IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT…A TRUE(ISH) TALE OF ALL HALLOWS' EVE EVE…

’Twas the night before Halloween and a thick fog rolled in.  So thick, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, let alone the lamppost whose black paint had faded to a mottled grey, thanks to the constant sandblasting by the wind off the Chesapeake Bay.  So that’s how I ended up in the ER, with a goose egg on my forehead, on account of I’d been running, and smacked right into the damned thing.  “Why were you running in the fog?” one might ask. A valid question.

I’d had a phone call about seven p.m.  “A wine emergency,” my friend Riley Wilson proclaimed. Riley was eight-and-one-half months pregnant.  (Don’t ask me to convert that to weeks…I birthed my babies when everything was calculated in trimesters, not days) and for obvious reasons she’d sworn off all things alcoholic.  So at the end of her terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, she called me to drink the wine for her.  That’s my motto, “I drink for those who can’t.”  I’m a good friend that way.

"REMEMBER..." A POIGNANT MILITARY CEREMONY

 <<One thing I enjoyed most about thirty years as a Navy spouse was participating in century’s old military customs and traditions. The Missing Man table is one of the most solemn and poignant I've ever witnessed. It drips with symbolism and is vivid in its presentation. In honor of the U. S. Navy’s 247^th Birthday, celebrated October 13^th, I thought it was worth a reprint of a post that I first shared in 2011.>>

It’s that time of year…Navy Birthday Ball!  And thanks to the 7^th wonder of the modern fashion world—Spanks—I will be looking svelte in my ball gown this weekend. The United States Navy will be celebrating its 236^th birthday, but it’s not all one big drinking/dining/dancing party.  The Navy Ball, as well as many other official military dining events throughout the year, serve as a reminder to the POWs and MIAs who yet to return home.  This is done through the Missing Man POW/MIA table set at the front of the room.  

GOT WINE????

 

It’s that time of year when those of us with an affection towards the fermented grape start stocking up. No, I don’t mean in anticipation of the holidays—although there are a plethora of wine occasions in the time between Halloween and Valentine’s Day which will require a sufficient supply! I’m talking about Hurricane Season. While it officially begins June 1, things don’t usually get “fun” until late September, at least where I live on the Chesapeake Bay. While I don’t understand the science of a monster storm—it has a lot to do with the ocean and gulf waters warmed in the summer sun, and other some other stuff—I do know they are better endured when fully stocked. Hence, I ensure a sufficient wine supply in my Hurricane Beach Bag to get me through the dark and stormy days.

THE WRITERLY LIFE: PERCEPTION vs. REALITY

Many people I’ve met are envious of the writerly life. But their perceptions of what it’s like to be a writer don’t quite match up to reality. Here are my observations.

     What society thinks I do: Spend all day rolling around in my royalty money.

     What my friends think I do: Go to lunch with them (well, yes, I do that a lot) and then go home and roll around in royalty money.

     What my family thinks I do: Binge on Chunky Monkey ice cream while watching TV, reaching out to tap out a few lofty and erudite sentences when the muse hits. (In my defense I do need to “study” the “occasional” movie for plotting and dialogue training. But it’s all under the banner of “continuing education.") And then roll around in royalty money.

TO PUMPKIN SPICE, OR NOT TO PUMPKIN SPICE...THAT IS THE QUESTION

<<I stay away from controversial subjects, as a rule. But today I'm going to stir the pot.>>

Labor Day Weekend is upon us. The official end of summer (well, technically not until September 22 but, you know, everything is rushed now-adays) so ready or not, here we go. 

Thanks to Starbucks, Pumpkin Spice everything has become the new harbinger of fall. And it has arrived. In full spicy-scented force. 

For the record, Starbucks did not INVENT Pumpkin Spice, they just exploited it. In 2003 they launched the Pumpkin Spice Latte. The “spice” itself is merely a combination of flavors traditionally used to season pumpkin pies: cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and allspice. McCormick first sold that specific combination in a little jar in 1934. Variations of this combination have been found in cookery books as far back as the late 1700s. So to say it's something “new”, you could not be more wrong.

THE VACAY THAT INSPIRED A LITERARY CLASSIC

This is a tale about a house by the sea. A young writer visited often with to pass the time with his cousin, Susannah Ingersoll. Susannah was the daughter of a wealthy sea captain who lived with her family in a sprawling mansion right on the rocky coast of the Atlantic Ocean. The cousins spent many a lively evening in the dining room of said mansion. Since water was usually unsafe at this period of time (mid 1800s), spirits were often consumed for health’s sake, but it is not clear if said writer ever over-indulged. But while sitting in that house, something triggered the writer’s imagination, and he went on to write a dark romance, one met with critical acclaim, and one that has stood the test of time. 

The novel was first printed in 1851. The setting was Salem Massachusetts. The writer was Nathanial Hawthorne, and the book, The House of Seven Gables.

If you haven’t read it, or in the event you have forgotten, here is the opening paragraph:

“Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm." (Click here to be taken to the Cliffs Notes for the entire novel.)

BAD CHOICES MAKE GOOD STORIES, Summer 2022 Edition

Life is about making choices. Sometimes we make good choices, and sometimes we make bad choices. They, especially bad choices, are part of the learning process. For example, if someone tells you you’ll burn yourself if you touch the hot stove and yet you make the bad choice to touch it anyway, you learn for yourself that it is indeed hot and you won’t touch it again (shoutout to my li'l sis!) Or if you love wearing white pants while drinking red wine, knowing that one splish or splash will ruin them, yet you make the bad choice to wear them anyway. (That would be me…a lesson I’m still stubbornly refusing to learn.) (Actually, I think that’s the definition of insanity…doing the same thing but expecting a different outcome. But I digress.)  

Bad choices seem to have an affinity for summertime activities.  Skipping sunscreen while reading/snoozing on the beach? Bad choice. Or consider the ever-popular Slip-n-Slide. Rarely does one look back and consider that a good choice. Or inviting a dog/cat/child to join you for a summertime siesta in the hammock. Not a good choice—unless you like ending up face down in dog—ah—waste. Trying the gold-medal-winning Triple Gainer you saw in the Olympics? Usually a bad, bad choice. But learning experiences, all.