Of Authors and Reading by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

The other day, I started thinking about a story I knew I had, but couldn’t remember the title, and I wanted to re-read it. About all I could remember was that I had it on my reader, and of course, it was a romance. Really helpful considering the long list of romance novels I have. At least I had it limited to just my reader.

Well, I also had it limited to not Brenda Minton, Linda Goodnight, or LDS romance, which did shorten the list, but still not helpful.

I ended up going through my list of romance novels, scanning each one and opening any I couldn’t remember what they were about to see if they were the one I wanted.

The problem is that I skimmed past the title of “Jenna’s Cowboy” several times because Brenda Minton has a book (a really good book, by the way) about a young lady named Jenna and her own cowboy. Whose title I have clearly forgotten, but I do know the story.

Anyway, about the third or fourth time I skimmed past this title, it dawned on me that my Brenda Minton “Jenna” story was not on my reader, but rather in my bookcase.

That’s right, some of my Brenda Minton books are in hard copy.

So, I finally really looked at the icon for “Jenna’s Cowboy” and lo and behold, the author of this novel is Sharon Gillenwater! And when I open the novel, guess what? It’s the story for which I was searching!

But what really got to me was that I stopped in the middle of reading a novel by Linda Goodnight, which had characters by the name of Ace and Chance, to read Sharon Gillenwater’s novel, which had characters by the name of Ace and Chance.

In other words, I have several stories by several different authors using the same character names, which isn’t a problem, except when I read them really close together.

But it did point out why I started thinking about Gillenwater’s story while I was reading Goodnight’s story.

Their themes are completely different. Their characters are completely different, too, but I kept thinking this is wrong. For some reason, I felt I should be reading the novel about the ex-military cowboy with PTSD rather than the recovering alcoholic trying to make amends.

Like I said, completely different themes. Both really good stories, but I found it hard to concentrate on the recovering alcoholic when I was thinking about the PTSD victim, even though the recovering alcoholic is the second book of a series I have started re-reading.

So, basically, I was into the second book of a series when I stopped to re-read a book by an entirely different author, but with some characters of the same name.

Yeah, very confusing.

But I was right, I did have the PTSD story. And it’s excellent and beautifully written. I have no personal experience of PTSD, but I think Gillenwater represented the facts and the experiences of the problem vividly enough for me to understand its implications for the sufferers.

And frankly, I now need to look up whether she has any other books, maybe even see if “Jenna’s Cowboy” is the first in a series. It reads like it might be. And if so, I have another author I like a lot.

Though I also discovered that I have several books on my reader that I don’t think I’ve actually read because nothing about them sounded familiar, so I’m going to have to go back and read them, but after I finish this Linda Goodnight series, I’m on.

And I’m honestly considering digging out that Brenda Minton series, which includes her character named Jenna, who, by the way, is ex-military in her story too, injured even.

All of which has me thinking about, of all things, those cleaning and organizing gurus who insist that once you’ve read a book, you should get rid of it. That you shouldn’t have all those books “cluttering” your house!

My response is, but what if I want to re-read it? What if it’s a book with information I may need again, you know, like a dictionary, thesaurus, or a self-help, all of which I do have. Or maybe a classic, you know, like Shakespeare Unabridged, which I also have among several other classics, including some Agatha Christy and the first nineteen novels of The Boxcar Children.

Does anyone really expect me to get rid of these wonderful books? My apartment would be pretty bare without all these bookcases. Then again, my bookcases also hold Nativities, but those gurus also say to get rid of or cut down on such collections. I won’t be doing that either.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone!

Of Snacks and Tastebuds by Konnie Enos

I have been trying new foods lately, namely focusing on crackers and chips that are supposed to be healthier. In the process, I found From the Ground Up, a company that makes such things utilizing cauliflower as the base rather than flour. Now, I have been choosing to eat a variety of pizza made with a cauliflower crust for some years now, so I thought I’d try them.

There is also several things I knew before I did.

One, as a plant-based food the likelihood of my daughter being able to have them was slim to none. Nuts and soy are plants after all, and even if they weren’t in them, cross-contamination is also a thing. (Though, after inspecting the label, it would seem this company is more allergy friendly than most.)

Two, my husband would eat them no matter what. Whenever I find a food, especially an expensive one, that is friendly to my dietary restrictions he will also want to consume it. It’s annoying but I don’t complain much because it comes in handy when I find out that the new food is unpalatable to me. He’ll still eat it.

Three, my son will not even attempt to try them from the moment I tell him that they are made from vegetables. Although he has had a piece or two of my cauliflower-based pizza and he knows that’s what its made of. To be fair, he was desperate for food and my already cooked pizza was handy. That and he doesn’t find the taste to be that off-putting.

Knowing he will eat my pizza on occasion and wanting to get him to eat more vegetables because a diet of carbohydrates and protein isn’t healthy, I have offered him a taste of these new snacks. Knowing how he feels about vegetables, I don’t mention the cauliflower until after he has tasted them. He usually doesn’t like them anyway.

Now, the other day I got a new flavor of cauliflower crackers. These happen to look very similar to Cheez It’s. When he saw what they looked like he wanted some. I gave him one to try and to my surprise he liked it. Even more surprising, he took a whole box to his room even after I explained what they were made of.

As he grabbed the box he said, “I can have some, right?”

I, rather astonished, told him I wasn’t going to prevent him from eating vegetables.

Five minutes later he brought the box back.

“What happened? Do you not like them after all?”

He said something about the aftertaste and handed it back to me.

That would have been the end of the subject, but my husband saw the crackers and wanted some while he took off to someplace he needed to go. I was reluctant to let him have the bag I had out and already opened, and I asked him how much he needed.

He said he’d eat about half of what was there. I would have preferred giving him some in another bag but reluctantly let him have them as he was in a hurry to leave. He returned a few hours later with the bag barely touched with the same complaint.

So, I have apparently found a snack food that I do not have to hide from my husband. And yes, we have to hide food from him because he will eat it all, even when it’s the really expensive allergy-free stuff our daughter gets. (We’ve had to chew him out more than once about getting into her food, but now we have him trained to stay out of her cupboard.)

Yes, the taste is very different than Cheez It’s, but I like it. So, I will probably buy more since I don’t have to hide them.

Just to be clear. Yes, I hide food from my husband. His eating foods I can’t have or don’t like is one thing. But consuming the last of the snacks I love and an enjoy is another one altogether. So yes, I have been hiding food from him.

Though so far I have only been able to successfully hide one snack. But it is the most important snack to hide. Chocolate. Namely dark chocolate. My latest find is 70% cocoa Dove dark chocolate squares. Seriously delicious.

The 70% or higher cocoa is healthy, in moderation. The size of each piece is perfect too. Not too small, but also not so large that it is a sugar laden no-no. And just one is the melt in your mouth perfection that can completely satisfy your craving all on it’s own. It takes effort to limit myself to just two a day, they are that good.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Mistaken Identities by Bonnie Le Hamilton

This past week, I came across a social media post asking identical twins about something embarrassing that happened simply because they are identical.

Of course, this interested me greatly since I am, after all, an identical twin, but I found myself reminiscing when it came to one of the stories in that post.

In the story, a guy told of a time his twin brother praised a certain restaurant for having great service and excellent food, so the guy decided to take his wife there.

During the evening, he found the food was indeed excellent, but the service was cold and even hostile, until ruckus laughter broke out near the front door, then his twin and said twin’s wife came around the corner! It seems the staff thought he was cheating on his wife when he wasn’t his twin at all.

Boy, did that bring back memories, though it didn’t involve a restaurant. In our case, it involved a grocery store. This was at least a couple of decades ago, but at one point we lived within a mile of each other in the city of Idaho Falls, Idaho, which is the closest geographically we’d lived to each other since we were attending the same college in 1983.

As a consequence of living so close, we shopped at the same grocery store.

Now let’s set the scene, I have mentioned before how different our husbands are in size, but you add the differences between our children, and I would have thought any sane person would conclude we were two different people. I mean, really, I was married four years before Konnie got married, and my oldest son turned two within weeks of Konnie’s wedding. Not only that, but he also had a much taller daddy, so he wasn’t petite like his oldest cousin. Who, by the way, was born when I was like five months along with my second son.

Then you need to consider that Konnie, at the time, had three daughters while I had two boys and three daughters. And not only was my oldest boy obviously older than her oldest, but well, there was less than nine months between her second oldest daughter and my oldest daughter, and her youngest daughter was still an infant when my twins were born.

Needless to say, the math on the possibility of one woman having all those kids just doesn’t work, so I honestly couldn’t see how anyone could get us confused, after all our father was at that point telling us apart by our husbands and children!

So, anyway, one day I ran to the store alone, just to pick up a gallon of milk. When I got to the register, the salesclerk commented, “Forget something?”

Which, in and of itself, was odd, since they normally ask if the customer found everything they needed. I was confused by the statement, but pointed out that it was the first time I’d been to the store that day.

The salesclerk insisted I’d been through her line less than an hour before my milk run.

It took a couple of minutes to convince her I hadn’t been in the store earlier, and I finally managed it by pointing out I was not dressed the way the woman she’d seen almost an hour earlier had been attired. I knew that was so, despite not having seen Konnie that day, because we haven’t had anything identical in our separate wardrobes since our late teens.

Once I convinced her I wasn’t Konnie, she loudly announced to her coworkers, “It’s not a woman leading a double life! There’s two of them!”

To reinforce that newfound knowledge, Konnie and I coordinated our next shopping trip to go together, which was an experience and a half, because we are talking eight kids and two sets of identical twins.

It would have been more fun if our husbands had been there, but oh well.

I can remember once when my twins were still infants, going to Walmart together and turning heads. In fact, one little kid pointed toward my double stroller and said, “Mom! Look! Twins!”

The mom glanced back at our entourage and replied, "More than one set.”

Yeah, we turn a lot of heads when we go to the store together.

Anytime we go someplace together, we turn heads, such is the lot of identical twins. I think the last time we went shopping together was a few years ago when she came here to attend a writing conference with me.

We went to the store I usually shop at, Konnie faithfully following me around the store, both of us using a mobility cart. It was hilarious watching all those people doing all those double-takes.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone.

Of Games and Memories by Konnie Enos

I recently read an article about remembering games we’d played as children.

It only listed 9 but they were not all of the ones I can remember. The most glaring omissions were Hide and Seek, and Tag (not even Freeze Tag). And while it did list Red Rover, Simon Says, and Mother May I, there was no mention of Red Light, Green Light.

Then there were the games I never played as a kid. Namely Four Square and Marbles. Jacks was also omitted. It mentioned Hopscotch but not jumping rope. I don’t remember playing Hopscotch or Cat’s Cradle (both mentioned) but I’m sure I did a few times.

Another one mentioned was Kick the Can, which I had heard of, but only the sense of our parents used to play it. I wasn’t even sure how to play it until I read the article. But reading that I realized it was similar to a game our uncle taught us, Beckon. Similar as there was hiding, but you didn’t have to kick a can, you just had to give a hand signal.

Reading that description I immediately went back to playing it with our uncle. That particular summer day he’d told us not to get into any of the cars parked in the driveway and in full view of the “base”. I did not get into any of the cars. But my uncle could not find me and realized I had to be in view of the base because my siblings kept re-hiding.

He looked all the way around the cars, even under them, and peering inside. I can still remember watching him doing it while I was crouched in my hiding place, very sure he’d spot me. He did not.

Because I was not in or under the cars. And unless you looked between the cars from the front, you couldn’t see me. I’m not sure what to call these models of cars, but they were common in the 60s. There were at least two parked at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and so close together that their runners (the step at the bottom of the doors) were touching. After these models that step got skinnier until it was nonexistent. These were almost wide enough to sit on, but two together? Tiny little me had plenty of room.

My uncle finally had to call Ollie, Ollie, Oxen-free. He told me later he had assumed we were too big to fit in that tiny space between the cars. I know this was in the early 70s, and I could have easily been my full-grown height already, but I was still at or under a 100 pounds. So not big. I not only fit, but it was very comfortable.

The final game mentioned?

Capture the Flag.

Yeah, that brought back a very specific memory.

I can still see the summer day. The huge front yard perfectly cut in half by the sidewalk from the front gate to the front porch, and wide open between the house and fence line with no real place to hide. I even remember we had a couple of baby blankets for flags, I’m just not sure where we got them from. perhaps my sister and I had them for doll blankets.

The event was our birthday party which had somehow become a block party. I have never had so many guests before or after. It was a blast, especially when it was mentioned we could play some games. The large yard lent itself to a game of Capture the Flag.

I’m sure, our babysitter’s husband, a large bear of a man who loved kids, and games, was the one who suggested it and said my sister and I should be the captains. We picked teams and soon I was standing at the back of my side guarding our flag and watching most everybody else at the sidewalk over near the house attempting skirmishes without getting captured.

My side was losing big time. I watched them for a few then realized with Bonnie and I dressed exactly the same, which was rare, they wouldn’t be able to tell us apart. With her in the middle of the skirmishes, I calmly walked over to where her flag was keeping well away from the skirmishes. I then calmly talked to her teammates for a few after I’d already stuffed her flag into my pocket. Then I calmly walked back to where my flag was.

By that time, they’d captured my entire team other than the two guarding my flag.

Then they noticed their flag was gone. As yells went up, asking where it was, I held it up, waving it in the air. “It’s okay. I have it right here.”

Best win ever.

What’s your favorite “game memory”?

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Of Earrings and Differences by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Last week, Konnie posted about not having pierced ears anymore and switching to magnetic earrings. Not a problem, right?

Wrong!

As some of you might remember, I posted a while back about an incident in high school when I told some friend how to tell if they were speaking to Konnie or me. Back then, I told them if they say hi and I answer, it’s me, if I ignore them, it’s Konnie.

In high school, neither of us had pierced ears.

I was in fact quite stunned when she arrived to see me for our birthday while I was working for the summer in Grand Teton National park and she had pierced ears!

After a while, I got used to her having pierced ears, then eventually realized those earrings made it easier to tell us apart. I started mentioning it to others as a way to tell us apart.

That isn’t to say that people actually paid attention to that difference. Our father only started to be able to tell us apart by which man we were with.

I believe I have mentioned more than once the huge difference between Tom (my husband) and Jerry (her husband). Though of course when our children came along, he could tell by the kids as well. As I had one kid before she even got married and two boys before I had my first daughter, Konnie started with girls, three of them before getting her two boys.

Even so, I did try to point out my lack of piercings to illustrate that I was not Konnie. I guess in a way, I found this difference unique enough that I actually used it in one of my incomplete stories. This story has a set of identical twin sisters in it, but one of them (the married one) has pierced ears and the other one doesn’t.

Of course, in that story the other one, the female lead, doesn’t have a wedding ring or a passel full of kids, but still, she didn’t have pierced ears! I even have her tell the male lead to tell them apart by who has pierced ears. In the story he countered that she could get her ear pierced someday, to which she promised that wasn’t happening.

Yeah, I never really thought it through all that well. The one does have a wedding ring and the other one doesn’t, but well, Konnie and I both have wedding rings. And it’s a whole lot easier to mention the ears than to describe the differences in our wedding bands.

And before any of you ask, I’ll be sixty-three in less than two weeks – I am not getting my ears pierced ever!

I might also point out that our glasses are different. They have actually never been identical. From the first pair we ever got, we never chose identical glasses. I can think of once or twice when we didn’t get them at the same time or place, and accidentally ended up with similar frames (similar, not identical), but in those cases, we lived hundreds of miles apart, so it didn’t really matter.

I can assure you that while we occasionally dressed alike or similar growing up, it was always because someone else provided us with those clothes. Given a choice we never dressed alike, and we do have different tastes in clothes. I assure you, now that we buy our own clothes, we have nothing identical to wear.

But we are still back to, I used to be the only one without pierced ears. Now, how do people tell us apart?

Well, let’s see, except for my cat (who’s sixth birthday was this past Sunday) I live alone. I’m a widow. Konnie clearly is not. She also clearly doesn’t live alone. She doesn’t even have an empty nest!

I have a cat. She has dogs.

I pay rent on an apartment. She pays a mortgage on her house.

She spent most or a good portion of her life working outside the home. I spent most of my life as a housewife.

Looks and similar voices are not the entirety of our existence. By the way, she is a soprano, and I am an alto. I promise.

Then again, we both write and do handcrafts, mostly all the same ones, but not completely because I do beading and she doesn’t. Of course, one genre she writes is fantasy. I do not write fantasy.

Heck, I have barely even read Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter, and Percy Jackson. I’m just not as into fantasy as she is.

I have one WIP, which is speculative fiction. She hasn’t attempted that genre yet. Who knows, maybe one day she will, but I doubt I’ll ever write fantasy.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone!