Author name: Sayling@@Away

Bette and I met for coffee at the Red Cup Coffeehouse in Boothbay Harbor, Me, after I’d finished my stint of book selling at Sherman’s a few doors down. I had my usual latte and Bette had tea. My husband bought some scones to go with, since I’d missed lunch. This gave me lots of time to pepper her with questions! Bette, where did you grow up? From the age of one until I was ten my family lived in northern California, where my mother was born and raised. When Dad, a New Yorker, developed serious lung problems, we moved back to upstate New York. Mom, a stay-at-home mother for most of those years and a creative soul, always had books and art projects at the ready when weather kept us indoors. My childhood holds a treasure trove of happy family memories. What led you to start writing? I was always a reader. A good story—whether poetry or prose— continues to capture my imagination. When our daughters were young, I started journaling and writing poetry as a way to capture our family adventures. So you’ve actually been writing for a long time! Decades, but my first published pieces didn’t appear on the page until 1996 when I wrote two human interest articles for ECHOES, The Northern Maine Journal of Rural Culture. Then, the first edition of THE TANGRAM ZOO and WORD PUZZLES TOO! was published in 1997 by Windswept House Publishing, Mt. Desert, ME; a second edition was self-published in 2012. AMAZING MATILDA, my second children’s book was published in 2012. It won a 2013 Purple Dragonfly Book Award, which is an Honorable Mention for Excellence in Children’s Literature – Ages 6 and older category, and also placed #9 on The 2013 Gittle List for Self-published Children’s Picture Books. So when did you start writing books for older folks? 😉 In 2013, when I published my first book for the Middle-grade/YA/Adult audience. I titled it PURE TRASH. It was a short story of a boy growing up in rural New England in a family whose poverty and alcoholism mark him as a target for bullying by young and old alike. It ended up being the prequel to my novel DOG BONE SOUP, released January 2015. Inspired by nature and human nature, I continue to write poetry as well. What sparked the idea for DOG BONE SOUP? I have always loved to listen to friends and family talk about their lives, past and present. It seems that everyone has a story to tell. One of those stories had a lasting effect on me. Perhaps that’s because it was hard to wrap my mind around growing up in a dysfunctional family—about poverty or mean spirited people— because my own life was not touched by such things. At the same time, I was teaching and knew that many of my students faced these things and worse every day. I was sure that DOG BONE SOUP was a story worth telling. Which character, if any, has a personality that most closely resembles yours? When writing DOG BONE SOUP, I found that I had to learn to ‘walk in the shoes’ of each character as I wrote for them or about them. Having grown up in a loving family and supportive community myself, many of my characters were alien to me. Shawn Daniels is the character that most resembles my personality, but only in the respect that he is the eldest of four children. Being the eldest of five, I was responsible and expected to set the example for my siblings. Which character was the hardest to write and why? Eddy Daniels, Shawn’s father. Yes, he was the hardest. I had never met such a self-centered, uncaring person in my life. In fact, I didn’t realize that such people existed. In fact, all the negative characters were hard to write. The positive characters like Uncle Ted, Aunt Miranda and Mrs. Ashley were easy. I knew and their counterparts well in my own life and loved them. What’s your next project? I’m currently in the outlining stages for two stories—a sequel to DOG BONE SOUP and a story about a teacher and her students, set in the 1990s. Inspired by nature and human nature, I continue to write poetry as well. Is there one place where you find writing the easiest? Once my ideas are sketched out, it’s at my computer. But, I do journal daily in any comfortable spot at home and have paper and pen ready to jot down ideas when I’m on the go. Do you prefer e-books, hardcovers or paperbacks to read? I prefer paper and ink. There’s nothing like holding a book, putting it on a shelf and reading, rereading or leafing through it at will. In fact, we have hundreds of books, on tables, on bookshelves, on desks—so many that the grandchildren have called our house a library. But, I love my Kindle too. Especially when traveling, even if it’s only to an appointment. Whom do you admire most and why? I admire people who show kindness and love to all they meet and those who are not afraid to tell the hard stories that need to be told. Where can readers find out more about you and your work? Bette A. Stevens, Maine author/illustrator WEBSITE/BLOG http://www.4writersandreaders.com Amazon AUTHOR PAGE http://viewauthor.at/BetteAStevens   We left the coffee house with hugs and a promise for further visits! As you can tell from this interview, Bette is a very special person. She lives on a farm and delights in growing flowers and other things, and I can just imagine why her grandchildren love to visit her. I am so happy I had the chance to meet her while I was in Maine, and I encourage everyone to read Dog Bone Soup. I think children would love it, too. 0 0

I grew up in New England the 1950s and ‘60s, and Bette Stevens has written a coming of age novel about a life I wouldn’t recognize. Call me lucky. Shawn Daniels, the oldest of several children, lives in poverty. His father is the town drunk and beats his mother, who struggles to keep the family together in an unfinished, tar papered house with no indoor plumbing, running water, and heat. They have a TV but that’s for the enjoyment of Dad. Shawn and his brother Willie do all his chores: cutting and stacking firewood, hauling water into the house, and helping mind their two younger sisters. Despite the curtailment of a real childhood, the brothers still find a way to have adventures in small pockets of time, fishing for one, with a home-made pole and a safety pin for a hook. Dog bone soup, made from the marrow in left over bones, is what the family eats when there is nothing else. The author has written beautifully and lovingly of the daily joys, despairs and tribulations of growing up poor in a family of four children with an abusive father. She populates Shawn’s world with colorful and unforgettable characters: his long-suffering, wise and patient mother, the highly intelligent Mrs. Ashley, for whom Shawn works for a while, Uncle Hiram who aids and abets their father, Mr. Stark of Stark’s General Store, as well as Shawn’s neighbors and schoolmates. The reader is drawn into and becomes a part of Shawn’s family life, rooting for him to break away and make a life for himself. Dog Bone Soup is a gem of a book, fast paced, entertaining, and moving. I loved it and devoured it in two sittings (I had to stop to eat!). Bette Stevens is a talented storyteller and I hope we will have another book from her soon. Five stars! Excerpt from Dog Bone Soup by Bette A. Stevens Chapter 15: The 1956 Buick “Pull over!” Soon as I put her in park, Willie jumped out of the car and flew around to hop in the driver’s seat. I’d already let him back in and out of the door yard a few times. By the time Willie cruised around the edge of the field four or five times, I was getting bored. “Hey, let’s try to turn some donuts out here. Not enough room in the yard. Besides, Mum’d have a fit if she caught us doin’ something like that with Annie and Molly around. “Huh?” “Let’s switch seats and I’ll show you what I’m talkin’ about.” I jumped behind the wheel and headed straight for the middle of field, floored the pedal and held the wheels to the right as far as they’d go. The Buick was smokin’ and field grass was flyin’. I straightened the wheels, rolled to a new spot and floored it again. Then I let Willie take his turn. By the time we headed back up the road, we’d made more donuts in that field than Mum could fry up at one time in her twelve-inch cast iron skillet. “About time you boys got home,” Mum shook her head as we walked through the door without a fish in hand. Monday at work, the guys were all talking about a big police investigation going on over at Brown’s farm out on the Walker Road. “Some smart-ass kids been out there tearing up Troy Brown’s hay field. Brown’s madder than a bullfrog in a brush fire, and I don’t blame him. Says if he catches the culprits he’s gettin’ the judge to haul ’em off to the jug.” I could feel the heat flashin’ across my face. Didn’t dare look anywhere that day, except at the work tables and the hides that I tossed on ’em. Never said a word to anyone but Willie about what I heard at the tannery and I was darned lucky that we didn’t get caught. From then on we’d be sticking to open roads and fishin’ spots.   About the author: Bette A. Stevens is retired teacher, wife, mother of two and grandmother of five. She lives in Central Maine with her husband on their 37-acre farmstead. I recently met her when I was vacationing in Maine (she drove two hours to meet me!) and it is clear how much she enjoys writing, reading, gardening, and the beauty of nature. She advocates for children, childhood literacy and especially nice for me and my background, for monarch butterflies, an endangered species. She has published a children’s activity book, The Tangram Zoo and Word Puzzles, Too! And her second children’s book, Amazing Matilda, won a 2013 Purple Dragonfly Book Award (Honorable Mention for Excellence in Children’s Literature – Ages 6 and older category) and also placed #9 on The 2013 Gittle List for Self-published Children’s Picture Books. In 2013, the author published her first book for the YA/Adult audience: Pure Trash: The story, a short story of a boy growing up in rural New England and prequel to Dog Bone Soup. Read Chapter 1 of DOG BONE SOUP at http://4writersandreaders.com/dog-bone-soup-chapter-1/ Find out more about Bette A. Stevens and her books at http://viewauthor.at/BetteAStevens You can find Dog Bone Soup on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Dog-Bone-Soup-Boomers-Journey/dp/150314965X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1441806570&sr=1-1&keywords=Dog+Bone+Soup Bette’s blog is http://4writersandreaders.com/ Stay tuned for an interview with Bette in the next post.   0 0

Move over, Philippa Gregory- you have competition from Tony Riches! I love to read books about the Tudors, so when Rosie Amber offered a historical novel about the founding of the Tudor dynasty, about which I knew nothing, I couldn’t resist. The story begins in England in 1422. Owen Tudor, who comes from a line of Welsh nobleman but of humble beginnings, has risen by virtue of hard work and not a little luck, from being a soldier in the King’s army to keeper of the Queen’s household. His mistress, Catherine of Valois, is both beautiful and lonely – her husband Henry V, is a warrior and often away, leaving her with their infant son. Hers is a dangerous life, with civil war simmering at home as various noble families jockey to influence and rule Prince Henry, crowned King of England and France when his father dies. Owen begins an affair with Juliette, one of Catherine’s Ladies-in-Waiting, but it becomes clear that his real love is for the Queen. He becomes her protector, and against all odds, she falls in love with him. Eventually they risk all to marry and then have a large family together, in the process founding the dynasty that becomes an epicenter of British history. The book is impeccably researched and written, quite an accomplishment given that there is not a lot of extant information on Owen Tudor’s life. I sensed a difference between the story up to the time of Catherine and Owen’s marriage and what happened afterward – a little stiff, as Owen’s relationships in the household were until his marriage, then more flowing and easy, as if marriage empowered and relaxed Owen. One thing that left me still wondering to the end is the unlikelihood of Owen and Catherine’s love and marriage, but history can’t be wrong! His other long term love interest, Juliette, also seems improbable, but there is a historical indication that such a woman existed. The author’s notes on the historical aspects and what he had to create were helpful and underscored his talent at putting together a great story based on limited facts. The characters that populate Owen are distinct and colorful and the history is detailed and richly described. I know a little of the various noble families of the time, but to the initiate the names and warring factions might be a little confusing. Nevertheless, this does not distract from a grand pageant of a story. Owen is written in the present tense, which I find tiresome in all but short stories, but Riches does such a good job that I actually didn’t even think about it until I was already hooked by the story. He managed to give the story an immediacy that maintained the tension but did not become wearing on the reader. All in all, this is a great read. I recommend it and look forward to the next book in this series. About the author: Tony Riches was born in Pembrokeshire, West Wales, and spent part of his childhood in Kenya. He gained a BA degree in Psychology and an MBA from Cardiff University and worked as a Management Consultant, followed by senior roles in the Welsh NHS and Local Government. After writing several successful non-fiction books, Tony decided to turn to novel writing. His real interest is in the history of the fifteenth century, and now his focus is on writing historical fiction about the lives of key figures of the period. His novels Warwick, The Man Behind the Wars of the Roses and The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham have both become Amazon best sellers. Today Tony has returned to Pembrokeshire, an area full of inspiration for his writing, where he lives with his wife. In his spare time he enjoys sailing and sea kayaking. Visit Tony online at www.tonyriches.co.uk, Tony Riches Author on Facebook and follow him on Twitter @tonyriches.     0 0

I remember learning the difference in spelling the homonyms principle and principal: the principal is your pal. One principal in particular – Mr. Lawrence Bongiovanni – made an indelible impression on me, and I’d like to thank him, belatedly, for his contributions to my education. I was an excellent student (f I do say so myself), but not a perfect pupil, a fact on which I will elaborate. Nevertheless, I think I had a reasonable relationship with Mr. Bongiovanni, as much as one of several hundred kids could have with a person with absolute authority over their lives. Principals were definitely not pals in those days. Mr. Bongiovanni was my high school principal and a true son on Plymouth, having been educated in the town’s public schools. He had served in the FBI prior to and during WWII, and it was very evident in the way he carried himself: ram-rod straight, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, greying hair neatly trimmed. As another PHs alumnus wrote of him: “He was a man of personal culture, dignified in his bearing without being aloof, respectful of his students as individuals in a way that was cordial without being familiar.” I do believe I tried Mr. Bongiovanni’s patience, not the least because I became regular visitor to his office because of French class. I was an insufferable chatterer in French class. Madame Jaques, my French teacher, suffered talkers poorly and more than once sent me to Mr. Bongiovanni for discipline. The first time he found me sitting outside his office, he called me in and asked me why I was there. I didn’t lie and told him I liked to talk in French class. “Madame Jaques?” “Oui.” Apparently that was self-explanatory. He instructed me to go back outside and wait until the bell. I do believe I saw a faint smile on his face. When I showed up thereafter, he would just sigh and ask, “Not again, Miss Parsons?” One day I was bet by a classmate I couldn’t slide down the bannisters from the third floor to the basement of the high school. Never met a bet I wouldn’t take! In those days I frequently wore what is today called a pencil skirt – tight and straight – so in order to ride the bannister, I had to hike my skirt up to my hips. Then I straddled the wood, started to slide, and six sections of bannister later, I arrived in the basement. Mr. Bongiovanni’s antennae must have been operating at full strength, because he was waiting for me at the end of my ride. I stood before him, pulling down my skirt and probably blushing. I swear he was having a hard time keeping a straight face when he asked, “Miss Parsons, do you think you could find a more dignified way to come downstairs?” “Yes, Mr. Bongiovanni.” It was one of his outstanding characteristics that he treated the students as adults, although I clearly didn’t get the message at the time. Sometime after I graduated, Mr. Bongiovanni resigned as principal and joined the Massachusetts Department of Education. There he held a number of executive positions, notable among which were director of the Division of Elementary and Secondary Education and assistant to the Commissioner of Education. He died in 2010, so my thoughts and thanks come a little late, but are nevertheless heartfelt. Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Bongiovanni. 0 0

A fellow blogger (A Star on the Forehead) asked me for my recipe for scones. I’ve never posted a recipe before, but this is a good one! 2 cups all purpose flour 1/3rd cup plus 1 tsp sugar 1 tsp baking powder 1/4th tsp baking soda ½ tsp salt 8 tbsp – 1 stick – unsalted butter (I use anything healthier, no difference) ½ cup raisins or dried currants Tsp cinnamon ½ cup sour cream 1 large egg Adjust oven rack to lower middle position and preheat oven to 400o. In a medium bowl, mix 1/3 cup sugar, flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add cinnamon, if you are making cinnamon raisin scones. Cut butter into tiny pieces and use your fingers to work in the butter. The mixture should resemble coarse corn meal. Stir in raisins. In a small bowl, whisk sour cream and egg until smooth. Using a fork, stir the sour cream mixture into flour mixture until large dough clumps form. Use your hands to press the dough against the side of the bowl into a ball. The dough should become very sticky and should come together easily. Place the dough on a lightly floured surface and pat into a 7-8 inch circle about 1/4th inch thick. Sprinkle with remaining sugar. Use a sharp knife to cut the dough into 8 wedges. Place on a greased cookie sheet or parchment paper (my oven runs a little hot and the parchment paper kept the bottoms from getting too brown), 1 inch apart. Bake until slightly browned on top, 15-17 min. Keep an eye on the scones – depending on the oven, it could take as little as 13 min. Cool for 5 min before serving. For orange-cranberry scones, add a generous tsp of orange zest to the dry ingredients and substitute cranberries for the raisins. For cherry-almond scones, add ½ tsp almond extract to the sour cream mixture, and substitute dried cherries for the raisins. For lemon-blueberry scones, add a generous tsp of lemon zest to the dry ingredients and substitute dried blueberries for the raisins. 0 0

This is the debut novel of Megan Goodenough; I think she has a great imagination and did a fair job with a complicated Tudor historical mystery/spy story set in the current day. It has a spunky main character, a handsome, enigmatic tough guy who becomes her guardian, and lots of twists and turns. Cas is a young woman who leaves London for Brighton, fleeing from her former life, at least for a while. She works in a jewelry store while house-sitting a flat. She and her good friend Lacey make it a habit of bar hopping at night, with Cas frequently drinking to oblivion. One night Lacey mysteriously disappears and Cas ends up in the hospital as a result of her binge. Lacey leaves behind a series of cryptic clues to an Elizabethan treasure, which Cas assumes is some of Elizabeth’s jewels but in reality lead to a modern and very dangerous conspiracy. Cas begins to take the clues seriously when she is attacked by a ruthless thug who is also looking for Lacey. Hunted by criminals and pursued by a former Russian spy, Cas races across England pursuing clues and is helped along the way by Reuben, who claims he works for an insurance company. Cas alternates between trusting him and trying to lose him. Cas ultimately uncovers a society of women who have played an integral role in British history, bound by an oath they’ve held for a thousand years. I loved the opening part of the prologue, set in the summer of 1563, when Queen Elizabeth’s closest lady-in-waiting smuggles a girl child, delivered by Elizabeth and called Rose, out of the palace to be raised in anonymity. Then the scene changes to the present day and a cryptic conversation between two women about one of their girls whose name came up in a dispatch order; a man is sent to keep an eye on her, and I was left wondering what was going on. Chapter One then follows Lacey and Cas on their drunken night out, being tracked by Reuben. By the time Cas is attacked by a thug sent by someone other than those who sent Reuben, I was lost. I did a reread but was still somewhat confused. Cas is well drawn, but the clues she deciphers are so obscure that I was awed at her intuition. Reuben is amazing at showing up to save her at just the right times, always vanquishing the bad guys. Eventually it is revealed the thug who originally attacked Cas was sent by Lacey’s mother, who is a cruel and determined criminal. I remain somewhat unclear about her motives. Thus the main problem I had with the book is trying to wrap my head around all the various plot lines, players and their different goals: Cas following clues, Reuben sent to watch her, criminals trying to stop her, and then the Russian thrown in for good measure. It is clear that the author is knowledgeable of Elizabethan history and she is skilled at story telling; her writing is smooth. I do recommend this book to readers who like mysteries with a historical component and I will look for the next book by this author. About the author: Megan Goodenough is a graduate of York University with a degree in archaeology, Megan been short-listed for the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Award, long-listed for the TS Eliot award and won a with BBC Writers’ Room competition. Her short fiction has been published by the Londonist Magazine.   A Company of Roses can be found at Amazon, Amazon UK, and on Kindle: 0 0

We’ve had a busy time in Plymouth and Boothbay Harbor, meeting old friends, doing a couple of signings, and researching for my fourth and fifth books. My indulgent husband was willing to trek hither and yon. Can’t tell you where, since I don’t want to give anything a way. One hint, though: I spent yesterday in inter-tidal muck up to my knees. Required a good wash. See you all on Wednesday! 0 0

This is the second of Frances Evesham’s Thatcham Hall Mysteries, 19th Century historical mystery romances set in Victorian England. It continues the story begun in An Independent Woman, in which Philomena, a woman from a lower class escaped London dressed as a boy, meets, falls in love with and later marries Hugh, Lord Thatcham. In this second novel, Olivia Martin, a thoroughly headstrong but impoverished young woman, is looking forward with dread to life as a governess and music teacher to support herself. While out for a walk, she is rescued from a cow, which she thinks is a bull, by Nelson Roberts, an up-and-coming lawyer from London. Together they discovered the body of a local farmhand. Roberts has been retained by Lord Thatcham to investigate attacks on his livestock and thefts of personal items from Thatcham Hall, a country house in Victorian England . The lawyer has been embittered by his role as an officer in the war in Afghanistan and has been jilted by his fiancée, so he approaches this task in a dark state of mind. Now he has the now added responsibility of discovering the truth of what happened to the farm hand. As in the first book, there is more or less instant attraction between the two protagonists, although they are reluctant to acknowledge it, except to themselves. Olivia, upon being brought home by Roberts, hies herself off to Thatcham Hall for a previously arranged and convenient visit, hoping to see him again. There she is to spend time with the aforementioned Philomena and Hugh, as well as Miss Selena Dainty, Lord Thatcham’s only sister. She is a beauty with blond ringlets and blue eyes of whom Olivia cannot help but be jealous, especially of Selena’s prospects for the future. Mr. Roberts begins his investigation, but circumstances keep throwing Olivia into his path, and eventually they combine forces to solve the various mysterious threads of the story. Various well-drawn and interesting characters begin to accumulate on the list of suspects: old witchy old woman, who knows and uses herbs as drugs, and her semi-wild grandson living in a hovel in the woods near Thatcham Hall; the baker’s daughter, who is pregnant and claims to have been seduced by a servant at Thatcham Hall; Major Lovell, an army officer with whom Roberts is well acquainted and to whom Miss Dainty is attracted. The reader quickly senses his evil nature. I can’t say more without giving away important details. Roberts and Olivia alternate between confrontation and attraction for most of the book. Some of this seems a bit contrived, as is their sudden attraction, and I found this the most tedious aspect of the book. However, Olivia’s independence and spunkiness was refreshing against the backdrop of societal propriety. The author has done a wonderful job in her descriptions of the customs, mores and dress of the times; I was fully drawn into the world of Thatcham Hall. She has also done a good job of creating and tying together her main plot and subplots, leaving good surprises both along the way and at the end. This book was overall a good read, and I can recommend it to lovers of this genre. About the author: In addition to historical mystery romances, Frances Evesham has written books on speech and language, and parenting and communication, which she can practice with her growing collection of grandsons. She’s been a speech therapist, a professional communication expert as well as road sweeper. She has also worked in the criminal courts. Now, she walks in the country and breathes sea air in Somerset. For fun, she collects Victorian ancestors and historical trivia, likes to smell the roses, lavender and rosemary, and cooks with a glass of wine in one hand and a bunch of chilies in the other. Danger at Thatcham Hall is available at Amazon, Amazon UK, and on Kindle: 0 0

This is a short story I posted last year. It happened during the summer, so it fits with my Summers in Plymouth Series. If you haven’t read it, I hope you enjoy it! It was time I learned to sail. At least that was what I’d been told by my father. He’d purchased an old wooden Turnabout, which lay with its bottom up on the lawn by the barn, mainmast, boom and sail stowed away. This doughty, barely ten foot sailing dinghy was what the kids at the yacht club liked to race on Saturdays. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into sailing at all, let alone race, and those kids were a whole different group from the ones I hung around with at the pool every summer. Racing to me met hitting the water with a flat, belly-smacking dive, and powering myself to the other end, then making a turn and powering back. That required practice, and my summer days were already pretty full. “You’ll enjoy it,” Dad insisted and promptly enrolled me in the land classes to prepare for sailing. In the meantime, he handed me sandpaper and told me to take all the paint off the turnabout. It was hard work, and I managed to remove a lot of skin and a fingernail along with the paint. It didn’t help to hear “Sand with the grain, sand with the grain” every time Dad checked on me. By the time I’d finished to Dad’s satisfaction, a whole weekend had been consumed. Later that week, he caulked the boat, and the next evening we repainted it together, red again. I really wanted blue. At supper the following Saturday evening, Dad said, “Your classes begin Monday at nine. Mom will drop you off at the yacht club and pick you up at noon.” “But Dad, do I have to? You know we have a big meet next Saturday. I need to be working on my intervals.” “Nonsense. It won’t matter if you miss morning practice. It’s not the Olympics. There’s still the afternoon and you’re the fastest kid in your age group already.” As Mom ladled chop suey into my bowl, her latest attempt at creating international cuisine, she remarked, “Your Dad and I really enjoyed the Coast Guard course we took last year, and we thought since we live on the water, you should be more familiar with boats.“ My brother Jay stuck his tongue out, then made a face as he tried the chop suey. Yeah right, I thought. It’s just because Dad and the Commodore have become big buddies and Mom helps run the Yacht Club dinners. I’m going to look like a jerk, as usual. “How long is the course?” I asked. “Three mornings.” “But Mom….” “Then you go out in the boat for a one-on-one class, and if you get the hang of it, you’ll be sailing by Friday. Won’t that be wonderful!” my Dad exclaimed. The next morning, I trudged up the gravel drive to the two story, weather-worn yacht club, pushed myself through the front door, and found a group of kids hanging around at one end of the dining room, where a chalk board had been set up. Hey, they’re all younger than me. Isn’t this just peachy? I sat as far away from the group as I could and still hear what was going on. The instructor showed up and moved to the chalk board. I noticed that he was one of the tall, good-looking young men I’d seen hanging around during the yacht club dinners, chatting, drinking Coke and lazily watching girls. He was bronzed by the sun from sailing and had windblown, wavy hair. I cringed. Just what I need. A Greek God to teach me sailing. In the last year, I’d shot up three inches and was gawky and clumsy. It didn’t help that at twelve, I was now taller than all the boys at my school and was called Miss Encyclopedia because I got good grades. I need to be swimming, I fumed. In the swimming pool, I’m someone. My teammates like me. There are even some younger kids who look up to me. Why am I here? The Greek God, whose name was Kevin, assembled the children around him. “Hey you, aren’t you in this class?” he asked me. “Yeah, I guess so.” “Well, you need to come closer and join the group. You need to be able see the board and take notes. I’ll be giving you a test at the end of the course and you have to pass it if you want to sail out of this club.” Oh joy, so nice to be singled out. I reluctantly moved to a chair at the end of the third row. A kid who looked like a kindergartener smirked at me as I sat down, picking the notebook and pencil up from the chair. During the next several hours, with breaks in between, Kevin covered a variety of topics. He started by teaching us to read a depth chart of the harbor. I was interested to see where the channels ran, how deep they were, and the shallow areas that were revealed as mud flaps (my brother’s interpretation of mud flats) at low tide. Then we progressed to the various parts of a sail boat, and Kevin showed us the different kinds of sailboats we would likely see in Plymouth harbor and explained their differences: a sloop, a ketch and a yawl, which looked a lot like a ketch (I could not for the life of me figure out the difference.) I found myself thinking, Darn, this stuff is interesting. And Kevin is sooo good-looking. I was itching to ask about the sails when Kevin said, “Okay, I think we will end for today. “Don’t forget to bring your notebook tomorrow. I’m going to teach you about sails.” I raced out the front door to the waiting station wagon. “How was your class?”