loyal to the genre. Some 6% of buyers purchase romance books more than
once a week, and 15% do so at least once a week. Moreover, 25% of buyers read
romance more than once a week, and nearly half do so at least once a week; only
20% read romance less than once a month. Younger buyers (those under 30) are
not quite as devoted, reading and purchasing less often. They also have
different tastes; while romantic suspense is the most popular subgenre overall,
these younger readers trend more toward erotic stories.” <sup>3</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent.fhio2-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/425906_4106074127078_698329607_n.jpg?_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=KBLXYUaD3xYAX8LzIPS&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-2.fna&oh=00_AT8y_fTlLegGtCnatY79mRC0pfQGVSgWOxs4GDZI2Cb4Og&oe=61F6C9CF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="600" src="https://scontent.fhio2-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/425906_4106074127078_698329607_n.jpg?_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=KBLXYUaD3xYAX8LzIPS&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-2.fna&oh=00_AT8y_fTlLegGtCnatY79mRC0pfQGVSgWOxs4GDZI2Cb4Og&oe=61F6C9CF" width="800" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Whenever
possible, I try to read a book a day. Over the years, I’ve done my bit to keep
several bookstores in business, and I’m happy to put money into the pockets of
hardworking authors. Nowadays, I read all kinds of genres and sub-genres, but
it wasn’t always that way. For many years, mysteries were my number one choice
of reading material. When I was in my twenties, I realized a lot of my favorite
authors – Mary Stewart, for instance – incorporated a romantic subplot into
their stories. That led me to take my first baby steps into the world of
romance novels. Janet Dailey’s books were everywhere back then and, much to my
surprise, I liked them. Kathleen Woodiwiss’ books also landed on my keeper
shelves. When I took the brave step of suggesting that my mom might like to try
a romance, my mystery-reading mother nearly laughed me out of the house. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">If
my mom reacted that way, I dreaded to think what my friends might say if they
caught me with a Harlequin or Mills & Boon paperback in my purse. I was
hooked, but it remained a secret passion. Rather than risk the raised eyebrows
of a judgmental bookstore clerk (one elderly bookstore cashier said, “You don’t
want to read that, honey, it’s full of bad language and filth!”). I bought the
book anyway, but it taught me a lesson. If I read romance, I would be judged. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">“Romance
novels feature archetypal characters, occasionally contrived plots, and
predictable endings. But, wait…bookstores are full of sci-fi novels, fantasy
novels, and mystery novels that check each one of these boxes. Yet other genre
fiction readers, instead of being characterized as simpleminded or unwilling to
challenge themselves, are often stereotyped as smart. So what gives? Oh yeah!
It’s the sex. A talk radio show host essentially called women who use birth
control “sluts.” State Legislatures suspended people for saying “vagina” on the
floor. Current legislation proposes to deny expectant mothers access to testing
that would help ensure their health and the health of their fetuses. Our
society feels threatened by women having sex.” <sup>4</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent.fhio2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/247627_4106073527063_1139491541_n.jpg?_nc_cat=102&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=w4XQ-dpVTDYAX_MDnJ-&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-1.fna&oh=00_AT-ahixBGdfNi_NQaVlfHjjJ7D4ldqO4PQd3uhFUbPJBpg&oe=61F3696D" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="600" src="https://scontent.fhio2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/247627_4106073527063_1139491541_n.jpg?_nc_cat=102&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=w4XQ-dpVTDYAX_MDnJ-&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-1.fna&oh=00_AT-ahixBGdfNi_NQaVlfHjjJ7D4ldqO4PQd3uhFUbPJBpg&oe=61F3696D" width="800" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Before
the days of e-commerce there were ways to get books by mail, in anonymous brown
cardboard boxes: I subscribed. I subscribed to them all – Harlequin and
Silhouette in every line I could find, Candlelight Ecstasy Romance. Others
whose names I’ve forgotten. I had book boxes coming every week, and I gobbled
them up like chocolate. I commuted to work by train, and could read one book
there and another on the way back. I made a note of my favorite authors and was
excited when one of them, Nora Roberts, soon had thrillers on the best seller
racks. My daughter bought me a compendium listing all of Nora’s books and I
read all 200+ of them. When I finished the last one (thankfully, she’s written
a lot more since then), I panicked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Agatha
Christie was dead, Mary Stewart hadn’t had a new book in years – if I didn’t
have Nora Roberts, what was I going to read? A month or so later, my husband had
to go to Las Vegas on a business trip, and brought me with him. I had all kinds
of free time during the day. It’s a fun town, but I’m not a gambler. I found a
small bookstore and desperately looked for something to read. I picked up a
book called TELL ME LIES by Jennifer Crusie. An hour later I was in my hotel
room, laughing out loud as I tore through the book. As soon as I finished it, I
ran out and bought every Jennifer Crusie book in the store. The next day, I sat
by the pool with another Crusie book, totally caught up in the story. I was
almost finished when I realized I was the only person at the pool – in fact,
the gates were locked and I had to flag down a maintenance man to let me out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Discovering
Jenny Crusie’s books was a life-changing experience. A few months later I found
out she was holding a fan conference called Cherry Con just a few miles from my
home. I managed to get the last available registration slot. Mid-conference, I
ran out to a nearby bookstore and bought everything I could find by Lani Diane
Rich and Anne Stuart, who were also at Cherry Con. And as soon it was
available, I ordered a historical romance by a new author Christine Merrill. When
Christine read an excerpt from her back, I was surprised at the snappy dialogue
and humor. Up until then, I had avoided historical romance. In my head, those
books were torrid costume-dramas with nothing to hold my interest. She and Anna
Campbell, who gave me a “must read” list, have a lot to answer for! Michelle Buonfiglio, who hosted a popular book review blog, and Melanie Murray Downing, who moderated a romance forum at BN.com, each gave me
lists of historicals I absolutely had to read. My keeper “shelf” now includes
two whole bookcases of historical romances. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent.fhio2-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/1931291_1018615062531_9885_n.jpg?_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=ROYedEgiTWQAX-82LLk&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-2.fna&oh=00_AT9mQkSjIQsbedmY1AjTYU92IUc4wEUmC_aCIBhaKRU0Pg&oe=61F4303B" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="453" src="https://scontent.fhio2-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/1931291_1018615062531_9885_n.jpg?_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=ROYedEgiTWQAX-82LLk&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-2.fna&oh=00_AT9mQkSjIQsbedmY1AjTYU92IUc4wEUmC_aCIBhaKRU0Pg&oe=61F4303B" width="604" /></a></div><h4 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #f0f2f5; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">Christine Merrill, Jennifer Crusie, Barb (Caridad) Ferrer, Alyssa Day (background), </span>Anne Stuart, Lani Diane Rich. In tiara, the wonderful Jill Purinton at Cherry Con, 2007.</h4><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">When
Bridgerton aired on TV, my daughter-in-law (a high school assistant principal
and mother of two) was intrigued. I gave her all my Julia Quinn books to read
and any I missed, she bought for herself. Since then she has discovered Eloisa
James and Lisa Keypas. I've given her books by Joanna Bourne, Lorraine Chase and Julie Ann Long to keep her going. Hooked!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I had been a fan of romantic suspense since I discovered Suzanne Brockmann's books when she first started writing about the Troubleshooters. My
daughter introduced me to young adult books, a writer friend introduced me to
erotic romance, and yet another friend led me paranormal romance. I was
predisposed to like paranormals, since I had enjoyed the sci-fi books I sampled
back in high school. (Reviewer Paul Goat Allen is an excellent source of new sci-fi and paranormals.) </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And so it goes…and so my keeper shelf grows. I’m a proud,
addicted reader of romance in all forms but, although I hate to admit it, I’m a
poor suffragette for the romance movement. I’m happy to talk books with anyone,
and if I could find a “romance reader” tiara, I’d wear it with pride. (A good
friend, who writes mystery and romance, gave me a carved sign that spells out “Romance.”
Another writer friend gave me a “Happily Ever After” plaque.) <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent.fhio2-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/545552_4106048086427_1731192742_n.jpg?_nc_cat=101&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=9_4GlzUDTMMAX-c1zra&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-2.fna&oh=00_AT9jr11-Y0ONRVhWtbRUCf2N2pWrGodg2YcoVuQDNceF2A&oe=61F59158" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="800" src="https://scontent.fhio2-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.18169-9/545552_4106048086427_1731192742_n.jpg?_nc_cat=101&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=cdbe9c&_nc_ohc=9_4GlzUDTMMAX-c1zra&_nc_ht=scontent.fhio2-2.fna&oh=00_AT9jr11-Y0ONRVhWtbRUCf2N2pWrGodg2YcoVuQDNceF2A&oe=61F59158" width="600" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And
yet, I have a really cute Vera Bradley quilted paperback book cover that I
bring with me to cover those bare, tattooed male chests when I read in public
places. Am I ashamed of my reading choices? Not on your nelly. But I choose my
battles, and I don’t want to get into a shouting match with readers who are
clueless about the romance genre. They don’t know what they’re missing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 6;"> </span>END<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">To
see more statistics about romance readers and the romance genre, check out the
website of the Romance Writers of America®. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Sources:
1 “What 5 Book Genres Make the Most Money?” by Thomas Stewart, 1/31/2014, The
Richest <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">2
“The Hottest (and Coldest) Book Categories of 2014,” by Jim Millott, 1/23/2015,
Publishers Weekly <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">3
“Literary Liaisons: Who’s Reading Romance Books?” 8/10/2015, Nielsen <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">4
“Why Smart Women Read Romance Novels” by Anne Browning Walker, 7/12/2012,
Huffington Post Books<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">This
article was first published at Romance University, a site that is no longer
active. I am now retired and, sadly, can’t support my author friends as much as
I used to. Sometimes I have to get used books, and I order books from the
library, too.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-36758972637538549552016-07-27T14:16:00.002-04:002016-07-27T14:16:23.618-04:00Conversations with AdalineAdaline, the elder of my two granddaughters, turns four next week. One of my favorite things about spending time with her is listening to her and getting to see the world from her perspective.<br />
<br />
Adaline has a surprising vocabulary - people who meet her are frequently surprised to learn she's only three - in part because she wants to know the meaning of every new word she hears. On the bus yesterday, she said, "Grandma, do you know what a stampede is?" I said that I did. She nodded and went on to explain it to me. "It's when a lot of animals all start to run togather."<br />
<br />
"Yes," I agreed. "Like cows and horses." She nodded vigorously. "And unicorns."<br />
<br />
That thought silenced us, as we both smiled, picturing a unicorn stampede.<br />
<br />
There was a birthday party for Adaline at pre-school the other day. Her dad and I attended, and we stopped at a playground on our way home. Adaline was busy playing on a new glider swing, when I noticed her watching a girl of about ten playing nearby.<br />
<br />
"Grandma," Adaline said. "Did you know my friend Maya is a bigger girl now?" I assumed she meant Maya, like some of her other friends, had moved up to the kindergarten class at school.<br />
<br />
I was mistaken.<br />
<br />
The girl who had been playing nearby came over to us. "I'm Maya's big sister," she said. She stayed and chatted with us for a few minutes before going back to play by herself. "My name is Ava," she called back to us.<br />
<br />
Adaline looked thoughtful. "She's Maya's big sister."<br />
<br />
"She does look a little like Maya," I said.<br />
<br />
"But she's a bigger girl."<br />
<br />
I love that in her world, seeing an older girl that looks like her friend doesn't necessarily mean that this person is a relative. She didn't see any problem with the idea that Maya just suddenly turned into an eight or ten year old, instead of a three year old. I guess everything is magical at that age.<br />
<br />
Adaline and I had a special lunch at the American Girl (Doll) Cafe in Chicago to celebrate her birthday. There was a bowl on the table filled with question cards, in case we needed help keeping a conversation going. One question was, "Would you rather be able to fly or to be invisible?" Adaline didn't hesitate - she wanted to be able to be invisible. "What's your biggest dream?" She did think about this for a minute - I'm not sure she understood the question. Then she smiled. "A horse! Or a unicorn."<br />
<br />
I'm kicking myself for not writing down all of her responses. Next time we go there - maybe for her birthday next year? - I'll bring a notepad and pen.<br />
<br />
Adaline says something memorable at least once a day, and I try my best to remember her comments. At her school birthday party she explained that it wasn't actually her birthday that day, but she was going to Portland to see her other Grandma on her real birthday. That got all the kids talking about their multiple grandparents. Suddenly Adaline said, "My Grandma Patti isn't feeling very well." She frowned. "And she isn't ever going to get better." Grandma Patti - her great-grandmother, my mom - died on April 9. When some of the kids started asking why she wasn't going to get better, I was curious how she would answer. But another little boy at the table said, "My grandma died, too."<br />
<br />
Adaline first heard the word "died" in reference to her family dog, who died last summer after a severe illness. Every once in awhile she'll say, "Winston was my dog, but he died and he isn't ever going to come home again." She says it seriously, but also matter-of-factly. And recently she's begun to add, "And one day we're going to get another dog!"<br />
<br />
I have another granddaughter, Diana, who is 15 months old. Her vocabulary is growing - she can now say "bubbles," "cup," "ball" and "thank you" as well as Mama, Daddy, bye-bye, hello, more, no-no-no, kitty and doggie. She's trying to say her big sister's name, too, sometimes calling her "Ada" and sometimes "Ine". It's sad in a way but also exciting to watch these little girls grow up. I'm glad that in another year or two I'll be having interesting conversations with Diana, too.Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-67623798586291522512016-04-18T14:39:00.001-04:002016-04-20T00:19:34.621-04:00A Blast from the Past<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I haven't posted in quite awhile. One reason is that my darling granddaughter, Diana Audrey, started walking at 9 months. I am significantly older than that and while I love her to the moon and back, after a day of trying to get to the bathroom before she is able to drop any toys into the toilet, I'm ready to crash. Adaline, on the other hand, is nearly four and the older she gets, the less work she is. Her favorite thing is to hide under the quilt on our bed while Marty and I (and occasionally Diana) pretend to be dragons, badgers, owls or foxes and pounce on her. :-)<br />
<br />
Anyway, April has always been my favorite month. Spring is in the air, flowers are starting to bloom - what's not to like? Well, this year it has taken on new meaning. It's now the month my mother died. My mom had been fading for the past few months, but the end came faster than any of us had anticipated. We're all still trying to take it in. My sisters and I all made posterboards to bring to the funeral, made up of a gazillion pictures of our mom taken over the years. We also brought framed pictures of Mom, plus any memorabilia we could find. I brought Mom's high school yearbook and a photo album she put together when I was born. My sisters brought family-related papers for us all to browse through, including a memory book we put together for Mom and Dad's 50th anniversary. (They would have celebrated their 65th anniversary in June.)<br />
<br />
One of the papers my sisters brought was something I'd written years ago and had totally forgotten. I wrote it after reading an essay called <a href="http://content.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,986328,00.html">"Studying Students"</a> by Roger Rosenblatt in the May 12, 1997 issue of TIME magazine.<br />
<br />
I titled my piece, "On Reading, Writing and Remembering." Here it is:<br />
<br />
Three events in my life converged this week, overlapping and eclipsing each other until they briefly became one. The first was a physical event - my first book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Small-Gardens-Inspired-Plantings-Diminutive/dp/1567994296">SMALL GARDENS</a>, was published. The second was a week-long "happening" at the elementary school my son attends where, as P.T.O. president, I helped organize daily events to help celebrate Right to Read Week. The third hardly seems to classify as an event at all: after spending the day telling five classes of fourth-graders what it's like to be a freelance garden writer, I collapsed into my favorite comfy chair to read the issue of TIME magazine that came in the mail today. On the very last page, an essay caught my eye. Written by Roger Rosenblatt, a teacher - a professor, to be precise - the essay zoomed in on a moment when his students had each been given a flower with instructions to describe its scent and to follow their noses into the past. The students were lost in thought, in the stillness before the pen hits the paper.<br />
<br />
Rosenblatt's essay crystallized the moment so clearly that his students, with pens poised and childhood memories of rose bouquets and lilac-bowered rectories flashing across their intent faces, were as vivid to me as if he had encased their images in a paperweight. Stumbling across a well-written essay is a secret delight, like a sudden whiff of honeysuckle on a sultry summer day. I imagine teachers feel this way when, amid the daily repetition of earnestly pencilled, ragged lines, a spark ignites. A turn of phrase, a carefully chosen word, a picture neatly painted without a brush. The moment when a child with a pencil in his hand discovers he has the power to create something where nothing was before.<br />
<br />
To anyone who has the urge to write, I would first tell them to read. In my family reading is an obsession. My husband, daughter and I read everything we can get out hands on. My son was slower to discover the joys of reading - when I found books wedged between the slats of his bunk bed, where he could pull them out at night, it was a cause for celebration.<br />
<br />
I read whatever I can, whenever and wherever I can. Before I had my own books, I read the backs of cereal boxes and random books I pulled off grown-up bookshelves, which is how I came to read A Berlin Diary at age eleven, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn at twelve. My joy at discovering an author whose words can transport me to magical places is hard to describe. I'm a book lover, not a book collector. If there are gilt-edged, leather-bound books on my shelves it's purely by accident. My most treasured books are worn and dog-eared from being read over and over again.<br />
<br />
I find it hard to narrow my favorites down to a Top Ten or even a Top Hundred. Thinking of favorites takes me back the same way Rosenblatt's students were transported by memories of flower scents. I was home with the Asian flu at age nine, feeling sorry for myself as I struggled to keep down a cup of cream of tomato soup, when I burrowed under the covers and read - in one sitting - Scott O'Dell's ISLAND OF THE BLUE DOLPHINS. I remember how my throat thickened with tears, the first time a book made me cry. Reading the same book aloud to my son years later, we both got so choked up at the same part that we had to take a break and finish reading it later.<br />
<br />
Before I could read, my parents and grandparents read to me. I still love THE TALL BOOK OF MAKE BELIEVE. If it was still in print, I'd buy copies for every child I know. My grandfather always read to me from his copy of "THE TALES OF BRE'R RABBIT." I knew how to find it - it was in the bookcase to the right of the fireplace, a red cloth-covered book with a black crescent on the binding. In the same way, my granddaughters - ages one and almost four - know just where to find their favorite books. It's important to know where the good books are.<br />
<br />
I remember the excitement of exploring shelves of books in the Elk Grove Village library, when it was housed in a ranch house behind the IGA back when we'd watch the planes take off over the cornfields near O'Hare. It was such a thrill to come across a Nancy Drew book I hadn't already read. Those silhouettes inside the covers assured me of high adventure within.<br />
<br />
In middle school, I discovered poetry, from Edna St. Vincent Millay's "Blue Flag in the Bog" to e.e. cummings to Ferlinghetti to Amy Lowell and back. Around that time, I ventured outside the world of mystery, into other genres. The first time my husband and I read Charles Morgan's SPARKENBROKE, we started a decades-long cycle of casting and re-casting it for film. No one seemed to read it anymore, so we debated whether to send our cherished first edition to Sundance Films. (We kept it.)<br />
<br />
Books like Sylvia Plath's THE BELL JAR and Amy Tan's JOY LUCK CLUB sucked me in to the point that reality didn't seem quite real, while James Thurber's MY LIFE AND HARD TIMES and Sue Townsend's ADRIAN MOLE'S DIARIES could make me laugh so hard I momentarily couldn't breathe.<br />
<br />
For a long time, mysteries were all I wanted to read. A woman I babysat for, the awesome Mrs. Murgle, gave me a box of battered Agatha Christie novels that fueled my addiction to the genre. I've had those books for nearly half a century, and they've been read countless times over the years.<br />
<br />
Reading and writing are about as personal as you can get. They are both hard experiences to share (my husband never seems to appreciate it when I read aloud brilliant passages to him), although it is very cozy to pull up a couple of chairs in front of a fireplace, with a handy table nearby, stocked with pots of tea, biscuits and paperbacks. If you should doze off, there's no worry about missing the end of the show. Books will always wait for you. Writing is scary, like taking a shower on a street corner. But how can anyone who loves to read NOT want to write?<br />
<br />
I'm grateful that I had parents who kept books around the house - books bought or borrowed from libraries, and many that had been passed down through generations. I'm grateful to the school district that offered typing in summer school, so I could get the words down almost as fast as they tried to escape from my head. I'm grateful to Kerry Huffman Erickson, my first friend who was obsessed with books as much as I was, and to all the teachers who enriched my life. Mr. Crail, fifth grade teacher, read "boy" books like OLD YELLER out loud to us and had us so enthralled we didn't want to leave until he finished the chapter, even after the final bell rang. Mr. Crail also made us recite "The Gettysburg Address" every time we said "yeah" or "ain't."<br />
<br />
Mr. Richard Striker, seventh grade English - He couldn't get me to like CATCHER IN THE RYE, but when he gave us a snap essay assignment, I was glad I'd browsed through it enough to remember there was a dog. When you haven't read the book, I figured, be creative - so I wrote an essay about the dog. Mr. Striker, who undoubtedly realized I hadn't read the book, still gave me an A for originality. That encouragement kept me going for years.<br />
<br />
Mrs. Vervia Pratt - eight grade and freshman year English - started each day by writing a saying on the blackboard and having us discuss it. One I remember is "Good fences make good neighbors." She introduced me to the war poets and explained PRO PATRIA MORI so clearly it can still make me rage and cry. She forced us to read MY ANTONIA ("The accent is on the A") and surprised us into liking it. Everything she said was defined by her two-fingered "quotes."<br />
<br />
And then there was Marjorie Schaller, junior year English, who believed that if something deserved praise it might as well be "Sterling work! Grand and glorious!" There was no boring "Good job!" on her papers, and I strove to receive her colorful flourishes.<br />
<br />
Joe Wellman and Judy Sawicki had to deal with high school hormones as well as my tendency to run long, teaching me to write concisely, at least, when the need arose. (They should get extra points for having me and my future husband in the same class. My husband was the trouble-maker who liked to write headlines with sly double-entendres.)<br />
<br />
I'm glad my kids were blessed with creative teachers, too. When Keiko Orrall had my son's second grade class act out variations of Tomie de Paola's STONE SOUP, she opened a world of possibilities. My son was inspired to write both stories and plays after that. And Gene Fisher, Jonathan's third grade teacher, used to joke about going off on tangents. The kids LOVED his tangents! That's how they learned about Annie Oakley, for one thing. And after he played THE SINKING OF THE BISMARK for the class, Jonathan checked out a stack of books about battleships, sunken ships, sunken treasures and the TITANIC. Every tangent was a learning experience.<br />
<br />
When my daughter, Jessica, was in third grade, her teacher dubbed her "a walking encyclopedia." That gave her a badly needed burst of confidence. When she struggled a bit years later, I mentioned in a teacher conference that she liked poetry. Her teacher encouraged her to prepare a journal of her favorite poems, which helped her grades and bumped up her enthusiasm for school.<br />
<br />
Three events in my life converged this week, taking me on a journey back through my childhood and my school days, when I was just discovering the joys of reading. (I even liked the DICK AND JANE books!) Right-to-Read-Week might seem like a faux holiday, but don't dismiss it lightly. Words are the keystone of our society, and the ability to use them is a key that can open almost any door.<br />
<br />
I'm picturing students, chewing on pencils as they think about flowers. I see their teacher, watching them and then writing about students thinking about writing. It gives me hope for the future.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-62809079770466292682015-08-21T12:26:00.000-04:002015-08-29T14:16:36.072-04:00A Toast to Treasured Friends<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="1va89-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$1va89" style="background-color: white; color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="1va89-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$1va89.0:$1va89-0-0">You know how some friends remain steadfast, even when you sometimes go five years or more without seeing them in real life? You know how some friendships encompass not only your friends but their entire families?</span></div>
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<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="e88n3-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e88n3" style="background-color: white; color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="e88n3-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e88n3.0:$e88n3-0-0">I'm lucky enough to have some friends like that. </span><span data-offset-key="e88n3-2-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e88n3.2:$e88n3-2-0">I met Pat, who I used to call Patsy, when I was 11 years old, and she went on to become my best friend during high school. She was matron of honor when I got married, and I was maid of honor in her wedding a few months before mine. </span><br />
<span data-offset-key="e88n3-2-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e88n3.2:$e88n3-2-0"><br /></span>
<span data-offset-key="e88n3-2-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$e88n3.2:$e88n3-2-0">Pat even came to visit when Marty and I moved to England. She and her cousin Pam and I were a triple dose of trouble when we were teenagers. Pat's little brother Jimmy was a good friend of my younger brother Thom. And Pat's older brother Howie and I were pen pals of a sort when he was stationed in the Pacific. </span></div>
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<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="fl0jk-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fl0jk" style="background-color: white; color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="fl0jk-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fl0jk.0:$fl0jk-0-0">Pat's dad died many years ago, but her mom is a more recent loss and we all miss her. Every New Year's Eve I think of her dad and his potent, steaming glug and I can't hear of a Polish food without thinking of Pearl, Pat's mom. I'm sooo glad I got to see Pearl again a few years ago. She had health problems, but she still had a great smile and a wonderful sense of humor. (She needed one, to put up with our escapade</span>s.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-HrStFUJHbWz5LBUOcQz9sBJZKB92mLlwKvRY5ls6Qklj7QDzJP86fvs7W27nQHrsRASWb8L3sYC9JiLgJJz1NiVp1Hk6IV0ISJyc4lcJJHOhtu0I7RrzOJyHRJyMTk1PiEWmzQ_na8/s1600/IMG_3721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-HrStFUJHbWz5LBUOcQz9sBJZKB92mLlwKvRY5ls6Qklj7QDzJP86fvs7W27nQHrsRASWb8L3sYC9JiLgJJz1NiVp1Hk6IV0ISJyc4lcJJHOhtu0I7RrzOJyHRJyMTk1PiEWmzQ_na8/s320/IMG_3721.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span data-offset-key="fl0jk-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fl0jk.0:$fl0jk-0-0">Jimmy is an artist extraordinaire and a fabulous banjo player. Pam is also an artist - one of her paintings hangs on the wall next to my desk. Pat's talent is dancing, and I'll never forget her 16th (?) birthday, when her mom gave her a big dancing ballerina doll to celebrate her accomplishments in Orchesis.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">That's the backstory, leading up to my wonderful, wonderful day yesterday. The weather was perfect when I went to meet Pat and Pam at the Art Institute of Chicago. (When my daughter called it a museum, I disagreed. "What would you call it then," she demanded. "A house of art." She thinks I'm nuts, but I still think that describes it better. However you describe it, people like it - a lot. http://entertainment.suntimes.com/entertainment-news/art-institute-chicago-named-best-museum-world-tripadvisor-com/ (Okay, so maybe it is a museum.)</span></div>
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<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm" style="background-color: white; color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">We enjoyed the Degas exhibit, and the always-breathtaking Monets, and then we had lunch outside at the awesome Art Institute restaurant, <a href="http://www.terzopianochicago.com/2014/12/12/jyb2vykmvbl24tuve8b97mgeqflet2">Terzo Piano</a>.We ate outside with a view of Millennium Park and a nice selection of Chicago's skyscrapers, remembering when the Prudential Building was the tallest building in town.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpyCwGGTNA9o1Uu3Jd98RUys-1POOjg81ikDLVBLCFDBTIQLVFIEAWeq6sSIPQh_B5PVns8S56aaLe7zZ6cht93ilUFApINCcRzo4-FkVsNaqFGWeYjRjyNl76nP-yOJf-UtMeGZvZiU/s1600/20150820_155307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpyCwGGTNA9o1Uu3Jd98RUys-1POOjg81ikDLVBLCFDBTIQLVFIEAWeq6sSIPQh_B5PVns8S56aaLe7zZ6cht93ilUFApINCcRzo4-FkVsNaqFGWeYjRjyNl76nP-yOJf-UtMeGZvZiU/s320/20150820_155307.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm" style="background-color: white; color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">We took a stroll through Millennium Park after lunch, took some pictures by the Bean (real name: <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g35805-d1134861-Reviews-Cloud_Gate-Chicago_Illinois.html">Cloud Gate</a>) and then Pat and I sat at a sidewalk cafe and reminisced about old times, the Edinburgh Military Tattoo and <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/earth/wildlife/11749045/Killer-seagulls-The-seaside-gets-seriously-scary.html">killer seagulls</a> in Cornwall while Pam, Howie and Jim took a 2 1/2 hour <a href="http://www.viator.com/tours/Chicago/Chicago-Segway-Tour/d673-3397CHICAGO">Segway Tour</a>. Pat and I, fueled by memories of our spectacular klutziness, kept a safe distance from those wheeled behemoths. Pam said it was fun, and by the end of the tour she said maneuvering the Segway had become second nature, but I think Pat and I made the right decision. </span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">The first time I saw New York, it was with Pat - well, and with my husband, too. First time I saw New Jersey, Pat was there. And Fort Lauderdale, too. Pat has seen every house Marty and I have lived in, except one, and we've lived in a lot of houses, all over the place. </span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">As teenagers, Pat and I knew each others' houses as well as we knew our own. She could stroll into my house at any time and be sure of a welcome - well, apart from That Night. I must have slept soundly that night, because when I woke up, every bra I owned was frozen solid in the freezer, I'd been pummeled with silver dragees (cake decorations) and every picture in the house was ever-so-slightly crooked. I don't remember how I got back at Pat, but I'm sure I did eventually. </span> And then there was the mystery of the fried chicken under the bed, but that's another story.<br />
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<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">I could drop in on her at any time, and I often did. I'll never forget the time Jimmy let me in and said, "She's in her bedroom." I followed the sound of typing, but couldn't find Pat. I finally figured out she was in the closet. Pat was the fastest typist I knew, but I don't think I ever did discover the attraction of typing in a small, enclosed space. </span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">We've met up occasionally - in New York, Fort Lauderdale, Orlando, Chicago, London and Las Vegas. No matter how much time has passed, we always have a blast.</span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">Back to yesterday. Pat and I met up with Pam, Howie and Jim at <a href="http://www.thebettychicago.com/c8odb19f0843z8lbozsa8no4ujzqof">The Betty</a>, near Chicago's Fulton Market, where we were joined by Jim's son and daughter and more family and friends. I think there were ten of us altogether. We polished off a stack of pieroges and cringed at memories of czarnina (duck's blood soup, a Polish specialty). We had a little alcohol and a lot of tapas, some of which were out of my comfort zone - octopus with the tentacles clearly visible? I don't think so! The tapas-style menu was a fun way to feed our large group.</span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="25fmm-0-0" data-reactid=".3t.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$25fmm.0:$25fmm-0-0">I hadn't seen Jimmy since I was skinny and had red hair. He's no longer the little curly-haired banjo virtuoso, but he's still in many ways the person I remembered - only now he's a grandpa of twins! Howie, who had a full beard last time I saw him, is now a very talented dancer, and he regaled us with stories of his recent cruise to Spain. It came as no surprise that he basically danced his way across the Atlantic. It was a lot of fun getting to know the younger generation of Pat's family, too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">It was hard to say good-bye after such a fun day. When Pat and Pam dropped me off outside my condo building, I saw my daughter coming up the street. I had a weird mo</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ment of <span style="color: #6a6a6a; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">déjà vu as my past and present collided. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #6a6a6a; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">I hope we won't have to wait years before getting together again - next time hopefully our husbands will be able to join us, and maybe my kids will come, too!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #6a6a6a; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Getting old(er) isn't always easy or fun - we griped some about blisters, bunions and the impossibility of wearing high heels anymore. Things change, inevitably - loved ones lost, illnesses endured, blood pressure to be watched, and the occasional frustration of forgetting a name. I'm no longer the skinny redhead, but I remember enough of our "golden youth" to recall it wasn't all sunshine and roses even then. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #6a6a6a; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">But it's nice to be able to look back and remember good times with old friends. And it's even nicer to create new memories with the same friends. Here's a toast to you, my friends - new and old. Thank you for making my life so much richer because of your friendship.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #6a6a6a; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">*Pat and Jimmy took a bunch of pictures yesterday. I don't like getting my picture taken, but these will have historical value. I'll share some of the pictures later.</span></span></div>
Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-26140288532801080342015-07-31T14:05:00.000-04:002015-07-31T14:05:52.700-04:00Summer in the CityRecently, I was kind of surprised when a couple of people asked me how I was adjusting to life in the city after living in the suburbs for so many years. I was surprised because there really wasn't any adjustment period for us - apparently we're city people. It just took awhile for us to figure that out.<br />
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It's not like we're strangers to the city. Marty and I both worked in London and in downtown Chicago, and for awhile he even commuted to New York from Northern New Jersey. We still kick ourselves for buying a house in Kent, in what was described as Greater London, instead of getting a place right in town back when we lived in England.<br />
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When we bought our house in Cincinnati, we liked the idea of a big back yard for the kids to play in, and we purposely left part of it wooded and wild. We enjoyed all the wildlife and we especially enjoyed our big deck, although we never really used it to entertain. In a relationship with one extrovert (mostly) and one introvert (mostly), we rarely did adult entertaining, although there were always lots of teenagers around.<br />
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We'd been thinking of downsizing at some future date when we were informed that we'd soon be grandparents. Neither of us could imagine living five hours away from our grandchild, so we instantly began the daunting project of clearing out and renovating our house. It was a big job and we have minimal talent as rehabbers. We can handle paint and wallpaper but our project included painting the entire house inside and out AND removing wallpaper that had gone out of style several years ago.<br />
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Marty and I have recently become hooked on Fixer Uppers, the Property Brothers and other shows of a similar nature. We feel pretty good about everything we did to fix our house up for sale, but if we'd been watching these shows back then, I think we would have done more drastic updates.<br />
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Anyway, we got it done. And by the time we were finished, we eagerly looked forward to moving into a 2-bedroom, 2-bath condo in the city where we wouldn't be tempted to save everything. That's the danger of a two-car garage and a full basement. There's room to store all the kids' kindergarten drawings, all the Christmas decorations, all of pretty much everything.<br />
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We gave away thousands and thousands of books, yet still managed to bring 65 cartons of books with us. And now I'm shopping for a bookcase again, after giving away several of them before we moved. At least I'm only looking for a small one this time.<br />
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The biggest adjustment, once we settled in, was realizing parking was always going to be an issue. Theoretically, parking is available with our building, but there are limited spaces and new ones only become available when someone moves or dies. Our number may come up for a parking space in 15 years or so. So we decided to sell our car.<br />
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This shocked some of our friends, but since there is a Zip-Car lot right across the street, a train station less than a mile away and bus stops to the city only two blocks away, it's not as if we were stranded.<br />
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We live in a building with front desk security, neighbors who've lived here for years, and friendly shop owners all around. We also live 5 minutes from our daughter and less than a mile from our son, daughter-in-law and our two beautiful granddaughters. We're two blocks from a nice sandy beach and about the same distance to the Museum of Science and Industry. There is ALWAYS someplace to go and something to do.<br />
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Yes, it was hard to give up my garden. But there is a courtyard garden in our building and a nice, private garden in the back with a decorative water fountain and places to sit and read. And, yes, I miss my friends in Cincinnati. We haven't been back for frequent visits, as we assumed we would, but hopefully we'll stay in touch and get back when we can. And sometimes our Cincinnati friends come up here.<br />
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And one HUGE plus is our wonderful view of Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan, which is awesome at all times of year and in all kinds of weather. We loved our yard in Cincinnati, but it's hard to top our view! (Even in this picture, which was taken in frigid November.)<br />
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If we feel like going out to eat, there are places nearby or, if we're feeling adventurous, we can go into the city and try someplace new.<br />
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Oh, and one other thing - we didn't have to shovel any walks or driveways last winter. Okay, I'll admit it. Winter in Chicago is not high on my list of favorite things. But the summers here are pretty glorious. It's a decent trade-off.<br />
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So - how are we adjusting? We're adjusting just fine, thank you. Kind of wishing we'd tried the city life years ago. :-)Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-39431666405850219992015-07-31T13:22:00.003-04:002015-07-31T13:22:59.630-04:00Dear Google,<br />
<br />
Thank you for all the posts to my Blogger dashboard informing me of European Union requirements to post details about cookies. You go on to say this is for people who live in EU countries. Since, as my profile states, I live in Chicago, IL - which is still in the United States - I don't understand why I am being inundated with these notifications. Your Help Topics don't address this issue.<br />
<br />
Signed,<br />
Confused in ChicagoBecke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-66804000428887196382015-02-08T13:34:00.000-05:002015-02-09T01:25:04.816-05:00A Question of BalanceEarly on, I knew I could cross one potential career choice off my list. Sadly, I'll never be a tightrope walker. (I can barely even <i>watch</i> tightrope walkers!) It's something of a miracle I never broke any bones in the years I enjoyed ice skating. When I put on roller skates, everyone else in the rink risked injury. Notice a pattern here? When it comes to balance, I make Inspector Clouseau look like a prima ballerina.<br />
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No two ways about it: I'm a klutz. It's like walls are a magnetic force, drawing me close so I'll bump into them as I walk through a doorway. I am super cautious while walking on ice, walking up stairs, walking in general. I've fallen flat on my back, fallen down more stairs than you can shake a stick at - and I have the wonky knee and broken blood vessels to show for all the times I sprained and/or broke my ankles and tore ligaments in my knees.<br />
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I slipped on wet marble steps while wearing smooth-soled new shoes the time I had the worst break. A cat shot past me while I was carrying a load of laundry downstairs another time. And then there was the time I stepped out of the car smack onto a patch of black ice. My feet flew forward, the rest of me flew back - I think for a second or two I was suspended in air before I hit the ground with a very un-Lipizzaner-like thunk.<br />
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My mom blames it on my crawling, or lack of it. I was an early walker - I went from horizontal to vertical at about 8 months and I never looked back. Skipped crawling altogether - even then my knees were probably squealing, "Hell, no!" My mom read someplace that we develop our sense of balance as we learn to crawl, so she blames my general clumsiness on the whole no-crawling thing. Too late - I'm not going to try and rectify that now.<br />
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In this clumsy manner, I'm leading up to a related topic - finding balance in other aspects of life. Writing, for instance. I have a love/hate relationship with writing. On the one hand, I get antsy if I go for any length of time without writing SOMETHING. Once I get in the routine, I usually enjoy the process, even if the result rarely turns out the way I hoped/planned/intended. I have a slow learning curve, and I have a lot more experience in writing non-fiction than fiction.<br />
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Also, my brain is a little weird. I'm pretty sure all writers have weird brains, some more than others. To the extent that weirdness can lead to unusual story ideas, that's a good thing. Reining in the weirdness to keep an unusual story from sliding into the what-the-heck-was-she-thinking zone requires a fine hand and a sense of balance. I have to wonder - if I had learned to crawl, would I have an easier time keeping my stories on the somewhat straight-and-narrow?<br />
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One editor gently mentioned an issue of consistency in one early story, while another story had issues with tone. When reading thrillers - and when watching taut, suspenseful movies - I appreciate a shot of humor to give me a break from the tension, however briefly. The trouble is, when I try to do that in my own stories, the brief flash of humor tends to become a short trip to Bizarro World. I'll start yo-yoing back and forth between dark, sometimes even gruesome scenes and humorous (hopefully) antics that leave the reader going, "Whaaaat the...?"<br />
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Anyway.<br />
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I'm happy to say I haven't walked into any walls for some time now. Haven't broken or sprained an ankle in thirty years or so. Haven't even fallen on the ice in about five years, despite the many opportunities for that to happen. Maybe I'm more cautious now, or maybe I've developed a sense of balance after lo, these many years.<br />
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I hope this means there's hope for my writing. God knows, I have a way to go before I reach the level of proficiency I'm aiming for. (Don't get me started on grammar! Spelling? Nailed it. The rest? I do my best, and pray for a sharp-eyed and patient editor.)<br />
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Meanwhile, I'll take it in stride when my two-year-old granddaughter handles those slippery sidewalks better than I do. She <i>did</i> learn to crawl before she walked.<br />
<br />Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-3854572298947825862015-01-30T15:21:00.001-05:002015-01-30T15:21:26.607-05:00Adaline's TreasuresI have a tote bag that I originally bought to use as a diaper bag for the times I went out with my infant granddaughter. Now she's almost 2 1/2 - and potty-trained - so I use it to carry extra hats, gloves, scarves, an umbrella, and other odds and ends.<br />
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When I cleaned the bag out recently, I found a lot more oddities than I'd realized. Somewhere along the line, my tote bag has become Adaline's treasure bag. As we walk along, she picks up little treasures and says, "I'll just put this in your bag, Gwamma, so we don't lose it."<br />
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The treasures she's collected include:<br />
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*a broken purple balloon<br />
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*a fairly large stick (suitable for dragging along iron fence rails in order to make a lot of noise)<br />
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*a pine cone<br />
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*a couple of crabapples<br />
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*a maple leaf (that she picked up and said, "Look, a maple leaf!" Good guess!)<br />
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*broken graham crackers (remains of school snacks)<br />
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*a variety of barrettes she's removed from her hair<br />
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*two packs of Curious George fruit snacks<br />
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*a battered box of yogurt raisins<br />
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*a vintage Smurf figure<br />
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*a small rock<br />
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*the remains of a "kitty cat tail" - from a container of ornamental grasses<br />
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*a penny she found on the bus<br />
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My own kids treasured their blankies above all else. Adaline has a couple of blankies but they never held her interest for long. In addition to the collection described above, Adaline is never without a baby doll - she has some nice dolls, but her favorites cost about five bucks at Walgreens (I'm pretty sure Walgreens and our small local toy store are her favorite stores in the whole world).<br />
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As the Biblical saying goes - sort of: "Where your treasure is, there is your heart." In the eyes of this little girl, there are treasures everywhere. I hope she continues to find joy and magic in the little things.<br />
<br />Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-33239381735465939562014-11-04T23:04:00.000-05:002014-11-04T23:14:42.070-05:00The Tantalizing, Tremendous Far-from-Terrible TwosIn 2012, I became a Grandma for the first time. I swear, I was NOT one of those parents who is constantly after their kids to procreate. I thought I'd be well into my dotage before I became a grandma - if then. (My daughter, whose cousin-slash-best-friend had a horrendous labor, frequently expressed her misgivings about having kids.) In fact, when my son called to tell me his baby news, I flat-out didn't believe him. By the time I saw an ultrasound picture, I was in love.<br />
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My husband and I had been thinking of downsizing at some point, so it wasn't a difficult decision to pack up and sell our house in Cincinnati and move to Chicago, where I grew up, so I could help with child care. I started babysitting for Adaline when she was six weeks old and I love every minute I spend with her. My daughter Jessica moved to Chicago from Florida so she could be closer to Adaline, and she takes an active role in Adaline's daily life. In June 2014 Adaline started attending day care, primarily so she could associate with other kids. I had misgivings at first but she's clearly thriving there. She adjusted very quickly to the new routine. Nowadays, she eats lunch and takes her nap at day care and I pick her up (sometimes with Auntie Gecca, sometimes with Grandpa) and she comes back here to play until Mommy and Daddy pick her up.<br />
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Two-year-olds suffer the stigma of "Terrible Twos" and I remember my own kids exhibiting some challenging behavior at this age. From the standpoint of a grandma (and my daughter shares my thinking on this), I absolutely love Age Two.<br />
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The most fun part, for me, is listening to Adaline discover the power and joy of being able to express her likes and dislikes, and to ask questions - <i>lots</i> of questions. She's changing physically too, of course. Adaline has learned to jump and bounce and do somersaults. She isn't particularly tall, but she's tall enough to reach the kitchen counters now, and she can climb on chairs to see what's on the table, too. She's curious about everything, which means no one has any privacy in the bathroom any more. Potty training has begun in earnest, at her insistence, and she likes company when sitting on her little potty.<br />
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I raised two kids - a boy and a girl - so you'd think I'd have this parenting routine down pat. I'm the oldest of five kids and I spent a good chunk of my life babysitting and doing child care at home, so add on that experience. But every child is different, and so much happens when kids are growing, it's easy to forget. I'm something of a worrier - years of reading mystery books has me constantly imagining Worse Case Scenarios - but I try not to get bogged down in what-ifs. I try to use reasonable safety precautions without overdoing it.<br />
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Sometimes I learn from my mistakes, and other times I'm reminded how joyful life can be from a toddler's perspective.<br />
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1. When little girls want to play with lipstick, they REALLY want to play with lipstick!<br />
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2. When a two-year-old colors, he or she is going to end up covered in colors, too. The same goes for food and drink - no matter how careful they are, two-year-olds always end up wearing food and beverages.</div>
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3. If there is an opportunity for a two-year-old to get soaking wet, they will do it.</div>
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4. Two-year-olds are endlessly fascinated with potties</div>
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5. Two-year-olds are disguise artists!<br />
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6. Best of all, two-year-olds love to laugh (especially when Auntie Gecca comes to play)!<br />
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<br />Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-9001943883685838202014-11-01T21:21:00.002-04:002014-11-01T23:06:54.944-04:00In My Life #1 - House Memories<i><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">There are places I remember</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">All my life though some have changed</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Some forever not for better</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Some have gone and some remain</span></i><br />
<i><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">- "In My Life," Lennon-McCartney</span></i><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: proxnov-sbold, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 12.1000003814697px; text-transform: uppercase;">© SONY/ATV MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC</span><br />
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I was reading a book the other day (Susanna Kearsley's THE ROSE GARDEN) that was so evocative, it made me look back on places in my life. The story is set in Cornwall, so my first memories were of my first visit to Cornwall in 1975. But then, since my granddaughter is never far from my thoughts, it got me wondering about her. She's been coming here regularly since she was six weeks old and she's two years and a few months now. As often as she's been here, I wonder how much she'll remember our place when she's older. If we're still living here by the time she's school age, I'm sure she'll have some memories of it, but maybe not. If she does remember it, I wonder what things she will remember.</div>
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My grandparents moved to Evanston, Illinois in the 1940s and they lived in the same house there until I was married. When I moved back from England in the early 1980s, my grandparents moved to Adams, Massachusetts, the town where my grandmother grew up. My grandmother was eager to rediscover the town where she had so many memories of her own parents and grandparents, but I was sad that the house I'd known my whole life was no longer going to be in our family. I'm the oldest of five kids, and as our family grew, we moved several times - mostly within the same Chicago suburb - to houses that could fit us all. The new houses were great, but my grandparents' house had always been the constant.</div>
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The house itself was a typical red brick bungalow, a style common in the area from about the 1920s-1940s. It had a detached garage backing on to an alley and a miniscule backyard. The basement could be reached from inside the house or by stairs out in back, and we kids were discouraged from playing down there. My grandmother said it was cold and dirty - the attic, reached by a steep staircase at the back of the house, she called "hot and dusty". I loved the attic but was rarely allowed up there unless my uncle Jim invited me up to see his train set. The main thing I remember about it is that it belched smelly, oily smoke. My uncle Dave stored his WAA-MU show treasures up there, too, but I wasn't allowed to touch those. The only other things I remember seeing up there were stacks of National Geographic magazines, a red child's car of some kind and, I think, an old bicycle. (The American Pickers guys would have found some treasures there, for sure!)</div>
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The basement was my grandfather's territory. The main part of the room is where he propagated begonias on an old ping-pong table, with GRO-lights hanging from the ceiling. There was a closeted area where he stored hyacinth and narcissus bulbs on shelves, along with packages of Jell-O from the 1940s and canned food from the same era - my grandparents' version of a fall-out shelter, I guess. Under the stairs there were cabinets I wasn't supposed to fool around with. I remember finding some of my Uncle Jim's Big Little books there - chubby little comic books. My grandmother thought they might be valuable one day so we weren't allowed to play with them.</div>
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At the back of the basement was my grandfather's work table. I never saw him make anything there, but I was fascinated by the heavy iron vice that was clamped to the table. (How my brother and I managed to make it through childhood without smashing our fingers on that thing, I'll never know.) At some point - before I was born, I think - my Uncle Jim lived in a room walled off at the end of the basement, across from the worktable. It was pretty scary, not the least because of a picture hanging over the bed that showed a train that looked like it was about to chug right off the canvas. </div>
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The upstairs - the main part of the house - was of far less interest to me as a kid. One of my earliest memories is of the curtains that were in my grandparents bedroom (until they remodeled with a more stylish but less memorable fabric). I remember laying in bed, staring at the old roses when I was too little to know what they were.</div>
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My grandfather and I would have big bowls of blueberries for breakfast, with lots of milk and sugar. And then he would show me his collection of silver certificate one dollar bills. I'm afraid those might have vanished during the move to Massachusetts, since I never saw them again after that.</div>
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I can't remember where the clock was - in the living room or the dining room - but I remember whenever I spent the night there, I'd fall asleep to the loud ticking of the clock. I've always loved that sound!</div>
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My uncle Dave got married when I was four - I was the flower girl in his wedding - so I don't remember his room at my grandparents' house. My uncle Jim, who is about ten years older than I am, slept in the back porch bedroom for awhile, but the middle bedroom, next to the bathroom, is the one I always connect to him. The wallpaper in that room - until it was redone when I was a teenager - had a white background with a gold and green pattern like spokes on wagon wheels. One day I noticed that some spokes had letters penned between them and - what a surprise! - they spelled girls' names! I was into Nancy Drew books at the time and I felt like I'd stumbled across a secret code. My uncle, who didn't want his current girlfriends to know he had a list of former girlfriends hidden in his bedroom wallpaper, bribed me to keep quiet about it. </div>
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The kitchen and dining room were my grandmother's territory, but they weren't much interest to me. I did like the built-in china cabinets, but I'd like those more today than I did when I was a kid. I liked the living room, especially when my grandfather got a big log fire going in the fireplace. He had a habit of laying down on the carpet in front of the fire and taking a nap. He also did that sometimes when there wasn't a fire going, and when the family was visiting. The first time my soon-to-be-husband met my grandparents, he was shocked to see my family calmly stepping over my grandfather's body as he slept on the living room floor. We were used to it, but it looked like a crime scene to him! The living room also housed the grand piano my grandmother played with her arthritic fingers, accompanying my grandfather who, with his amazing tenor, was a regular soloist at their church. I also loved a painting that hung over their sofa - a painting that is in my bedroom now. I don't know anything about it, but I still love it.</div>
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My grandfather was treasurer of Northwestern University for more than twenty years - my parents and aunts and uncles went there, but no one from the current generation. I used to love going to the WAA-MU shows every spring, and I'll always think of the Northwestern campus as a sort of extension of my grandparents' house.<br />
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My grandfather was an avid gardener but since his own yard was small, he grew a lot of plants at his victory garden. I remember we'd stop at <a href="http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2001-10-01/news/0110010148_1_ambrose-memorial-northwestern-university">Miss Margaret Reiter</a>'s house to get rhubarb from the giant plant in her backyard. Miss Reiter also worked at Northwestern University.<br />
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I could go on and on about Dr. Hedge's Annabelle hydrangeas growing next door to my grandparents' house, my friends Linda Smith and Jeanie Hamer, and the other neighbors. I remember going carolling once or twice in their neighborhood, and going to the carillon service at the Presbyterian Church on Christmas Eve. I hope my granddaughter has lots of memories of our place. I know my kids have lots of memories of their grandparents' houses, too!Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-92172897223250405892014-08-06T00:48:00.001-04:002014-08-06T01:29:44.036-04:00Date Me<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, not <i>that</i> kind of date.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took one of those goofy online quizzes the other day, one that was supposed to <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/samstryker/how-old-are-you-actually">guess my age</a> based on my responses. The test guessed I was 24. Hell, my kids are older than that!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It got me thinking - it really is easy to date a person, based on their slang as well as their social literacy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For instance, say "Wood or wire?" to many of my high school friends and they'll instantly picture Anne Bancroft's Mrs. Robinson throwing Benjamin Braddock into a stammering mass of nerves. From the same movie, "You're missing a great effect!" (I saw <i>The Graduate</i> seven times in a row - I still can recite most of it by heart.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The movies we watched, the books we read, the music we listened to, the makeup and clothes we wore - these things firmly place my contemporaries and I in the 1960s. I was swept up in the tide of Beatlemania and the British Invasion when I was eleven or twelve, and I'm still loyal to those bands today. At the time, despite the Kennedy assassination - all the assassinations - despite Viet Nam and the Establishment railing against long hair and short skirts, it was still a magical time. There was something in the air, a sense that, as Dylan said, the times they were a-changing. We thought it was the greatest decade ever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bell bottoms are laughed at now but I loved my bells and they were very comfortable, too. I craved Yardley's Marty Quant-themed make-up, as modeled by Jean Shrimpton, and whenever I had a little money I'd rush over to Jewel and buy a lipstick or eyeshadow. I can still remember what those Slicker lipsticks tasted like!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My youth was also framed by advertising jingles and songs from TV shows: the Mickey Mouse Club theme song, "It's Howdy Doody Time," "Flintstones, meet the Flintstones, they're a modern stone-age family...", dum-de-de-dum Bon-an-za! (I liked Adam best, how about you?) and right along with that, "See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet...", and then there was the Oscar Meier Weiner Whistle and Charlie Tuna and Trix are for kids, and how many others??</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I still have fond memories of the Sixties, but the slang? Did we really say things like feeling groovy, psychedelic, It's a gas (as in "Jumping Jack Flash, it's a gas, gas, gas"), far out, outta site, what a drag, etc? Oh yes, we did. There was a whole vocabulary tied to the suburban weed culture - as in marijuana, not the more hard core drugs: words like head shop, roach, doobie, toke and more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We didn't drink beer or wine (unless you count Boone's Farm) - the cocktail du jour was a <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/leisure/2013/08/23/whatever-happened-to-harvey-wallbanger-hes-alive-and-well-in-mind-david/">Harvey Wallbanger</a>. That drink - or the Galliano liqueur used in the recipe - made me gag. I can't stomach cilantro, and, to me, Galliano was like cilantro in alcoholic form. I remember a friend squeezing the remains of her Harvey Wallbanger from a rag-rug back into her glass after spilling it. (I was more of a Southern Comfort girl - I favored Southern Comfort Sours, but I don't think I would have squeezed one from a rug.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What drives me nuts is my inability to shed the slang I learned as a child - and "drives me nuts" is one of those phrases. Luckily, "neato" and "keeno" bit the dust around the time I started junior high, but "cool" is still with me. And now "awesome," a word from my kids' high school years, has latched onto my vocabulary, too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><i>Plus<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.22222328186035px;"> ça change</span></i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.22222328186035px;"><i>, plus c'est la même chose.</i> (The more things change, the more they stay the same.)</span>Where we had jocks and greasers, the cliques at my kids' school were geeks, skaters, goths and others I can't recall. When my granddaughter reaches high school age, cliques will still be around, I'm sure, but with different names to define them. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 20.22222328186035px;">How about you? What dates <i>you</i>? What slang words have stuck from your childhood, and what jingles can you still sing with the slightest prompting? I've got a Howdy Doody earworm stuck in my head now - please, give me another tune to focus on!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.22222328186035px;"><br /></span></span>Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-70273094672420179792014-07-30T18:32:00.000-04:002014-07-30T18:34:44.202-04:00House of Cats - Part Four, "Pick Two"Well, it was fun while it lasted but, if you recall, my parents weren't all that excited about getting ONE cat, much less 17 or so. The day finally came where they said, "That's it - you can pick two cats. No more." It felt like Sophie's Choice, Cat Edition. Anya was my cat - I had to keep him. And Chelsea was mom to so many of the kittens, and she was a total sweetheart. And Dickens was so cuddly, as was Tiffany, and Sammy had always been a favorite of mine.<br />
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All-in-all, it seemed like a much better idea to place the cats we couldn't keep in loving homes rather than to take them to a shelter. So my brothers and sisters and I had a crash course in sales and marketing. Did you live in Elk Grove Village in the late 1960s? Did you get a cat during that time? If so, odds are your cat was related to ours.<br />
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We made posters, we spread the word to our friends and their families, to every family I babysat for, to everyone we went to school with. There were five of us Villars kids, and we swept through town with our cats like a furry tornado. The white cats were gorgeous so they were our first line of attack. We found homes for most of them. I'm not sure how many cats we found homes for altogether, but in the end we still had to take some to the shelter. (I can't remember for sure, but I really, really hope it was a no-kill shelter.) We kept Anya and Sammy and if I'd had a place of my own, I would have kept Chelsea, Tiffany and Dickens, too. Our only consolation was that Chelsea was so sweet and pretty, and Tiffany and Dickens were so cute and cuddly, we hoped people visiting the shelter wouldn't be able to resist them.<br />
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Odessa, from the first litter, went back to Mrs. Petersen, whose Siamese cat was Anya's mother. As I recall, Odessa lived a long life. I'd love to hear from any Elk Grove people who adopted our kittens. I hope they all had good homes and brought happiness to their owners, like Anya and Sammy brought to us.<br />
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Since then, I've had two kids, one granddaughter, one dog, two gerbils, one hamster, two rabbits, and many cats: Pudgie, Benjie, Tiffany Annie aka Baby LoLo, Tiger, Stephanie, Casper and Charlie. My brothers and sisters have had many cats and dogs, too. But none of us have ever topped the number of cats we had in 1968 to 1970. We've also provided shelter for a couple of possums and several generations of raccoons, as well as a number of deer. There have been snakes and moles, too, but not by choice.<br />
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Speaking for my brothers and sisters as well as for myself, I'm confident that dogs and cats will always be a part of our lives. The more, the merrier!Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-89801729781325307512014-07-30T17:56:00.000-04:002014-07-30T23:06:21.982-04:00House of Cats - Part Three, Tiffany and MoreSo, if you're keeping count, the House of Cats isn't too crazy at this point. We had Anya, the father, Chelsea, the mama, and the four kittens from the first litter, which included Dickens and Sammy. Six cats - no biggie, right?<br />
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We had no freaking clue. We didn't rush to get Anya fixed because we didn't think Chelsea could get pregnant again so quickly. Guess what? She could. And this time she got REALLY big - so big, she had to walk downstairs sideways, taking one step at a time. She had seven kittens this time around. We made a bed for Chelsea and her kittens in an old Samsonite suitcase and kept it at the foot of my bed.<br />
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A few days later, some jerk tossed a kitten from his car as he drove past an elementary school - the same elementary school my younger brother and sisters attended, as it happens. My sisters smuggled it home and begged me to hide it. "Just put it in with the other kittens," they said. "Mom and Dad will never notice."<br />
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Well, um, it's just possible a kitten that's about 7 weeks old might stand out from day old kittens, especially since the New Kid was a tiger cat and the new batch were a mix of white, gray, and dusty gray-and-white cats with vaguely Siamese markings. But, what the heck? Who was going to notice one more kitten? So we kept her. We named the new kitten Tiffany. Because she wasn't quite weaned, Tiffany loved to snuggle up and massage us with her paws while she "nursed" our shirts - she liked the guys' sweaty t-shirts the best! Because she was so cuddly, Tiffany quickly became a favorite.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiffany and me and my 18th birthday cake</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiffany complaining to me about my picture-taking</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dickens trying to open the screen door</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dickens, still trying to open the screen door, and Tiffany<br />
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The cat count, as you may have noticed, has gone up significantly. Anya and Chelsea and the original four kittens make six, plus the seven kittens from the second litter, plus Tiffany equals fourteen. But it doesn't end here...because we still hadn't gotten Anya neutered at this point. And, who knew? Kittens can get pregnant as young as six months.</div>
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Yep, shortly after Chelsea gave birth to her second litter, the females from her first litter (which turned out to be three of the four) started giving birth to their own kittens. Because they were so young, presumably, none had more than one kitten, and none of their kittens survived for more than a few days. But for those few days, our house was pure cat CHAOS. Chelsea would take her kittens and hide them in the cabinet where we kept bread. Her mama-kittens would steal her kittens, hide them somewhere else, and then put their kittens in with the bread. </div>
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Three things happened around this time. We had Anya fixed, finally. And my brother Thom used some creative carpentry to build a multi-story cat house in our two-car garage. The third thing? I started dating Marty Davis, a dog-owner who had no experience with cats and wasn't all that thrilled by the idea of cats. I'll never forget the first time he came over. First of all, there were my sisters, perfectly comfortable running around the house in bikinis while my youngest brother, Russ, nearly died of embarrassment when Marty saw him in his Jockeys and a Batman cape, running around and singing the Batman theme song at the top of his lungs. Marty had a brother the same age as Russ so he wasn't too surprised by the whole Batman thing. But he turned beet red when my giggling sisters ran past him.</div>
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And then someone opened the door from the garage into the house...</div>
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As Marty describes it, at that point a wall of cats poured through the door, taking off in every direction. I wish we had a movie camera back then - I would have loved to capture that on film!</div>
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<br />Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-15829646014170613502014-07-30T12:41:00.002-04:002014-07-30T23:01:18.777-04:00House of Cats - Part Two, Chelsea and SammyNowadays, when we get a cat we get him or her neutered. Back when I was in high school, neutering was expensive so Anya retained all his parts.<br />
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We lived in Elk Grove Village, Illinois when Anya became part of the family, and it was the winter of his second year when my sisters, Connie and Laura, brought home a raggedy white cat they'd found in the snow. My parents did NOT want any more cats, but this poor thing was pitiful - her fur was falling out in chunks, leaving her scrawny body unprotected from the cold. My parents were outnumbered five to two, so we took her in. We named her Chelsea (or rather<i> I </i>named her - I always had a thing for names and I was oldest, so I claimed the right to name her). We took her to our vet, Dr. Kelly, who determined she had food allergies rather than some horrible form of mange. He prescribed Science Diet and, voila, within a very short time we had a gorgeous pure white cat with a coat like silk. Sadly, I haven't been able to find a single picture of Chelsea. Film and developing were expensive back then, so I didn't take a lot of pictures. I'll keep checking. She was a real beauty.<br />
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Presumably Anya liked his new companion, because we very quickly noticed Chelsea's belly growing...and growing...and growing. We were staying at my grandparents' house in Evanston when the kittens were born. My grandmother - NOT a cat person - was convinced Anya would eat the newborns. I spent the night in my uncle's basement bedroom, and Chelsea's four kittens were born in bed with me, without incident. Two were white - Columbine and Odessa, one was a mottled gray (Dickens) and one was ginger (Sammy). The white kittens were albino and, as is apparently common with albino cats, they were deaf. Dickens was the sweetest little thing and Sammy won my heart by climbing my jean clad legs with his teensy claws.<br />
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I claimed Sammy, who lived 22 years. When my daughter took in two kittens a few years ago, she named the ginger one Sammy in honor of the Sammy she'd met as a toddler.<br />
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A quick note: these events happened about 40 years ago, and I'm not sure my memory is reliable about some things. For example, was Odessa white or orange-striped? Was Dickens in the first litter or the second? What were the names of all the white cats? Maybe my brothers and sisters can fill in these details - they're all younger than I am, after all!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My daughter Jessica with Aunt Connie and Sammy</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessica's Sammy</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammy at around 20 years old</td></tr>
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<br />Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-68031915053976436262014-07-30T12:10:00.001-04:002014-07-30T12:12:01.077-04:00House of Cats - Part One, AnyaOver the years, I've had a lot of cats. Right now I have two - Casper, age 17, and Charlie, age 4. When I was growing up, I always wanted a cat but my mom wasn't crazy about the idea. Finally, when I was about 16, I got my chance. My mom's best friend, Isabell Petersen, had a Siamese cat. A black-and-white tom who lived on the street behind us got involved and suddenly Isabell had a very pregnant cat. My mom said - hurray! - I could have one of the kittens. I bought a red plastic food dish and with sparkly nail polish, I wrote the name of my kitten-to-be: Anastasia Shana Elisabeth. I loved that name!<br />
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Before long, the kittens were born. I chose a black-and-white one (who proved our guess as to the father). When I took her to the vet, though, I discovered I'd made a mistake - my kitten was a boy! I shortened Anastasia to Anya and decided that name would work for a male cat.<br />
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Right from the start, Anya was unique. He had a funny cry - part bark, part Siamese yowl - and he was very sociable. I regularly babysat for neighbors who acted in Masque and Staff, a local theater group. When Anya was a few months old, they started casting a play called "Everybody Loves Opal." It featured a cat - Mr. Tanner - and Anya won the part.<br />
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Anya posed for an 8x10 glossy photograph that was displayed along with all the other cast members photos. (I still have that photo and once I remember where I put it, I'll share it here.) Anya even had a write-up in the program:<br />
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Anya lived for more than 20 years, staying with my parents when I got married and moved to England. But Anya's story doesn't end here, not by any means. Check back for Part 2 of the House of Cats!Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-37675698279467141592014-05-03T11:47:00.003-04:002014-05-03T11:55:24.606-04:00The Power of SpeechLooking back over the vast expanse of 62 years, I don't really remember when my brothers and sisters were learning to speak. I doubt I was struck by the magic of emerging language skills when I was a kid myself, but I do remember how excited I was when my own kids began to speak. Walking and talking are the biggies - life is not the same once babies master these skills.<br />
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My granddaughter, Adaline, started walking on September 1, 2013- now she thinks it's funny to crawl around like a baby. She likes to bounce up on her toes and she tries to jump, but she hasn't reached lift-off yet.<br />
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We're a family of talkers, so it's not surprising she's already talking a blue streak - my daughter was the same way, and my son talked pretty early, too. My daughter was the chatterbox but he held his own.<br />
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I've been looking forward to Adaline talking - I want to know what's going on in her head. Pretty early on she made it clear she wanted to know what everything was called. She'd go through books and point at things. Gradually, she started going through those books, pointing at the pictures and saying the names of each animal and/or object herself.<br />
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She loves exciting moments in books - THE NAPPING HOUSE is a favorite, and her favorite scene is the one where the bed breaks and the animals (especially the cat) fly through the air. She likes the scene in THE CAT WHO WANTED TO FLY when Maggie the witch tells Midnight the cat he is too little to go on her broomstick. "No, no, no," Adaline tells the kitty in a very firm voice. She loves the scene in ROOM ON THE BROOM where the fire-breathing dragon appears, chasing the witch. "Yikes!" she screams, and quickly turns the page where the dragon gets his come-uppance.<br />
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What is surprising to me is how quickly she's trying to say multi-syllable words. She carries around her much-loved wooden alligator pull-toy, hugging him and saying, "Ay-gator!" She leads me down the hall, saying, "Evator!" (elevator) and shrieks when she sees a "hechopter" (helicopter) go by.<br />
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She was slow to give us names but now I'm "Gama" and Marty is either "Bapa" or "Gampa" - he answers to both. She can say both "Mommy" and "Kim" and "Daddy" and "Jon", and she says "Jeca" and "Jeshie" for Auntie Jessica. Her dog, Winston, she calls by his full name: "Winston Chu-chill" and she loves to call the cats. The two at my house are "Cabber" (Casper) and "Char-char" (also Chow-wee) (Charlie) and at Jessica's house there's Mou-Mou (Mouse) and Jammie (Sammie).<br />
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Food is another interesting category of words. She likes "pizz-e-a" and "nacks" (snacks). Auntie Jessica has some chocolate kitty cats in her fridge that have been there since Christmas. Yesterday Adaline tugged on Jessica's finger and said, "C'mon, choc-lit!" and pulled her to the fridge.<br />
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She loves a particular episode of Curious George that features a skunk, so "Pee-uw!" is a favorite word. She was concerned about a sleepover episode of Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood - she still likes the show, but she points to the TV and says, "Scary!" (pronounced "Sca-wee") when it comes on now. She has trouble saying Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa so she's learning to say their real names now. She can clearly say the name of her young aunt Cecilia, though!<br />
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The word we hear most is "Baaaaby!" - she does love her babies! I thought she was saying my name once, but she wasn't saying "Becke", she was saying "Bankie" (blankie). She's mastered - sort of - the names of many animals (birdie, ho-sie, cow, pony, huppo, turtle, guck, squi-yul and so on). I'm a little sad because she's learned to say "doggie" instead of "goggie", which is one reason I'm writing this. Before long she'll be speaking so clearly it will be easy to forget Adaline's first attempts at speech. She's growing up so quickly, one day she'll be asking what her first words were. I'm afraid I'll forget!<br />
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The words we were most excited about she said to her grandpa the other day. "Bye, gampa," she said, "Love you!" We're excited about "please" and "thank you," too, but "love you" is definitely the best!Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-75657992397006894952014-04-24T23:53:00.003-04:002014-04-27T00:05:07.061-04:00Through the Eyes of a ChildMy granddaughter, Adaline, is 20 months old - almost 21 months. In the past few weeks both empathy and imagination have kicked in, moving her irrecovably from the realm of baby to toddler. This picture was taken on Easter Sunday - her poor nose shows the signs of a tumble she took the other day.<br />
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It started when she had a check-up and got three shots. I don't think the shots bothered her nearly as much as the bandaid covered gauze the doctor placed on her leg. When I went to change her diaper, she saw the gauze and freaked out. "Yucky, yucky," she screamed. Then, tugging at the bandaid, "Stuck, stuck!" My daughter handled the situation by quickly removing the bandaid (I'm using this term generically) and gauze. Adaline is very vocal about "bangaids" - she's not having them in any way, shape or form. We bought some with cute dolly-type pictures on them to see if we could change her mind. No way - she loves stickers, but now she's dubious about these "sticker" bangaids, too. She has become fascinated with an old Golden Book that embodies her worst fears - EVERYONE has owies and bandaids in DOCTOR DAN, THE BANDAGE MAN:<br />
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The trauma set in when Adaline noticed the arms had fallen off my nearly 60-year-old Ideal Saucy Walker doll, Melissa Kay. Melissa is made of plaster and her arms were connected by metal hooks and an industrial-strength rubber band. The rubber band broke some time ago, but I had managed to keep her arms attached with tight fitting doll clothes. Adaline has fallen in love with Melissa Kay, and the more love she gives the old doll, the more Melissa falls apart. Adaline was already concerned because Melissa's arms moved around inside the sleeves, but when I made the mistake of changing her clothes, Adaline saw the hole where the arm was supposed to go. "Broken, broken! Doctor, doctor," she hollered, and continued to holler it repeatedly all afternoon. Until I find a doll hospital, I'm trying to redirect Adaline's interest to other dolls. But the die was cast.<br />
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Two weeks ago, repairs started on a leak in the hallway of our 1920s building. It's outside our condo, just across from the elevator. Adaline wasn't too worried by the banging when the workmen cut a hole in the wall to fix the leak - the noise didn't bother her. When we walked to the elevator, though, it was a different story. She looked at the hole with an expression of sheer panic. "Uppy, uppy," she yelled, practically leaping into my arms. "Carry, carry!"<br />
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When the workmen came back, I took her into the hall so she could watch them work. She was very interested in their tools and sat on the floor, almost hypnotized, as they worked on the hole. I walked to the elevator with Adaline and her mommy and daddy later that day. She waved good-bye to me and then waved again. "Bye-bye, hole!"<br />
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When she arrived the next day, she was worried again. She greeted me with, "Broken, broken! Hole, hole!" Several times during the day, she took my hand and said, "C'mon! Hole!" We would troop into the hall (where the workman had left the pipes exposed, presumably so the hole could dry out) and Adaline would plonk down in front of it and just stare. Occasionally she'll say, "Pipe, pipe," and show us that the pipes aren't hot. Mostly, she looks worried.<br />
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Today, when she took my husband out to visit the hole, she picked up <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bear-snores-on-karma-wilson/1100630804?ean=9780689831874">BEAR SNORES ON</a>, a book she has enjoyed since she was little(r). She turned to a picture of the bear's dark cave and then pointed to the hole. I hope the publisher won't mind if I share this picture, so you can see for yourself:<br />
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This is Adaline and her friend, the hole in the wall:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyFvanWXjf5A76oqIMvD1aCKireYIhworFbAZBLjRfO9hvhxQELbjipm3NN9hpkBnvshZO3howWxuYV7EBkSQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
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One of these days, the hole will be fixed. I'm afraid the lack of a hole will be just as upsetting to her as the "broken" wall was when she first saw it. Will she worry that the snoring bear has been sealed up in the wall? Will she look at the smooth wall and think of "bangaids"? It's hard for an adult to master child-speak, in part because their reality does not always match ours. And as good as my imagination is, I must admit that it wouldn't have occurred to me to worry about the hole in the wall. </div>
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Will she still say "Bye-bye, hole" when the wall is fixed? I hope she will!</div>
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<br />Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-856207085700702882013-10-25T02:07:00.001-04:002013-10-27T19:36:01.404-04:00What's In a Name? Pen Names, Stage Names and Alter Egos<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 20px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><strong style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Juliet:</strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"What's in a name? That which we call a rose</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By any other name would smell as sweet."</span><br />
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<cite style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; color: #2393bd; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://www.enotes.com/romeo-text/act-ii-scene-ii#rom-2-2-45" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; color: #2393bd; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)</a></span></cite><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Shakespeare's tragedy Romeo and Juliet centered around a Hatfield-and-McCoy type feud, that of the Montagues and the Capulets. What's in a name? Many actors, past and present, have reinvented themselves by changing their names. Pen names, stage names, noms de plumes - as you can see, pseudonyms abound!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Jennifer Anastassakis > Jennifer Aniston</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Frederick Austerlitz > Fred Astaire</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Krishna Pandit Bhanji > Ben Kingsley</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nathan Birnbaum > George Burns</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><b>Eric Marlon Bishop > Jamie Foxx</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><b>Terry Gene Bollea > Hulk Hogan</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><b>Anna Mae Bullock > Tina Turner</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><b>Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone > Madonna</b></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Issur Danielovitch Demsky > Kirk Douglas</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Elizabeth Stamatina Fey > Tina Fey</b></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Joyce Penelope Wilhelmina Frankenberg > Jane Seymour</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta > Lady Gaga</b></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Demetria Gene Guynes > Demi Moore</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Frances Ethel Gumm > Judy Garland</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Paul David Hewson > Bono</b></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Margaret Mary Emily Anne Hyra > Meg Ryan</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Anna-Maria Louisa Italiano > Anne Bancroft</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Caryn Elaine Johnson > Whoopi Goldberg</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 19.1875px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Esther "Eppie" Pauline Friedman Lederer > Ann Landers</b></span></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Virginia Katherine McMath > Ginger Rogers</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Maurice Joseph Micklewhite > Michael Caine</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Alecia Beth Moore > Pink</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Dana Elaine Owens > Queen Latifah</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Tara Patrick > Carmen Electra</b></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Betty Joan Perske > Lauren Bacall</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 19.1875px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Pauline Esther Friedman Phillips and Jeanne Phillips > Abigail Van Buren > Dear Abby</b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 19.1875px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso > Pablo Picasso</b></span></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Jerome Silberman > Gene Wilder</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; line-height: 23.09375px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yvette Stevens > Chaka Khan</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mark Sinclair Vincent > Vin Diesel</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Brian Warner > Marilyn Manson</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Natalia Nikolaevna Zakharenko > Natalie Wood</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>It should come as no surprise that authors use pen names, too - and some even have pen names for their pen names. For instance, did you know J(oanne).K(athleen). Rowling, author of the Harry Potter novels, also wrote a mystery under the name Robert Galbraith?</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Here are more authors who use a literary alias or write under more than one name:</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Peter Abrahams, aka (also known as) Spencer Quinn</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Jennifer Ashley, aka Allyson James, aka Ashley Gardner</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Donna Ball, aka Rebecca Flanders, Leigh Bristol</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>A. M. Barnard, aka Louisa May Alcott</b></span></span><br />
<strong style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto, aka Pablo Neruda</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Jessica Bird, aka J.R. Ward</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Eric Blair, aka George Orwell</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Sandra Brown, aka Erin St. Clair, aka Rachel Ryan, aka Laura Jordan</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Emily Bryan, aka Mia Marlowe</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>John Dickson Carr, aka Carter Dickson</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Heron Carvic, aka Hamilton Crane</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Samuel Langhorne Clemens, aka Mark Twain</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Agatha Christie, aka </b><b style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller, </b><b>aka Mary Westmacott</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Jeff Cohen, aka E.J. Copperman</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Deborah Cooke, aka Claire Delacroix</b></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19.1875px;">David John Moore Cornwell > John Le Carre</b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Wendy Corsi Staub, aka Wendy Markham</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>John Creasey, aka J.J. Marric</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Frederick Dannay and Manfred B. Lee, aka Ellery Queen</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, aka Lewis Carroll</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Silence Dogood, aka Benjamin Franklin</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>George Savage Fitz-Boodle, aka William Makepeace Thackeray</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>L.L. Foster, aka Lori Foster</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Paul French, aka Isaac Asimov</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Erle Stanley Gardner, aka A.A. Fair</b></span><br />
<strong style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Theodor Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Colleen Gleason, aka Joss Ware</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Kim Harrison, aka Dawn Cook</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Jennifer Haymore, aka Dawn Halliday</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Victoria Holt, aka Jean Plaidy, aka Eleanor Hibbert, aka Philippa Carr</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Elizabeth Hoyt, aka Julia Harper</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Beth Kery, aka Bethany Kane</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Stephen King, aka Richard Bachman</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Jayne Ann Krentz, aka Jayne Castle, aka Amanda Quick</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Lexi Martin, aka Becke Davis</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Elizabeth Linington, aka Dell Shannon</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Cathie Linz, aka Cat Devon</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Victoria Lucas, aka Sylvia Plath</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Kathy Lyons, aka Jade Lee</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Katie MacAlister, aka Katie Maxwell</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Kinley MacGregor, aka Sherrilyn Kenyon</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Elizabeth MacKintosh, aka Gordon Daviot, aka Josephine Tey</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Evan Hunter, aka Ed McBain, aka Richard Marsten</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Glenna McReynolds, aka Tara Janzen</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Barbara Mertz, aka Barbara Michaels, aka Elizabeth Peters</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Howard Allen Frances O'Brien, aka Anne Rice</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Edith Pargeter, aka Ellis Peters</b></span><br />
<strong style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">William Sydney Porter, aka O. Henry</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Mary Florence Elinor Rainbow, aka Mary Stewart</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Ruth Rendell, aka Barbara Vine</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Lani Diane Rich, aka Lucy March</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Nora Roberts, aka J.D. Robb</b></span><br />
<b style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Alisa Zinovyevna Rosenbaum, aka Ayn Rand</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Donald E. Westlake, aka Richard Stark</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Madeline Wickham, aka Sophie Kinsella</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>I'm a little brain dead right now - post the ones I've missed in the comments!</i></b></span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.09375px;">Sources: </b><br />
<a href="http://voices.yahoo.com/the-real-names-movie-stars-487433.html">http://voices.yahoo.com/the-real-names-movie-stars-487433.html</a><br />
<a href="http://content.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,2093588_2093587_2093580,00.html">http://content.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,2093588_2093587_2093580,00.html</a><br />
<a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/here-are-the-real-names-of-tk-actors--celebrities-2012-7">http://www.businessinsider.com/here-are-the-real-names-of-tk-actors--celebrities-2012-7</a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pen_name">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pen_name</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Favourite-Authors-Writing-Under-Revealed/lm/R1Z22N0YV6JGGP">http://www.amazon.com/Favourite-Authors-Writing-Under-Revealed/lm/R1Z22N0YV6JGGP</a><br />
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/249324-authors-with-numerous-pen-names">http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/249324-authors-with-numerous-pen-names</a><br />
<a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/famous-authors-who-wrote-under-pen-names-2013-7#">http://www.businessinsider.com/famous-authors-who-wrote-under-pen-names-2013-7#</a><br />
<a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/04/the-strange-stories-behind-famous-writers-pen-names/255619/">http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/04/the-strange-stories-behind-famous-writers-pen-names/255619/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/04/the-strange-stories-behind-famous-writers-pen-names/255619/#slide4">http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/04/the-strange-stories-behind-famous-writers-pen-names/255619/#slide4</a><br />
<a href="http://www.11points.com/Books/11_Author_Pen_Names_That_We_Thought_Were_Their_Real_Names">http://www.11points.com/Books/11_Author_Pen_Names_That_We_Thought_Were_Their_Real_Names</a>Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-57509274873777610602013-07-21T14:23:00.002-04:002013-09-06T00:54:52.063-04:00You Know What I Did This Summer? (It's like last year, only more.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ssMMmTqsWfBbay6DKeKq87AZuNlMZM1QGP45il_hpum9odiM_i6klt5JtmwSxDnK6sEUb3xE-XWeKWOGF5X87kXl8E4nsFsffTveneTTcgaSM0h1POGXUZFy5w_hdFG8CCaDSEaT9_U/s1600/Lois+Duncan+-+I+Know+What+You+Did+Last+Summer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ssMMmTqsWfBbay6DKeKq87AZuNlMZM1QGP45il_hpum9odiM_i6klt5JtmwSxDnK6sEUb3xE-XWeKWOGF5X87kXl8E4nsFsffTveneTTcgaSM0h1POGXUZFy5w_hdFG8CCaDSEaT9_U/s320/Lois+Duncan+-+I+Know+What+You+Did+Last+Summer.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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You're probably thinking I got the title wrong, since there was a famous movie called I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER. It was based on the book by Lois Duncan, who I've known since I was about 12 years old. Lois has always been a big influence on me, so I want to give her a shout-out. She's still writing books and movie screenplays, and she's won more awards than I can mention. Check out her <a href="http://loisduncan.arquettes.com/">website</a> for details.</div>
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But I digress. What I did LAST summer was renovate, clear out, pack and move from the house we lived in for almost 20 years in Cincinnati. Marty and I moved to Chicago last fall, where we are enjoying our compact condo overlooking Lake Michigan. The biggest change wasn't our downsizing, though, it was the arrival of our first grandbaby last August. I started babysitting for her when her mom went back to work last October. I can hardly believe she'll celebrate her first birthday in a few weeks!</div>
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Traditionally, summer is a time for basking in the sun and relaxing. As I kid, I would plop down in the grass with a book and not come up for air until I'd read the last page. Last summer was anything BUT relaxing. This summer is even crazier. A year ago, if anyone told me all I'd be doing this summer, I would have said they were nuts. It's not really what "I" am doing this time - it's what my kids are doing.</div>
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On a Top Ten list of <a href="http://top10.me/top-10-most-stressful-life-events">Most Stressful Life Events</a>, moving house is ranked number three. Exams are ranked number five and planning a wedding number six. My son is doing all three of those things this summer. Their condo is a little cramped right now, with two adults, a baby, two teenage boys and a dog all sharing a one bedroom with sitting room. The new place, just a few blocks away, is much bigger. While going through the stress of buying a new place, my soon-to-be daughter-in-law just started a new job and my son just finished exams - he's working toward his Ph.D. On top of that, they're planning their wedding, which will take place in a few short weeks, clear across the country. No stress! </div>
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My daughter is also moving. After almost nine years in Orlando, Florida, she's moving to Chicago to be closer to her gazillion relatives, primarily her almost one-year-old niece. She's moving with three cats, just to make things more interesting. She's moving into my son's current condo, so the timing is going to be tricky. She and the cats will stay at our place until her furniture arrives - hopefully my cranky, elderly cat will coexist with them peacefully for a few days. My daughter is cleaning and clearing out her place, saying good-bye to friends and a job she still likes and worrying about how her cats will adapt to the move. She's also applying for jobs online - since her brother is her new landlord, she wants to find work quickly. No stress there!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammy and Mouse, in their younger days</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie, chillin'</td></tr>
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I'm going down to Orlando to help my daughter pack. The movers are taking care of most of it, but we're packing her books, her clothes and her shoes, purses and collector's dolls. I arrive Thursday afternoon. The movers are coming at 8 a.m. Friday morning. We have to get the packing done before they arrive. No stress!</div>
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Oddly enough, I've moved so many times I'm really NOT that stressed about the moves, just the timing. Marty and I have moved more times than I can count, including twice across the ocean (once each direction for me, twice from England to America for him). We've moved from Chicago to New Jersey and back, and from Chicago to Cincinnati and back. </div>
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Living in Cincinnati almost 20 years didn't mean we were exempt from moving during those years. During that time, our daughter moved in and out of three dorms in Athens, Ohio before moving to Orlando. My son moved to one dorm and several apartments (I remember three, but there might have been more) in Chicago while he was an undergrad. </div>
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Looking back, it seems like we've done nothing but pack and unpack for most of our lives. We've been lucky - these moves were by choice. Even the places we weren't crazy about weren't truly awful. </div>
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As crazy as this summer is - and we've only just dipped our toes into Crazy Lake at this point - these are positive moves, positive changes. By, say, mid-October, we'll be settling into our new routine. I hope.</div>
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We'll look back on this summer and only remember the highlights - the wedding, the baby's first birthday, the excitement of Auntie Jessica moving into our building. I'm not a fan of winter, but Christmas will be fun this year, with both of my kids living in the same state for the first time in nearly a decade. </div>
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My writing is taking a back seat right now, but I'm not entirely neglecting it. I'm working with a lovely author friend, who is helping me improve one story, and I've hired a freelance editor to help me salvage a story that's been roundly rejected in its present state. I'm excited to be writing again, but I don't regret the time spent with my grandbaby. She won't be little for long, and I don't want to miss a minute!</div>
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This post is like my life right now - kind of rambling and all over the place. I can't believe I haven't posted since April. Don't be too surprised if the leaves are falling when my next post appears. I strive to keep up with my blogs, but sometimes life happens. I'm trying to make this my motto - wish me luck!</div>
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Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-17034306850533919242013-04-08T23:20:00.000-04:002013-04-09T00:07:31.949-04:00Annette: "Now it's time to say goodbye..."Annette Funicello was America's Hayley Mills - the movie star everybody loved. I have vague memories of watching Mickey Mouse Club when I was a kid. I mainly remember Jimmie (the grown-up), Annette and Cubby. I remember Cubby because my parents thought my brother looked a bit like him, and "Cubby" became his nickname.<br />
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I remember Annette more for her Disney movies, like Babes in Toyland, and for her guest star roles on The Wonderful World of Disney than for Mickey Mouse Club. I'm sure I watched the beach movies with Annette, Paul Anka and all, but I wasn't a huge fan.<br />
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I became a fan of Annette by a fluke - her album, "Annette: The Story of My Teens and the Sixteen Songs That Tell It" was delivered to our house either by mistake or as a promotion for a record club. I'm absolutely sure my parents didn't order it, but one way or another it became my very first album. It came out in 1962, when I was 10 years old. I played that album until it wore out or broke - I still have the very battered album cover, but the album itself is long gone.<br />
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I can remember most of the songs on the album and even after all these years, I still remember the words to a lot of them. "Tall Paul," "Pineapple Princess" and other questionable classics. They might not rank with the Beatles, but these songs still bring back happy memories. All of the songs in the YouTube links below were on that album.<br />
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R.I.P. Annette. I remember these words from the closing of the Mickey Mouse Club episodes: "Now it's time to say good-bye..." You'll be missed.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pWH9HGS7SvQ" width="420"></iframe><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OmMysW8Wwqc" width="420"></iframe>Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-81558612313932905802013-03-30T13:07:00.001-04:002013-03-30T23:45:31.342-04:00Remembering My Grandparents' HouseEight months ago, give or take a few days, I became a grandmother. I babysit for that little sweetheart every weekday, and I LOVE the way she smiles when she comes through the door. I don't know if it will always be this way, but right now Grandma and Grandpa's house means FUN!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8X61cAtZsrUchviPX6AxT19kfOFOR8C6_w3tp-3YKUIeDW8GdnlrDi5MAOrs2j9mEGShVwDAvItgNyGXsDlP2bjKS0Q4eZPgqVpJPn1QJ0RVOq84XGdq9J9l81gGrp15YvnDeNEKuSI/s1600/brave+grandpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8X61cAtZsrUchviPX6AxT19kfOFOR8C6_w3tp-3YKUIeDW8GdnlrDi5MAOrs2j9mEGShVwDAvItgNyGXsDlP2bjKS0Q4eZPgqVpJPn1QJ0RVOq84XGdq9J9l81gGrp15YvnDeNEKuSI/s320/brave+grandpa.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adaline meets Grandpa</td></tr>
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Adaline has a routine with her grandpa (who is one of her favorite people in the whole world) where he takes her around the living room. She greets the gnomes on top of the bookcase, squeals at the picture of her daddy's cousins and points out "Mama, Dadadadadaaaa" and herself and Uncle Nick in another picture. She also loves a very old picture of "Becky and Tommy" although I'm certain she has no idea that little girl in the picture is her grandma!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A different picture of Tommy (now Thom) and Becky (now Becke) </td></tr>
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The other day we drove through Evanston, and I had trouble remembering the cross streets that led to my grandparents' house. They lived on Lawndale Avenue for about 40 years, and I spent a lot of time there when I was a kid. I have some very random memories of that house.<br />
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The house was a bungalow, with concrete steps up to the front door. The first level of steps (four, as I recall) were easy to jump from - no challenge to me or my younger brothers and sisters. Up by the front door, though, there was a concrete "shelf" considerably higher up. Jumping off of THAT to the sidewalk below definitely earned points with the siblings. I don't like heights, but I jumped from that "shelf" more times than I can count.<br />
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My grandmother came from New England, and she had definite ideas about how kids should behave. She had an attic packed to the rafters with all kinds of cool things, and yet she wouldn't let us play up there. The basement was allowed, but to my mind, it wasn't nearly as exciting. Looking back, though, I remember a few things about the basement that intrigued me:<br />
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*My grandfather had a couple ping-pong tables situated under Gro-lights, where he grew begonia cuttings in vermiculite.<br />
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*He had a bomb shelter-slash-pantry in the basement, filled with old canned goods and drying bulbs that he forced every spring, mainly narcissus and hyacinths.<br />
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*There weren't many toys around the house, but there WERE some Big Little Books that belonged to my uncle Jim, who was only ten years older than me. My grandmother suspected they were valuable, though, and didn't like us to play with them. (Which made those books all the more attractive to us!)<br />
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*I don't remember my grandfather ever building anything, but there was a workshop in the back of the basement with a work table and some interesting tools. I was fascinated with the heavy metal vice - I'm amazed I never used it as a thumb screw on my siblings!<br />
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*My uncle Jim had a bedroom sectioned off near the work table. My favorite thing about the room was a painting hanging over the bed of a big old train. The train's headlights were trained on the door, and every time I walked into the room I shivered, feeling like the train was going to jump off the wall and run me down.<br />
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*I remember my grandparent's bedroom best the way it was when I was a little kid. The curtains were patterned with big cabbage roses, a pattern I've always loved. My grandfather would pull a book down from his closet shelf and show me his silver certificate dollar bills. It seemed like hidden treasure to me! On hot summer mornings he would make us each a bowl of blueberries with milk and sugar, a treat that stills makes me think of childhood summers.<br />
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*My grandmother collected china and her table was always beautifully set. When she made pancakes, the syrup was never poured from a bottle - it was warmed up and served in a moose-shaped creamer. To me the moose = syrup, but for some reason my grandmother put vinegar in it once. I poured it on my pancakes and, embarrassed to criticize her cooking, choked them down until someone else complained. I can still remember the taste of vinegar-soaked pancakes, which is probably why I rarely eat pancakes these days.<br />
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*My uncle Dave was in the Navy when I was young, but Jim was a teenager, and he was often stuck babysitting for me. I was thrilled to be taken along on his dates, and if he was upset at being saddled with me, he didn't show it. Jim's bedrooms changed as I grew up - for awhile the middle bedroom was his, then the room on the back porch, and then the basement.<br />
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The middle bedroom held the secrets. The wallpaper was patterned like wagon wheels, and when I was supposed to be taking a nap one day I noticed Jim had written letters between the spokes of several wheels. I loved mysteries, and I assumed the letters were a secret code. They were, in a way. He'd written the names of all his girlfriends between the wheel spokes. I seem to recall earning money by hinting about the secrets of the wallpaper whenever he brought a girl to the house.<br />
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*In the living room was a grand piano my grandmother played regularly. She and my grandfather, who was a notable tenor, sang duets. They had a Lerner & Lowe songbook I memorized back in the day, although my piano playing skills never went much beyond "Heart and Soul." There was also a big white fireplace with bookcases on either side. Before I could read, I'd look for the red book with the gold crescent moon on the side, and pull it out so my grandfather could read Br'er Rabbit to me.<br />
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*My grandfather liked to have a fire going even in spring, and after my grandmother's big meals he would flop down on the carpet in front of the fire and take a nap. The first time I brought Marty - my future husband - to the house, I neglected to tell him about my grandfather's naptime habit. He was appalled when we all moved into the living room after dinner. My grandfather was sprawled on the floor and everyone just kept talking and stepping around him.<br />
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Marty gasped and caught my arm, gesturing to the floor. "Your grandfather..." he choked. "He's..." "Sleeping," I said. And then felt my face turn bright red when I realized what he'd thought. Oh well, we are a strange family. It's probably a good thing he learned that early on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandfather in a hat my parents brought back from China</td></tr>
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*I still remember the neighbors - Dr. Hedge, who had a beautiful Annabelle hydrangea at the corner of his house, the Rockefellows a few houses down, my friends Linda Smith and Jeannie Hamer.<br />
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We never did find Lawndale Avenue when we were driving around. Maybe it's for the best. It's always weird to go by the houses from our youth and see someone else living there.Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-65352334264362900412013-03-18T22:14:00.003-04:002013-03-19T01:42:04.875-04:00This WAS Me - a Long, Long Time Ago<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometime in my youth I was given a book called THIS IS ME, copyright 1956 by Polly Webster. While searching for some tax papers I needed the other day, I came across this book. (Normally my papers are organized, but our move last year changed all that.) I wrote in this book, according to my pencil notations, when I was 8, 10, 11 1/2, 12, 13 1/2, 14, 17, 20 and 43 years old. It's intended as a sort of diary, but I'm not surprised to see additional notations by my little sister Laura and Kerry, who was my best friend back in the day. (We're still friends now but we don't see each other very often.) </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me at about age 8 - sadly lacking a tiara</td></tr>
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I was interested to see the books I liked back then. (Most of these I remember, but I was surprised to see a list of classics posted in 1969, when I was 17. I have to laugh when I read the headings: "Books I read because I had to" and "But these books I read because I wanted to read them." Under that list, my comments included Mystery Books and Good Books and (my daughter will snicker) the misspelled "Island of the Blue Dolfins."</div>
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This one is funny and kind of sad. The heading of the page is "If I had a thousand dollars I would..." (Well, there are no ellipses, but - damn it - there should be!) In my innocence at age 10, I wrote: "If I had a thousand dollars I would send 1 hundred dollars of it to CARE, 1 hundred the slums in Chicago and with the rest (!!!) I would buy myself a house, new clothes, some kittens, furniture food and (gotta love it) a tiara. I would (editor needed here to insert "spend") the rest for mostly bills." The REST???</div>
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As a teenager, when I should have been more worldly-wise in economics, I still expected that a thousand dollars would pay for a year of college (clearly, my son did NOT get his math smarts from me!). In the midst of my charitable inclinations, I also included a haircut and makeup for myself, as well as CHOCOLATE ECLAIRS.</div>
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On the "When I Grow Up" page, I'm shocked to see "hair stylist" at the top of the "Things I Want to Be" (along with writer, wife, mother, social worker, saleslady, newspaper reporter, etc.). I think that was wishful thinking, because I've always found the talent for hair styling elusive. Judging by the sample of my artistic talents on the right, it's clear to see why I never became an artist. I'm surprised to see that on the list. (I'm also mystified by chef, nurse, dressmaker and architect - those must have made the list because I'd recently read books that featured heroines with those careers.)<br />
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Easy to see where my priorities were! Notice house and baby came before college and car. I was mad about the Beatles, but did eventually marry an Englishman and got my wish to go to England. (Who knew I'd eventually live there, too?) Nowadays I can afford to treat myself to dried apricots and chocolate eclairs - rare treats growing up in a family of seven - although it's a tragedy neither are quite as appealing as they were back then.</div>
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On other pages I listed things I worried about:<br />
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"If I'm really all that much taller than everyone else" (I was 5'7" in middle school, eventually reaching 5'8")<br />
"If my dress is up in back"<br />
"If I'm a pest"<br />
"If I'm monopolizing the conversation" (odds are, yes!)<br />
"If I'm going to pass math"<br />
"If I'm going to be late to school"<br />
"If I have food on my face"<br />
"If my hair's messed up" (I'm going to guess "yes" on this one, too!)<br />
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My favorite things to do? According to this book:<br />
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Read<br />
Goof off (sub-heading: Goof off with BOYS) *snicker*<br />
Watch TV<br />
Listen to radio (that would have been my primary source of Beatle music)<br />
Joke<br />
Work<br />
Ice Skate<br />
Swim<br />
Eat<br />
Sleep<br />
Talk<br />
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My favorite colors were, surprisingly, white and pink. Favorite magazine was <a href="http://ingenuecollection.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/ingenue-jan-1965-magazine-beatles-beach-boys-folk-teen-966052.jpg">Ingenue</a>, favorite books - same as now, too many to list. Favorite food: pizza. (What? Not chocolate eclairs??) Favorite place - now this is a mystery: Indiana! Favorite pastime: Reading. Then, apparently when I was trying to be cool as a teenager, "Gin & Tonic" was added to the list of favorites.<br />
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I went back and commented on my earlier comments when I was older. There is a chart to show responsibilites and I put an X under "Neat." Later I went back and wrote "You're kidding!" next to that one. Next to "I am bossy" I wrote "I DON'T KNOW" in big red letters. (It was a constant oldest-sister concern.)<br />
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Under physical talents I put Xs next to I Can Turn Somersaults, I Can Do Cartwheels and I Can Stand On My Head" but next to I Can Do <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UpjXY8WKmQA">Clog Dancing</a> I wrote in all caps "WHAT IS IT???"<br />
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So that was my trip down memory lane. My son glanced through this book today and was interested that many of my early career choices came close to the mark. This phrase keeps coming up in my life lately:<br />
<i>Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.</i> Loosely translated, it means "The more things change, the more they stay the same."<br />
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A scary thought just struck me - this book is more than fifty years old. It's an antique! Or is an antique over 100 years old? Whew - I've got a few decades before the book and I are antiquarian, in that case. Maybe I'll update it again in another 20 years or so!Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076772516994296846.post-88370369970750777922013-03-10T15:51:00.000-04:002013-04-04T09:21:28.160-04:00My Road from Mills & Boon to the Land of Happily Ever After The year was 1980. I lived in London and worked at the London (Sunday) Times, selling business advertising. My daily commute involved a long train ride from Bexleyheath, Kent to Charing Cross Station. From there I took a bus to Theobald's Road and walked up Grays Inn Road to the (former) Times building.
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Between the bus and train rides, I had a lot of time to read. I was young and poor and, while I did spend a lot of time at the library, hardcover books were heavy to lug around. I regularly brought Agatha Christie paperbacks with me, since I had all of her books (in multiple editions).<br />
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Eventually I tired of rereading those, and was drawn to a book stall I passed every day in a street market on Grays Inn Road. They didn't have many mysteries (my genre of choice) but they had loads of Mills & Boon books. I'd never read one, and I imagined they would be mushy and somewhat frowsy, not my taste at all. (I pictured the authors as bouffant-haired Barbara Cartland-types, an image that makes me laugh now.) But the bookstall sold used Mills & Boon paperbacks for ten pence each or a pound for a whole bag, a price point that fit my budget perfectly. I decided to give them a try.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7601TnZMV_2PxpM727lypyOCCx3GNPip4wl_me_6BV0ygQp10g4gPrIRqA4_781S84wjNUUbPw__RWUKUkQ5z9RMRfLPzGVRr9yUr4wjJj9GdvspukEfqIW-3A2Pgc4tvLdAU5rzv4s/s1600/mills+&+boon.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7601TnZMV_2PxpM727lypyOCCx3GNPip4wl_me_6BV0ygQp10g4gPrIRqA4_781S84wjNUUbPw__RWUKUkQ5z9RMRfLPzGVRr9yUr4wjJj9GdvspukEfqIW-3A2Pgc4tvLdAU5rzv4s/s320/mills+&+boon.jpg" /></a><br />
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My first time out, I bought a bag and filled it with an assortment of authors. The mix included Janet Dailey, Violet Winspear, Helen Bianchin, Sara Craven, Carol Mortimer, Margaret Pargeter, Margaret Way, Penny Jordan, Charlotte Lamb, Anne Mather, Karen VanDerZee and others. I picked one at random to read on the train home: ONE OF THE BOYS by Janet Dailey. I finished it before the train arrived at my station.<br />
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Soon I was buying a bag of Mills & Boon books a week, reading them like a kid devours candy. I even broke down and bought NEW editions. The covers were mostly a bit hokey and embarrassing - I often hid the books inside magazines. But I didn't buy them for the covers, I bought them for the stories. Within a very short time I was reading two or three romances a day. Soon I had read all of Janet Dailey's books, all of Charlotte Lamb's, all of Margaret Way's books, and I had a long list of other favorites.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwfz5Gp4a67dtcYa8bjjKzrV53e9cNswopPtzsRuhvd28aSZzwHYXwpZ4y5TGs9ptNc92K8DdDcIhEfZXksRNd8AdsuZe38GdFeakplpjZ-ipMkCjlqwgYYs1kRhy5nhR3DwFJ-7BNmY/s1600/Mills+and+Boon+dailey.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwfz5Gp4a67dtcYa8bjjKzrV53e9cNswopPtzsRuhvd28aSZzwHYXwpZ4y5TGs9ptNc92K8DdDcIhEfZXksRNd8AdsuZe38GdFeakplpjZ-ipMkCjlqwgYYs1kRhy5nhR3DwFJ-7BNmY/s320/Mills+and+Boon+dailey.jpg" /></a><br />
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By the time we moved back to the United States a few years later, I was well and truly hooked. As soon as we settled in to our new house, I subscribed to Harlequin Presents, Silhouette Special Edition, Candlelight Ecstasy Romance and more. Whenever a new line was added (Blaze, Desire, etc.), I subscribed to it, too. I read the books as fast as they arrived, and quickly filled a whole bookcase with my "keeper" romances.<br />
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Before long, my favorites were triple-stacked on the shelves.<br />
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I realized that, while I still loved mysteries of all kinds, many of my favorites could be classified as romantic suspense - books like Mary Stewart's TOUCH NOT THE CAT, and Evelyn Anthony's THE TAMARIND SEED. In my usual way, I found authors I liked and read everything they wrote. Soon it wasn't enough.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnytg-vgd9pZI349YH_hD5-CJLvDEmq3nExWphqL5s8SO0h9dxjo__QX0UUQmJ43T0eILVueM0wC2Rz6MCtRtgT1ZFwiuR6ZIamXDjxIsAKwfvPlCGWk-BUccfOMaKhfkcJ502X4itmo/s1600/touch+not+the+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnytg-vgd9pZI349YH_hD5-CJLvDEmq3nExWphqL5s8SO0h9dxjo__QX0UUQmJ43T0eILVueM0wC2Rz6MCtRtgT1ZFwiuR6ZIamXDjxIsAKwfvPlCGWk-BUccfOMaKhfkcJ502X4itmo/s320/touch+not+the+cat.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiB3HmvaGfIMkGV65zTf4mc7fH2LZjtEk9Ud4QhhVDqV1JZceJD_CAnwc8IU8jebqaaO709pbvbRCT4W1B03YgEnqPNeepr7Zg-MTzZv68XhXSgMvh0dmY1IUf7OuHB1ayVQva1JRxWg/s1600/tamarind+seed.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiB3HmvaGfIMkGV65zTf4mc7fH2LZjtEk9Ud4QhhVDqV1JZceJD_CAnwc8IU8jebqaaO709pbvbRCT4W1B03YgEnqPNeepr7Zg-MTzZv68XhXSgMvh0dmY1IUf7OuHB1ayVQva1JRxWg/s320/tamarind+seed.jpg" /></a><br />
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One author on my keeper shelf was Nora Roberts, so when I began seeing her books in airports and grocery stores, I decided to check them out. ALL of them. When I finished reading all of her books, I panicked. What would I read now?<br />
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I discovered Jennifer Crusie's books in Las Vegas. While my husband attended a business conference, I was excited to find a small bookstore between the Mandalay Bay hotel and the Luxor. They had a big display of Crusie's books. I bought one called TELL ME LIES and went outside to sit by the pool and read. A few hours later, I'd finished the book. When I looked up from the pages, the sun was setting, I was the only person by the pool and the gates were locked. Luckily, I found a maintenance man who let me out. I went straight back to the bookstore and bought every Jennifer Crusie book they had.<br />
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It's been 30+ years since I read my first Mills & Boon novel. <i>Tempus</i> has definitely <i>fugit</i>ed! I no longer subscribe to every Harlequin line, but I still read category romance. A lot of my friends write for Harlequin, and I still tend to focus on my favorite authors. (Did I mention I have a LOT of favorite authors?) Still, it was Mills & Boon who started it all, and Harlequin who sealed the deal. I blame them for the overflowing state of my bookshelves. They are packed with every sub-genre of mystery and romance as well as some sci-fi and paranormals.<br />
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My family doesn't understand my love of romance novels, but to me it's a no-brainer. I read for enjoyment, and there's nothing more satisfying to me than a happy ending.
I don't hide covers anymore - partly because they've improved a lot and partly because I'm a romance reader, and I don't apologize for it. Anyone who brushes off romance novels (or writes them off as "bodice-rippers") has probably never read one (or not recently). They're bloody hard to write, and I am thankful for all the authors (nearly always women) whose books brought me joy. You're a class act, ladies. Thank you! And thank you, Mills & Boon, for setting me on the path to romance. Becke Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05347467350985614111noreply@blogger.com2