“Oh Dad! Can I Please Buy This Book?”

You’ve heard me say it numerous times, my book, “The Gathering Room - A Tale of Nelly Butler”, seeks out and finds the people who are supposed to know this story. You’ve also heard me say, just recently in another blog post, that every event I attend I know there is one person I am supposed to meet that day and I know they will be shown to me. Recently I attended an event that provided me with glaring examples of both of these scenarios.

Just this past weekend I was doing a book signing at a sporting goods store. I know, selling books at a sporting goods store seems odd right? I thought so too when I was invited to their Christmas event last year, but oddly I sold quite a few books there. So this year when they reached out to me and asked if I would like to be at their store again I went gladly. This year however, there was an impending storm, and whereas I had signed books at their main store last year, this year the event had been moved to their downtown location. I’m all to familiar with how difficult parking can be in the downtown. So to be truthfully honest, given the weather and the location I didn’t expect to sell many books. However, as noted, I stopped worrying long ago about how many books I sell. There are other reasons for me and the book to be out among the public. And this was made abundantly clear to me almost immediately.

I was scheduled to start my sighing at 10:00 and I literally think it was 10:05 when a father walked in with his two young daughters. Clearly they were on a Christmas shopping mission and the person they were looking to buy a gift for was obviously an outdoor enthusiast. They looked around the store for a bit before the older of the two girls spotted me sitting quietly in the corner. I watched as her eyes lit up and I knew immediately that she was a child that loved books! If you are a book lover you know what I mean. I watched as she tugged on her father’s sleeve to get his attention. Once she had it she whispered something and then pointed at me. Together they casually walked over to my table. I spoke right up, because, well if you know me, that’s never a problem for me! And I asked the young girl if she liked to read. In response she nodded her head up and down vigoursly and then shyly said to me “Is this book about a ghost?” I told her it was, in a way, and then explained the history behind the ghost of Nelly Butler and how the book told the story of the people involved. She asked “Are you the author?” I nodded and then handed her a book so she could see my photo on the back. “Yes I am, and look they even put my picture on the back!” she took the book from me, and as with most children I meet, got really excited to think she was talking to a “real” author!

And then without any warning, this incredibly shy child started reading the summary on the back of my book….OUT LOUD!! She read slow, as you would expect from a child trying to sound out words completely foreign to her every day vocabulary. She stumbled over the word “financially” in describing George’s situation when he and Nelly returned to Franklin. And she wasn’t quite sure how to pronounce Lydia’s last name of “Blaisdell” and had to look at her father for reassurance. But she read the entire paragraph out loud, right there in the store. And do you want to know what I was doing? I was bawling like a baby! Yup, me the multi award winning author of a best selling book was ugly crying all over myself in front of total strangers in a sporting goods store! I just could not hold myself together as I listened to this child, who obviously loved reading so much, take the deep dive into a book that was clearly way above her skill level. But despite that she was reading out loud the thoughts of my imagination. In her stuttering and awkward way she was bringing my story to life right in front of me. This just touched me so deeply because I was that child once. That child that just loved books so much that I read anything I could get my hands on, even if I didn’t really understand everything I was reading. This young girl was my kindred spirit.

When she finished reading the summary, she turned her face up to her father and begged him, “Oh dad, can I please buy this book?” Dad, clearly understanding her enthusiasm, cautioned her a bit though, “Maybe in a year or two, when you are 11 or 12. I think some of those words might be to hard for you to read.” I also understood that dad was probably more concerned with the content of the story, then with if she could actually sound the words out. So I told him I had written this book “clean”. I had written it for my own entertainment, knowing full well that my own children and grandchildren would read it and I didn’t write anything in it that I would be embarrassed about if my own family read it. I also told him that I felt the book was appropriate for ages middle school and up, and that I had actually met a young man a few months ago who was 9 years old who had loved it. This information gave the young girl hope and she looked again at her father begging for him to purchase her a copy. And as the dad of a book lover, he couldn’t say no! So I signed a copy for her, which thrilled her even more, and handed it to her. She clung to that book, literally, hugging it to her chest like she couldn’t let go. I shook her hand and thanked her for loving my book so much. I then explained to her father that I truly believed that at every event I attend I am supposed to me one person, and his daughter was my one person that day.

They walked back into the depths of the store, continuing their quest to fulfill their Christmas shopping list. I continued to wipe tears from eyes. I watched the young girl and every chance she got to make eye contact with me she would sheepishly smile and lift her hand in a little wave, still hugging my book to her chest. Eventually they left the store, I got up and went to the bathroom to check the condition of my face after all of that crying and then resumed my spot in my chair. Ten minutes into my two hour book signing slot and I was content, didn’t matter to me if I sold another book, I had met my one person! About an hour later they returned to the store, the girl ran right up to my table, my book still clutched in her hands, “I want to buy another book!” she told me excitedly “For my mom!” I looked up at the dad and his face registered that frustration of a man who has spent an hour shopping downtown and the girls had clearly not found anything they wanted to purchase for their mom, except, well, my book. So I signed another one for the mom and shook the young girls hand again. That’s when her younger sister spoke up for the first time. “I’m 9 years old. I’m going to read your book someday too.” I told her I hoped she enjoyed it! As the next hour dragged on and fewer and fewer people entered the store, I realized I wasn’t going to sell even half of the books I had sold at this event last year. But I didn’t mind, I had met this young girl, I had met my one person.

Then at 11:45, just fifteen minutes before I was supposed to pack up and leave, a very nice young couple entered the store. They walked around, browsing at the goods for sale and then the woman spotted me in the corner. She came right over and we started chatting as she picked up the book and started to read the summary as I prattled away on the book winning this award and that award, blah blah. Suddenly she looked up and with a very surprised and shocked look on her face she said “Lydia Blaisdell?” she then spoke a little louder and got the attention of the man that had come in with her. “Come here!” she urged him. He came over and she handed him the book. “Here! Read this!” she exclaimed and then she looked at me and said “No wait let her tell you about it!” so I proceeded with my little elevator speech about the book and when I was finished he turned his eyes back to the summary of the book and I knew when he read the part that said Lydia’s name because I saw his eyes get really big. He then looked at me and said “Where did this story happen?” I told him in Franklin and Sullivan and showed him the map I always have me. The couple exchanged one of those knowing looks that couples have and then she said to me. “He just found out YESTERDAY, that his grandmother was a Blaisdell. They were from Pemaquid.”

Well, ladies and gentleman let me tell you something! I was not at all surprised by this conversation! You know why? Because the book seeks out and finds the people who are supposed to know this story. I’ve seen it happen to many times to not believe it for myself. But the really cool caveat to this gentleman finding the book is that the next book, The Prequel, is about the story of the Blaisdells and how they ended up in Pemaquid!!! That was the first time I had seen that happen!!! Looks like my journey is continuing!

This lovely couple did buy a book and it was the last one, of just a few, I sold that day. Honestly I didn’t care. I had been shown the reasons why I do this. I had met my one person and the book had proven to me yet again that it will guide it’s own future, I just need to tag along!

Thanks so much for being on this journey with me! I hope you find it as fun and fascinating as I do!

You’re Just An Ordinary Human Being

As it is with most of us, if you are an avid reader, you collect books with the intention of reading them, someday and then, well, actually you never do. Unbeknownst to me until just a year or so ago, all of those un read books lining my bookshelves or stacked in neat piles on the floor are considered my TBR books. TBR meaning To Be Read. I did not know this was a thing. As noted in other blog posts, although I’m an avid reader and read daily, I somehow got left out of the loop of the literary minded or connected. A TBR list was nothing I was ever familiar with. All I knew was that I had a book problem and I would probably never live long enough to read all of the books I dragged home.

And I’m not kidding when I say I have a book problem. I will bring home books by the dozens! I bring books home by the bags full! Goodwill is one of my favorite places for picking up used books. It was actually in a Goodwill that I first realized I had a problem. I spotted a book that looked so intriguing that I immediately purchased it. I went home and was just about to place it lovingly on the shelf, aside all of the other books I still had not read yet, when I realized I already owned that book! Apparently there was a reason why I liked the look of that book so much! I already had it! Had not read it yet and now I owned two copies! Lucky me!

My book problem was reinforced to me again this week as I sat staring at all of the books I own. I’ve been going through a purging phase. You know that feeling that hits you every once in a while when you have to clean out closets. Toss items that have been stashed away under cupboards. Look seriously at the amount of “stuff” we accumulate and take stock on whether you really need it all or not. That has been my life for the past couple of weeks. After purging myself of everything I could within the closets and cupboards of the house, I was now faced with my books. There really were to many of them and if I was going to be thorough in this cleansing moment there were books that were going to have to go! The time had come to make the difficult decisions.

Immediately I was faced with finding two copies of yet another book on two different book shelves! I had a hard cover version, as well as a paperback. For those keeping score that is now TWICE that I’ve purchased multiple copies of the same book! This purging decision seemed easier as it was a no brainer to keep the hardcover and put the paperback in the box to be donated. Not really a sacrifice and I didn’t feel like I had harmed any books in the making of this decision.

Others were easy too. Like all of the gardening books that I’ve carried around with me for 30+ years. I’m a pretty experienced gardener now and if there is something I’m questioning I can look that up on the internet, right? So those all went. As did the home remedies books for both people and dogs, again we live in a world with access to knowledge in the palm of our hands.

There were books I bought with great intentions of actually using them, that in reality I never did. So those went quickly. Books like “Daily Rituals - How Artists Work”. I think I was looking for guidance on becoming a creative writer. Nope didn’t use that one. Another… “A Mindful Year - 365 Thoughtful Writing Prompts”, also never used. Apparently I don’t need promptings to write! And then my personal favorite “Badass Body Goals - The Booty Shaping & Resistance Training Journal.” Ya….never used that one. Just gonna let that go with no further explanation!

And then there was the book pictured above, “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows” by John Koenig. I actually remember buying this one. I bought two, but on purpose! Gave one to my daughter-in-law who is also a book lover and I knew it was just weird enough that she would enjoy it as much as I did! That’s why I love her, she’s weird in a book kind of way just like me.

So the premise of this book, this dictionary of obscure sorrows, is that we are all struggling with the fundamental strangeness of being human. All the ups and downs, the sorrows, the joys, all of it. That part of getting up every morning and just living, it’s hard work being a human! This book was full of new words, made up, created just recently, not found in any other dictionary kind of words, that describe the feelings and struggles we all face just being human.

Have you ever been to Walmart late at night and had the whole store to yourself? The building that is usually bustling with people and energy is now strangely quiet as you push your cart with the squeaky wheel toward the frozen foods all alone. It’s kind of eerie and according to this dictionary of new words, the word to describe that is kenopsia. Don’t ask me why, I don’t profess to understand these things, I only bought the book.

Others that caught my attention were bye-over: that weird moment when you’ve had a very emotional farewell with someone only to realize you actually have a few extra minutes left together. Awkward. Or keir which describes the let down you feel when you try to recreate a beloved memory from your childhood only to have it fall flat and feel just weird. I liked tirosy just simply because I’m feeling old lately. Tirosy describes that touch of envy and admiration you feel for younger people who are so full of energy and the promises of their potential.

As I stood there holding this book in my hand, staring at the donate box, contemplating whether this book needed to go or stay, I found comfort in knowing that even though these words were all made up, what the book truly represented was that we all experience the same things. We are all humans, all struggling, all experiencing pretty much the same things on any given day. I think we need to remember that more. So I kept the book. It’s still on my shelf. To be picked up on another day when I’m feeling bookishly weird but yet still human. When I want to remember I’m not alone in this journey of being an ordinary human being.

No One Is Sent To Anyone By Accident

This past weekend I had a wonderful opportunity to chat with a woman about her dreams of writing and getting published. I absolutely love having these conversations with people. Every time I attend an event I always tell myself there is going to be at least one person there that I was supposed to meet that day. Inevitably it always turns out to be true. Whether that is someone who finds inspiration for their own dreams once they learn how quickly my life has changed in the past year. Or the person who wants to tell me their ghost story because they know I will understand. Or that deep thinker who leaves me with something to ponder. Whoever it is, and for whatever reason, these are the moments I cherish.

Earlier this fall I attended a craft fair where I only sold three books, and those were to other vendors! By far it had to have been the most sparsely attended craft fair I have ever been to. In fairness to the organizers it was a beautiful day, close to 80 degrees, and I’m sure most everyone was thinking of getting in one last day of summer, not attending a craft fair. But into this craft fair walked the one person I was supposed to meet that day, ironically she didn’t even buy a book. The reason she didn’t buy a book is because she already had one. She had seen on social media that I was going to be at this craft fair and she drove there to meet me. With her she brought her book that she had purchased on Amazon. She approached my table and asked me if I would sign her book. As I reached for her book I realized along the edge of the pages were stuck all of these colorful sticky note tabs. When I asked her about them she told me those were all the places in the book where she thought it was written really well, or where there were quotes she wanted to remember. She and I then had a great conversation about the book and writing in general as she was also a writer. She was my one person that day. Didn’t matter to me that I only sold three books, I was able to connect with her.

I’m a firm believer in that we cross paths with people who we are meant to cross paths with. So every opportunity I have to meet people I view it as a moment that was meant to happen, either for me or for them. Such was the case with the woman I met this past weekend, the one I started writing this blog about. She was such a fascinating woman! She spoke to me about things she had written but had never finished. And during this conversation she mentioned that the circle of people she surrounded herself with may not have been as helpful to her in pursuing her dreams. It was then that I remembered something I had heard recently, a tidbit of knowledge.

I am on several different social media platforms, Instagram being one of them. One of the accounts that I follow for my own personal enjoyment is a motivational account, the kind that post reels and videos on staying inspired. Last week one such reel popped up in my feed and it really spoke to me. It was a very powerful message and it resonated with me because of experiences I myself have passed through years ago but even things that have happened recently on my journey with the book. Here’s the link so that you can view it yourself, but I’ll also transcribe it below if you aren’t comfortable with links.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cx1XIxtAHTZ/

This was a moving video and audio from a man named Keion Henderson. If you can watch the video it is phenomenal, this is what he said:

“If you stay in environments where people don’t recognize the value of you, you will shrink your gift to the size of what they can stand. And that’s what causes anxiety and depression and stress. Because you have had to shrink. I refuse to be small just because you think small. I’m not shrinking my vision because you can’t catch up. You better roll with me or you’re going to get rolled over!”

I loved that! Because for many years of my life I too surrounded myself with a circle that wasn’t probably the best fit for me. I too have met people on my journey who’s vision just couldn’t quite keep up with mine. People, who because of their own insecurities, either didn’t believe that great things could happen or felt stronger if they could discourage others. Sometimes in life it is so hard to filter out all of the information we are fed and find the best path for ourselves. This video speaks to the power that lies in finding your own path, taking control of your environment, which in turn changes your destiny. Powerful thoughts.

It was this thought that I felt inspired too share it with the woman who told me of her dreams, so I did, paraphrased of course. When I told her this she lit right up. She looked at me and she said “You’re right! That’s exactly what I have done!” We chatted a bit more and then she thanked me. She told me she was going to go home and dig out all of her old writings and look into doing something with them. I told her I would help her in anyway that I could and she said “You already have.” She was my one person that day. It never truly matters to me how many books I sell, it’s the opportunity to meet people, to have that connection with them that my son calls my “noble cause”.

This understanding, that each person we meet is part of our destiny, whether briefly or for longer, is a theme you will find running through the Prequel of The Gathering Room that I am writing now. It is a concept that I believe in strongly and as they say, “Writers write what they know.” so it shouldn’t be a surprise that I have interjected it into the storyline.

In the Prequel Alicen, along with Ralph, have many people that cross their paths for a variety of purposes. Gavan the large and delightful sheep herded. Lord Jeremy Thurston, of the landed gentry class. Hugh Penley, cousin to the King’s mistress. Each one crossing paths with our main characters and touching their lives for a purpose. Just as it is in our own lives. I’m having a great time creating this world for you and I can’t wait to share it!!!

Most Epic Thanksgiving Fail Ever!

(Photo credits: Pintrest)

With Thanksgiving coming up on us next week I thought I would take some time to look back on some truly memorable Thanksgivings. Some of them are classic, like the image above that we all grew up being taught was the standard. Others fell far short of this standard and one in particular is memorable just for the utter disaster it turned out to be.

But let’s start with the standard, you know that Thanksgiving kind of day when you arrive at your grandparent’s house to find the table spread with an elegant tablecloth, set with the finest china and my grandmother, my father’s mother, impeccably dressed in a beautifully starched dress, wearing heels, a string of pearls and not a hair out of place. These were the Thanksgivings of my early childhood.

My grandparents’ house was large, elegant and we ate in the formal dining room. You know the one with the china cabinet lining the wall, filled with the dishes that were only used for special occasions. There was a chandelier and taper candles already burning in their fancy candle sticks on the table. Believe it or not these kind of Thanksgivings do, or at least in my experience, did exist! My grandmother was the most excellent hostess and if you ate a meal at her house, Thanksgiving or otherwise, you could expect perfection and nothing less. These were very formal affairs with everyone in my father’s family dressed appropriately for the occasion. My grandfather in his dress shirt and tie, myself and my sister wearing our best dresses or maybe even a new dress just for the occasion. There was nothing relaxed or casual about Thanksgiving dinner at my grandparent’s home. Best behavior was expected, there was no television blaring in the background, instead family members had conversations with each other across the festive table my grandmother had prepared for us all. Because I was young, it’s probable that I have idealized all of this a bit. I’m sure if I had peeked into the kitchen I may have seen pots and pans stacked high and I’m sure my grandmother was frazzled, but she never let on that she was. This was her yearly performance for the family and she executed it perfectly. These earliest memories of Thanksgiving were the foundation for all the others that followed.

After my parents divorced we switched to having Thanksgiving dinner with my mother’s family. These are some of the best memories I have of childhood Thanksgivings. We would arrive at mother’s aunt and uncle’s house, dressed in comfortable clothing, greeted by loud and rambunctious cousins and dogs. There were always dogs, something that my father’s family never had. So into this sea of humans and canines we would wade. You see, Auntie & Uncle Lou, as they were called, lived in a very small house in a modest section of town. We didn’t enter through the front door, no this was Maine, we all entered through the back door. That back door brought you directly into the “den” or what we would call a family room now. The TV was always on, the dogs would bark and jump on you, all of the cousins, forced to stay in this room until it was time to eat, filled the space and I remember stepping around people and dogs just to get into the room. Coats would be taken off and handed to someone who would take them upstairs and dump them on a bed, as there was literally not even a closet to put them in! From the den you entered the small kitchen which was full of women. Auntie was running the show and she was hot, sweaty, large and in charge. In this tiny space, and it was tiny, the total counter space couldn’t have been more than six feet, she prepared a meal with the help of her sister, other aunts and older cousins. This band of women created a meal as a group, not like my grandmother who appeared to do it all herself while still keeping her dress clean. This was a loud affair with lids flying, dirty spoons tossed into the sink, side dishes lifted up in the air and passed over head and pies. What seemed like hundred of pies, but more realistically were probably a couple of dozen, seemed to be perched everywhere in that kitchen.

Because the house was so small the children were forced to stay out of the way and because of this we were planted in front of the TV in the den to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade until we were called to eat. Out here in the den with the dogs and the wood stove throwing off more heat then was really needed in a house full of people, we would poke and tease each other out of boredom and anticipation. One boy cousin particularly I remember as being most troublesome, but as we did back then, we learned patience even in the face of adversity! When we were finally called to come eat it was not to a beautifully set dining table, no instead there was one table in the dining room “space”, really just an area that you walked through on your way to the living room, that seated four, possibly six at the most. In the living room there were folding tables set up and then a small card table at the end. The official dining table was reserved for Auntie & Uncle Lou and my great grandparents. The rest of the adults sat at the folding tables or even went back to the kitchen table, where they moved pies and dirty dishes out of the way to find space to eat. The children were sent to the small card table where we continued the mischief we had started in front of the TV. All of these memories are of noise, chaos, and the bustling energy that comes from a family, including young children, all gathering into a space far to small for that many people but enjoying it all the same! It was a great way to grow up.

As I moved on into adulthood and got married it was time for me to begin to develop my own traditions of what this holiday would look like. Thanksgiving 1984 found me living in Phoenix Arizona and a brand new wife. I had never cooked a meal in my life let alone a Thanksgiving meal thousands of miles away from my family. Enter Sharon Storrer, an attorney at the law firm I was working at. One day in mid November, she walked over to my desk and handed me this Betty Crocker Cookbook and a box of oven bags. Her instructions to me were, “Follow the directions on the box of oven bags to cook your turkey. Everything else you need to make you will find in this cookbook. Good luck.” She wasn’t wrong. To this day, thirty nine Thanksgivings later, I still cook my turkeys in these oven bags!! And I had to screenshot a photo of the cookbook from the internet because that original Betty Crocker Cookbook is so dirty, so well loved, with pages falling out of it, that I couldn’t possibly show it to you all. A few years ago a found Sharon on Facebook and reached out to her. I thanked her so much for being kind and helping a very, very young me!! I will never forget her kindness for that!

Over those years, as children were added to the family, my own Thanksgiving meals didn’t resemble the ones I had grown up with at all. Due to the fact that Christmas was a hectic day trying to visit all of the many sets of grandparents that made up our children’s lives, we had decided early on that Thanksgiving would be just our own little family. The one holiday where we stayed home. So as I spent Thanksgiving day cooking a meal for our family of seven, it wasn’t much different then any other meal I cooked, except there was the smell of turkey filling the house. The children watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, or did whatever they normally did on any given Saturday. We ate our meal, all seven of us around the same table we ate at every day. I would clean up and then when we were living near family we might go off and have pie with a grandparent here or there. During those years when we lived away from family I remember it became a tradition to go to the movies after we ate. There was no fancy dressing up, no formal dining room, no house full of cousins or chaos. Thanksgiving was mostly just another day with a really big meal in the middle.

Of all of the Thanksgivings I spent with my children the most memorable two were the ones we spent in Disney World. That first year we thought it best financially to take the kids to the Golden Corral for Thanksgiving. Buffets are always a great way to feed five children when four of them are teenage boys! I will never forget as I set my plate down on the table, mounded over with turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes and all of the other Thanksgiving foods I glanced around at what my children had found on the buffet for their meal. Every single one of them were eating pepperoni pizza!!! I remember looking a them and saying “for crying out loud do you think you could get a little turkey on your next trip up there?!” The following year, not wanting a repeat of the pizza Thanksgiving, we splurged and made reservations at the restaurant inside of the Contemporary Hotel at Disney. You know the one that the monorail passes through. There we were, a family enjoying a real Thanksgiving meal with all the correct foods! As the monorail train rumbled below us I cut into my turkey only to realize it wasn’t real turkey at all!!! It was some kind of canned, pressed, processed, moulded turkey flavored meat substance smothered in gravy!! Clearly nothing beats homemade so we stayed home for Thanksgivings after that!

But the most memorable Thanksgiving of all time happened in the late 1970’s and thankfully I can say I was only a participant and not responsible for this epic fail. As seen in the advertisement above, microwave ovens were brand new on the scene and anyone who was anyone was snatching up this cutting edge technology. My own aunt was no different. She and my uncle had purchased one of these new ovens and they were going to host Thanksgiving for the family that year. The all new microwave oven was going to cut down on the cooking time and make meal prep so much more easier! The future was here and like all young people, of any generation, my aunt and uncle were going to embrace modernism and carry us all into the future!

So all of the chaos that made up my childhood Thanksgivings moved from my mother’s aunt & uncle’s small, cramped house and over to the more spacious and modern home of my mother’s sister. As we arrived we were not met with the smell of roasting turkey as one would expect on Thanksgiving day. Instead we all filed carefully past the new microwave oven that was in the middle of the kitchen table, the light on inside where we could see the large turkey slowly spinning on the carousel plate. As my great grandmother leaned down and looked at it I remember her making a comment that the turkey didn’t look like it was browning up very well. I think we all thought it would, eventually, I mean this oven was cooking the turkey right?. Or at the least my aunt expected that it would turn brown!. Sadly it did not and when it came time for my uncle to slice up that turkey for all of us to consume, the sight of the still pasty white bird left us all queasy. I remember that Thanksgiving being the year of the side dish!

It’s Party Time!

I’m not joking when I tell people “I’m booked solid between now and Christmas”, and I started saying that back the first of October!! Life is literally running full steam ahead at the moment. Last night I received a text message from a friend. She said she was planning the annual Christmas party and knew I was super busy. Before she picked a date for her party she wanted to run a few dates by me. I thought that was really sweet of her! Thankfully of the three dates she sent me I actually had one of them open!! I quickly scribbled her name and the time for the party in my calendar before someone else stole that time from me!

I then looked back over my calendar and realized I had Holiday Gatherings scheduled for December 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th! Five parties in a row!! Five days of party food and party drink! Oh boy! It was one of those moments when you begin to have an internal conversation with yourself. You know how those conversations go.

“I will only eat from the vegetable tray!” or “One cookie! That’s it! I will allow myself one cookie, ok a frosted cookie.” or “I’m only drinking water!”. All of which goes right out the window the minute you stand in front of the crockpot of meatballs, the tray of mini sliders or the bowl full of those Oreo cake balls dipped in chocolate. Then you tell yourself it’s the holidays, it’s once a year, you’re with friends, life is short, enjoy this moment! Which is all well and fine and good if you are only going to one party! But if you’ve got five parties in five days you need a new plan!

I’m not sure when food became so intimately ingrained in our socialization habits. Maybe it stems from our hunter ancestors bringing in a kill for the whole group to feast upon. I imagine life back then was a lot of group food prep, cooking and consuming. I also imagine that they didn’t eat in large quantities like that daily. It was probably less frequent, daily meals were probably boring and much less labor intensive. A few nuts, some dried fish and maybe a squash roasted in the fire. But the hunt, the bringing in of a large kill would have left everyone taking in the much needed calories that would sustain them until the next opportunity they had to eat like that.

Our yearly holiday pilgrimages to a friend or loved ones home, crockpots tucked snuggly into their insulated carriers, bearing even more gifts hidden in brightly color bags with bows and ribbons, being greeted at the door with a warm hug and cheers from those already waiting inside, isn’t much different thousands of years later, except that we have electricity! We still gather to feast, share our food with others and consume vast amounts of calories, that unlike our ancestors, we don’t really need and won’t burn off until at least mid June!

This time of year, as I begin to receive the invites to these wonderful events, they are always followed with the request “You are going to bring your buffalo chicken dip right?” In fact my nephew has a standing order that I cannot even show up at his house unless I have my buffalo chicken dip. Not sure at one point in time I became known for my buffalo chicken dip but apparently I am. There isn’t an event that I get invited to, spring, summer, fall or the holidays, that I’m not asked about it. Most recently I was invited to a Halloween party and I was surprised when the text message started with “Can you bring your buffalo chicken dip?” followed by the date and time of the party. Sometimes I feel like I’m just that woman who gets invited to parties because she will bring her really cool friend as her plus one! Invite Michelle, she’ll bring that buffalo chicken dip!

So what is it about my buffalo chicken dip that makes it so requested? Honestly I don’t know! I have been to other parties and seen buffalo chicken dip on the table, warm and yummy looking there in the crockpot but it’s bright orange. Clearly someone has emptied an entire bottle of Franks Red Hot sauce into that dish! My buffalo chicken dip is not orange, in fact my dip is actually more festive looking with red peppers and green jalapenos.

I need to stop calling it “my” buffalo chicken dip. Even though it seems like it has become mine, I actually got the recipe from someone else thirteen years ago. I was hosting my own Christmas party in 2010 and a friend showed up with two dips that had to be heated up in the oven. One was a crab dip and the other, this buffalo chicken dip. With the first scoop of a tortilla chip into that warm delicious blend of flavors I knew I had to make this dip for myself. I asked her for the recipe and she very happily wrote it down for me. Clearly not understanding that it would become my destiny, my signature dish, I would become known for this buffalo chicken dip.

I make it so often now that I don’t even look at that recipe card anymore. I did change a few things. Her original receipe called for a jar of chopped jalapeños, I prefer to use fresh ones, specifically from my own garden, that I have chopped up and frozen. We are still working through frozen jalapeños from that huge covid garden we planted in 2020! I also remove the seeds. Learned that the hard way one year. Not sure what year it was but we actually left a party with a little bit of dip left in the crockpot. A very rare occurrence for sure! When we got home Craig scooped it out and put it in a container in the fridge. The next day I tried to reheat some for lunch. All those jalapeño seeds sitting there all night had made it so hot that we could not even eat it. After that I decided that on the outside chance we ever came home with any again, I wanted to be able to eat it the next day. So we now have a no seeds rule! I also don’t exactly follow the measurements my friend wrote down that night thirteen Christmases ago. It is more like I just do what feels right. A dash of this and a sprinkle of that, I taste it and then add more until it’s just the way I like it.

All I know is even if I triple the batch, no matter where I take it, it is always the first empty crockpot! Rarely do we have any leftovers anymore. Often times I can’t even make it through the door before someone has taken the crockpot right out of my hands and I never see it again until it’s to late. By the time I make it to the food table the crockpot is scraped clean, a lonely spoon resting on the bottom, an empty bag of chips sitting nearby.

Before I even started this blog today I thought long and hard about if I was willing to share my buffalo chicken dip recipe with the world. Chances are quite a few people out there already make this dip and it’s probably the signature dish for millions of people attending holiday parties, not just me. It was never mine to begin with, so I can’t claim it and feel that it is time to release it out there for others to enjoy. I hope if you are attending any parties this holiday season that you will consider taking this dip with you. Tell them you got the recipe from the lady who wrote that book!

BUFFALO CHICKEN DIP

4 chicken breasts cooked in 2 Tablespoons of olive oil with 1 teaspoon of salt and a pinch of cumin, oregano, and cilantro. (this is the first change I made, I cut my chicken into tiny, and I mean tiny, bite size pieces before I cook it. The size of the chicken pieces should fit easily into a Scoops tortilla chip. And honestly I just dump the spices in. I use way more then a pinch of anything! It’s the cumin that makes it delicious in my opinion!) In a bowl combine 2 packages 8 ounces of cream cheese with 1/2 cup of mayonnaise and 1/2 cup milk. Blend this together real well. When blended add 1/2 of a chopped red pepper and 1/2 a jar of chopped jalapeños (again this is where I use real jalapeños, I use about 6 and remove the seeds.) Mix real well and add Tabasco sauce. (this is where I dump in a few drops of Tabasco sauce, mix it and taste and repeat until it is just right. I like it to be subtly hot. A bit of a kick but not overpowering) Add the cooked chicken pieces to the cream cheese mixture and mix well. Pour into an oven safe dish and back at 350 degrees until the mixture bubbles (this is where I put it in a crockpot on high until it bubbles, mixing the edges in often. Once it’s hot I turn it back to low). Serve with Tostitos Scoops tortilla chips.

Who Taught You That?

For those that don’t know I have recently begun work with my son on a really fun business project. Honestly love my adult children, they are creative visionaries with powerful energy!! This particular son of mine thought it would be really fun for the two of us to work on this project together and he wasn’t wrong. I’m having a blast!

Yesterday I had the opportunity to sit in on a Zoom meeting with my son and other professionals as we went over development of our ideas and a strategy to bring them to life. Zoom meetings are usually not my favorite way of doing business. In fact I once gave a previous boss a wall plaque for his office that said Me: “This show is boring” Boss: “Again, this is a Zoom Conference.” It was well known between the two of us that I was not a fan of this new technology.

As I sat in on yesterday’s Zoom conference, with my computer adjusted to just the right height so that it showed my best angle, my mute button on so that the others would not have to listen to Susan and Douglas scare away the mailman yet again, I looked at my son sitting in his home office, hours away from me. Now I have been in his home office a time or two so I knew what it looked like, and as he sat there I thought how proud I was of him and all that he’s accomplished so far in his life. He is, after all, only thirty. Gosh when I was thirty I was still winging my way through life. He, on the other hand, has a clear and dedicated path he’s working towards. He’s my goal oriented child and he has many goals he’s pursuing at once right now.

Anyway as our meeting yesterday began to wrap up my son needed to schedule a follow up with one of the other people also on the call. I listened as the two of them discussed dates and times that worked for both of them. In the blink of an eye I saw my son glancing up to something on the wall above his head. He confirmed the date and time with the other person and scribbled something down on the notepad in front of him. Like I said I have been in my son’s office so I knew immediately what it was he had glanced up at. You see my son has a giant dry erase whiteboard calendar on the wall of his office. I’ve seen it, but until yesterday when I actually saw him using it, the implications of this practice hadn’t dawned on me. I taught him that!!

Back when all five of my kids were home I managed an incredibly hectic schedule. Five children, spread out over nine years, meant different schools, different activities, different interests. Each day a different child had a different household chore to be responsible for as well. In addition, even though I wasn’t working full time, I maintained involvement in several community organizations myself. Trust me all of this would not have fit on your typical wall calendar. To solve my scheduling nightmare I went to Staples and bought the biggest whiteboard dry erase calendar I could find. Visualizing it now, and where it hung in the hallway, I want to say it was a good four feet wide. It was massive! I also picked up a handful of different colored markers. Each member of our family was assigned a color and it was with this that I kept track of everywhere we had to be, what needed to be done by each child and any other important information. This giant calendar in the hallway became our hub of knowledge. Each child knew there color and with a quick look know exactly what they were scheduled for each day. Worked great!

As I watched my son glance up to his own dry erase calendar I realized that my organizational skill had been transferred. lt made me pause and wonder if he was using different colored markers for all of the projects he has going on right now. I chuckled and then, because I’m the Mom, I called him out on right there on the Zoom call. “Did you seriously just look up at your whiteboard calendar?” I asked him. He smiled and confirmed that he had. Again, because I’m his Mom and I’ve earned this right, I then had to tell the story of how he had grown up with a giant dry erase whiteboard calendar to everyone on the Zoom call. Because, you know, that’s what your Mom does right? He was a good sport about it and wasn’t to embarrassed. He’s a good son.

Later in the day I was still thinking about this, how knowledge that we have as parents gets passed down to our children, sometimes without us even realizing it. We hope that they absorb the standards, morals and manners we try to teach them during those brief few years we have with them when they are teachable! But sometimes things we never even imagine gets passed along. It made me think of my own mother and had she passed along something to me, completely unintentionally, that I know took as solid fact. Enter the humble cucumber!

When I was growing up summer meant one thing, cucumber sandwiches. Two pieces of white bread, because that’s all we bought back then, both pieces of bread slathered with mayonnaise and then one piece covered in slices of fresh cucumber sprinkled with salt and pepper and then topped with the other piece of bread. Nothing said summer like a cucumber sandwich! As I grew older my mother taught me how to make these summer treats all by myself. The very first step was that you must cut off both ends of the cucumber. Second step was that you had to then take the cut off pieces and rub them all over the freshly cut ends before you tossed the end tips into the trash. Why was this such an important step? Because if you didn’t cut off the ends and rub them like that the cucumber would be bitter and no one wanted a bitter cucumber sandwich. After you had done this very important step of making sure your ends were well rubbed, then you could go ahead and peel the cucumber, slice it and make your sandwich. I have completed this ritual religiously ever since my mother taught me in the 1970’s.

As a young wife and mother I remember eating a salad my new mother-in-law had made. I bit into a slice of cucumber and it was so bitter! I remember thinking that because she was from Arizona she clearly had never been taught the correct way of getting the bitter taste out of a cucumber! I mean this was the woman who put avocado in her salads for crying out loud! Over the years I myself have eaten a cucumber, prepared by my own hand, that was bitter even though I know I rubbed those ends well! When this happened I would think to myself, maybe I didn’t rub them right.

It was only a few years ago that I was reading an article that spoke to the bitterness in cucumbers. It’s actually caused by a natural compound called cucurbitacin. Poor growing conditions such as lack of water, to much water, not enough sunlight, etc can cause the levels of this compound to rise and increase the bitterness of the cucumber. Probably didn’t matter how much I rubbed the end of the cucumbers then. But I still do, just on the outside chance I can avoid a bitter cucumber sandwich! I mean, after all, my mother taught me that!

They Really Were A lot Like Us!

I have loved history for as long as I can remember. But my life long obsession with researching history, digging deeper and getting lost in the past, really began when I was eighteen years old. At eighteen I had not experienced much of the world. I had only left the state of Maine three times. Trips to Disney World in Florida, Lake Ossipee in New Hampshire and a road trip to Ohio to visit my aunt and uncle. I was young, naive and not knowledgable at all about humankind. I was a child of 1960’s. The sexual revolution of that decade having changed the landscape of our culture, or so I thought at the time. In the 1970’s my parents divorced, and by the 1980’s I was bombarded with messages about the destruction of the “nuclear family” in American culture. So by the time I set out on my journey into studying the past I was pretty well convinced that my lifetime was being lived in an era of depravity. That past generations had lived exemplary lives of honesty, wholesomeness and good old fashioned values. Of course I was aware of the atrocities of war, the barbaric things man did to. man, but in my young mind, every day people were better than that. They were better then the generation I was living in. It didn’t take me long to realize my misjudgment!

I think this early foundation of perceiving the past with rose colored glasses is why I am always amazed when I stumble upon pieces of history that don’t fit that narrative. A narrative that still hides in a deep corner of my now more mature brain. As was the case with my blogpost a few weeks ago “This Sheet Music Had One Heck Of A Song To Sing” I’m intrigued when I find our modern day problems staring at me from hundred of years ago. This week I came across a couple of gems just like this. Tidbits from history that prove our problems are not new. Our struggles no different then those others have battled for hundreds of years. Some will probably bring a smile to your face. Others might make you wonder. Either way, I hope you enjoy them!

Published in the Argus & Spectator newspaper, New Hampshire, Dec 12, 1840

On the 11th a lovely couple bolted into the post office in Machias Maine and requested of Honorable J.C. Talbot to be married. No sooner said then done and in the presence of several witnesses upon the production of the necessary certificates were joined “for better or for worse” Mr. John Driscoll, aged 21 years and Mrs. Elizabeth Dimond, aged 65 years.”

Michelle’s thoughts - Uh, well, ya…there you go! If I had the time I would love to research these two further, maybe look for Mrs. Dimond’s will! But maybe I’m being to cynical.

Published in the Sedgwick Maine Vital Records

Sedgwick, January 23, 1811 - this is to certify that I Samuel Black do promise to take the child, that Pattey Doore swore upon David Black, when the child is nine months old and I do promise that the said child shall be well brought up and good care taken of it and if I fail and do not take the child when it is nine months old I do promise to pay the said Pattey Doors seventy five cents per week for every week that she keeps the child after it is nine months old and if I do not take the child at all I promise to pay her the sum of one hundred dollars as witness my hand.

Michelle’s thoughts - a little further digging on this one proved that Samuel Black was assuming custody and care of his grandchild, a child fathered by his son David. If you think unwed mothers, child support, custody battles and grandparents raising their grandchildren are new, they aren’t.

Originally published in The Maine Genealogist 39(2017):113

Sylvester & Elizabeth Stover of York, Maine, had a turbulent marriage. On 3 July 1660, the couple was in court when Elizabeth was charged with abusing her husband “by many reviling & reproachful speeches, as calling of him a roge & rascal.” It appears that Elizabeth had been egged on by her mother, Mrs Margaret Norton, who had moved in with the couple in her widowhood. The Court took a dim view, and laid the blame squarely on the mother and daughter: “Goody Stover for her unruly & indecent carriages towards her husband is bound in a bond of ten pounds to be of good behavior towards all persons especially towards her husband or she shall either pay the forfeiture of the said bond or otherwise she shall receive fifteen lashes on the bare skin. And further if the said Stover shall make any just cause of complaint appearing against Mrs Norton his mother in law, occasioning further differences between him and his wife, that then upon due notice given to said Court, by whom the said Mrs. Norton is then to be removed from the Stovers house or sent to prison if other means cannot prevent her therein.”

Michelle’s thoughts - Horrible Mother-in-laws are not new!! Clearly a case of nuts don’t fall far from the tree. My condolences to Mr. Stover.

Published in the 1880 US Federal Census, St. Louis, Missouri, pg 262A, household #165

Hubbard Manns, age 35 years, country of origin, Prussia. Living with is wife Catherine, also 35 and six children. Hubbard is listed as a “laborer” in the occupation column. Next to Catherine’s name is written “dirty as hell”.

Michelle’s thoughts - Ummmm…. well. Personal hygiene? Or a commentary on her skillset as a housewife?

From the Province and Court Records of Maine Vol. II, York County Court Records

Oct 27, 1668 - Whereas complaint was made to this Court that John Barnet hath offered several abuses to his wife by kicking her, etc, and acknowledging his fault & promising amendment, this Court thinketh meet to pass by & remit his fault for the time past, the fees of the Court being 5s.

July 4, 1671 - We present Mrs Sarah Morgan for striking of her husband. The delinquent to stand with a gag in her mouth half an hour at Kittery at the public town meeting and the cause of offense writ upon her forehead or pay 50s to the County.

Michelle’s thoughts - It would be convenient to call this one out immediately as a double standard, and it truly could be given the time period. But it’s a moment in time, and as noted a few weeks ago our lives are not made up of just one moment. What could be missing here is that John Barnet was an honorable man who was under an extreme amount of stress, as we all experience in our lives, and lost his cool in the heat of a moment. One moment. Mrs. Morgan could have had a revolving door with the Court in regards to her attitude toward her husband and therefore this moment was in response to the Courts weariness of having to deal with her again and again. It’s also fair to say that her husband could have been a horrible man and she was reacting to the toxic environment she lived in. Wherever the truth lies, these tidbits show that, sadly, domestic violence is not a new problem.

From Calendar of State Papers, Colonial Series, America and West Indies 1661-1668; A 1665 description of the settlement on the Kennebec River.

Upon the north-east side of Kennebec River, upon Sheepscot River, and upon Pemaquid, eight or ten miles asunder, are three small plantations belonging to his Royal Highness, the biggest of which has not above 30 houses, and very mean ones too, spread over at least eight miles. The people, for the most part fishermen, never had any government, and most of them have fled from other places to escape justice. Some are of the opinion that as many men may share in a woman as they do in a boat, and some have done so….

Michelle’s thoughts - Well…ummm! Sex is not new and history is certainly interesting!

I Tried The RV Life…

So if you follow me at all on social media you know that in September I spent two weeks, in an RV, at a campground here in Maine. I was going to embrace the RV Life! Something that my husband and I had talked about maybe doing when we retire. My experience was interesting to say the least and I’d like to tell you all about it! I was an RV rookie and the following account clearly shows that!

As you can see from the photo above we started out with such high hopes. Douglas and Susan were all smiles as I began to unload the car. This was going to be fun! At home we have a fenced in backyard where they are free to run and roam. But here at the campground there is a leash rule, so that meant I got to buy them brand new harnesses and fancy leashes! They looked so cute in their new outfits! RV Dog Mom! I’ve got this!

My first indication that this experience was not going to go as well as I had imagined was as I unloaded the car. The “kids” (as I call Douglas & Susan) are accustomed to being within six inches of my feet at all times. There isn’t a place I go that they are not right there with me. So being expected to stand, or sit, while tied to a picnic table by a six foot leash, no matter how pretty and new, while I moved about freely without them, started the first round of protesting! Did I mention that this campground has a no barking rule? So out came the anti barking collars and immediately the thrill of camping, at least for the kids, began to fade.

As I continued to unload the car, my Mom arrived to be helpful. This was great because Mom has never stayed in an RV either, so now I at least had company in my inexperience. There was an awning on the side of the RV and I decided I really wanted to roll that out to cover the picnic table and lovely outdoor rug that sat next to the RV. My plan was to place my folding chairs there and create that outdoor seating area I’d seen in all of the RV ad campaigns. Luckily in this RV the awning is an automatic system and I easily found the button inside that said “Awning”. Seemed easy enough. I asked Mom if I should push the button, and with all the enthusiasm of someone who has no skin in the game, Mom encouraged me to go press the button.

As I stood with the door open, so I could watch the awning unfurl, I held the button down. Mom stood outside to supervise the automatic system, you know incase it needed any help, seeing as it’s automatic. Soon we heard the quiet whirl of the motor and the awning began to extend outward on its mechanical arms. Well look at me go! I can do this! The sound of the gentle motor was quickly replaced by an awful grinding noise that startled me so much I let go of the button, stopping the awning mid way in it’s journey. I asked Mom what the heck that was and that’s when she pointed to the door I held open. I had managed to snag the awning on the door. In my defense I’d like to note there were no operating instructions stating that the door must be closed before extending the awning. Mom decided that this was a great time to leave, she had laundry to do at home and before I knew it she had jumped into her car and was zipping out of the campground! Quitter! Alone now, with only Douglas and Susan for support, I retracted the awning enough to release the door, closed it and then pressed the button the other way to successfully extend the awning to cover the seating area. See I could do this!

As an experienced RVer now, with all of twenty minutes under my belt, I felt I was doing pretty good and slammed the door of the RV shut with satisfaction. I stood back to admire my little RV world. Picnic table, outdoor rug, folding chairs, fire pit. Just like in all the photos I’d seen on social media. This was going to be tranquil! I got this!

It was then that I realized I had locked myself out of the RV! As I stood there staring at the chrome latch of the door, willing it to just open on its own, I realized, thank goodness, that my cellphone was in my back pocket. I could at least call for help. I turned to check on the kids, still tied to the picnic table, bulging anti bark collars on their little necks, their smiles long gone and the first thought that this might be a really long two weeks began to enter my mind!

The RV actually belongs to my son and he was on his way to bring me dinner to celebrate my first night as an RVer. Thankfully he had the second key with him so my rescue happened quickly. He showed me how to properly lock and unlock the door and I can tell you from that day forward I never left that RV without triple checking that I had the key in pocket!

My son had brought take out for dinner and it really was just a matter of sitting at the picnic table to eat. But the kids were tied to the picnic table and this didn’t seem like a good idea. I had brought some lightweight rope (they are small dogs) so while my son built a fire in the fire pit and his wife got the table ready for our dinner, I cut some lengths of rope off and tied one them to the RV. I then untied their pretty new leashes from the picnic table and retied them to the lengths of rope. I thought they would be happy with more freedom. And they were as they scurried around the sitting area, getting tangled up in each other, tangled in the folding chairs and tangled around the legs of the picnic table until each one of them had about four inches of movable space left on their leash. Are you freaking kidding me?

My son was really excited that I was staying in his RV, staying at the campground, doing this whole RV experience thing, so I kept a smile on my face well into the night, as the fire crackled and the kids fought over my limited lap space in a folding chair as opposed to our recliner at home. It was going to be alright I told myself.. Truly. Lots of people do this! And they do it with dogs! I could do this too!

Bright and early at four o’clock the next morning Susan decided she needed to go out to pee. At home this is not a problem. We go downstairs, I open the door, she runs into the fenced in yard, does her business, comes back in and we go back to bed. But now I was living practically outdoors in a community of strangers and there was a leash rule. So in the chill of a late September morning in Maine, I dressed, then got the harnesses on the dogs, then attached the leashes, then found my shoes, my cellphone, the poop bags and the very important key to the door! I was ready!

Did I mention that the kids are always within six inches of my feet? Have you ever been in an RV and noticed that in order to get out you have to step down into a little well, not more then a foot wide, in order to open the door to get out. Well if you haven’t, let me tell you this is not an enjoyable experience at four o’clock in the morning with two little dogs. The fight was on between Douglas and Susan to see who could fit into this little sunken space next to my feet first! There I stood in that tiny area with two dogs wrapping their leashes around my legs faster then I could tell them to stop. I couldn’t open the door for fear I would trip and fall out! Not to mention they were barking and I wasn’t about to let them out into the campground barking at four in the morning! This was fun? People actually pay money to do this?

I managed to take control of the situation, got everyone seated at the top of the stairs with a firm warning to STAY until I tell you to move and then I opened the door and safely walked down the stairs and they followed me out. This RV thing required to much planning! To much thinking. It was clear that I just couldn’t go about life the way that I was accustomed to doing so at home. Everything, it appeared needed to be rethought!

This proved to be even more true at breakfast. As you can see from the photo above, in the RV I’ve been blessed with about 12 inches of counter space, right next to the sink. I had done the dishes the night before, another adjustment as I have a dishwasher at home, not to mention TWO sinks. But I managed! I did it and I would get used to roughing it!. I was determined! But now it was time for breakfast and the dish rack was taking up half of the valuable counter space. It’s was six thirty, I’d been up since four, I just pushed the rack back and figured I would make my breakfast on six inches of counter space. I’m an RVer! I’m going to learn how to do this! And this was ok until I realized that the only outlet in the “kitchen area” was located in the underside of the kitchen cabinet, directly above my now reduced twelve inches of counter space. How in the world was I going to plug in the toaster?

For what transpired next I blame it solely on the fact that I was drinking instant coffee from a cup of water heated in the microwave. Another one of those, “I can do this and rough it” things. There really is no other explanation for my lack of brain function. I began to search the RV for other outlets. I want you to. know I found plenty of USB ports, but only one other outlet. This proved to me I wasn’t cut out for the Instagram generation idea of “van life”. I wanted an outlet!! A good old fashion outlet so I could plug in my toaster! I found only one.

Honestly I took this picture, wanting to document the absolute absurdity that my experience had turned into. After taking the picture I stared at my toaster. This was not a safe decision. There was no way I was going to make toast with my toaster sitting on the dog blanket that was spread across the plastic couch in the “living room” area. I had to come up with another plan.

At that moment my son texted to see how I was doing. Texting from the comfort and warmth of his bed at home I should add. I texted back that I was doing GREAT! Except that it was a bit cold this morning. He mentioned there was a space heater in one of the cabinets. Oh wonderful! I quickly found that and got it plugged in to this outlet! And soon the kids and I were feeling warmth. That allowed me to tackle the toaster problem with a little more brain power, which I wasn’t getting from the instant coffee.

And that’s really all that was needed, a brain. You see in an RV you have to think! At home you just flow, but everything in a confined tiny space like an RV requires more thought. So I quickly set about putting away the dishes from the night before, thus freeing up more counter space! In doing so I was able to move the toaster to the kitchen counter where it belonged and I snapped this photo to prove that I could do this! With all the pride in myself that I could muster I put an English muffin in that toaster and pressed down on the button. With the space heater running at my feet and now my toaster turning my English muffin a crispy brown I was thinking I might actually get the hang of this! That was until using those two electronic appliances at the same time tripped the breaker and I lost all electricity in the front of the RV!

I am absolutely not kidding you! As I stood there, in the now semi darkness, the only light coming from the early morning dawn through the pine trees, I really couldn’t understand why people pay money to do this. Honestly, how is it possible that there is a whole sub culture of people that do this and appear to love it! I was roughly 16 hours into this adventure and I wanted to go home.

I managed to cook myself some eggs on the gas stove. I ended up telling my son later, like much later in the day, that I had tripped a breaker and couldn’t find the electrical panel, so he had to come down and show me. It’s under the fridge if anyone wants to know. After breakfast I washed all of the dishes and then went to take a shower. Only to realize I had used all of the hot water washing the dishes. So a cold shower it was! I was having a blast on my first day of RV Life!

I will say this much, it did get better, slightly, as each day went on. I learned to adjust, to rethink and plan accordingly. I turned on the space heater to warm the RV and then shut it off when I turned on the toaster. I learned to shower before I washed the dishes. And to wash the dishes and then dry them by hand and immediately put them away. Just to make it feel like I had more room. I learned that tying the kids outside was an absolute no go and instead found a leash that I could attach both of them to and then attach it to my belt, so we could all be together. They learned to wait at the top of the stairs and not try to trip me at the door. I learned that sitting lengthwise on the couch, rather than trying to sit in a folding chair outside, gave them the lap space they required. That outside seating area was over rated anyway.

By the time my husband showed up, halfway through our stay, I was just about getting the hang of it. On his first night with us I watched him fall over into the wall while trying to get undressed in the four inches of space between the end of the bed and the wall. He looked at me and said “Not much room in here is there?” I smiled. He made his way to the bathroom, stubbing his toe on the end of the bed and falling into the shower door with a bang. I laughed. After he managed to get into the bathroom and shut the door I heard the lid go up on the toilet and then everything I owned, on the three inches of counter space in the bathroom, fell on the floor. “You alright?” I hollered. He hollered back “There really isn’t much room in here is there?”

Nope, but I got this!

Michelle Answers Questions From Readers!

Truly I am living a magical experience right now! Just the sheer volume of people I meet on a daily basis, whether in person or on social media, is making me feel truly blessed. Often times when I meet people they have questions they want to ask me. More often then not they are questions about the book and that’s good because I love talking about the book!! Sometimes I’m asked questions by other aspiring authors, or my personal favorites, young children that are aspiring authors! A couple of the most asked questions I have turned into previous blog posts. Like the question on whether I think the ghost of Nelly Butler was real or have I seen ghosts myself. But this week I thought I would answer some of the other questions I’m asked a lot but that aren’t related to my book The Gathering Room.

1. When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer? I don’t think I ever imagined myself as a writer as much as I have always wanted to write. What I really wanted to be when I grew up was a Librarian! Specifically one that lived alone in a big Victorian house with cats and rooms full of books! None of which came true and I’ve learned the valuable lesson of always having a Plan B to fall back on. But as a child I never set out to be a writer. In grammar school I wrote assignments as given in class, only one sticks out in my mind, it was in 2nd grade and the teacher gave us photos and we had to write what we thought was happening in the photo. My photo was a little blonde haired girl with her hands on her cheeks and sheer excitement on her face. I wrote that she had just gotten a puppy at her birthday party. I remember this because the teacher brought it to my mother’s attention at Parent/Teacher Conferences and told my mother I wrote very well. I was sitting right there and it was a moment I have remembered for over 50 years! In high school I wrote as a calming mechanism, not that I remember my adolescence as being particularly traumatic, just normal teenage things, but I think I wrote to try to escape the swings of life as a teenager. It was then that I developed my habit of listening to music while I write. A lot of the things I wrote in high school are stories based off the lyrics of the songs I was listening to. Specifically I remember “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey. I wrote a whole story about those two star crossed teenagers who meet on the midnight train. I often think now how ironic the title of that song has become given where my life is now! Don’t stop believing in your dreams people!

2. How long does it take you to write a book? This question always makes me laugh! If I had a life where all I did was write and I had a publisher pushing me to a deadline, I probably could write books pretty quickly! The Gathering Room took me six years to research and write, but you have to remember I was writing that for my own entertainment, there was no pressure to complete it. Similar to my habits in high school, I wrote that story as my own personal escape into history. I was also juggling a full time job, volunteering in Lions Club International, and my helping my husband run his business, Time to write was often found only on the beach in Jamaica during our annual vacation! The Prequel, which I am writing now is a bit different. Thanks to my husband’s urging I no longer work so I have more time to write, in theory! I also have the excitement that all of you have for the next book pushing me to get one out for you! But I’m also still promoting The Gathering Room, which on some weeks eats up 5-7 days of a week! Even with all of that I have managed to get half of the next book written and hope to have it out to you by next summer, fall at the latest. That would mean I wrote the Prequel in about 18 months.

3. What is your schedule when you do write? I have met some authors who write every day from 10 am to 2 pm, or some other time that is set aside specifically dedicated to writing. That’s not my style. Despite the fact that in my “real” life I am the most organized, over scheduled, master of making lists, kind of person. When it comes to my writing I am the exact opposite. As I’ve stated several times I don’t have an outline, a list of characters or anything resembling a well thought out plan! I have a general idea of what I want the story to look like and then I just sit down and let it unfold in front of me! It’s the same with my writing schedule. I will block off days on my calendar for writing and hope that my life allows for me to write that day! When it comes to how much time I spend writing I can’t sit down and write for just a few hours and then get up and walk away from it until the next day. I have to have huge blocks of time because when I write I will write for 10-12 hours straight. Just as you tell me that you can’t put the book down to go to sleep, eat or do household chores. Know that I too can’t stop these stories when they start and I will literally sit in the same position for hours absolutely enthralled with the story that appears on the computer screen in front of me. Often forgetting I am the one actually writing it!! The weirdest part, is that after a marathon session like that, I can go weeks or even months not writing, only to return to where I left off and pick up the story without so much as a glance back at what I wrote previously. It’s like the story is right there in my mind just waiting until I can stop being to busy to get back to it. Totally creeps me out!

4. What would you say is your most interesting writing quirk? Definitely my music!! I can’t write unless I am listening to music. I’m listening to music right now! For some reason music seems to be the portal to which I can slip from this world to the land of the muses! I have noise canceling headphones and the music is loud, very loud! If you ever meet me in person and I struggle to hear you as we speak, you now know why! As I start a writing project I will just listen to music in general, different types and genres, until I find songs that match the intensity of the energy I am feeling from the story as I write it. Each one of these songs gets added to a playlist and eventually I find myself turning to this “writing playlist” when I write. It’s like I have to narrow down the messages from the Universe to what I need to be listening to in order to create the magic. Currently the playlist for the Prequel only has five songs on it. That’s roughly twenty minutes of music, that I will listen to over and over and over for ten hours straight! A fellow author, who admitted she had to write in total silence, recently said she would be very interested to know what my playlist was. As she said that all I could think was she writes in total silence and I write with music blaring as loud as I can get my headphones to go! She’s probably never going to understand from what realm I write or what the playlist does for me!

5. How do books get published? When I was growing up there was really only one way to get a book published, the traditional way, through an agent who represented your book to a large publishing house. We’ve all heard the stories of Dr. Seuss having Cat In The Hat rejected 27 times! Today, with the advent of on demand printing, just about anyone can get a book printed and make it available for sale. For myself I went with a self publishing hybrid, Maine Authors Publishing located in Thomaston Maine. They require a vetting process, meaning I had to submit my manuscript to them for approval before they agreed to take me on as a client. And a Client I am as I have paid for every piece of the book from production to printing to the promotion of the book that you hold in your hand. Maine Authors Publishing does a fantastic job of connecting an author with an editor, graphic artists, illustrators, and then when the final product is ready they contract with printers to get your book printed. I own the rights to my book one hundred percent, but I also own one hundred percent of the financial responsibilities as well! My advice to anyone wanting to publish a book is to research your options, as there are many, both traditional and self published, and then choose the one that meets the goals you have for your experience. Everyone’s author journey looks different and as I have learned over the past year, even that journey can take you in a direction that you need to shift and adjust to quickly! So do your research into what’s out there, plan your financial commitment ahead of time, and be willing to change direction!

6. Where do you get your story ideas from? Recently I had lunch with a woman who asked me, after I finish the Prequel what was I writing next? Oh I got so excited because the next book is right there in my heart and soul just waiting to get out! When I think about it, the emotions, the energy, the drama, I can’t sit still in my chair! In fact I’ve already started the research on it, and it has absolutely nothing to do with The Gathering Room or the Prequel. Totally different direction. The reality is all of my storylines come from history. There is so much history out there that is absolutely fascinating and most of it is unknown. It’s like a vast vault I can return to over and over to find my next project. With a lifetime of research experience as well as reading mostly historical non fiction all my life, I am most comfortable with history and will return to that well over and over for inspiration.

7. When did you write your first book and how old were you? The Gathering Room is not my first book, it’s actually my fourth! However The Gathering Room is my first work of fiction, surprisingly a genre that I don’t much read myself, except for occasionally. My very first book was published in 2002, when I was 36 years old, by Picton Press, a now dissolved publsher out of Rockport Maine. This was followed by my second book, also done by Picton, in 2003. Vital Records of Bangor Maine, Vol 1 Births and Vol 2 Deaths were my first foray into the world of becoming published. These books are actually at the Library of Congress in Washington DC. I’ve been there and seen them for myself, I cried, I’m a book nerd! As you can see from the photo above they are research books filled with the births and deaths recorded in Bangor Maine from 1750-1891. In the early part of this century, before we all used the internet for everything, the fact that I sat for hours in front of a microfilm machine reading ancient handwriting and transcribing it into a word document (on those old square disks no less!) was a valuable piece of work. To have all of that information in a book, with an index, that someone could just open and look for the name of the person they were researching, was fantastic at the time! Seems rather archaic now as typing the same name into the internet would reveal multiple sources of documents in a matter of seconds. But at the time, it was important. As noted above there are multiple paths to becoming a published author, such was the case with Picton Press. Twenty years ago I presented them with the disks containing everything I had compiled and they handed me a $250 credit to their bookstore. I used the credit to purchase other research books that I donated to the Family History Research Center in Bangor. Both of these books are now out of print and Picton Press is no longer in business. I have seen these books show up on auction or used book sites online from time to time. Please don’t try and buy one, unless you have a need for early birth and death records from Bangor Maine. These books are full of just straight up data, lists of names and dates, they are not curl up by the fire type of books like The Gathering Room. Trust me you would be sorely disappointed if you tried to read one! My third book was one that I did as a volunteer project for The Gray Family Reunion Committee out of the Blue Hill area of Maine. Done in 2004 I compiled, from multiple sources of previously published work, family history records on one specific family in Maine. This book, titled The Descendants of Joshua Gray, was a fundraising product for the Gray Family Committee and their annual scholarship fund. I took two previously published books, one from the 1950’s and one from the 1980’s and combined them with current research to bring the family records up to date, as of 2004. I have often said that what I did, picking up the phone and just calling people asking for their personal information, was the last time in history that something like could have been done. Twenty years ago we were just on the cusp of identity theft and mistrusting everyone we met. If someone called me today and said they were writing a book and wanted the names and birthdates of all of my children, I’d hang up immediately! But in 2004 I managed to do just that believe it or not! The Descendants of Joshua Gray was printed by Downeast Printers under the direction of The Gray Family Reunion Committee. To save cost on printing they chose not to include a complete index, instead only printing an index of males with the surname Gray. At the time I was a little disappointed with that, as there are literally thousands of other people in that book, but it was not my project to control. I did it solely because I love history and love researching “dead people”. This book too is out of print, but again not a great read!

8. What do you like to do when you are not writing? Well when I’m not writing, I’m usually promoting The Gathering Room, helping my husband run his business or helping my son with running his new campground. We work a lot around here! But in those rare moments when I do have time to do what I want to do, it should surprise no one that I spend my time researching! I am constantly seeking knowledge of some kind or another. I have a thirst for knowledge that I don’t think will ever be satisfied. Whether it’s a historical fact that I end up chasing down a rabbit hole for hours, or someone’s obituary that caught my eye and now I’m six hours in on Ancestry.com tracing the family of someone I have no idea who they are but I’ve mapped out 7 generations of their family and I know them all and their stories like we met just yesterday! These are the weird things I do for fun!

Oh and I write a blog every week …. for fun! Because in the end that’s what I do….I write!

This Sheet Music had One Heck of a song to Sing!

In the Spring of 2020 my son purchased a house in Veazie, Maine and naturally found things in the attic when he cleaned it out! I remember we were at his house for dinner when he said, “Oh Mom, I found this bag full of sheet music in that house I just bought. Do you want it?” What a silly child! Of course I wanted it! What made it even better is the owner of the sheet music had written her name on several copies. That, along with the address of the house led me on a quick search where I was able to track down living members of her family and contact them. They no longer lived in Maine but were located out of state. As I do with a lot of things I have found over the years, I want to return the items to the family. This woman’s great grandson was absolutely thrilled to receive the sheet music as his own son had recently begun taking piano lessons!! I was more than happy to ship the leather bag, and it’s contents, to them. But before I did so I asked for permission to photograph two newspaper clippings that I had also found in the bag. I explained to the great grandson that I had done considerable research into not only his great grandmother’s family but also into the individuals mentioned in the clippings. I could find no connection whatsoever between his great grandmother and these men, so I’m not sure why the clippings were saved with the sheet music. He told me to just keep the clippings, he did not want them.

Here are the transcripts of the clippings as seen in the photograph above.

 #1 SERIOUS CHARGES AGAINST BREWER MEN

The arrest of two Brewer girls in this city (Bangor) on Friday, the details of which were published in Friday night's Commercial, has resulted in the lodging of several complaints against Brewer business men and two of these men, Charles Rand and Howard Seeley, were arrested Saturday afternoon by Police Inspector Golden and brought to the police station in this city. Rand, who is said to be 65 years of age is the proprietor of a Brewer lunch cafe. Seeley is a Brewer stable proprietor and said to be 60 years old. The complaint in all four cases was made by Chief of Police Knaide.  The cases will be heard in the Municipal Court Monday morning. 

#2 BREWER MEN PLACED UNDER HEAVY BONDS - NO DEFENSE OFFERED

Judge Butterfield held a busy session in the Municipal Court Monday morning, there being 23 cases to occupy his attention.  Ten of these cases were the result of a gambling raid Sunday night by the police at the Chaison hotel annex on Exchange St. known as the Victoria.  Eight cases were connected with the confession to the police department on the part of two young Brewer girls in regard to their relations with the three Brewer men, while the other five cases were the ususal collection of weekend drunks. A capacity crowd filled the court room Monday morning, unusual interest being manifested in the various cases. 

Presper Bourbon, Charles Rand and Howard Seeley, the three Brewer men against whom serious charges were lodged as the result of the arrest by the local police of two Brewer girls, were held under heavy bonds by Judge Butterfield after a hearing in which the testimony for the state was presented and no defense offered.  Bourbon was held under $1,000 bond on one charge and given a jail sentence of 60 days on the other. The latter sentence was appealed and the bonds placed at $500.

Seeley was held under $1,000 bonds on two different charges, while in the case of Charles Rand, the same procedure was taken as in that of Bourbon, $1,000 bond being placed in one case, a 60 day jail sentence given in the other and bonds placed at $500 on appeal.  Bonds were furnished by all three respondents. 

The two young Brewer girls, one age 15 and the other 17 were placed on probation for six months under City Missionary Jennie Johnson. 

There were no dates on these clippings, but with one of the men involved having such an unusual name, Presper Bourbon, it didn’t take long for me to track them down. The alleged crimes had occurred in April of 1923. Although Charles Rand and Howard Seeley’s ages are listed, one being 65 and the other 60, I had to do a bit of digging to learn that Presper was 66 at the time. What were three men in their 60’s doing with two teenage girls that got them all arrested? I guess I probably don’t need to tell you. Sadly, despite the high bonds (bail amounts) levied against all of these men at the time of their arrests, a month later they were all found guilty of fornication, charged a $50 fine ($893 today) and off they went back to their lives. I’m certain though, that the girls were never the same.

Because I do what I do, I naturally had to follow these men through the pages of history. Having grown up in Brewer myself, the surnames of Rand and Seeley were recognizable to me. But it was Presper Bourbon that captured my imagination and I needed to know more about him. What I found was the tale of a sad man’s life, which in no way excuses him for the crime he committed, but does add another dimension to his personal history that was left unsaid in the newspapers of 1923.

After extensive research I learned that Presper Bourbon was born in June of 1857 in Quebec Canada. Presper, who's orginial french name was Prosper Bourbonnais, appears on the 1871 census for Lancaster, Ontario Canada. He's employed as an apprentice blacksmith. Lancaster, Canada is only 42 miles from Brushton, New York, which is where he next appears on the 1880 census, still working as a blacksmith. Records show that in 1882, at the respectable age of 25, he married Clara Howe of Brushton. It would be eight years before the birth of their first child, Hazel in 1890. By the time of the 1900 census Presper has moved his family to Altamont, New York. Presper now lists his occupation as an engineer in a saw mill. He has a wife, a child, a better job even owns his own home. Life is good for Presper at this snapshot of a moment.

Unfortunately his daughter Hazel dies in 1908 at the age of eighteen. Followed just four years later by the sudden death of his wife Clara in 1912 while they are in Waterbury, Vermont visiting her sister, a notice of which appeared in the local newspaper. Both Clara and Hazel are buried together in Brushton New York. The engraving on the gravestone lists Clara and Hazel’s names, birth and death dates. Presper's name and birthdate are also engraved on the stone, however there is no death date engraved. After the death of his wife Presper, the man with such an unusual name, drops from the historical record for over ten years. He no longer appears on census records or city directories. He does not marry again, so therefore leaves no marriage record to trace. He does not show up again until he is listed in the newspaper after being arrested in Bangor Maine in 1923. Where has he been for eleven years?

If it weren't for his unusual name I would not have connected the Presper Bourbon listed in the newspaper clipping with the man from Canada and New York. But I could not find anyone else with that name anywhere in the United States or Canada. He appears to have no surviving family in Canada, nothing left for him in New York except the gravestone of his wife and daughter with his name engraved on it. And he is a perfect candidate to be in the Bangor area with skills in working a sawmill given Bangor’s lumbering history. In addition, after his arrest in 1923 at age 66 he remains elusive again for another sixteen years, until he appears in a 1939 Brewer City Directory. An absence that would later be explained in his obituary. In 1939 he owns a machinist shop, which would have been a natural trade for someone with a blacksmith and mill industry background. In that year, his final year, he is living in an apartment at 6 State St. in Brewer. Ironically I grew up on State St. in Brewer.

On September 18, 1939 Presper appears for the last time in the newspaper, this time it’s his obituary. He died in a Brewer hospital after an illness of several months. According to what is written he was a native of New York and had been in Brewer for 20 years. It states that he had been a mill superintendent and in his earlier days had built and installed machinery in many mills in this country and Canada. This more transient work life would explain his absence from the historical records for large chunks of time. His obituary, written by an unknown friend or associate, states that he was regarded as an expert workman by his employers and he had many friends. He has no immediate family and will be interred in his family plot in New York.

Recorded history is full of snapshot moments. Similar to when an archeologist opens an ancient gravesite. What they find is what was left in one moment in time. The artifacts that survive there may show an interest or some likeness to the person at that moment. Recorded history, the things people write down whether in legal documents, newspapers or personal journals, are also just moments in time. Recorded at the moment they happened or as a memory. But that’s all history is really, just moments. Humans don’t live for just a moment. Their lives are made up of many moments. Some of them great and marvelous and some of them awful and wretched. We need to remember this about ourselves and others. Everyone’s life is more then just one moment in time.

The mystery as to why these clippings were saved and found among the sheet music of a young woman, who was in her 20’s, at the time they were clipped, will remain just that, a mystery. I found no connection what so ever between her and the men involved. Neither was there any connection between her parents and these men. Her neighbors and these men. Or anyone that she associated with even later in life. Was she somehow connected to the two unnamed teenage girls? Possibly. That connection we may never know unless it surfaces in someone’s private journal some day. It’s also possible that this young woman didn’t cut these clippings herself. They may have been cut by someone else and over the years scooped up and stored in the leather bag merely because they were made of paper like the sheet music. Or it’s possible that the bag contained sheet music she may have received from some one else and the clippings could have tucked inside one of those. As with most things in history, finding a few answers just leads you to more questions.

Where In The World Is Nelly Butler?

(Photo Credit: Pintrest)

Anyone that has followed along on my journey as an author knows that we didn’t expect much from the release of my book The Gathering Room - A Tale of Nelly Butler. We wanted books for the family and hoped to sell a few to friends and through Maine Authors Publishing’s website, maybe get into a few Maine bookstores. I wanted to be on Amazon, just to say I was there, but I had no illusions of grandeur as we went into this.

Just as I started the publishing process, I met a man who worked in the publishing field and I told him I was self publishing my book. He told me that the average self published book sells about 100 copies. If it’s a really good one it might sell 500 copies in its lifetime. So this was my starting point. I knew full well that 400,000+ new books a day go up on Amazon. Think about that for a minute. 400,000 brand new titles to choose from, every, single, day. Right now there are 12 million ebooks on Kindle. Twelve million! The reality was clear, especially for an unknown, self published author such as myself. Stay in your lane and don’t expect much. So I didn’t.

That is until we sold those first 400 books easily and I blew past the 100/500 self publishing standard I had been told to expect, before the book had even been out 6 weeks! What amazed me the most though was where these books were going. Until I actually started selling books in person at craft fairs, very few people here in Maine knew about my book that was based on a piece of Maine history!! I’ve said it many times the book sells far more outside of the State of Maine then it does locally.

I think one of the things that is driving that is the topic. The paranormal is very hot right now culturally and The Ghost of Nelly Butler is a pretty awesome piece of paranormal folklore. So that helps a lot. But believe it or not I have found that this blog actually is driving quite a few people to finding the story of Nelly Butler here on my website. That’s right this weekly blog.

About mid way through every week I’ll usually check the analytics of my website to see how much traction my latest blog post has generated. For the record the blog about losing my mother while hiking is still the most read blog on the website. Mom is a powerhouse! The reason I check the read views of the blogs is to try and see trends in what people find interesting and what they don’t. I do want to write things that interest you all!! Like I thought my blog about my laundry would have been quite boring but actually it got more reads then the one about AI and the future of books. Fascinating!

In the analytics I can also see what are the biggest sources of traffic leading people to my blogs. There are the things you’d expect like social media posts or the email blasts that go out with the link for the blogs in them. But what always surprises me is that those are not the main source for how people find my website, my blog or my book. Most of them are finding me directly. Meaning either they are searching for Michelle Shores, the Gathering Room or Nelly Butler specifically, or they are searching the internet for something else. A certain topic of some kind, and my website or blog is popping up as a result for that search. Unbelievable!

If you think the 400,000+ books a day on Amazon or the twelve million ebooks on Kindle are a massive number, just try to fathom the vastness of the internet as a whole and what has to be sifted through every time someone searches for something. Like if you search “Is it possible for old people to hike?” what are the chances that my blog about Mom is going to be a search result? I find it very interesting that the blog that comes in second for driving people to the website is the one titled “Never work a day in your life.” Makes me laugh! I can just see people searching the internet for “How to never work a day in your life.” and then getting my blog as a result! But hey they are reading it!

When I check the blogs for reader interest I also check where visitors to my website are coming from. Or to be more specific where their IPO address is, because that’s all I can see. That and the time stamp and amount of time they stayed on a page. All fascinating for a data nerd like me! Again I’m amazed over and over how few Maine visitors I get and how far and wide Nelly’s story is reaching people.

Just in the past 24 hours, and remember my blog posted last Friday, so nothing new to see here folks, I had visitors from Ilinois, Pennsylvania, Oregon, Massachusetts, New York, Maryland, New Jersey, California, and on and on. I have over 100+ visitors to my website every day, the majority of them outside of Maine. How is that even possible? In the great vast wasteland that is the internet how are these people finding me? It blows my mind!

Today’s geography check also revealed a surprise!! I had a visitor from Port Elizabeth, Eastern Cape, South Africa. Seeing this was a shock so I clicked on the little world map thingy and in the past 30 days I have had international visitors from South Africa, Poland, Germany, The Netherlands, Boliva, three from Canada, three from the Philippines (WHAT?) and seven from the UK.

Milions upon millions upon millions of bits of information and books are out there. And somehow the story of Nelly Butler’s ghost is rising to the top and getting noticed. Mathematically it doesn’t make sense. Could there be supernatural forces at work here? I don’t know about you, but it just kind of creeps me out!

Well That Worked Well….

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So back in April I was really struggling to come up with a name for the main fictional character in my next book. If you remember correctly, although my next book is based on a real family and on the very real events that happened in their lives, I needed to create a fictional character to carry the heaviest parts of the story. I am ever mindful that I am writing about real people. Historical fiction is just that, it’s my imagination based on the historical documentation, but it’s still fiction. I just try to be as respectful as I can be to the individuals that are someone else’s ancestors.

So in April, even though I knew the attributes of my fictional character, I couldn’t come up with a name for her. So I reached out to all of you! You responded with so many names that honestly I will never need to go searching for names again! I saved that list! And even though I did not choose a name from the list, all of that creative energy from you all eventually led me to the name that was needed. Her name is Alicen. Which I should let you know auto correct doesn’t like! I’m constantly having to go back and add the “n”.

Well Alicen and I need your help again! If you remember Alicen is a young woman who comes from a family with a bit of a mystical background. There are already rumors about her and her family being involved in things that raise a few eyebrows. The setting is 1600’s England and the possibility of being accused of witchcraft is ever present for any woman, man or child that is perceived as being different from the rest of the community. Enter the Familiar.

Familiars are animals, often associated with accusations of witchcraft because the accused is said to have spoken to these animals, or cared for them in ways not normal to the treatment of animals at the time. From the 21st century it’s easy to look back and see these Familiars were just beloved pets. Similar to my own dogs, Susan and Douglas, who are like children to me. I refer to them as my kids, I talk to them often and if I were living in the 1600’s I would most certainly be accused of witchcraft based solely on my relationship with my dogs! In a time of hysteria, like we see with accusations of witchcraft, anything could be turned into evidence to prove a suspicion. Folklore grew up around these animals and many medieval tales exists of them speaking or changing into the shapes of other beings. All very helpful when you are writing historical fiction about a mystical family!

So it is that I knew almost from the beginning of writing this story that my fictional character was going to have a Familiar. Alicen is not a witch and I don’t want to lead you to assume the next book is about witchcraft. It’s not. But Alicen does have a lot of suspicion surrounding her and one way I can make that more believable is to give her a pet, a very unique pet, that others of her time would have considered a Familiar.

I thought the Universe had literally handed me this concept on a silver platter back in May while speaking to a family member. During this conversation this family member said to me “I would love to be written into your next book!” I laughed, but immediately thought of how unique this person’s name is and it would actually make a really interesting character. I could probably do that. From nearby, another family member, who finds joy in teasing, hollered out “Make her a turtle!” Everyone laughed but in my heart I thought, a Familiar that is a turtle and has a really cool name. BINGO! (Not to mention the turtle is my spirit animal so….there’s that!)

A few weeks ago I wrote the scene where the Familiar makes it’s first appearance. I wrote the character as a turtle. But boy, it was a struggle. It just didn’t feel right. And then as I thought more and more about the future of this animal and how it will fit into the overall story, a turtle just didn’t seem right at all. So I did a little research and settled upon a hedgehog. They are native to the part of England where the story is set and a hedgehog seemed a bit more “pocket friendly” then a turtle, if you know what I mean.. So I’ve written now for a week and half with the Familiar being a hedgehog. But I’m still unsettled. It just isn’t feeling right.

As I sat here this morning contemplating what this week’s blog would be about I thought of all of you, and the help you gave me in choosing Alicen’s name. Since YOU will be the ones reading the next book it occurred to me that maybe I should reach out to you all again for help.

What animal do you see as Alicen’s Familiar? What would be the most believable to you if you were reading the story? This animal will bring great wisdom into Alicen’s life. This animal guides Alicen as she takes her place in the great story of her family. This animal needs to be transportable, as Alicen will find herself on the move soon. This animal relates itself as the female gender in it’s first appearance to Alicen

So let’s see what you all can come up with! I’m open to all suggestions as this point so let me know. You can leave a comment on the social media post where you found the link for this blog. Or use the contact form on the home page of this website and let me know what you think! I’ll let you know what I decide in a couple of weeks!

So You Think You’re a Writer?

Newsflash, that’s not a picture of me! That is in fact Margaret Atwood, she’s an author, best selling and award winning, incase you didn’t know. Honestly, I never knew who she was until today. That’s right ,I was this many years old (to use a phrase from social media) when I learned who Margaret Atwood was. Doesn’t mean I had not heard her name, because I had and I’ll explain that in a minute. But I literally had no idea who she was, what she had accomplished or what she even wrote until today, when I sat down to write this blog. True story! If you don’t believe me, read last week’s blog and you might begin to understand why I have no clue who really famous authors are!

Margaret Atwood is a Canadian author, poet, novelist, etc. etc who published her first work in 1961, that was before I was born, although not by much. She has a BA and an MA, along with 25 Honoray Degrees from institutions of higher learning all over the world. She has won 23 International Awards, and not just for her books. She was awarded Humanist of the Year in 1987. In 2019 she received the Companion of Honor Award and in 2012, she was awarded the Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee Medal for Canada. Oh and she wrote the book The Handmaid’s Tale in 1972. Yes that one. No I have not read it.

But I didn’t know any of these things about Margaret Atwood until today, despite the fact that a quote attributed to her, has hung on my wall for nearly 20 years.

Found that quote in a Reader’s Digest probably back in the early 2000’s. One of two quotes out of Reader’s Digest that literally changed my life, but that’s a story for another day! This quote, as you can see, I tacked up on a bulletin board where I could see it often. For reference, my home office has changed locations four times since I cut this quote out. And it may have even lived on a bulletin board in one or more of the three work offices I have had since I first found it. I’m impressed that I always use the same original tack hole!

The reason why I was drawn to this quote by Margaret Atwood was very simple. I have always felt compelled to write. Have written in some form all of my life. But I grew up in a culture where we were taught that you had to have a college degree to accomplish anything in life. I do not have one of those. So for years and years I never imagined anything I wrote would be for general consumption, because clearly, lacking a college education, I wasn’t smart enough to claim to be a writer. So when I saw this quote in Reader’s Digest it spoke to me. Story telling is human nature and we all do it. This one quote gave me confidence, even if just for my own inner strength.

I meet a lot of people and recently had the opportunity to meet a young man, age 9, who had read my book and loved it. (Momentary pause here…..I will admit when he told me he was 9 my first thought was “Oh goodness did I write anything inappropriate?!” ) In our conversation this young fella told me he likes to write as well and when I spoke to him about my writing process his face lit up like a lightbulb. “Me too!” he shouted. He’s nine, he’s had all of what 4 years of formal education? And yet he writes. Because writing, the art of telling a story, is human nature, we all do it.

A few weeks ago I was at a book signing and a woman stopped by and chatted with me. She was here in Maine on a writer’s retreat (for the record I’ve never done one of those!) During our conversation she shared with me several pieces of her personal life that let me know she was going through some major life upheveal that was very disruptive for both her and her family. Added to this already volatile environment she then let me know that she had recently made the decision to go back to school so that she could become a writer. She admitted, that at her age, the course work was hard and the stress intense. As I sat there and listened to her I could just feel the stress she was under personally as well as with what she wanted to accomplish by going to school. My very first reaction was WHY? And immediately Margaret Atwood’s quote came to my mind. So I shared it with this woman, with the added caveat that I admired her for wanting to get an education but if she found herself at her breaking point, she didn’t need the degree to write. Because writing, the art of telling a story, is human nature, we all can do it.

Often times during my journey of getting my book published, and the past year of stepping out into the world as a Writer, I have felt like a true outsider. In some situations I know this feeling is probably rooted in my own insecurities about not having that coveted degree! But in other situations it is blatantly obvious that I am made to feel the outsider exactly because of that. It is at those times, in those rooms, with those people that Margaret’s words ring true in my heart. Her words buoy me up, help me to stand taller, lift my chin up and know that even though I may not have taken the same path, I have accomplished great things too and I am a Writer.

Whether you write stories out by hand, or bang away at a computer. If you find yourself describing worlds unknown or just setting down your childhood memories that you want to leave behind for your children and grandchildren. Whether you find comfort in using words to express your feelings in poetry or you just need the release of writing about past traumas. Whatever your form, trust me when I tell you…. you are a Writer. It’s human nature, we all do it.

What Do You Read?

Recently I had a reader reach out to me to tell me how much she enjoyed my blog posts. She also had a suggestion for a future blog post, should I consider it. She said she was really interested in what I, personally, like to read. I had to giggle at this, because I’m kind of an odd person. But I liked her idea! So I whole heartedly agreed to write a blog about what kind of books I like and what I normally read.

Since publishing my book The Gathering Room I have found myself in a lot more conversations with people about books and authors then I’ve ever been in before. Frequently I am asked if I have read such and such a book by so and so the author. I always have to shake my head no. Oh but certainly you must have read this and that? Nope, never heard of it. I have seen the dismay and sometimes even disappointment on people’s faces when I can’t relate to some currently best selling author that they know every detail about and I’ve never heard of. Sometimes I have to admit I feel like I’m not part of the “in” crowd.

A perfect example of this is Colleen Hoover. When my book came out last fall I had no idea who Colleen Hoover was, never heard of her. And yet Colleen Hoover’s name is mentioned to me again and again when people talk to me about my book. Apparently we have a similar writing style. So I did an internet search and found out that she is like the current best selling author in the country. She’s a pretty big deal I guess. I’m sorry I did not know who she is. She’s obviously successful so I like being compared to her! But you can imagine my great surprise just last week when I was scrolling through my reviews on GoodReads (yes I do that!) and I spotted this.

This is a screenshot of a reader who shares the books they have read, on the website GoodReads. I don’t know who this reader is, and honestly a year after the release of my book anyone close to me or any member of my family has already read my book. So this reader is a perfect stranger giving an honest assessment of my book, 5 stars! Thank you very much! But if you notice the book this reader read just before mine was a Colleen Hoover book. In fact it’s her New York Times Best Selling novel This Starts With Us, the one I believe they are turning into a movie. This reader gave Colleen’s book only 3 stars. Just as I had no idea who Colleen Hoover was, I can pretty much guarantee that she has no idea who I am!! But, at least according to this reader, my book was the better of the two. I’ll take it! It’s one thing to have people tell you that your writing style is similar to someone else who is hugely successful, it’s another to see a comparison like this. Made my day!

So if I don’t know who the most popular authors in the country are, if I can’t rattle off the titles of the best selling books of the year, then what exactly am I reading? Well the rest of this blog might surprise you!

My number one favorite reading material of all time, and it’s something I read daily, are

That’s right, the Obituaries. I read the obituaries from the Bangor Daily News online, every single morning. And then on Thursdays my husband brings home The Townline Newspaper and I read those immediately. Call me morbid but I just find reading about people’s lives absolutely fascinating! I have read the obituaries for as long as I can remember. No seriously, my whole childhood the newspaper was delivered and the only thing I ever read in it, day after day, was the obituaries, Dear Abby and the comics. So I guess with an interest background like that its’ no wonder I wrote a best selling novel about a ghost huh?

But lots of people read the obituaries every day, that’s why they are printed in the newspaper! So I’m probably not that eccentric. But along this line is my second favorite choice in reading material.

The Maine Genealogist is a quarterly publication put out by The Maine Genealogical Society and is eagerly awaited here at my house. I will literally spend hours reading the abstracts of wills from the 1800’s. Because nothing fascinates me more then reading how people lived, then reading about what they left behind and who they left it to! Honestly I’m really not this morbid in person!

I think it’s safe to say that I enjoy reading anything about people that are dead.

Maybe the reason I don’t know to many current best selling fiction authors is because I don’t generally read fiction. It’s not that I don’t enjoy fiction, I have, at certain times in my life, but if I’m going to sit and actually read I want to learn something so I tend to read non fiction more then anything else. The photo at the top of this blog is just a small section of my bookshelves at home that are crammed with all kinds of non fiction, history related books. I love the history of our country and the Civil War era. You get to far past 1870- ish and close to our own times and I lose all interest, that’s too modern for me. The older the better! This is my current read.

This isn’t exactly a light read. It’s full of detailed descriptions of the life of the Celts and their movements across Europe and into the British Isles going way back to 1700BC. It’s written in a pretty scholarly way but I still find it enjoyable, because, well….everyone is a dead I guess.

I think what I find interesting about this book currently is that it makes me feel connected to the people who built the Bleasdale Circle in England that I visited back in April. Although my next book will feature the Circle in it, I am not writing in a setting as ancient as Celts. But still I’m finding disappearing into the Celtic moment in history comforting and fascinating right now.

As for fiction I have read it in the past, and I suppose it shouldn’t shock any of you that I enjoy historical fiction. Some of my favorites, that still sit on my bookshelf more then 20 years after I read them are

Anything by John Jakes. It’s been decades since I opened these books but they are some of my all time favorites in historical fiction. They hold a special place of honor on my bookshelf and have been packed up and moved from house to house several times since I last read them. Will I ever read them again? I hope so and I hope I find them just as good as I remember them being.

Oldies but Goodies also include these from Dan Brown. I actually read these when they were newly released. A not so very common occurrence for me. See I don’t buy books like other people do. I don’t walk into Barnes & Noble and head for the “New Release” table. So to have actually read the Da Vinci Code when it was fresh off the presses was a bit of a stretch for me.

My usual way of acquiring books is not to find them at a bookstore. Nope, the most common way for me to acquire a book is to walk into Goodwill and find out what color tag is 50% off that day. Let’s say it’s blue. I then walk to the book section and scan the shelves for blue tags. If I spot one I will pull that book from the shelf and see if it interests me. The majority of the time I buy used books only when they are 50% off! I also buy books at yard sales. The Kennebec Valley Historical Society has a wonderful used book sale during the summer months and I will buy bag loads of books there. The book on the Celts that I’m reading now I got at a library that was giving books away free! We won’t tell Craig how many books I brought home!

Because I’m buying used books the majority of the time it means I’m reading books that are years, sometimes even decades old. Which is the explanation of why, although I’m reading every day, I had no idea who Colleen Hoover was! Maybe I’ll read her books in 2043! This was the case with Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.

I first became aware of Outlander, as a used book, twenty years after it’s original publication! I then quickly read all of the books in the series and was right there as the author’s world began to explode with the Starz TV series and all things Outlander! It was thrilling at first, but as I tend to be more solitary than a follower of the masses, I lost interest in the whole thing once it caught on with everyone else. I’ve held on to these books for two reasons. One they are very good stories and very well written. But the most important reason I’m devoted to Diana Gabaldon is because when I sat down to write The Gathering Room I told myself that I wanted to write a story like Outlander. Not the Scottish, time traveling story but the way Diana writes, keeping you glued to the story page after page. I wanted to write something that a reader couldn’t put down and then was sad to see end because they wanted more! I wanted to write that kind of story because that is what Diana had done for me. I love it when readers tell me they couldn’t put my book down or they can hardly wait for me to finish my next book. Those are the times I think I have come close to the level of excellence Diana Gabaldon set.

Also new to me, but probably very familiar to everyone else is Ken Follett.

I found one of Ken’s books at a used book sale and in reading the back of the book realized it was part of a series. I spent a good hour pouring through all the bins in that barn trying to locate the rest of the books in that series! I haven’t read them yet, mainly because they are to close in time period to the prequel I’m currently writing. I don’t want my mind to be mixed up with someone else’s story when I’m trying to write my own! So I look forward to reading these when I’m done writing!

If I had to pick my favorite book of all time it would be this one. I first read Martha Ballard’s diary years ago. And I’ve returned to it over and over. It literally transports me to the banks of the Kennebec River during the late 1700’s and early 1800’s. For me this book is the perfect example of why we should write and exactly why I write, as I have kept a daily journal all of my life. Martha kept a diary with no other intent then to record her daily actions. Yet those humble pages turned into one of the most valuable pieces of historical documentation on the lives of women during that time period. I love this book.

So there you have it. I’m a morbidly cheap book buyer that prefers non fiction to fiction. When I do read fiction it’s historical fiction. I don’t read romances, trade paperbacks, or a thing I just became aware of, a “cozy”. I don’t read the current best sellers, instead preferring to find them decades later and enjoy them all by myself without all of the hoopla. I guess you can say I’m definitely not with the “in” crowd and I’m obviously very late to the party on most of these! But I like it that way. I have been inspired by some great authors and have written a book that is currently being compared to other great authors. So I’m happy with how things have turned out.

So now the question is, what do you like to read? Drop a comment on one of my social media platforms and let me know!

Quicksand, Not As Much Of A problem As I Thought It Would Be!

Recently the algorithms on social media have decided that, given my age I guess, I need to see all kinds of posts and memes about being a member of Generation X, whatever that means. Despite this obvious recognition of my age, I have enjoyed the walk down memory lane as I see pictures of ice creams on push up sticks, reminders of how we stayed outside until the street lights came on and how utterly bizarre it is, to the most recent generation, that we were babysitting our siblings at the tender age of eight years old.

What really surprised me though was how many posts I saw about being traumatized by the thought that we would be swallowed up by quicksand. It surprised me because I myself thought, as many others have expressed online, that quicksand would be more of a problem in my daily life then it has been!! Clearly by the number of posts I’m seeing I have not been alone in this fear. So how is it that an entire generation become afraid of quicksand?

When I stopped to think about why I was afraid of quicksand I had a vague memory of the 1974 children’s science fiction TV show called Land of the Lost. This show, which aired on Saturday mornings, followed the adventures of Rick Marshall and his two children Will and Holly. This family find themselves trapped in an alternate universe inhabited by dinosaurs, primate type people and the dreaded humanoid/lizard creatures called the Sleestak! I was almost certain that I remembered a scene in that show where Rick and his children are being chased by the Sleestak and Rick falls into a pit of quicksand and there is a desperate attempt by Will and Holly to pull him free before the Sleestak can get to them. But I searched all over the internet and I could not find any reference to this scene. So apparently it wasn’t fear of capture by a Sleestak that terrified an entire generation.

My next thought was that the culprit might be Scooby Doo, I mean Fred, Daphne, Thelma, Shaggy and Scooby were forever being pursued by ghostly or otherwise evil beings that would find satisfaction in them being trapped in a pit of quicksand. Right? But again online searches found only one image of the gang standing in a pit of quicksand. It wasn’t very traumatizing looking, and the monster that probably had been chasing them was also standing next to them. So not very terrifying.

So I decided to search “quicksand scenes from 1970’s TV shows” and that’s when I hit the winner. There I found the meme I have attached above, along with several other grainy photos, of the Skipper from Gilligan’s Island trapped in quicksand. After a bit more digging I also found that quicksand was very prevalent in many of the westerns that we watched. Is it really possible that a quicksand scene or two, from television shows meant that an entire generation would be in fear of imminent death by quicksand? It would appear so because I am not alone if social media comments are any indication! I sat and pondered this thought, which made me think of other things from my childhood, that I was deathly afraid of at the time, but have since completely forgotten.

Things like the Bermuda Triangle. As one influencer on TikTok, who is my age said, “Is this still a thing?” He’s not wrong in asking this question. The Bermuda Triangle, was a geographical area on a map between Florida, Bermuda and Puerto Rico where numerous planes, and ships all vanished into thin air! I remember being so afraid of the Bermuda Triangle that I did not want to fly to Disney World in 1978 for fear our airplane would be swallowed up by this mystical force and we would never been heard from again. I remember checking books out of the library in Junior High (that’s what we called Middle School back then) and reading every thing I could get my hands on about the planes and ships that had disappeared. Where had they gone? Crashed? Shipwrecked? Or taken by a UFO in an alien abduction? Or even better, swallowed up by a worm hole in space or maybe a portal to another dimension!!! And then suddenly all references to the Bermuda Triangle disappeared, like the planes and ships themselves. Why?

I also remember being deathly afraid of Piranhas. You know the fish that only lives in South America but somehow me as a child, growing up in the far north region of North America, where it is so cold in the winter that it actually hurts your face, thought being consumed by this tropical fish was a real possibility. I lay blame for this fear on the magazine National Geographic. It’s bright yellow cover was very enticing to the child waiting in the dentist office. This magazine had pictures of this terrifying fish. Photographs of their razor sharp teeth blown up and out of proportion! Clearly this was a real threat to my every day life and avoiding freshwater, even this far north, was a better safe then sorry strategy. Funny thing, again I am not alone in my generation of having this fear. I read several comments where others shared that they too were in fear of this fish! How were we all so collectively brainwashed?

Clearly all of these fears, along with the Loch Ness monster, Big Foot and Alien Abductions, have faded from my daily life. I swim easily now in freshwater with no fear of being eaten alive. I travel by airplane across the Atlantic Ocean with no thought whatsoever that I’m not going to make it home. And until the algorithms reminded me of it, as an adult I have never given quicksand a serious thought.

Which makes me wonder about all of the current fears we are being exposed to as adults. Can those of us in Generation X stand as an example to everyone else? From our experience as children we have learned that if we just wait long enough all of these new fears will soon pass away, never to be thought of again. Trust me on this….I have experience.

History Is According To Those That Write It

My children grew up hearing me say the words that make up the title of this week’s blog. “History is according to those that write it.” I started saying it somewhere around the late 1990’s. I don’t ever remember reading that phrase anywhere, although it’s possible that I did. But I think it was more that in my own personal study of history I realized that what is recorded, what we consider “history”, is really based on what someone wrote. Even if it’s just the plain facts, with no emotional investment, it’s still the facts according to the one person that wrote it down. Writers are the recorders of history.

I was reminded of my thoughts on this, how history is perceived according to those that write it, just last week while reading my newly arrived copy of “Archaeology Magazine”. Inside was a very fascinating article on The Bog People. These are the bodies of deceased individuals that have been found submerged in the bogs of Northern Europe and the UK. Some of these people died thousands of years ago, some more recently, well at least recent in historical terms, they died 400 years ago. Bogs, you see, have a unique set of chemical things going on and because of that the bodies, in most cases, as well as clothing and other artifacts are preserved in an exceptional way. Such it was with the body pictured above, Windeby Girl. The photo I’ve attached is an artist’s rendition, you can find actual pictures online of what the body really looks like, if you want to go look. But for me, out of respect to the deceased person, and to those that might be bothered by photos like that, I chose to go with the drawing instead.

Windeby Girl’s body was found in 1952 in a small town in Northern Germany called, conveniently, Windeby. Local workers, harvesting peat out of a bog, found the body and alerted local authorities. It was quickly determined that this wasn’t a recent crime and so the archaeologists were called in. They declared that the body was that of a young girl because she was slight in stature and had delicate features. Her head appeared to have been shorn and there was some kind of blindfold covering her eyes. The research efforts done by the archaeologists included referring to early historical writings done by the Roman historian Tacitus. In the first century AD Tacitus recorded descriptions of the Germanic tribes that populated Northern Europe. Tacitus was a writer, he recorded his observations. His writings became history that other researchers then referred to. History thus became according to Tacitus, the person that wrote it.

Tacitus wrote that these Germanic tribes often executed criminals and transgressors and disposed of their bodies in the bogs. The archaeologist in 1952 formed a theory based on Tacitus’ writings. They decided that Windeby Girl was an adulteress. To punish her, the members of her community, had shaved her head, blindfolded her and drowned her in the bog. They wrote this theory down and it became historical fact. A few years later another body was found in the bog nearby, it was that of a male, obviously the illicit lover of Windeby Girl! This just proved the adultery theory of the archaeologist and it was now all cemented into history. It was written down and it became history.

This history was accurate and accepted for over 50 years. Then in the mid 2000’s, with DNA testing at their disposal, researchers from North Dakota State University tested Windeby Girl and they found out that the body wasn’t that of a woman at all! The body was actually that of a male, a very malnourished male, and that he more then likely died of natural causes. The blindfold over the eyes wasn’t a blindfold at all, according to the new researchers. It was simply some kind of headdress that had slipped down over the young man’s eyes as his head shrunk after his death. Even the shorn head theory was replaced with a new theory that maybe his hair had fallen out because of his physical condition at the time of death, or possibly lost in the bog over the centuries, or maybe even damaged during excavation. Then to totally destroy the adultery history of this body created in 1952, radio carbon dating was done on the other male body thought to be the illicit lover of Windeby Girl. It was learned that he had actually lived 300 years before! So the bodies were in no way connected to each other at all. Windeby Girl is now called Windeby 1, given that she’s actually a guy. And the former lover is now known as Windeby 2.

Was the Roman Tacitus wrong when he wrote down what he knew of the Germanic Tribes in the first century AD? Not at all. He wrote down what he knew and because it was written it became history. Were the archaeologists in 1952 wrong when they determined that two star crossed lovers were put to death for not following the community’s standards? Not at all. They wrote down what they knew, based on their research and knowledge at the time, and because it was written it became history. Are the researchers from North Dakota State University right or wrong in their statements of the two male bodies found in the bog that lived 300 years apart? Not at all. Even if later evidence shows a different theory. The NDSU researchers have written down their findings and it has become history, for now.

Because, after all….history is according to those that write it. So what are you writing?

Find Stuff, Learn History!

Most men have hobbies. Golf. Hunting. Fishing. Model Trains. What have you. But my husband has a rather unusual hobby. He buys old buildings, tears them completely apart, usually leaving just the outside walls, and then rebuilds them. I’ll never forget the day he started on his very first project in 2017. I arrived home from work to find him standing in the second floor of a building he had recently purchased. I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car. There he was waving at me from the second floor of the house next door. The reason I could see my husband so clearly was because he had torn off the roof and most of the exterior wall of the second floor of the building! He was standing in what had once been our neighbor’s bedroom!! The remaining wallpapered walls seeing sunshine like they had never seen before! The whole room now open to the sky. My brain struggled to make sense of what I was seeing, wallpaper shouldn’t be that close to blue sky and clouds. But there stood my husband, in the bright sunshine, waving and smiling at me from the open edge of a gaping hole in an otherwise normal looking house. He was so proud of himself. I could almost hear him saying “Hey Honey look what I did! I tore off the roof!” I had to laugh. It’s what he does, tears stuff apart so he can rebuild it.

When you are tearing apart old buildings sometimes you find some really interesting things. Inside the kitchen wall of our neighbor’s house Craig found a chunk of scrap wood. Written on it in pencil was a date and the words “3 days since Willy died.” Lying beside the wood, in this spot within the wall, were two very old Hershey Chocolate Bar candy wrappers. Craig brought these home to me, knowing full well that I was going to research the heck out of them until I learned the history. The wrappers were from 1906, which matched the date written on the wood. Willy was a young man by the name of William and he had died from diabetes, at the age of only 13 years old, exactly three days before the date written on the wood. So the phrase “3 days since Willy died” was pretty accurate.

Willy came from a very close family. He and his widowed mother were living in a rental apartment on the second floor of a house. His aunt and uncle, and two cousins, all lived downstairs in the apartment on the first floor. It must have been a great childhood growing up with your cousins nearby. At the time of his death though, Willy’s aunt and uncle were building a brand new house just up the street from where they all currently lived. This new house would become my neighbor’s house, and ultimately my husband’s project when he bought it. It appears to me that Willy’s cousin, John, only a year older then Willy, may have sought refuge in the house his parents had under construction after Willy died. In his grief over Willy’s death, John may have wanted to memorialize his cousin in a way. Maybe John had eaten the two candy bars alone or with another cousin or a friend of Willy’s. To honor Willy, John then placed the wrappers inside the unfinished wall, writing his feelings, 3 days since Willy died” and the date on the piece of scrap wood. I’ve often wondered why Hershey Chocolate bars? John would move into this house just a few months after Willy’s death, living there until he became an adult and moved on to his own home. He always knew that his memorial to Willy was silently hidden in the kitchen wall. Did anyone else know it was hidden there? Hidden until the day my husband tore down the wall and found it, 111 years later that is. So as not to disturb this memorial to Willy, I typed up what I had learned of the history and together my husband and I placed that along with the scrap of wood and the two candy wrappers, inside the new kitchen wall when the building was remodeled. I like to imagine someone else finding that story someday and I hope whatever changes they make to the house, they continue to honor Willy’s memory by leaving John’s memorial to him just as we did.

My husband recently tore apart another building and he found more stuff! As shown in the picture above he found a metal advertising sign for the Harvard Brewing Company of Lowell Massachusetts. It’s not in the best of shape, having spent probably a 100 years or so under the sub floor of a house, but I still had to research it. Boy what an amazing history the Harvard Brewing Company has!! In 2020 Ryan Owen wrote a great article on the history of the brewery for his blog “Forgotten New England.” and in 2017 the Lowell Sun newspaper had also done an article entitled “Remember when? Harvard Brewery”. Both of these written histories gave me a lot to think about in regards to my husband’s latest find.

Havard Brewery was started in Lowell Massachusetts in 1893 and appears to have been somewhat successful until the start of Prohibition in 1920. Although they tried to stay afloat financially by selling soft drinks and “near beer” by 1925 the decision was made to restart production of beer and sell it illegally. It didn’t take long for the government to figure this out and there was a huge raid on the plant in Lowell in August 1925. Reading the historical account was like watching a ganster movie in my mind! Federal Agents trying to beat down the front door of the brewery while employees smashed barrels of beer inside, the floor covered in 5 inches of beer. All of this beer flooding down the front steps, washing away the agents who had finally gotten the door open. Barrels full of beer were rolled into the stream behind the plant in an effort to get rid of evidence. Police chasing down delivery trucks in the middle of the night, finding them in cemeteries offloading the illegal beverage to runners who sped off at the sight of the authorities, smashing their cars into ditches and escaping on foot.

Legal problems faced everyone involved with the brewery and eventually it went bankrupt and fell under bank ownership. That was until Prohibition ended in 1933 and beer could legally be produced again. The brewery was reopened and production was full steam ahead for a few years. Until 1941 when the brewery was purchased by an immigrant with a very German sounding name. Although he was born in Lichtenstein, anti German sentiment was strong in the USA in 1941, and poor Fritz Von Opel got caught up in the Enemy Alien Control Program. Arrested while on vacation in Palm Beach Florida with his family, for no other reason then for having a German sounding name, Fritz was charged for being a “potentially dangerous enemy alien.” Under yet another government program, this one the Alien Property Custodian Act, the federal government took possession of Harvard Brewing Company and all of it’s assets.

Fritz Von Opel fought for years to get his business back, all the way to the Supreme Court actually, but the federal government continued to own the property until 1956 when it was finally sold to a private investor, unfortunately that was not Mr. Von Opel. He never did get the brewery back. In 1956 there wasn’t much left anyway, the buildings had been stripped of their equipment. A fire in 1957 destroyed most of the buildings and then the rest were torn down in 1963 to make way for a new Sears store. Today, in 2023, a Target store sits on the lot in Lowell Massachusetts, hiding all of the secrets of the history of the Harvard Brewing Company.

This history is all very interesting, although I find parts of it very disturbing in many ways. But that’s what history is supposed to do, make us stop and think about what things were like before the time we currently live in. Learning history is supposed to make you think, to wonder if people lived in a time really any different from our own? All of this made me think of a t-shirt I saw advertised on line recently. Printed in big text on the front of the shirt it said “Learn History! And realize people have been doing stupid things for thousands of years!” I loved that!

Now that I know the history of the Harvard Brewing Company it doesn’t solve the mystery of how this advertising sign ended up in the floor of a tiny little house, built in the 1920’s, in Central Maine. Did Harvard Brewing distribute beer this far north? Why would you put a metal advertising sign under the subfloor of a house? Unlike the memorial to Willy in the house next door to us, I won’t be returning this sign to the little house. Not sure what I’ll do with it though, doesn’t really match my decorating style. Suggestions welcome!

Did I Embarrass You? Oops Sorry About That!

I read a friend’s post on social media the other day about unintentionally embarrassing her kids. I laughed because haven't we all done this as parents? Reading her description of it brought back so many fond memories of not only embarrassing the heck out of my own children, but of also being embarrassed myself as a child by my mother. I looked up the definition of embarrass…well actually I didn’t really look it up in a dictionary. Instead I just asked my Alexa for the definition, AI does have some advantages! I found the definition of embarrass is to cause someone to be uncomfortable or self conscious, and as a child I remember a couple of times that my own mother caused me to feel this way.

Before I go any further I want everyone to know that I got permission from my mother to share this story. After all, Mom is now an internet sensation following her hiking adventure in the Grand Tetons. So I didn’t want to tarnish her image, but she was ok with my sharing this and I hope I do the memory justice.

My first memory of being totally embarrassed by my mother was in 1979, I was 13 years old, which I guess is the prime time for realizing that your parents are not cool. The Bangor Mall had just opened and Mom took myself and my sister to the Mall for the grand opening. This was a monumental event. Although Bangor already had a mall, The Airport Mall, which had actually been the first mall in the state of Maine, it was small compared to the new Bangor Mall! This new Mall was built on land that had originally been dairy farms. I remember my dad taking me out there as a small child where we would sit on the side of the road and stare at the cows. But now, in 1979, this land right next to Interstate 95, was prime retail space and this giant Mall had been built that would make Bangor the retail center of Eastern Maine. Canadians would drive south for hours to shop here. During the annual high school basketball tournaments in February, you couldn’t get near the place as residents of every small community, within a 3 hour driving radius of Bangor, came to town. For these folks from rural Maine, coming to Bangor, to see their local high school athletes try to win the coveted gold ball trophy, and then go shopping at the Bangor Malll, one just like the malls seen on TV, was a highlight of their year. We didn’t get out much back then.

Into this setting my sweet mother drove Theresa and I to the Mall. Back then Mom drove a 1974 Ford Pinto. You know the one that they recalled because the gas tank exploded if you were rear ended in an accident. That’s the one! This was a really awesome car. It was white with lime green stripping and a massive window in the hatchback. We once got twelve kids from my high school track team squished into this car that technically only seated four. Seat belt rules were optional back then. I remember Matt lying in the back pressed up against that large window in the hatchback while someone sat on his head, it was awesome, but that’s a story for another day.

Once we had arrived at the Mall the place was packed with shoppers. It was wall to wall people. For those that now drive by the practically deserted Mall and see the acres and acres of parking spaces, cracked and growing weeds, believe me all of those spaces were really needed at one time! Into this sea of humanity my mother dragged her two young daughters so we could witness for ourselves this beautiful new concept. The Mall. Sears had moved from it’s ancient brick store in downtown Bangor to be one of three anchor stores in the new Mall. Here everything that the once great and mighty Sears sold, from clothing to lawn mowers, were visible in the vast brightness of modern retail commercialism. Shiny floors, columns covered in mirrors, row after row of over head lighting and gleaming chrome fixtures just made everything sparkle. They even had real trees in pots with benches placed under them. Like you were outside in a park rather then inside a vast retail oasis. We strolled through the Mall looking into the huge glass windows that displayed the goods that could be found within. There was Spencers Gifts with its black light velvet posters glowing enticingly along side the lava lamps and incense sticks in the window. We were forbidden to enter Spencers Gifts due to the adult nature of some of their products, so it thus became a lifelong goal to walk inside some day. There was K-B Toys with more toys then we had ever seen in our life. Imagine a store that just sold toys! There was Dorsey’s Music Store where you could flip through hundreds of bins that held albums of every type of music created. It was here that I started my tradition of buying a 45 rpm record every week, I think they were 50 cents. Across the way was York Steak House, another place that became a weekly tradition. Here I could buy a #4 meal. A burger, fries and a soft drink for $1.49. Always got that burger medium rare.

In the middle of the walkways of the Mall were little kiosks where you could buy sunglasses or jewelry. It was at one of these that I noticed a young girl, sitting in a very high chair, getting her ears pierced. The clerk was using something that looked like a gun. The earring was loaded into this gun and with a quick punch the earring was driven right into the girl’s ear. She didn’t even cry! I marveled at this technology because only 4 years earlier my Mom and her best friend had sat me in a kitchen chair and frozen my earlobes with ice cubes, then driven a sewing needle through my ears to pierce them, one at a time. I cried like crazy! But I lived and my ears are still pierced to this day!

As our stoll through the Mall continued we spotted Baskin Robbins Ice Cream. This was pretty fancy because this was the first time we were exposed to ice cream flavors other then chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. There were crazy unheard of flavors here like Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Bubble Gum with real pieces of gum in it and even Cotton Candy! It was here that Mom decided to spend her limited funds on buying us a treat. Both my sister and I got cones with two scoops of ice cream on them. I don’t remember now what flavors we got but I do remember there were two scoops on our cones. I remember this because we had just stepped out of the store and back into the coursing stream of people walking through the Mall when I bit into my ice cream and the top scoop fell right off and landed on the floor!

At age 13 naturally I was mortified by this, but what happened next sealed this trauma in my brain forever. As my mother realized what I had done, she quickly pulled out a napkin and bent to pick up the offending ball of ice cream from the floor. The only problem was that just about everyone in Eastern Maine was in the Mall that day and as she bent down amongst the throng of people, someone kicked it!! Now my little ball of ice cream was sent rolling across the pristine marble tile of the brand new Mall. To compound the tragedy of this event, my mother ran after it! Still holding her own cone in one hand, her ever present macramé pocketbook dangling off her shoulder by its long strap, she reached down again, in and around the legs and feet of strangers, in an attempt o retrieve the ice cream ball when it is kicked yet again. I watched in horror as that little ice cream ball was repeatedly kicked over and over, by unsuspecting participants in my humiliation and embarrassment, and my mother scurried, after it, bending, reaching and failing multiple times to pick it up.

When the ball of ice cream had finally cleared the wing we were in and made it’s way into the even more crowded Center Court my mother gave up. She came walking back to us, napkin still in her hand, my sister stood laughing while I tried desperately to pretend I didn’t know my own mother. The unimaginable horror of this event meant I didn’t even want to finish my still remaining ice cream. I was literally sick to my stomach. I remember dumping the cone, evidence of my mother’s deep dive into uncoolness, into the nearest trash can. The Mall no longer held any sparkle for me, I just wanted to slink away, unseen, to the car and go home. How many people had seen my mother looking so foolish? My mother running through the opulent new Mall chasing a ball of ice cream! I mean can you really visualize anything any more embarrassing to a thirteen year old girl?

Why yes I can, because Mom was able to top the ice cream ball chasing incident only a few years later while walking around Boston when her hip started getting a kink in it! A situation we refer to in the family as “Mom’s Ostrich Walk” or “The Strutting Chicken”. Ask her about it sometime! No really you should!

The Future of Books vs What Does A Successful Author Look Like?

Recently I found an unsolicited ad in my email for a product called Grammarly. It was billed as a “writing assistant.” If you go to their website they claim to be a free service that will help you “generate clear, compelling writing while maintaining your unique voice.” they do this by using AI technology. (Artificial Intelligence). This was the first time I had seen a product like this actively promoted. But again I could be late to the game.

This past spring I spoke at a local high school’s Creative Writing class and while talking with the teacher after the class he mentioned AI. He said he was changing his curriculum for the 2023-24 school year because he had recently issued an essay assignment and every single student in the class had used AI to write their essay. He told me that for years teachers have been working hard to help students to become comfortable with computers and be well versed in the use of technology. He said now children are practically born knowing how to use technology, so the shift in his lesson plans will be to focus on teaching the students to use their own minds to think and create things. What a concept!

Recently while writing my blog I noticed a new feature on my website. It’s a little lightning bolt in the upper left hand corner and every once it while it jiggles. Annoyed by this constant distraction the other day I took my cursor and hovered over the lightning bolt. What popped up was “AI (Beta)” I then clicked it and learned that I could use this AI tool to write my blog. Intrigued, I clicked the start button and a box opened up asking me “What do you want AI to generate for you?” So I typed in “Write a sentence that is witty.” And here is what it gave me:

They say money can't buy happiness, but have you ever seen someone frown on a jet ski?

Well now…there you go, if you are a lover of jet skis, which apparently my AI is, I bet you find that truly witty. I, on the other hand do not. Trust me when I tell you, I won’t be using this lightning bolt to write any further blog posts! I struggle with the idea of using AI in the realm of writing. Oh I don’t mind spell check! Seriously I would be lost without it. And I honestly don’t mind those little blue lines that show up under some of my words that indicate I’ve structured the sentence wrong or that I should or should not be using a common. All very helpful! But I don’t know if I’m ready for AI to write my blog or, gasp….books!

The publishing world has already changed dramatically in recent years. Once upon a time the only way to become a published author was to write something, send out queries to agents, be rejected over and over, Dr. Suess was rejected 27 times for Cat in the Hat. Then hope and pray one of the big publishing houses would pick up your book. Then you would appear on the Today Show and be set for life. On a smaller scale you could get a nice journalism degree and get hired by a newspaper or magazine, probably start on the “human interest” stories and then hope to move up to something better. Dream jobs might have included being a weekly columnist in the local newspaper or even better a syndicated columnist! These were the literary dreams I grew up on.

But the literary world in 2023 is a far different landscape and I’ll be honest, I am a beneficiary of those changes. In today’s world you can write a story, publish it yourself, either alone or with the use of a hybrid publisher like I did. If you’ve got drive and determination you can propel your dream of being an author into whatever success looks like for you. Get your book on Amazon and you literally have a bookstore in every town and city in the world. You can reach readers so far flung from your own hometown it will blow your mind! With digital books, like Kindle, you are not hindered by paper costs or page number restrictions, the amount of books you can sell in this way is, well, limitless.

If you have the desire, and not all authors are extroverts and comfortable with doing so, but you can put yourself out there and speak at events about your book. You can become your own publicist and schedule as many events as you want. In doing this you have wonderful personal experiences with readers. Interacting with real people and sharing your passion with them. You can do interviews and get that “Today Show experience” all on your own! Create a blog and you have instantly become a weekly columnist. Writing whatever you want without a deadline or Editor breathing down your neck. Through social media and email you can send this weekly column out to hundreds, thousands or even more potential readers. All without having to print a newspaper or become “syndicated”. And even in today’s world your little book can become “award winning” and recognized on a national scale, even as a self published author. It all depends on what success means to you, because here’s the thing about success in 2023. Success means different things to different people. There is no longer just one standard for success. We are all capable of great and marvelous things and it shouldn’t be pigeoned holed into one concept of what success is. Your success is truly that, it’s yours! And you can make it look like whatever you want it to be.

I am 100% positive that this changing landscape, that I have benefited from so much, is highly irritating to those devoted writers who have paid their dues so to speak. They got the degrees, they pounded the pavement, they took the jobs that started them at the bottom, they did freelance work or wrote under ghost names just to get something published. They worked hard for years to try and realize their literary goals and dreams in the system that they were in. And then here comes a new system and all of these self published authors, interlopers into their world. A world they thought they knew so well, until it changed. Do they feel like we cheated the system? Took shortcuts? That our work is not as valuable as theirs? I don’t know I haven’t asked them.

So it is that I look at AI. It scares me and I don’t want it to upset my little world that I feel comfortable in. I don’t want it to change how we write books. However, change is inevitable in human evolution. AI is going to change everything we do and that includes writing and the future of books. How will I feel, after I spent six years researching and writing my novel, when someone comes along and writes an even better story in half an hour or less? How will I adjust to a world where it takes me literally all week to write this blog post, when someone else can push one out within minutes of when it is scheduled to publish? Will I feel that these users of AI cheated the system? That they took shortcuts? That their work isn’t as valuable as mine?

I hope I don’t think those things. Because those AI authors will be living out their dreams of success in the system that they are comfortable in, just as I did in mine. So I would like to think I will be kind and wish them all well. However, I do worry, from my perspective here at this time, that this deluge of easily accessible content and information that is coming doesn’t flood us in a sea of our own undoing.

The Old Ways

Each week I start out thinking about what I’ll write for the blog and then just when I think I’ve hit upon something really interesting, another idea will present itself and, well, here we are.

Yesterday, as I was hanging laundry on the line instead of throwing it in the dryer, I began to think about this old way of doing things. Have you ever really thought about it? Saving energy by not using your dryer? I do it all the time, hang laundry on the line that is, even though we have a dryer. But I don’t do it to purposefully save energy, that honestly never crosses my mind. I hang my laundry outside because, well that’s what I’ve always done. So if the weather is nice I hang the laundry out. But things were a little different years ago.

As you may know I raised five children and the majority of that time I didn’t have a dryer. Instead I had long clotheslines stretched between trees in the back yard. Or in the winter I had drying racks, strategically placed over the hot air vents in the house. Do you know how many loads of laundry you have to do in a day for a family of seven? At least three, often more! During this time I learned that if the furnace is really blowing, or the wind outside is whipping, as it tends to do in Iowa in summer, you can actually dry a whole load of laundry while the second load is washing! That first load will be all dry and ready to put away by the time the second load finishes washing. And if you are hanging the laundry outside, and you position the button up shirts just right, the wind will blow them like sails, filling the sleeves and blowing all the wrinkles out so you won’t even have to iron them before hanging them in the closet. I learned all of that because I had to. Not because I wanted to save energy or decrease my carbon footprint or help reduce climate change, or any of the terms we hear today. No I did all of that because back then we couldn’t afford a dryer. I was energy efficient by default.

This got me thinking about other household chores that I did without the modern conveniences that today I just take for granted. Like washing the dishes by hand. I raised five children without a dishwasher either. In my household everyone learned to wash dishes as soon as they were old enough to stand on a chair in front of the sink. By the time they were all school age we rotated dishwashing duty on a daily bases. Seven days in a week, seven people that could wash dishes, everyone was assigned a day. Worked great! Until they went off to college one by one and I had to pick up the slack! Recently I read that it’s actually more energy efficient, and better for the environment, to use the dishwasher rather then wash dishes by hand. I found this hard to believe since my dishwasher runs for 4 1/2 hours and I can wash dishes by hand in about 15 minutes. The article I read said that dishwashers use 3.5 to 5 gallons of water. While washing dishes by hand uses 27 gallons of water. What the heck? Who uses 27 gallons of water to wash dishes? Are they bathing in the sink too?

So yesterday, after hanging the laundry on the line I decided to put hand washing the dishes to a test. Could I wash the dishes, by hand, in the same amount of water a dishwasher uses? I decided to go with 4 gallons of water. I unloaded all the dishes from the dishwasher. I filled one half of my sink with 2 gallons of hot water with dish soap added in. I then filled the other side of my sink with 2 gallons of plain hot water. I washed the dishes in the soapy side and then dipped them in the plain water side to rinse and placed them in the rack to air dry. Worked perfectly! Everything was clean and by letting the dishes air dry I didn’t use any electricity at all. I’m thinking the people using 27 gallons of water, to wash dishes by hand, are letting the faucet run while they are rinsing the dishes. I saw my mother-in-law do that once back in the 90’s. I was sitting in her kitchen watching her wash up the dishes that wouldn’t fit in her dishwasher after a large family meal. I remember thinking at the time how much water she was wasting by letting the faucet run like that. Back then I didn’t have a dishwasher nor would I have ever let the water run continuously from the faucet like that, because well, we just couldn’t afford it. Wasting water by letting it run like that was a luxury.

All this thinking about the old ways brought to mind other things I learned to go without as a young mother, not because I wanted to save energy or the planet, but because at that time, we just couldn’t afford them. Things like paper towels. Never had a single roll of paper towels in our house when the kids were young. I used kitchen towels to wipe up messes and then I washed them and hung them on the line. Tissues were another one! Five kids, multiple colds and flu, rarely did anyone use a tissue. Toilet paper worked just as well, pull some off and fold it up, you’ll be fine. Tissues were an added expense that we just couldn’t afford. Back then my grandmother always bought me boxes of tissues for Christmas, the ones with the lotion infused in them! They were like a luxury. Diapers were another matter all together. At one point I had three children in diapers at the same time. And when they were all potty trained I followed that up with two more children in diapers at the same time! I used cloth diapers. Again not because I was trying to save the planet, but because we just couldn’t afford disposable diapers. And things like diaper wipes? Never even used them. I had small washcloths that I got wet and wiped bums with. I carried them around in a plastic bag if we were going out! Washed those with the diapers and hung them on the line. If there are 35 year old disposable diapers and wipes sitting in a landfill somewhere I can honestly say none of them are mine!

Oh the old ways…..maybe going without, was, well….actually better!

And for those that are wondering, yes that is my laundry hanging on the line in the photo above!! This particular clothesline I purchased on Amazon this spring. It has a spiked holder that you set into the ground, pushing it all the way down until it’s flush with the lawn and then the clothesline post fits into that holder. This way you can remove the whole thing and mow over it in the summer. Or bring it everything inside for the harsh Maine winter. It collapses down when not in use, as seen in the photo below. And comes with a cover if you wanted to cover it when not in use or to store it inside for the winter. It holds several loads of laundry and even holds my king size sheets. I love it! If anyone would like to try hanging your laundry outside, you know, to save energy and all of that, this is a good choice for easy installation and doesn’t take up a lot of space.

I noticed while looking at the photo of my. laundry hanging there, that I always turn my laundry basket upside down over my basket of clothespins. Not sure why really, other then that my grandmother told me to do that! Didn’t seem like useless advice.