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Monday Memories: November 17

11/29/2021

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A strawberry blonde, cute, smiling, bundle of joy appeared on a mid-November day to Grace and Liam. This would be the last precious little one added to our "family".

And it was a boy. Which, as I told you earlier, was fine with me. Especially since he was adorable. I cuddled him as often as someone would let me, or as often as I sat long enough.

He grew up quietly adventurous, unflinchingly calm, considerate, stubbornly independent, and unassuming. This boy smiled at you while he climbed to death-defying heights. He grinned at you while he hiked over mountains and made stuff out of bark with his bare hands.

He experiences life. Takes risks. Basks in the sun. Revels in the deep sea. The outdoors is his haven.

He is younger than me, and you might wonder how someone in his early thirties could be described as such. He has done more than most people twice his age. If you doubt, let me refer you to the night of the talent show at my high school. He is 10, almost 11.

The talent show, in which Georgie played and Maria sang, is over. We are sharing conversation in the auditorium with Grace and Liam. I look to my right, and this risk-taking ten-year-old is scaling the wall. And he is already half-way up.

As Grace hurries over to get him down, none of us are surprised. Surprised at how far up he got, yes. Surprised he tried, no.

Therefore, his name shall be Andrew. English for courageous.

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Monday Memories: One On The Way

11/22/2021

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There was one good thing about the fall of 1983. Grace was pregnant. And it was almost time for him, or her, to appear.

I'm sure the mothers had a baby shower for this one, but I don't remember it. "Big Ideas" abound with this group, and if there was a chance for a party, well then, you HAD to HAVE the party.

The best part about the wait was, of course, wondering what Grace was gonna have. Boy or girl? Red hair or blonde?

November approached, and I hoped it would be a Thanksgiving baby. Then we could call it "Little Turkey".

(I don't know why I thought that would be a cute idea.)

I didn't really care what it came out to be, boy or girl. Adding girls to the group wasn't important to me. I had my girls. And, I didn't need large numbers of females to do whatever I wanted to do. I just did it.

And so would this little one. She, or he, would just do exactly what she, or he, wanted to do......

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Wednesday Words: The One That Got Away by Diana Rubino

11/17/2021

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I'm thrilled to host Diana Rubino! Her books are wonderful historical gems. She finds new information about familiar events and people in history and turns them into magnificent tales! The research she does for her books is amazing! So....please enjoy learning more about THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY....
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​I’ve been a Civil War and Lincoln buff since I was eight years old. I don’t know what got me started, but it might’ve been a book which I still have titled The Life of Abraham Lincoln, Volume 1, written in 1895. When I was in 3rd grade, my teacher asked us to bring in a book from home, for a show & tell. My mother suggested I bring this Lincoln book, which even in 1966 was in rough shape—yellowed, stiffened strips of Scotch tape barely held the covers to the spine. With the wisdom of an 8-year-old that sadly, all of us outgrow, I demurred:
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 “This old book? She’ll think we’re poor!”
 
My mother corrected me: “No, she’ll think we’re rich. Books like this are rare.”
 
Then she proceeded to tape it up some more. Those tape fragments adhere to the book’s spine and pages to this day. My teacher, Miss Cohen, was duly impressed. I treasure that book, one of many on my “Lincoln shelf” which holds books about our murdered president, his wife Mary, his assassin John Wilkes Booth and his family, the “Mad Booths of Maryland” and the conspirators who faced the gallows or years of hard labor because Booth, their charismatic leader, sucked these poor impressionable souls into his insane plot.
 
In 2017 I wrote A NECESSARY END, a romance thriller about Booth’s plot to kill President Lincoln, with a touch of the paranormal. My new historical novel, THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY, features John Surratt, a loyal Southerner embroiled in Booth’s plot. As Booth and his other cohorts meet in the Washington D.C. boarding house of Mary, John’s mother, John begins to struggle with a dilemma that soon tears him apart emotionally: should he avenge the South as a hero, or back out as a coward to avoid an unforgiveable sin?
 
Mary Surratt was hanged as one of the conspirators, although no one will ever know the degree of her involvement. It was in her house where Booth and his crew met to hatch their plot. Her son John is a footnote to history, but he also was one of Booth’s most trusted followers.
 
John may have joined Booth out of need for approval and recognition as a war hero, which he never got from his alcoholic father. As Booth’s cohort, he took dangerous risks for his beloved South. But as Booth’s plan to abduct Lincoln changed to assassination, a mystery arises—was John Surratt there in Washington to assist Booth in the murder, or was he in New York? No one knows for sure, as witnesses claim to have seen him in both places. We do know that he agreed to carry out Booth’s order to shoot General Grant, but backed out at the last minute. We will never know why, but this story explores the possibilities—did he have an attack of conscience, of cowardice, or did he just promise to obey Booth, without any intention to carry out the deed?
 
We witness the inner workings of John Surratt’s mind—and his heart—tormenting him, tearing him apart. His dilemma—whether to carry out this deed for his love of the South, or back out and be branded a coward, but live free from sin—consumed his thoughts, prayers and dreams throughout this part of his life.
 
He never achieved his wish of being a famous war hero. He’s a rather obscure historical figure. But this isn’t about the failed efforts of a would-be hero; it’s the story of an emotionally torn young man devoted to his beloved country. On one level, avenging the South was a noble deed. But deep down, his fear of God’s wrath prevailed.
 
We see how a backwoods Maryland boy comes of age during the Civil War, starting out as a courier, and becomes embroiled in one of the most notorious plots in American history. Students and adults will learn the more intricate details of the Booth plots, from the point of view of one of his most faithful followers. 

BUY THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

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DIANA RUBINO

I write about folks through history who shook things up. My passion for history and travel has taken me to every locale of my books: Medieval and Renaissance England, Egypt, the Mediterranean, colonial Virginia, New England, and New York. My urban fantasy romance FAKIN’ IT won a Top Pick award from Romantic Times. I’m a member of the Richard III Society and the Aaron Burr Association. In my spare time, I bicycle, golf, do yoga, devour books, and live the dream on Cape Cod.

Visit me at www.dianarubino.com, www.DianaRubinoAuthor.blogspot.com, 
https://www.facebook.com/DianaRubinoAuthor or on Twitter @DianaLRubino.
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Monday Memories: Who Is Michael Jackson?

11/15/2021

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Do you have moments in your life where you wonder if you've stepped into an alternate reality? Or maybe, even though you aren't on the verge of death, you're having an "out of body" experience?

I have had two such moments. The first came in the third grade.

Three of my friends decided they wanted to choreograph moves to a song called "Beat It". (I had never heard it. But I didn't tell them that.)

I was recruited to be a part of this. To this day, I don't remember why I agreed. I don't even remember actually agreeing. I think something must have taken over my mind and body. Maybe aliens.

I guess it doesn't matter how I became a part of this because it happened. I joined them. During recess. During recess we practiced. I practiced. Dance moves. To a song I didn't know sung by a man I'd never heard of.

We did this for a week. And someone got the big idea that we should perform for the class. Even now my gut is twisting and rolling with embarrassment and shock. I don't know what possessed me. And, seriously, I had to be possessed.

The day came. The teachers pushed back the accordion collapsible walls, we wore our dresses and jelly shoes, and performed this collection of gyrations and cartwheels.

Luckily, no one made fun of us. At least, not to our faces.

This memory is one I've tried to block for a long time. Whenever I think of it, I shudder. Still. And I'm forty.

I spent a week of recess, dancing. When it was over, I finally woke up and tried to come to terms with what I'd willingly participated in. I went through the following days as if it had been the most normal thing in the world to dance for the entire third grade. I didn't apologize for it. Or look embarrassed. And I certainly didn't ask the question that had been on my mind since the whole idea formed and became real ---

Just who the heck is Michael Jackson?

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Monday Memories: The Hits Keep On Coming

11/8/2021

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Now that school has completely ruined reading, let's continue on to Math, shall we?

Mrs. Marshall was my Math teacher. I think she was somewhere around 60 years old. I felt bad she hadn't been granted that glorious age of "39-And-Holding" as Grandmother had been. However, I think I know why that gift hadn't been bestowed upon Mrs. Marshall. I mean, why lengthen the life of someone who taught Math?

And this was the year of multiplication.

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Ah, yes. It was time to memorize numbers. Not the rules for Four Square or Chicken. Isn't that fantabulous?

I didn't understand the concept. How did 7 x 7 equal 49? I had no idea, which only served to prove there was nothing logical about Math. It seemed people just tossed numbers around and thought, "Hmmm.....why don't we make 4 x 8 equal 32?"

It was a nightmare. And I was awake for it. And Mrs. Marshall loved it. And the kids around me understood it. But I didn't.

Once, I actually raised my hand and told Mrs. Marshall I didn't understand. She huffed and puffed at me, but explained. I didn't have the guts to tell her I still didn't get it.

Oh, well. Thankfully, I had a good memory. It took some time, but I memorized my times tables. I filed them away in the part of my brain that is titled, "Just Learn It So I Can Get On With The Good Stuff".

As an adult, I use that section a lot more than I should.

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Wednesday Words: Haunting Miss Fenwick

11/3/2021

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Y'all....I'm sooooo excited to share HAUNTING MISS FENWICK by Alina K. Field. I loooooved this book. It's all kinds of wonderful. Romance, hidden tunnels in an old mansion, and secrets from the past! You can read my review and others here.

Let's have Alina tell us more....
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While he's haunting Miss Fenwick, she's haunting him.

Thrilled to finally have a permanent home, a Squire’s daughter won’t let a supernatural creature scare her away. While hunting the ghost she doesn’t believe in, she stumbles upon a mysterious flesh and blood man who might be the key to all of her problems.
 
When the new Squire moves into Fenwick Manor, an ex-army officer secretly searching the sprawling medieval wreck devises a plan. First, the manor’s legendary ghost will chase servants away. Then, he’ll convince the new residents to leave.
 
But the Squire’s spirited daughter soon has him wondering if he might have found a perfect comrade in arms to help battle old enemies and find the proof that will clear his family name.

HAUNTING MISS FENWICK: AN EXCERPT

“I would never hurt you or Sir Newton.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

Her answering tremble passed through her arm and into him.

Outside, the lightning and thunder had died, but the rain slapped the window sharply. Like as not it had had turned to sleet.

He slipped the edge of the blanket over her shoulder and pulled her closer. “You’re cold as well.”

She angled her head and studied him. “Is there truly treasure here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Never confess. Money would be sweet, but it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“You would steal it from us?”

It wasn’t stealing. If he found money, he would merely be taking back from Sir Richard what was owed, what was needed to save his brother’s life.

Digging deep, steeling himself, he gave her the look he’d honed as a young officer, a look he’d used on his most ill-disciplined men, the one he could hold observing a lashing…and for the worst cases, a hanging.

She glared back at him, as fiercely defiant as the worst denizens of the rookeries.

He shook his head and sighed.

“Does anything frighten you?” His hand slipped lower, down her arm and under it, over a slim waist to a generous curve that made his breath—and other parts of him—stir.

“Mr. Greggson’s attempt on my person was alarming. I thank you for saving me.” A shudder went through her. “Would he have attempted more than a kiss, do you think?”

His fingers moved of their own will, softly stroking. “He’s not a man you should be alone with.”

“Yes, I do know that. You and my father have both said so. But what about you, Freddy? Ought I to be alone with you?”

He’d never forced a woman, not ever. Not even after the madness of battle had he succumbed to that primitive drive. He’d done his duty to restore order within his men as well.

He’d understood their mad impulses though.

“I am a gentleman, Tilly.”

She stirred. “Papa…has not been feeling well, I think. I was ever so happy to see him out in the fresh air, but I’ve worried so about him. Mr. Greggson doesn’t know that, but he does know I’m my father’s only child. He seeks to coerce me into marriage because he’s after the estate and its income, and whatever valuables may be found here, which when Papa dies, he believes will be mine.” She let out a minty breath. “But you, Captain Sanderford, you I believe would prefer just money and not my person along with it.”

“Tilly—”

“And so, it would probably be wise for you to unhand me.”

His hand tightened, bunching the cloth of her robe. “Unhand you?”

She tilted her head and gazed at him, almost an equal in height now that they were sitting. Her lips had parted a fraction and locks of hair draped the deep blue of eyes that glistened in the light from the candles.

“Oh, Tilly.” He dipped his head and touched his lips to hers.

Softness. The scents of mint and soap and lilac.

His chest pounded and every nerve in his body roared. She hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t pushed, hadn’t slapped him.

Proceed with caution, he reminded himself. He pressed closer and slanted his lips, coaxing until her mouth opened.

His hand strayed up, under her breast, and he drew her against him.

​What, besides parchment, was under the high-necked gowns and the heavy robe?

BUY HAUNTING MISS FENWICK

ALINA K. FIELD

Award winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but she prefers the much happier world of romance. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California and hasn’t looked back. She shares a midcentury home with her husband and her spunky, blonde, rescued terrier.
 
She is the author of several Regency romances, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. She is hard at work on her next series of Regency romances, but loves to hear from readers!
 
Visit her at:
https://alinakfield.com/
https://www.facebook.com/alinakfield
https://twitter.com/AlinaKField
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7173518.Alina_K_Field
https://www.pinterest.com/alinakf/
https://www.instagram.com/alinak.field/
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/alina-k-field
Newsletter signup:  https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/z6q6e3
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Alina-K.-Field/e/B00DZHWOKY
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Monday Memories: Save The Tamales!

11/1/2021

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Bill, my brother, was an observant kid. He was quiet and paid strict attention, especially to those things he found most interesting. Like driving.


Remember when cars had bench seats in front? Well, Bill sat up there in between Mom and Dad. The three girls sat in back. (Usually talking and singing and trying to beat Dad at the ABC game.)


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Little did we know while we were horsing around, Bill was soaking up all the steps for driving a car. We didn't think he'd been watching. Or could even pick it up. He was two.

So....here we go. Buckle your seat belt.

We would go to the meat market on Saturday morning. Holy heck, I hated the way that place smelled. It did help Maria determine her future job. She wanted to be a butcher. (She likes bacon.)

But, if you stayed outside, in the car, with the windows down, the smell was quite delightful. There was a gentleman, Rudy, who had a tamale cart in front of the meat market. And boy howdy were they good. He was a good cooker. I would lean my head out the window and breathe in the tamales. Mom always bought some from him, and we would go home and have lunch.

One particular Saturday, Mom took pity on our noses and let us stay in the car while she went in to get meat. The three girls sat in the back. Bill sat in front in the middle seat. Mom came out to buy our tamales. And while I'm praying she buys each one he's got, Bill puts the car in drive. Our big, white, 1980s Buick shoots forward over the guard and slams right into Rudy's tamale cart.

My mom and Rudy, of course, are shocked and going crazy over human injury. (There weren't any. Rudy's cart stopped the Buick. And we were quite safe in that boat of a car.)

Meanwhile, I'm devastated. The tamales! Their foiled bodies are everywhere. On the hood. The gritty pavement. The dirty sidewalk. I jump out and start picking them up, but the adults aren't helping and Rudy's cart is crushed and there's no place to put the food, except in the car and that might be stealing. And you know we aren't buying any today because Mom doesn't believe in the 5 Second Rule.

As I mourn the loss of spicy goodness, my brother has become famous. And my Mom has become flustered.

Of course, we paid to fix Rudy's cart, and all was back to normal by the following Saturday.

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    Kara O'Neal

    An author who has too much to say is dangerous.

    The subjects on this blog:


    Monday Memories -- My Childhood

    Wednesday Words -- Books!

    To be a guest on my blog:

    Contact: kara@karaoneal.com

    Monday Memories: Cast

    Kara -- Me
    Maria -- sister
    Wendy -- sister
    Bill -- brother

    M'Lynn -- mother
    Drummond -- father

    Grace -- mother's redheaded friend
    Liam -- Grace's husband
    Gorgeous (Georgie) -- oldest son and friend
    Phillip -- middle son and friend
    Andrew -- last child and friend

    Jo -- mother's "big idea" friend
    Noah -- Jo's husband who builds things
    Jack -- oldest son and friend
    Roxi -- middle daughter and friend
    Lela -- last child and friend

    Alex -- friend who travels the country and lives in Dallas
    Blossom -- friend who lives in Dallas and sells houses

    Miss Holly -- next door neighbor
    Kirk -- middle son
    Scotty -- youngest son

    Lou -- uncle on my dad's side who likes baseball
    Evaline -- my dad's sister who's crazy funny
    Luke -- oldest son and my cousin
    Han -- younger son and my cousin

    Clark -- my mother's brother who bleeds maroon

    Alexander -- my eldest cousin on my dad's side

    Dawn -- cousin on my dad's side that is the same age as Maria

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