Uncategorized

This is my entry for the Blogger’s Bash in London in June. The topic for the short story is CONNECTIONS. ********* I flew to Chicago alone to pick up our second child, a Korean adoption. All I knew of her was from a postage stamp-sized photograph of her tiny round face surrounded by a bowl of black hair. And her Korean name, Kim Hyung Ju. I had asked someone who spoke Korean what that meant, and he replied, “Wise Jewel.” I had managed to stay calm during the flight from Raleigh-Durham, but when I was met by an old friend at the airport to spend the time between my arrival and Hyung Ju’s, nervousness and excitement started to mount. The feelings left me unable to eat much of the lunch my friend bought me to celebrate. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “You’d think I’d have this down by now,” I replied, pushing my food around on my plate. “I just wish Gene were here.” My husband had decided to stay at home with our three-year-old son, thinking it would be easier for our daughter to transition to one person at a time. She had lived with her birth parents for two months before being placed with foster parents by the adoption agency in Seoul. After having her for four months, this couple had wanted to keep her. When I learned that, I could only imagine their pain when she was taken away. Along with eleven other infant adoptees, she’d been cared for by another other couple during the flight from Seoul to Seattle, and yet another from Seattle to Chicago. I knew my daughter was old enough to be confused and frightened by the constantly changing faces. Other parents gathered at the arrival gate to meet their new children, but first the passengers had to leave the plane. Finally, just a cluster of remained, many whispering excitedly. When my name was called, I walked down the gangway to the plane and entered coach class. “Mrs. Granger? This is your daughter.” A young woman motioned to one of the babies in the first row. And there she was!  Her foster parents had provided a traditional Korean dress with little rubber shoes and her hair was pulled into a tuft on the top of her head. She was adorable. I gathered her up and took her back to the gate, where I held her on my lap and talked to her. She looked in my eyes… and started screaming. I held her and rocked her, but the screaming continued. I changed her clothes into ones I had brought, soft and comfortable. She screamed. I changed her diaper. More screaming. I offered her a bottle. She took a sip, rejected it and continued screaming. I walked her around and around in the stroller I’d brought and then went to the gate for the flight back to Raleigh. With her still crying at the top of her lungs, we boarded our flight. Once we were seated, I held her in my lap facing me. “Cameron (the name we had chosen for her),” I said in a soft voice, “you need to quiet down now. I’m your mother, your only mother. You’re home.” She suddenly stopped crying. She put her little hands on either side of my face and looked deeply into my eyes for a long moment. There was something there, a moment of recognition, an acceptance. She leaned into my chest and closed her eyes. We’d made the connection. 0 0

Here is the photo prompt from Sue Vincent this week for her #writephoto series: Lady Rowen carefully descended the stone stairs, carrying her shoes so no one would hear her. Her long woolen dress and the hem of her cape rustled on the steps, and the large clock at the bottom whirred and clanked: 4 AM. Today was the day. She had overheard her parents whispering about the soldiers of Henry VIII, led by the snake Cromwell, coming to take their house and lands. She knew why they were coming – she knew every Sunday when the family celebrated Mass in the hidden room behind the library. She also heard their decision to send her to the Cistercian convent of St Mary at Syningthwaite, but she knew the nunnery would not survive the Dissolution ordered by Henry.  Although she was but sixteen, she had decided to leave, hoping to reach her aunt in Ireland. Why don’t my parents leave? Why are they so stubborn about their faith? The groom had, for a piece of silver, saddled and provisioned a horse for her, and it stood ready when she entered the stables. The groom had probably already run. After one last look around, she turned the head of her horse and galloped out of the gates. The sun rose bright and the rime on the grass sparkled in its light as she trotted down the road leading north. She had left the road and hidden behind bushes twice already to avoid riders she saw in the distance. Now she saw a cloud of dust approaching and once again left the road, this time going well into a copse to hide herself. Henry’s soldiers galloped by, and she breathed a sigh of relief to see their backs.  She didn’t hear the soldier come up behind her; he whipped a rope around her neck, dragging her choking from her horse. “Filthy Catholic! Thought you would get away, did yer?” he yelled.  He got down, tied her hands, and taking the reins of the horse, dragged her behind him back to her home. There her parents lay sprawled in the courtyard and soldiers carried their belongings from the house and loaded it into wagons. The house stood empty for many years. It was not a manor any lord would covet, and others were afraid for the association with Catholics. It wasn’t until the rule of Good Queen Bess that a family was given the estate and the house. Two hundred years later, their descendants decided to reconstruct the interior, and the walls of the old library were taken down. The workers reported to the owner that they’d found a door nailed shut. Everyone gathered around as the door was opened. Inside was an altar, and slumped over the prie deux, the skeleton of a woman in a disintegrated dress, the bones of one hand clutching a rosary. 0 0

In addition to being the companion of Danny the Dog (a prolific blogger) and the author of several books, amongst them the recent Yellow Hair, Andrew Joyce has recently been sharing his early life with his followers. Written honestly, some of it has been pretty eye-opening, but no part of it more than his recent post: Thirty Years a Junkie. This is at once amazing, horrifying and inspirational. He asked me to share it with you. “Compared to some, I’ve lived an exciting life. At least parts of it were. However, compared to others, my life has been humdrum. The only thing I’m satisfied about is that all the drama took place when I was young and able to handle it. That would not be the reality today for I have grown old. It’s confession time. I’m not looking for absolution. My only intent is to show some of you out there that there is hope. Nothing is forever. Perhaps my story might help you get to the next stage of your life. Maybe not, but I had help getting there, and I’ll tell you about it in a minute. First, a little background. And please, feel free to judge me. You cannot condemn me any more than I have already condemned myself. When I was kid, I always had a wanderlust. I would see a freight train sitting on a siding, waiting to go on its way, and I would try to imagine its ultimate destination. Those open boxcars called to me. If I could only get into one of those cars, then I would be transported into a new life. Finally, I would see where the rails ended—that magical place. Then, and only then, would I know the secrets of the road. The secrets of the universe. But, at the age of twelve or thereabouts, I wasn’t going anywhere. It would be a few more years before I broke with the bounds of conformitality (a word I just made up). I was seventeen years old. It was summertime. I was between my junior year in high school and my senior year, and I was restless. On the spur of the moment, I decided I was going to hitchhike to California—a three-thousand-mile journey. At the time, I was living in Miami, Florida.” Please read on at: Thirty Years a Junkie P.S. Andrew told me that he is not planning to answer any comments. 0 0

I found myself reciting some of A.A. Milne’s children’s poems the other night, during dinner with my brother and sister-in-law.  I’ve loved them since reading them to my children, which is when I learned them (reading the same thing night after night tends to embed it in your mind). It started when my husband ordered rice pudding for dessert and I launched into the following: What is the matter with Mary Jane?                   She’s perfectly well and she hasn’t a pain, And it’s lovely rice pudding for dinner again! What is the matter with Mary Jane? Last verse of Rice Pudding **** A. (Alan Alexander) Milne (1882-1956) is famous for his stories about Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin, Tigger, Piglet and the rest. His father was the headmaster at Henley House School, and Milne studied there under H.G. Wells. He earned a BA in mathematics at Cambridge University before moving to London, where he worked as the assistant editor of the humor magazine Punch for eight years (1906–1914). Milne served as an officer in the British army in World War I, fighting at the Battle of the Somme. On his return, he devoted his career to writing. After his only child, Christopher Robin, was born, Milne began to write the children’s books for which he is best known. The two poetry books which became worn thin in my household are When We Were Very Young (1924) and Now We Are Six (1927).  Of course, we also had Winnie-the-Pooh (1926) and The House at Pooh Corner (1928).  I didn’t know he had written an adaptation of Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows: Toad of Toad Hall (1930). Mr. Milne also wrote plays, most notably Mr. Pim Passes By (1919) and a locked door mystery novel, The Red House Mystery (1922). I need to read it! Deeply affected by the war, Milne also published poetry for adults (Behind the Lines and The Norman Church  and three nonfiction books on war and pacifism, Peace with Honour, War with Honour, and War Aims Unlimited (1941. He died in January of 1956. *** After I had enchanted my audience with Mary Jane’s rice pudding, I recited another one:                                                     The End When I was One, I had just begun. When I was Two, I was nearly new. When I was Three, I was hardly me. When I was Four, I was not much more. When I was Five, I was just alive. But now I am six, I’m as clever as clever So I think I’ll be six now Forever and ever. And on the way home, my husband and I both recited the first stanza of Disobedience: James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree Took great Care of his Mother, Though he was only three. James James said to his Mother, “Mother,” he said, said he; “You must never go down to the end of the town, if you don’t go down with me.” If you have the time, do read Buckingham Palace and The King’s Breakfast. I just read a post on how reading rhyming and repetitious stories to children – like nursery rhymes (The Three Little Kittens) and books such as The Poky Little Puppy – help children learn to talk and read. I found even third graders enjoyed having The Poky Little Puppy read to them because they could join in. I recommend putting Milne’s poetry in your child’s library! 0 0

This the first book I have read by Kerry Donovan and I was definitely not disappointed. There are three other books in this series, and I plan to read them all. The murder of Detective Sergeant Richard Juno at the end of a long solo tail of a low-level suspect is the latest in a series of police operations in southeast England that have ended in disaster. Juno is a member of the Organized Crime Task Force. Detective Philip Cryer, recovering at home while his smashed femur knits following two surgical procedures, is asked to replace Juno in the OCTF by Chief Superintendent Knightly, a senior office from the National Crime Agency. Detective Chief Inspector David Jones, an old friend of Knightly and Cryer’s immediate superior, presses the issue, because both he and Knightly are convinced there is someone in that unit selling police intelligence – a dirty cop. Cryer is the best person to find the mole quickly because of his ability to scan and sort vast quantities of information, using his photographic memory. Despite the fact he is still in considerable pain from his injury, Cryer agrees to their request and is dispatched to the OCTF with a cover story. There he meets the members of the team, among them a gorgeous blonde secretary who immediately has designs on Cryer, the unit leader Detective Chief Inspector Bee Endicott, and Detective Inspector William Hook, who takes an immediate dislike to Cryer. Hook is a nasty character with a personal interest in finding the killer of Richard Juno, who was his best friend from childhood and was married to his sister.  Nevertheless, Cryer begins to think Hook is the mole, code named Alpine.  When the mole is revealed, I was surprised, along with all the characters in the book. These characters are wonderfully wrought and the reader is never confused as to who is who. Cryer is particularly three-dimensional; the author lets us into his mind and his way of thinking from the beginning. The policies, procedures and hierarchies within the National Crime Agency are laid out in detail, woven nicely into the story. This is the first time I have read a mystery where the police do not carry guns, and the awkwardness with which that obstacle is handled was surprising. The pacing is very fast, and the book is a page turner with lots of twists and turns in the plot.  Hard to put down, and I highly recommend it. About the author Kerry J Donovan was born in Dublin. Kerry earned a first class honours degree in Human Biology, and has a PhD in Sport and Exercise Sciences. A former scientific advisor to The Office of the Deputy Prime Minister, he helped UK emergency first-responders prepare for chemical attacks in the wake of 9/11. This background adds a scientific edge to his writing. He is also a former furniture designer/maker. He is the author of a sci-fi/thriller, The Transition of Johnny Swift, which reached #1 on the Amazon Bestsellers List in December 2014. A citizen of the world, he now lives in the heart of rural Brittany with his wonderful and patient wife, Jan. They have three children and four grandchildren (so far), all of whom live in England. An absentee granddad, Kerry is hugely grateful for the development of video calling. You can find Kerry Donovan on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/KerryJDonovan His blog at: http://kerryjdonovan.com/blog And on Twitter at: https://www.twitter.com/KerryJDonovan 0 0

I went to see Hidden Figures on the Martin Luther King holiday, and it was a perfect way to celebrate. The lines were surprisingly long, the audience diverse – young and old, black and white. The movie is based on the non-fiction book of the same name written by Margot Lee Shetterly and tells the story of a team of African-American women who provide NASA with important mathematical data needed to launch the program’s first successful space missions. Taraji P. Henson stars as Katherine Gobel Johnson, a mathematician (called a calculator, since there were no machines at that point in time) who calculated the flight trajectories for Project Mercury and the Mercury rockets – a step up from the Redstone rocket which launched Alan Shepard in and up and down trip out of Earth’s atmosphere. Octavia Spencer, who makes me want to hug her in every role she plays, is Dorothy Vaughn, who oversees the group of African American women computers and who teaches herself Fortran, so when the room-sized IBM computer arrives, she is qualified to run it. Janelle Monae plays Mary Jackson, who becomes the first black woman engineer at NASA, despite the obstacles in place to prevent her from getting a degree. Physicist Katherine Johnson was known for her accuracy in computing celestial navigation, Her technical work at NASA spanned decades during which she calculated the trajectories, launch windows, and emergency back-up return paths for many flights from Project Mercury, including John Glenn’s first mission, the 1969 Apollo 11 flight to the moon, the Space Shuttle Program and plans for a Mars mission. Mathematician Dorothy Vaughn was assigned by NASA to the West End Computers, the segregated group consisting of all-African American women who worked on mathematical calculations by hand using tools to improve accuracy in space flight. She moved into the area of electronic computing when the first computers were introduced at NASA. Vaughan did computer programming, becoming proficient in coding languages, and also contributed to the space program through her work on the Scout Launch Vehicle Program. Mary Jackson began her career at NASA as a research mathematician, or computer, working under Dorothy Vaughan the segregated West Area Computing Section. She accepted an offer to work in the Supersonic Pressure Tunnel, a wind tunnel used to study forces on a model by generating winds at almost twice the speed of sound. Jackson was encouraged to undergo training to become an engineer. Jackson needed to take graduate-level night courses in math and physics, offered by the University of Virginia at Hampton High School, which was at that time white-only. She petitioned the City of Hampton to allow her to attend the classes, and was promoted to aerospace engineer in 1958, becaming NASA’s first black female engineer. The movie was heart-warming and uplifting, celebrating the overlooked and crucial contributions of these women of NASA at a pivotal moment in our history. Ty Burr, who reviewed it for The Boston Globe, summed up my feelings about it succinctly: “the film’s made with more heart than art and more skill than subtlety, and it works primarily because of the women that it portrays and the actresses who portray them. Best of all, you come out of the movie knowing who Katherine Johnson and Dorothy Vaughn and Mary Jackson are, and so do your daughters and sons.” Ten stars!!! 0 0

I previously reviewed the first part of this saga (https://saylingaway.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=1354&action=edit), which was published as a novella. The story has now been expanded into a saga – a meticulously researched story of the interaction of an early Homo sapiens woman, Raven, with a Neanderthal man she calls Longhead, who was captured by her tribe.  Raven is a healer, and in treating the captive for a dislocated shoulder and seeing to his care, she develops a bond with him. The chronicles weave back and forth from the present to the past, continuing the story of Mark Hayek in the present. Mark is an introverted scientist of Lebanese ancestry and has a larger than normal proportion of his DNA identified as Neanderthal. About 1-2% of our DNA is Neanderthal, as the result of Neanderthal-Home sapiens interbreeding (see my post: How Much of Us is Neanderthal? at https://saylingaway.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=1361&action=edit).  Mark is unusual in that his DNA is 3% Neanderthal.  Is it because of this that he develops a real interest in early modern man and seeks to feel their presence in places where they lived? When the Neanderthal captive is released, Raven follows him and when they meet, they engage in a moment of passion before he treks on, back to his people. Raven becomes pregnant and first tries to hide her pregnancy, then get rid of it. When that fails, she pretends that the child is from her sister’s husband, Bear, who has been co-habiting with her as well. Although she is treated as a slave by most of the tribe, she has a talent for finding and honing just the right stone for spear points. Finally, she decides to leave the tribe with the help of Leaf, a young brave who loves her. She fakes her death so Bear, who treats her brutally, will not follow.  She and Leaf then begin the long trek across the steppes and find the father of her baby. Mark’s story begins with the request from his mother that he go to Turkey to collect the ashes of her brother, Sami. Although Sami had a son, Anton, he made his sister the executor of his estate, and asked that she bring his ashes back to Israel.  Although both Mark and his mother question why Anton was not made the executor, the inheritance will bring financial relief to them both. Mark agrees to go and is met at the Ben-Gurion airport by Anton and is immediately suspicious of him. Anton’s off-again on-again bonhomie reinforces Mark’s disquiet, which is only mitigated by Anton’s taking him to various caves in Israel where early humans were known to live. In one that is privately owned and where both Neanderthal and modern human bones have been found, Mark discovers a bladed stone of quartz hidden away in an invisible niche, possibly for thousands of years. You absolutely need to read the Chronicles to find out what happens to Raven. Will she eventually find the baby’s husband? Will she and Leaf become a couple? Will she be accepted by the Longhead tribe? Will Bear find her? And what happens to Mark? When Anton takes him to Turkey to collect his father’s ashes, he lures him to a cave with the promise of more prehistoric artifacts, but instead delivers him to kidnappers demanding a million-dollar ransom before they will let him go. How does his escape and how does the skull he finds in the cave where they hold him relate to the spear point? Is there a possible link of Mark to Raven, who lived during the late Pleistocene? I loved the saga, and hated it when I had to leave one line of the story to return to the other, only to be drawn into the other with as much interest. For anyone who wonders about our prehistoric ancestors, this book is perfect. The characters are well-limned and the historical detail right up there with Jean Auel’s Clan of the Cave Bear series. The author writes the present-day story line in present tense, to differentiate it, and I will admit I found it jarring to switch from past to present initially. Also, the thought processes of Raven and the other Homo sapiens might be more sophisticated than those of an early modern human, although more of their brains were devoted to cognitive function that those of Neanderthals. But then the story would not be nearly as interesting, right? Hopefully I haven’t given too much away. This is a book I can enthusiastically recommend and I’m looking forward to more from this author! About the author Harper Swan lives in Tallahassee, Florida with her husband and two sweet but very spoiled cats. She is the author of has Gas Heat, a story of family angst taking place in the Deep South, and found the inspiration in the books by Jean Auel. She has drawn on her interests in archaeology, genetics, ancient history and archaeological finds from Paleolithic sites to create the world of the Replacement Chronicles. You can find her on Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10769023.Harper_Swan) Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/Replacement-Chronicles-Omnibus-Parts-1-3-ebook/dp/B01N9J2VJV/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1483302975&sr=1-1&keywords=the+replacement+chronicles) and twitter (@HarperSwan1) 0 0

It’s been an interesting week here at home. We had a snow/ice event last Friday and Saturday that left us house-bound until Hubs shoveled the lower part of our very, very long driveway and salted it. I stayed inside and tried to look busy. There’s a reason I prefer to remain inside – my feet seem to find every patch of ice in the driveway and I’ve taken some falls worthy of a silent movie, but not so silent! So I stick to going out with the dog in the quiet that follows a snowfall. Schools and some businesses have been closed for three days because side roads are still icy, so traffic is at a minimum on our road. Yesterday we finally took down the Christmas tree (our son had asked us to leave it up until he got home). After being up for more than a month, it left mounds of needles behind and was beginning to smell. The boy needs to time his leaves better. Watching the dog and cat handle the snow is hilarious. The dog avoids anything deep and pussy foots around in patches of weeds, while the cat goes out in a rush, stops, looks around, and comes back in. I think Elijah expects something different each time he goes out. He loved sleeping under the Christmas tree and was looking around for it and howling for a while. I did make a cauldron of pea soup for the family. Does anyone still have the Foods of the World series? I use the pea soup recipe in the Provincial France cookbook, which is the absolute best. I think it’s the leeks and the salt pork. Oh, and I got some writing done, but mainly I’ve been reading. I finished DCI Jones Casebook—Cryer’s View and the Replacement Chronicles. Both great reads; reviews coming soon, so stay tuned. This is winter in Chapel Hill. Only two more months ‘til spring here. I’m ready! The driveway has melted! 0 0

By some weird quirk of fate, I had just finished reading The Lost City of the Monkey God by Douglas Preston, a true story, when ABC’s Sunday Morning had a short piece on this exploration. There were so many significant things that could only be touched on, but it was nice to see actual footage of the adventure. The book describes in detail the background leading up to the trek into a remote area of rain forest in Honduras called La Mosquitia, in search for a place called the white city, or ciudad blanca. La Ciudad Blanca featured in tales told by Hondurans for generations of a rich city in deep in the mountains, suddenly abandoned by its people hundreds, if not a thousand, years ago. It was also called the lost city of the monkey god by previous explorers. Extensive research of explorations during the previous several hundred years whetted the curiosity of Steve Elkins, a cinematographer and adventurer, and he became determined to probe La Mosquitia for the lost city. Gathering governmental permits for the exploration was a nightmare, given the political instability of the country’s leadership; with the election of president Porfirio Lobo Sosa, who was very interested in giving his poor, drug-cartel ravaged country a historical and cultural identity, the expedition could finally be planned. The group Preston joined went to Honduras with the idea of first using lidar, a ground-penetrating radar system that could see beneath the thick jungle canopy, to map likely sites for the city, based on Elkins’ research. Amazingly, two sites yielded data showing large cities, which would have dated from Mayan times but which were situation in very isolated regions well south of the extent of Mayan culture. The decision was made to explore the site that was most accessible by helicopter, the only reasonable way to get to the site with the people and equipment needed. I must admit I am not a fan of humid, insect- and snake-infested jungles. Just the thought Fer-de-lance of them gives me the willies, and when I read about the indigenous fer-de-lance, one of the deadliest snakes in the world, and the mosquitoes, sand flies, chiggers, ticks and cockroaches – not to mention the jaguars – my Kindle shook.  I was traveling with this group of explorers, driven by the need to know what was out there and I could feel all of it. What they found was astounding. From the lidar, they could see nineteen settlements in the valley site, an immense human environment of terraces, reshaped hills, roads, reservoirs, and irrigation canals, all of which would support gardens of food crops, medicinal plants, fruit and cacao trees.  With the dense jungle growing from the bones of these settlements, all of this was hard to see. Even the video I saw this morning showed nothing but trees and shrubs and mud, even though there were pyramids, plazas, and houses beneath. Second, they found a cache of artifacts left by the unknown inhabitants   — precious pottery, figurines, metates. What was even more interesting is Preston’s thinking on why this city, and perhaps the other, had been abandoned: disease. Between 1500 and 1550, diseases brought by European explorers ravaged the native populations, small pox being the worst, but also measles and dysentery. The indigenous people had no immunity to these diseases and in some places 90% of the population was wiped out. Preston believes this would have happened eventually, even if the Conquistadores had not invaded: the Old and New Worlds had had little, if any, any contact and diseases and immunities developed in isolation of each other. Explorers of the New World had brought back a virulent form of syphilis to Europe during 1400s, to which Europeans had no natural immunity. The people inhabiting this ancient city had undoubtedly experienced a wild fire of disease and feeling the gods had inflicted this on them for some reason, they fled their city, leaving behind the cache of precious belongings– many smashed in a final offering to their gods. Then there was leishmaniasis, the second deadliest parasitic disease in the world, behind only malaria, and spread by sand fly bites. Half of the team members came back with this disease, first manifesting as what looked like an ulcerative bug bite that didn’t heal. The treatment for this disease is worse than the initial stages of the disease itself: an intravenous drip of a drug (Amphoteracin B) with toxic and sometimes fatal side effects. Although some of the infected team members suffered horribly with the treatment, they eventually recovered. The parasite is not killed; it merely hides in the body and one’s own immune system then keeps it at bay. Although there was a successful plan to preserve the site of the unexcavated city, now called the City of the Jaguar, controversy followed the release of information from the discovery. The media spread inaccurate information and many archeologists, who had had no connection to the planning and execution of the exploration, accused the team of ignoring previous research of Mosquitia (not true). They dismissed the findings, claiming the team had been treasure-hunting, playing out a movie fantasy. Jealousy appears to run rampant in the archeological community. In any event, I highly recommend this book. It is occasionally dry and just as occasionally tension-filled and exciting. It couldn’t be written any better as fiction. 0 0

Okay, okay, it’s January 4th and I haven’t done a post since welcoming in the New Year. Dragging my feet…wondering if I really have anything worthwhile saying, feeling like Eeyore. Maybe it’s because someone in California stole my credit card number and charged $250 worth of stuff by the time I discovered it on New Year’s Day. My new card is on the way, but this is the third time I’ve had my card hacked in three years, this time apparently because PayPal got hacked over the holidays. The hackers sure know how to sprinkle Bah Humbug around. Then a friend notified me that my Facebook page had also been hacked, creating a ‘cloned’ page. Hopefully got that fixed too. More Bah Humbug. Now for some better news: I finished three more chapters of the fourth book in the Rhe Brewster mystery series. As usual, not sure where it will go, but I’m a pantser, so no worry. And some good and some not-so-good: My son comes home from a three year deployment in  Germany on Sunday Can’t wait to see him. He won’t be around long – he has lots of friends to see before he is off again, this time to Afghanistan. So, January is off to a so-so start. Here’s hoping yours is lookin’ better! 0 0