Celebrate New Year's Eve the Ed Calkins Way

Yesterday's chat with Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara, was brief. While on vacation, he had caught a bad cold and could hardly speak, but he promised a follow-up in a day or two once the vocal pipes were back in shape.

His wife, by contrast, was jovial and laughing, so I've no doubt that, despite the ill health, they will celebrate a hearty New Year's Eve.

Now just what festivities will be part of their evening is anyone's guess, but if you'd like to keep the last day of the year as Ed might, check out the following link:

www.irishcelticjewels.com/celtic-wedding/2010/12/irish-new-years-traditions/

A blessed new year to you and yours!

"In Memoriam" (Ring out, wild bells) by Alfred Lord Tennyson

"In Memoriam" (Ring out, wild bells)
By Alfred Lord Tennyson (1849)

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

   The flying cloud, the frosty light:

   The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

   Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

   The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind

   For those that here we see no more;

   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

   And ancient forms of party strife;

   Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

   The faithless coldness of the times;

   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,

   The civic slander and the spite;

   Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

   Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

   The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

   Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.

"Of Diets Most Diabolical," by Sir Frederick Chook

Of Diets Most Diabolical
By Sir Frederick Chook

Sir Frederick Chook is a foppish, transcendentalistic historian and the author of FrillyShirt. He lives variously by his wits, hand to mouth, la vie bohème, and in MELBOURNE with his wife, Lady Tanah Merah. When not reading Milton and eating Stilton, he writes, ponders, models, delves into dusty archives, and gads about town. He has dabbled in student radio and in national politics, and is presently studying the ways of the shirt-sleeved archivist. He is a longhair, aspiring to one day be a greybeard. He has, once or twice, been described as “as mad as a bicycle.” Read his collected works at http://www.frillyshirt.org/.

For a number of years, I have been a practising vegetarian (a curious expression - a non-practising vegetarian would, I suppose, be one brought up in the faith, but who now only forgoes meat at Easter and Christmas.) Meatless diets have been proscribed throughout history, by different persons and with different reasons. The Shelleys condemned the eating of flesh as causing disease and madness, including the social maladies of crime and tyranny. Many religions advocate against, limit or forbid the consumption of meat, ranging from the absolute reverence of life held by Jains to the pre-Flood vegetarianism described in Genesis. H. G. Wells' The War of the Worlds, with its description of captured humans used as a sort of cattle by the technocratic Martians, caused some popular revulsion to meat-eating, though the author's intention was more a metaphor for Britain's colonial expansion - but then, the reading public is terribly sensitive about its food. Upton Sinclar had a similar experience when describing the meat industry in The Jungle, I believe.

Compared to these varied schools and creeds, my own motives for vegetarianism are... astonishingly poorly thought out. They are, in part, moral: the receiving end of an industrial process is no place for anything with a brain. They are partly ecological - a perception that an overall reduction in demand for meat would be a good thing for the planet. Partly, it's because I know that without an absolute restriction, I wouldn't have the willpower not to gobble down every deep-fried burger strudle which passed across my plate, particularly given that I wouldn't necessarily know where it had come from. And, of course, some of it is simply a groaningly literal matter of taste. Now, you may have noticed that at least three of these concerns could be allayed by restricting myself to meat which I had secured myself - by hunting, for example, or at a traditional farm. Quite right, which leaves only the personal side of the equation: my sentimental discomfort with feasting on some doe-eyed creature who never meant me a moment's harm.

Obviously, the problem is irrational, but the solution is rationality itself: I should eat only malicious animals! Creatures whose designs against me are even now being spun; who would themselves, given half a chance, serve me up as rissoles. Why, such a diet would not only be perfectly justifiable, but is practically essential for my continued self-preservation! The only trifling objection - scarecely worth mentioning, really - is that it's questionable whether any such animal actually exists. Indeed, the overlap between those species which A: are mentally capable of understanding right and wrong, B: could pose a threat to me, C: are not justly protected against predation, owing to dwindling numbers, habitat, etc., and D: are edible, let alone tasty, is likely incredibly slight. In the face of this, there's only one thing to be done: if no candidate creatures exist, then I shall eat creatures which do not exist. Thus, I outline: the principles of a mythitarian diet!

There is no shortage of mythical beings who bear us ill will; indeed, the very names "ghouls", "goblins" and "bogeymen" are synonymous with, well, ghouls, goblins and bogeymen. Not all of these are edible - banshees, for example, are famously hard to trap and harder still to hold (not least for the municipal noise pollution restrictions.) The stony skin of the troll is impenetrable to mortal cutlery, while tasting the flesh of the wendigo puts the diner at considerable risk of becoming a wendigo, which is why it is rarely seen served in the best restaurants. Despite these drawbacks, fantastical meat is in surprisingly common use; many readers, for instance, will likely have eaten a Cornish pasty made with the traditional filling of diced onion, swedes and spriggan, or even participated in the gathering, plucking and carving of jack-o'-lanterns for Halloween.

Mythmeat has a culture all of its own, which seemed daunting when I first made the transition away from mundane meat. Centaur and gremlin are stock fare, found on every table, but bunyip is emerging as an affordable meat with a range to please the gourmet, comparable to the rise of beef in the American diet in the 20th century. The inner cities have seen something of a fad for corner-stand breaded ogre cutlets, which are easy to eat on the go, but prices are rising as ogre feed (children, mostly) is proving hard to secure in quantity. Now, vampire - vampire is an unusual case. It was never to everyone's taste - no matter how much you cook it, it always comes out rare - but the animal-rights crowd don't like to eat anything which was recently a living, breathing creature, while the fresh-food crowd don't like anything which wasn't. It's not even remotely sustainable, but a boutique industry has sprung up providing vampires which have felt the chill of undeath just long enough to forget their last shreds of humanity, without yet being twisted into something foul and chewy.

Naturally, when discussing moral or political issues, one must cast up the usual caveats: unlike a teacher on exam day, I cannot pretend to have all the right answers, every generation sows the seeds of the next generation's rebellion, and so forth. Perhaps, one day, the image of a bucolic gnomeherd stomping through a field full of scampering gnomes, all waving tiny pitchforks and swearing like sailors, grabbing them up by their little red caps and stuffing them into his sack, will come to be seen as comically backward. We must live in the house of cards we're dealt, to mangle metaphors, and as things stand, the best source of nutrition for many communities - particularly where crops are poor and grazing land scant - is to knock a faerie on the head and get in the icebox before it turns to soot with the dawn. I'm not saying there isn't excess and waste - the number of sky-buffalo killed for their wings alone is an outrage - but the ecological cost is minimal, and the pixie dust produced as waste is easily treated and recycled for use by the medicinal and aeronautical industries.

Well, thank you for hearing out the ramblings of a chap with mermaid stains on his cuffs! Now, if you'll excuse me, my dessert has just disappeared, so I've got to go will it back into existence. I -do- believe in coulis, I -do-, I -do-!

Song # 4 Close Your Eyes and relax Romantic Piano - "Daydreaming" by Ja...

First Martyr Stephen and Witnessing to the Truth

Children in trouble often hear, "Now tell me the truth!" St. Paul in his letter to the the Philippians encourages believers to dwell on "whatever is true." On the other hand, Michael Caine in the movie The Prestige insists people want to be fooled, and Pontius Pilate asks Jesus, "What is truth?"

And while we, generally, insist we want "just the facts, ma'am," and even in court are exhorted to "tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," in truth, we often prefer to hear, and tell, a pretty half-lie ('cuz everyone know outright lies are wrong) than to deal with the repercussions of speaking and acting in complete truth, and that's even assuming we've taken the time to seek out only truth.

Of course, some people wield truth as a weapon, ("Hell, yeah! That dress makes you look fat!") while others flee from staring naked stark truth in the eye (perhaps for reasons of guilt, shame, etc.), even though Jesus tells us truth will set us free, since doing so often requires an uncomfortable "manning up" to meet a particular challenge, when a turning of the head or a closing of the eyes would be sooooooo much easier.

This is particularly evident in Bryony, where the Reverend Sandy D. Costa, in her forward, points out that Melissa "cannot look at her nocturnal friends out of her peripheral vision for then she sees them as they truly are," and that she "makes a solemn vow before she looks at John Simons from all angles." Even Henry admits its less riskier to live half a life, even if its beastly and predatory, than to assume the responsibility of being honestly dead.

Today, in the Eastern Christian churches (yesterday in the Western churches) we celebrate the feast day of protomartyr Stephen, one of the original seven deacons of the early church and one who much preferred to be stoned than compromise one word of the truth to which he had been entrusted.

Certainly, his courage at upholding the truth is commendable at worst and inspirational at best, especially during a time when hard news is often watered down and sprinkled with a reporter's opinions, rendering it viritually indistinguishable from a blog, opinion is flaunted as fact, and diversity (merely for diversity's sake and not in any quest for truth) in thinking is extolled.

"Truth, like gold, is to be obtained, not by its growth, but by washing away from it all that is not gold." Leo Tolstoy.

May we all be lovers, pursuers, doers, and hearers of truth...and may we all have the courage to remove prejudices from our minds and hearts to be open to truth and all the opportunities it brings.

Bryony's 12-25-11 appearance on Radio Chicagoland

Yesterday, I had the honor and privilege of appearing on The Ray Hanania Show, which runs from 8 to 11 a.m. Sunday mornings on 1240 a.m. WSBC.

Ray is a veteran award winning former Chicago City Hall reporter (Daley to Daley 1976-1992), and columnist with Creators Syndicate. His columns address Chicagoland and American politics, and also Middle East politics. His shows focus on listener call-ins and discussions on major news topics, events, and issues.

Click on the link to hear the entire show. "Bryony" was scheduled at 9:30.

12-25-11 Radio Chicagoland

Nativity of Christ Troparion (Byzantine Chant)

Celebrating a Victorian Christmas in an Unusual Irish Setting

The idea set forth in these two links is so ingenious I won't expound much on them. I will say, however, that transforming a location historic for suffering into one that charms and educates the people of Christmas present is an interesting use of the present space.

What's your take?

www.ireland.com/tours-and-attractions/attractions/a-victorian-christmas-in-an-unlikely-setting-at-wicklow-gaol/629522

www.wicklowshistoricgaol.com/christmas/christmas2011.htm

Christmas Vampire Stories and More

Here is a site run by an Oregan community college teacher who offers two "Vampires in Literature" Courses.
http://www.simplysupernatural-vampire.com/index.html

On this site, there are several Christmas vampire stories, as well as classic literature, poetry, essays, cartoons, and links to festivals, clothing, etc.

If you're into vampires, then you'll want to check this out.

The Good Samaritan Revisited: A Recipe for Building Fellowship in the World via Facebook

Last week, a most pressing engagement was unfortunately rescheduled in favor of a more pressing need: our water heater, just several months past its warranty expiration, had ceased functioning.

Now, I often unintentionally land in hot water, but when it’s unexpectedly dried up at its source with no tangible resources for quick replacement (especially when the dishes are stacked to the ceiling and a line is forming at the bathroom door for evening showers), it’s a miserable situation. So, fully trusting in God for wisdom and provision, I prayed and posted a double entendre on Facebook to amuse my family.

Someone I know only on Facebook responded with a silly comment, to which I added a one-sentence summary of our situation. She immediately messaged me and asked for a longer synopsis. I provided a brief sketch of our bleak financial situation and thanked her for the concern. In desperate moments, compassionate words are truly soothing. Rebekah proceeded to boil water for dishes and hair washings.

"I feel like Little House on the Prairie,” she said.

By next morning, this Facebook angel had located the lowest price for water heaters and solicited a family member to install it after he clocked out of work for the evening; would after six o’clock be convenient for us? When I offered to thank her in person, with a copy of Bryony in-hand, she postponed the suggestion  because she was fighting a virus.

As I emptied my scant savings, the bank teller, who knows of our situation, became a little chocked-up. I’m humming to the rendition of Winter Wonderland piping through the lobby’s speakers.

"It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s Christmas.”

The kind fellow who performed the installation, who had family at home waiting for him and who had to be on his feet again before dawn, stayed until ten o’clock, long enough to guarantee the glue had dried, nothing leaked, and that the new unit was properly heating water. Timothy connected well with him, so to speak, as he played both host and assistant while I hid in the attic and pounded out assignments.

With all the news stories about the dangers of the internet, online predators, identity robbers, and the like, as well the usual moaning of how texting and email have destroyed authentic communication, it’s heartening and humbling to know that social networking is just that, a means of connecting in a very rich and rewarding way with the other humans on this planet.

In this case, two people went out of their way to help me, at personal discomfort to themselves, not because they knew me or liked me, but because their characters are solid gold. I, for one, am humbled and grateful for their kindness and generosity, which made my world, not just my water, a little warmer.

Song #1 Romantic Piano and Flute - "A Dream Within A Dream" by James Onohan

Man Faces Worst Nightmare | My Extreme Animal Phobia

One Weekend, Three Book Signings

On Friday, I dropped Rebekah and Daniel off at the warehouse to clean and await the arrival of inserts, while I had lunch with the "real" Julie Drake.

Julie is one Melissa's (Bryony's main character) Munsonville friends, but is also the name of a very nice local woman whom I met by phone quite by accident while working on a story. This is what happened.

One of the features I write for the Herald News is called An Extraordinary Life. These are memorial pieces on recently deceased, local people who lived interesting an/or inspiring lives. While interviewing one woman about her mother, the woman asked if I would also call her sister. I did and requested the phone number and name, which was "Julie Drake." Of course, I told her about Bryony.

We've kept in touch via email and phone over the last two years it took to bring Bryony to print, so it was wonderful to finally meet this very nice lady in person, who treated me to lunch, brought me a box of Fannie May pixies, and entertained me with verbal snapshots of her family while I signed books. We're hoping to release Visage late next year, so Julie's already suggesting we have a standard, traditional, pre-Christmas date. She's on!

On Saturday, I heard interesting speakers at the HS Healing and Wellness Center's second paranormal cafe and sold a few books. One man who bought a copy of Bryony is part of a large vampire role-laying community and, through his independent film studio, created a three-minute film based on his character for next month's international convention of this vampire community. He sent me the unreleased trailer last night. His work shows promise! I will definitely share that trailer once he officially uploads it onto YouTube.

Sunday at Aunt Nina's Sweets N Treats in Crest Hill was much slower, but I made some nice connections, so it really was a good day. One woman from the local writer's guild was soooo happy to finally have Bryony, she kept hugging it. The venue itself was particulary interesting. It's a 7500 square foot candy store with every type of candy you can buy, along with a full bakery, party room, and some of the best coffee you can buy.

Both places will have copies of Bryony for purchase. You may check them out at www.hshealingandwellnesscenter.com and www.auntninas.net/Home.

And, of course, Bryony is available on the website: www.bryonyseries.com.

Classical Christmas Medley (Instrumental Music)

Christmas in Killarney - Irish Christmas Song (HD)

"Ballade of Christmas Ghosts" by Andrew Lang

"The ghosts we all can raise at will...."

LOVE THIS!!!! ENJOY!

http://www.hymnsandcarolsofchristmas.com/Poetry/ballade_of_christmas_ghosts.htm

Kline Creek Farm: Experience an 1890's Christmas

I had a blog post ready to go today, a modern rendition of the Good Samaritan parable, but while flipping through the Chicago Tribune this morning and waiting for my coffee to reheat, I stumbled upon this article and found it too good to pass up.

If you're within easy access of West Chicago this Christmas season, check out Kline Creek Farm and step back into Christmas as Bryony herself might have experienced it. From the traditional cookies baked there (you can take the recipe home with you) to the trees' decor (authentic, except for the candles), along with a few surprises (such as table tree fabricated from goose feathers), the tour seems to live up to its promise. I'm seriously considering tightening my already screaming tight wallet and schedule to indulge in nostaligic revelry, if only for an afternoon.

One point the article made I found interesting was the notion that people in the late 1890's were moaning over Christmas' commercialism. I wonder what Victorians would think if they popped into December 2011? Read the full story below.

Kline Creek Farm: Enjoy Christmases past — without Scrooge's guilt

http://www.chicagotribune.com/entertainment/ct-ent-1215-museums-kline-creek-20111215,0,6393796.story

Song # 3 Fall In Love Piano Music - "Only You" by James Onohan

Victorian Christmas Cards

The Return of Family Chores

Up until a couple of years ago, when I began hiring other people to roll my newspapers, everyone in my household rose at midnight, ate breakfast, packed a lunch, and then departed to the distribution center.

When you have six kids, it's a simple, although highly organized process, to get fifteen hundred newspapers out the door seven days (nights?) a week. So even as my children grew up, moved away, married, etc., younger ones readily filled the gaps, that is, until Timothy began college, and the work crew began to thin out.

For a long time, midnight at my house resembled the early morning rush at others. Dishes clattered; the vacuum hummed; I was shouting to make sure everyone had been through the bathroom so I could clean it; lunch coolers and coffee thermoses were packed; and litter boxes were scooped. If it was winter, the van was warming up.

Not only did we have to get out the door when the rest of the world had comforters pulled up tp their noses, we had to complete all household chores first, since writing deadlines and homeschool assignments would be awaiting our return. Besides, few things are more demoralizing than braving the elements to throw hundreds of newspapers only to arrive home to a dirty, messy house.

As schedules shifted, I became the only one still tumbling out of bed at midnight. Even though Ron now brought my bagged papers home, I kept the routine, just in case someone called off, and I'd have to come in.

Besides, with the world asleep, the witching hour was the perfect writing time, since I wasn't fielding phone calls and emails (although my publicist and I had some incredibly productive three-thirty a.m. phone chats). I did the chores alone, reveling in the blissful quiet and the jotting down of mental notes for whatever story was on the monitor at the time.

Lately though, that routine has once again begun to shift. The last paper cut (Get it? Paper cut? Knee slap and chuckle) forever altered our paper carrier ways. We no longer could afford to put two large vans on the road, and the few newspapers Ron still delivers hardly feels worth his effort, not compared to the money it takes to run them. Still, even Ron is rarely up at midnight, although I still enjoy many hours of silent darkness before the rest of the world greets the new day.

Between working as a banquet cook and negotiating a full schedule as a culinary arts student, Timothy is coming home later and later, and Rebekah will get a taste of this schedule for the Spring 2012 semester when she embarks upon a four-hour cookie class. The candlelight breakfasts and noon hour Bible studies over farm-style dinners have morphed into Bible study over lighter candelight dinners, with chores following.

Now I would rather do housework at the top of my day, even if it is two a.m., than at the end of it, when I'm uncaffeinated and dragging, yet the advantages of tackling it at this hour exceed my natural inclination to ignore the clutter and proceed to shower and bed, and this is why.

It gives us an opportunity, as new ones outside our home increasingly beckon, to move together as a unit for a common purpose, and to delight in each other's company and the conversation that naturally ensues when hands and feet are occupied. Yes, we have our fair share (and then some) of grumbling and arguing (which can be accompanied by loud and strong language), for our days our long, and we are weary.

But there's something invigorating with moving about each other's orbit for an hour or so, before we again pull back into our individual rooms for the night. We're able to greet the new day with the house in order, no undone work staring you in the face, and knowing it was the combined efforts of the people that dwell together under one roof that accomplished it.

John Schlitt: O Holy Night

Candy Canes and Irish Vampires

Yes, Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, dressed in an Old World Father Christmasy hat and carrying a bucket of candy canes, was already making his jolly rounds when I, huge mug of coffee in MY hand, arrived at the distribution center at one o'clock this morning.

It's been over a year since Ed last worked at this particular location and just several months since I've stopped delivering newspapers, yet the return was a joyful one for both, especially me, since I'm still in withdrawel. I have these moments, suppressed, of course, where I want to ride around at night--windows down and radio cranked up--throwing things (ideally newspapers) out of windows.

Ed and rival supervisor Dan resumed their plans to take over certain countries with insulting limericks, and one female carrier entered to the loud cry from Ed she (mistakenly) assumed she'd never hear again: "All, hail, Audrey the Magnificent!"

Of course, Ed showed the proper respect by virtue of his former nickname for me (Newspaper Goddess), by genuflecting, head bowed, to offer me a candy, the very pose assumed every day when he brought me my route book.

Now, having immortalized him and all, my nickname is Mistress of Immortality or MOM. Yes, I know it doesn't match, but Ed is horribly dyslexic, so it works for him. FYI: Any blog postings he sends are thoroughly edited by me, keeping in mind my copyediting skills are less than stellar.

Saturdays are a notoriously slow day. Carriers, the ones that still run on Saturdays, arrive late and leave late. Ed still had to drive an hour back to HIS distribution center to run a route. Still, I sold, and he signed, a few books. To catch the attention of sleepy carriers pushing grocery carts full of inserts back to their tables, Ed would stop them and point to his picture on page one hundred and ninety-three.

Periodically, he would stop, grinning, and excitedly say, "We're really doing this. Remember when we only talked about signing books at the center?" Before I could do more than smile and nod, Ed was showing a carrier where his name appeared in Bryony, then add the exhortation to look for the parade in his honor some thousand years hence.

I chatted to a couple of carriers who were a little envious--in a good way--of my having completed an entire book. One, a musician, is writing his autobiography, but got stuck one hundred and fifty-five pages into it. The other, a former Chicago teachers, has an idea for a screen play, but can't get the words out.

Both marveled how I, with homeschooled kids, other writing assignments, and throwing papers at night, managed to write an entire book. I told them my lap goes with me everywhere I go.

"Oh, so you wrote it all the computer?"

Well, yes, eventually. I also wrote bursts of inspiration on backs of old envelopes, margins of books, and myriads of tiny notebooks, really any form of paper within reach. I also had to utilize random bits of time, which is the way I really dislike to write, but when it's the only available time...well, that's when you have to stay true to your goals.

Ed then told me a story about how is granddaughter is beginning to not believe he is REALLY Santa Claus and wondering if his credibility will be shot if he tells her Santa is also a vampire.

"Especially the first Irish vampire," Ed said.

One of the supervisors, who is generally quiet and whom I did not expect to wander near our make-shift work station book "store," spent some time flipping through the Bryony, noting the research, and asking me how long it took me to compose it.

Even better, he made a couple allusions to the distribution center being "one of the seven levels of hell." Later, he referenced something back to "the library of Alexandria." Now my curious was piqued, and I hope an opportunity for conversation with him the next time I bring my teens down to stuff inserts. There's so much more to people than meets the eye, right?

And yes, he bought a book.

Ed took five back with him for family Christmas gifts this weekend and is coming back for twenty more next week. These will be a huge surprise, he said. Although he's told everyone in his large extended family that he is in a book, when you identify yourself as a ruthless dictator and create Celtic myths about yourself, your family tends to dismiss your other claims.

I jubilantly waved a book before him. "And now you have the proof."

He laughed. "Yes, now I have the proof!"

At three-thirty, Ed packed it up, worried about making HIS deadline, then paused.

"Can I hug you?" he asked.

LOL! Why, of course! Merry Christmas, O Ye Steward of Tara!

Hymn to St. Nicholas, the lyrics

On Tuesday, the feast day of St. Nicholas, which our family has always celebrated with great joy, I posted the hymn Eastern Orthodox Christians and Byzantine Catholics sing in honor of this patron saint of children.

Today, especially if the tune is still lingering in your head, and you want to, perhaps listen again and sing along, I have posted the lyrics. For more things all St. Nicholas, visit www.stnicholascenter.org.


Hymn to St. Nicholas

O who loves Ni-cho-las the Saintly,
O who loves Nio-cho-las the Saintly.
Him will Nicholas receive,
and give help ini time of need.
Ni-cho-las, Ni-cho-las.

O who dwells in God's holy mansions;
Is our help on the land and oceans.
He will guard us from all ills,
keep us pure and free from sins,
Ni-cho-las, Ni-cho-las.

Ni-cho-las, tearfully we sinners,
Beseech you fervently in our prayers.
Help us in our tribulations,
comfort ev'ry Christian nation.
Ni-cho-las, Ni-cho-las.

Holy Saint, listen to our prayers.
Let not life lead us to despair;
All our efforts aren't in vain,
singing praises to your name;
Ni-cho-las, Ni-cho-las.

Mary Todd Lincoln Cake

This is the cake First Lady Mary Todd (rumor has it) prepared for Abraham Lincoln while they were courting and when they lived in the White House.


Mary Todd Lincoln Cake:

1 cup almonds
1 cup butter
1-1/2 cups sugar
2-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1-1/3 cups milk
6 egg whites
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Confectioners' sugar

Instructions:
Preheat the oven to 375F. Grease and flour two 9 inch round layer cake pans or one Bundt cake pan. Use a food processor to grind the almonds into a course flour. Cream the butter and sugar to mix them until fluffy. Sift the flour and baking powder to mix them together, then fold the dry flour mix into the creamed butter and sugar, alternating with milk, until well blended. Stir in the almond powder and mix thoroughly.

In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Add a pinch of salt for easier stiffening. Add vanilla extract. Gently fold the egg whites into the batter with a rubber spatula. Pour the batter into the pan(s) and bake for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool for at least 15 minutes before flipping the cake out out of the pan, and allow it to completely cool before serving. If a layer cake was made, use a jam for filling. Sift confectioners? sugar on top for decoration.

Serves about 12 slices.

Song # 2 Romantic Piano Music - One Last Time by James Onohan

Hymn to St. Nicholas

Timothy as Aladdin and Jasmine

I Wonder As I Wander - part 2

The Two Ronnies - Limerick Writers

: "The Bride of Corinth" by: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"The Bride of Corinth," written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe in 1797, is a difficult, but thoroughly enjoyable read about how a young man, uninformed that his betrothed is dead, receives a visit from the one he was to marry, except she is now a vampire.

I suggest reading the summary first (http://www.simplysupernatural-vampire.com/vampire-poetry-summary-brideofcorinth-goethe-femalevampire.html) and then the poem.

The Bride of Corinth

Once a stranger youth to Corinth came,
Who in Athens lived, but hoped that he
From a certain townsman there might claim,
As his father's friend, kind courtesy.

Son and daughter, they
Had been wont to say
Should thereafter bride and bridegroom be.
But can he that boon so highly prized,
Save tis dearly bought, now hope to get?
They are Christians and have been baptized,
He and all of his are heathens yet.

For a newborn creed,
Like some loathsome weed,
Love and truth to root out oft will threat.
Father, daughter, all had gone to rest,
And the mother only watches late;
She receives with courtesy the guest,
And conducts him to the room of state.

Wine and food are brought,
Ere by him besought;
Bidding him good night, she leaves him straight.
But he feels no relish now, in truth,
For the dainties so profusely spread;
Meat and drink forgets the wearied youth,
And, still dress'd, he lays him on the bed.

Scarce are closed his eyes,
When a form in-hies
Through the open door with silent tread.
By his glimmering lamp discerns he now
How, in veil and garment white array'd,
With a black and gold band round her brow,
Glides into the room a bashful maid.

But she, at his sight,
Lifts her hand so white,
And appears as though full sore afraid.
"Am I," cries she, "such a stranger here,
That the guest's approach they could not name?
Ah, they keep me in my cloister drear,
Well nigh feel I vanquish'd by my shame.

On thy soft couch now
Slumber calmly thou!
I'll return as swiftly as I came."
"Stay, thou fairest maiden!" cries the boy,
Starting from his couch with eager haste:
"Here are Ceres', Bacchus' gifts of joy;
Amor bringest thou, with beauty grac'd!

Thou art pale with fear!
Loved one let us here
Prove the raptures the Immortals taste."
"Draw not nigh, O Youth! afar remain!
Rapture now can never smile on me;
For the fatal step, alas! is ta'en,
Through my mother's sick-bed phantasy.

Cured, she made this oath:
'Youth and nature both
Shall henceforth to Heav'n devoted be.'
"From the house, so silent now, are driven
All the gods who reign'd supreme of yore;
One Invisible now rules in heaven,
On the cross a Saviour they adore.

Victims slay they here,
Neither lamb nor steer,
But the altars reek with human gore."
And he lists, and ev'ry word he weighs,
While his eager soul drinks in each sound:
"Can it be that now before my gaze
Stands my loved one on this silent ground?

Pledge to me thy troth!
Through our father's oath:
With Heav'ns blessing will our love be crown'd."
"Kindly youth, I never can be thine!
'Tis my sister they intend for thee.
When I in the silent cloister pine,
Ah, within her arms remember me!

Thee alone I love,
While love's pangs I prove;
Soon the earth will veil my misery."
"No! for by this glowing flame I swear,
Hymen hath himself propitious shown:
Let us to my fathers house repair,
And thoult find that joy is not yet flown,

Sweetest, here then stay,
And without delay
Hold we now our wedding feast alone!"
Then exchange they tokens of their truth;
She gives him a golden chain to wear,
And a silver chalice would the youth
Give her in return of beauty rare.

"That is not for me;
Yet I beg of thee,
One lock only give me of thy hair."
Now the ghostly hour of midnight knell'd,
And she seem'd right joyous at the sign;
To her pallid lips the cup she held,
But she drank of nought but blood-red wine.

For to taste the bread
There before them spread,
Nought he spoke could make the maid incline.
To the youth the goblet then she brought,--
He too quaff'd with eager joy the bowl.
Love to crown the silent feast he sought,
Ah! full love-sick was the stripling's soul.

From his prayer she shrinks,
Till at length he sinks
On the bed and weeps without control.
And she comes, and lays her near the boy:
"How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so!
If thou think'st to clasp my form with joy,
Thou must learn this secret sad to know;

Yes! the maid, whom thou
Call'st thy loved one now,
Is as cold as ice, though white as snow."
Then he clasps her madly in his arm,
While love's youthful might pervades his frame:
"Thou might'st hope, when with me, to grow warm,
E'en if from the grave thy spirit came!

Breath for breath, and kiss!
Overflow of bliss!
Dost not thou, like me, feel passion's flame?"
Love still closer rivets now their lips,
Tears they mingle with their rapture blest,
From his mouth the flame she wildly sips,
Each is with the other's thought possess'd.

His hot ardour's flood
Warms her chilly blood,
But no heart is beating in her breast.
In her care to see that nought went wrong,
Now the mother happen'd to draw near;
At the door long hearkens she, full long,
Wond'ring at the sounds that greet her ear.

Tones of joy and sadness,
And love's blissful madness,
As of bride and bridegroom they appear,
From the door she will not now remove
'Till she gains full certainty of this;
And with anger hears she vows of love,
Soft caressing words of mutual bliss.

"Hush! the cock's loud strain!
But thoult come again,
When the night returns!"--then kiss on kiss.
Then her wrath the mother cannot hold,
But unfastens straight the lock with ease
"In this house are girls become so bold,
As to seek e'en strangers' lusts to please?"

By her lamp's clear glow
Looks she in,--and oh!
Sight of horror!--'tis her child she sees.
Fain the youth would, in his first alarm,
With the veil that o'er her had been spread,
With the carpet, shield his love from harm;
But she casts them from her, void of dread,

And with spirit's strength,
In its spectre length,
Lifts her figure slowly from the bed.
"Mother! mother!"--Thus her wan lips say:
"May not I one night of rapture share?
From the warm couch am I chased away?
Do I waken only to despair?

It contents not thee
To have driven me
An untimely shroud of death to wear?
"But from out my coffin's prison-bounds
By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove,
While the blessings and the chaunting sounds
That your priests delight in, useless prove.

Water, salt, are vain
Fervent youth to chain,
Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!
"When that infant vow of love was spoken,
Venus' radiant temple smiled on both.
Mother! thou that promise since hast broken,
Fetter'd by a strange, deceitful oath.

Gods, though, hearken ne'er,
Should a mother swear
To deny her daughter's plighted troth.
From my grave to wander I am forc'd,
Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link,
Still to love the bridegroom I have lost,
And the life-blood of his heart to drink;

When his race is run,
I must hasten on,
And the young must 'neath my vengeance sink,
"Beauteous youth! no longer mayst thou live;
Here must shrivel up thy form so fair;
Did not I to thee a token give,
Taking in return this lock of hair?

View it to thy sorrow!
Grey thoult be to-morrow,
Only to grow brown again when there.
"Mother, to this final prayer give ear!
Let a funeral pile be straightway dress'd;
Open then my cell so sad and drear,
That the flames may give the lovers rest!

When ascends the fire
From the glowing pyre,
To the gods of old we'll hasten, blest."

Savoy Biscuit

Tomorrow, my book designer Serena Diosa, author of Tinkey's Goldfish, and I are meeting to complete the formatting of the Bryony cookbook, Memories in the Kitchen: Bites and Nibbles from "Bryony." Tonight, a new member of the Bryony team is giving a hard copy of that book a final check for copy and formatting errors.

Today, however, I found an interesting recipe, Savoy Biscuit, in the 1860's cookbook,

Miss Beecher’s domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplement to her Treatise on domestic economy.

This particular cookbook, reprinted by the University of Michigan University Library, has been a marvelous source of Victorian recipes for the Bryony cookbook, although Savoy Biscuit was not one I included.

If anyone prepares this at home, let me know how it turns out. I don't like eggs, so I won't be trying this one. I'm thinking you certainly bake them with all those eggs, but the recipes doesn't suggest a temperature or time.

Savoy Biscuit

6 eggs

1 pound sugar

1 lemon

3/4 pound flour

Butter

Beat eggs into sugar until white. Grate the outside of the lemon into it, mix in flour, and drop them onto buttered paper, a spoonful at a time.

Bryony - Official Book Trailer

Ladies and Gentlemen, We Have a Book!

http://www.bryonyseries.com/Dalton_s_Dry_Goods.html

Tim Hawkins-70s in 6 minutes

NaNoWriMo Whatever Day It Is and Giving Thanks

Okay, since I've delayed the official Herald News story,  here's the incident that (sort of) kicked me out of the National Novel Writing Month.

I love antiques, and my house is full of them. One particularly heavy dresser, with heavy drawers that stick, belonged to my maternal grandmother. On November 9th at  8:15 p.m. exactly (I know because I had just looked at my computer clock and realized I was fifteen minutes later feeding the cats), I decided to grab some cozy flannels and set up for a shower while the kitties were eating.

As I was shoving the resisting drawer back into place, my calico, Faith, decided at that moment to leap across the room and grab onto the draw to peer inside. I slammed her paw flush into the drawer, leaving her dangling. I never heard an animal scream as she did. I quickly pulled on the drawer, and as I did, Faith, in pain and fright, sank her teeth into my thumb.

Owwww! PAIN!

The drawer popped; Faith dashed away; and I knew I was in trouble. I flew down the stairs and into the bathroom and started washing out the wound in hot, soapy water, forcing the pinholes to bleed. Faith stood at the top of the ladder crying, crying, crying. My thumb was already reddening and swelling, but it seemed impossible infection could be developing so soon. The redness, I told myself, was because I have chronic hives; the warmth I felt was due to the fact I was running my hand under hot water; the swelling and tenderness was trauma to the thumb bone.

I comforted Faith and then showered and climbed into bed, but the status of my thumb bothered me. I remembered the past cellulitis incidents of my children and how rapidly a soft tissue infection could spread. I recalled a neighbor who, after noting a slightly red hair follicule, took a short nap and awakened to a swollen face; he died en route to the hospital. I switched on the light and examined my hand. The thumb was definitely red and swollen. I turned the computer back on and typed in "cat bites."

I learned one could adopt a "wait and see" approach with some dog bites, depending on their severity, but cat bites must always be considered a medical emergency. The combination of their long, sharp fangs and the particular type of bacteria they carry in their mouths meant a bite from them literally injected that bacteria directly into soft tissue. I was already sleepy from the drowsy antihistamines I take at bedtime, so I needed a ride.

Ron had to be at the warehouse in three hours, so waking him up was the worst option. Timothy was already in bed and had to be at work at seven o'clock in the morning. Christopher had been dragging all day and was nearly asleep, but he works from home and had nothing pressing to do the next morning. Sooo, after enduring all of his "you're paranoid" and "this can wait until tomorrow" comments, we were off to the ER.

Confession time. I don't know if it's because I have allergies, chronic hives, and asthma (and have experienced the unpleasant consequences of those afflictions), but I have a medical phobia. I am not afraid of hospitals or needles, but of the substances I have to swallow--or have injected into me--in the name of healing. I fear nasty side effects and allergic reactions. I FEAR them. However, I feared worse what might happen to me should I not treat this a cat bite, so here I was in this unhappy predicament.

The ER trip was straightforward, as I feared it would be. One tetnus shot (My last one was in the summer of 1986) and my choice of two antibiotics. Because I'm allergic to penicllin (big surprise), the protocol is one antibiotic from each of two lists. The nurse rattled off two medicines I'd never had--doxycycline and clindamycin--which meant, if I became allergic to either one, I wouldn't know which one.

Sigh. Decisions.

Let's back up. Just two weeks ago, my daughter and web administrator Sarah Stegall had four wisdom teeth removed. Preoperatively and during the post-op period, she took low doses of prescribed clindamycin. On day nine of her treatment, she emailed me a photo of a pimply-looking rash over her shoulders and chest and asked me if it was subcutaneous emphysema. I called her.

"Subcutaneous emphysema? Do you know what that is?"

"No," she said, "but a friend had it after having wisdom teeth pulled."

"That's not Subcutaneous emphysema, but I am concerned about the rash."

Sarah was not. "It doesn't itch."

"Doesn't matter. Have you ever had a rash like this?"

"No. I woke up with it today."

"I'll call you back."

I researched clindamycin reactions and found it can, indeed, produce a distinct pustular rash. I emailed Sarah and told her to show her pharmacist. She agreed to do it later. I awakened the next morning to frantic texts from Sarah. She was in the ER, rash spreading, throat tightening, in pain with two dry sockets and waging war with the doc on call, who claimed it was impossible to have an allergic reaction to a major antibiotic. Abridged ending 9minus the unprintable comments I had about the doc): antibiotic stopped, new pain meds initiated, and an ER trip to the dentist for socket packing. Fast forward to cat bite.

"Can I take Bactrim?" I'd had drug for the first time last year for a leg abcess (another long story), and I had tolerated it "okay."

That eliminated the doxycycline, but the nurse insisted I still needed the clindamycin. I told her about Sarah's reaction and my phobia.

"Have you ever tried Flagyl? We could use that one instead."

I didn't like that option either because that was another unproven drug for me. SIGH! Yes, I know there's only one way to prove it.

"Well," I said slowly. Rebekah did well with clindamycin. I'll try it."

The nurse brought in the clindamcyin first and suggested I wait half an hour before taking the Bactrim. That way, if I had a negative reaction to the clindamycin, I'd have it in the ER.

Well, I did fine with the Clindamycin, and then the Bactrim, so I was sent home with the next morning's dose and told to expect the hand, which was now as swollen as the thumb, to get worse before it got better. I was also instructed to elevate the hand as much as possible, although typing was not prohibited. Just what a features writer on deadline wants to hear.

By next afternoon, I was running a low grade fever, and the infection was traveling up my arm. The plan was to now temporarily stop the Bactrim and initiate ER IV anitbioitic treatments with a powerful cephalosporin used to treat bacterial meningitis. In theory, so I wouldn't have to be stuck each night for the next five nights was to leave the port in my arm. However, I ended up blowing every vein, so the result was a painful arm by day and a new stick each night.

On Monday night, after the last treatment, and as I was stepping out of the shower, I noticed a familiar-looking rash over my chest and shoulders. It was Day Five of the clindamycin. I called the ER (It was 10:30 at night), rattled off my dilemna, and mentioned my next dose was due in an hour. I was to resume the Bactrim in the morning.The nurse consulted with a doc and told me to stop the antibiotic and see my primary tomorrow.

I did, hoping I had enough germ-busting drugs in my system to skip choice number two from list number two, but I wasn't that lucky. She wrote a one-week prescription for Flagyl. From the very does, swallowed at home in a flurry of anxiety, and, within ten minutes, I felt a tightening of my body from head to toe.
\
Now, let me explain that I experienced a similar reaction to an abundance of epinephrine when I had the pheochromocytoma (an adrenal gland tumor; again, another long story), so I dismissed (sort of) the reaction to my anxiety. I also had the same reaction to H2 agonists last year when a doc prescribed them as a secondary drug for the hives, but that drug also produced a rapid heartbeat, which did not happen with the Flagyl.

Do you see why I have a drug phobia?

Sooooo, since tachycardia was absent, I chalked up the reaction to nerves. The next morning, I hardly felt the squeezing, but the following night, it was back. The following morning's dose was fine and so on, until Friday night when, five minutes after I swallowed my Flagyl, I experienced a pressure so strong, I had difficulty swallowing and typing; my muscles painfully ached. That's when I realized my morning reaction might be milder because I was full of all the antihistamines from the previous night.

Shaking all over, I called my doctor, and she told me to stop the medicine and complete the Bactrim. As a precaution, she suggested I add Benadryl to my anithistamine cocktail, but since I take so many and with "off label" dosees, I decided to monitor my symptoms and go to the ER, if necessary. I was fine.

I did, noticing the Bactrim also caused the same symptoms, just milder, so it's definitely a drug I will use with caution in the future.

So what does this all have with National Writing Month? Well, these allergic reactions and infection treatments took a huge bite (so to speak) out of my already tight schedule, as I frantically rushed to complete the assignments already on deadline.

I did, however, establish a habit of working on the prequel for one hour a day. Basically, I go through every chapter, flesh out the outline in place (not quite to the first draft stage yet), and make lists of the topics needing further research. I have worked my way through nearly a third of the prequel so far and that is one-third farther along than I was October 31.

I also, for the first time, had no assignments bleeding into the four-day Thanksgiving weekend. This meant I made a nice dent into the beginning editing of Visage, of which I am highly pleased.

Finally, I found some wonderful support and understanding in the person of Tommy Connolly, Bryony's media researcher and developer, who recently appeared on Animal Planet's Extreme Animal Phobia series to treat his bat phobia.

Every day, he sent a nice Facebook, "How's the paw," message and encouraged me in my courageous facing of the medicines. While I'm not quite at the stage of saying, "Wow, I'm so glad this happened. Look at all the good that came from it," I'm certainly thankful and appreciative of those things, just the same.

And Faith? Well, she was a little shy the following morning, but we cuddled and made up. Seriously, if she would have slammed my hand in the drawer, I probably would've bitten her, too.

Harder.

Classical Christmas Medley (Instrumental Music)

An Endorsement from the IVA

That's Irish Vampire Association to the uninitiated. In a recent email telegram, Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara and first official Irish vampire, sent the following message:  "I've got the whole IVA rooting for you. (Don't know what financial help that is)."

Well, money isn't everything, and it's nice to know the entire IVA is supporting Bryony's cause. Despite the impressiveness of that claim, however, you must know the IVA has a membership of just one (Calkins), and maybe two, since he claims the organization has dubbed me an honory member.

Still, despite its lack of a structured vampire mythology, Ireland has, nevertheless, made some important contributions to vampire lore. Read the following and judge for yourself:

www.darkecho.com/darkecho/horroronline/irish_vampire.html

All the verses to "Over the River and Through the Woods"

Originally titled, "A Boy's Thanksgiving Day," Lydia Marie Child's peom first appeared in 1844 her book, "Flowers for Children." Child was a teacher, novelist, and journalist. Sound familiar?

Although I thought I knew all the verses, it turns out I didn't know most of them. I can still sing it, though, or, at least, warble a few notes that somewhat resembles singing.

         
          Over the river, and through the wood,
          To Grandfather's house we go;

The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh

through the white and drifted snow.

          Over the river, and through the wood,
          To Grandfather's house away!
          We would not stop for doll or top,
          For this is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood—

Oh, how the wind does blow!

It stings the toes and bites the nose

As over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood,

With a clear blue winter sky,

The dogs do bark, and children hark,

As we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the wood,

To have a first-rate play.

Hear the bells ring, "Ting-a-ling-ding",

Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood,

No matter for winds that blow,

Or if we get the sleigh upset

Into a bank of snow

Over the river, and through the wood,

To see little John and Ann.

We will kiss them all, and play snow-ball,

And stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the wood

Trot fast, my dapple-gray!

Spring over the ground like a hunting-hound,

For this is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood—

And straight through the barnyard gate,

We seem to go extremely slow,

It is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the wood,

Old Jowler hears our bells.

He shakes his pow, with a loud bow-wow,

And thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the wood,

When Grandmother sees us come,

She will say, "Oh, dear, the children are here,

Bring a pie for everyone."

Over the river, and through the wood—

Now Grandmother's cap I spy!

Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?

Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Happy Thanksgiving and a Recipe for Queen's Cake

Last Thanksgiving, I posted a recipe for a Victorian pumpkin pie:

http://bryonyseries.blogspot.com/2010/11/1850-recipe-for-pumpkin-pie.html

This year, I found something a little different: Queen's Cake. It's far too rich for me to reproduce at home, but perhaps you're a bit more indulgant. At any rate, it's certainly not intended for everyday fare.

So if you're an adult from the United States and are commemorating Thanksgiving today, or if you live in another country and just feeling overall celebratory, and you have some time to spare, perhaps give this recipe a try.

First published in

Miss Beecher’s domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplement to her Treatise on domestic economy.

Queen's Cake:

1 pound dried and sifted flour

1 pound sugar

1/2 pound butter

4 eggs

1 nutmeg

1 gill of wine

1 gill of brandy

1 gill thin cream

1 pound fruit

Rub butter and sugar together. Beat separately the yolks and whites of the eggs. Mix all the ingredients, except the flour and the fruit, which must be added just before putting in the oven. This makes two three-pint pans full. It requires one and a half hours to bake.

Note: 1 gill equals 1/2 cup

Courtney and Katie Mini Documentary

NCYC 2011 DAY 2 : MashetiMoses

"EXTRA HANDS of HOPE" , Written/Performed by Charmane Ward

AMAZING! One Man Plays Two Grand Pianos At Once - La Campanella - Josh W...

Tuatha De Danaan Celtic Spirit COMING HOME

NaNoWriMo Day # 18 and "The Master Player" by Paul Lawrence Dunbar

Bryony Prequel, Section One: Nothing

Word Count: 0

Hopefully, this is something I can rectify starting tomorrow morning!

The challenges to attaining it: I have two editors going on vacation, so they  need stories stockpiled, plus I have early deadlines with next week's Thanksgiving holiday.

The very good news: Our family will celebrate a formal Thanksgiving this Sunday and an informal one the following Saturday, so I will have a stretch of time when no one will want anything from me. I can see it now, a several day stretch of fiction and more fiction.

Please, God, no more emergencies.


"The Master-Player"
Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)

An old, worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed,
To play. But each in turn had found
No sweet responsiveness of sound.

Then Love the Master–Player came
With heaving breast and eyes aflame;
The Harp he took all undismayed,
Smote on its strings, still strange to song,
And brought forth music sweet and strong.

NaNoWriMo Day #16 & 17 and Driving Directions to Munsonville

Bryony Preqel, Section One, Etc: Nothing :(

Word Count: 0

The plan is to return to the prequel tomorrow, barring additional unforseen disasters, etc.

On a brighter note, my sixteen year old son Daniel, who has a fascination for maps and geography, worked out "driving directions" to fictional Munsonville based on reading the Bryony books. Warning: Munsonville exists solely in the imagination. I'm sure where one might end up by traveling this route.

Assuming Grovers Park, Illinois, is near Highland Park, Illinois:

1) Go south on Highway 94 to Highway 196 (114.96 miles; 2 hours, 16 minutes)

2) Go north on Highway 196 until Highway 131 in Grand Rapids, Michigan (79.80 miles; 1 hour, 19 minutes)

3) Go north on Highway 131 to Exit 15 (Black Spruce Road) in Thornton (164.30 miles; 2 hours, 45 minutes)

4) Stay east through the towns of Shelby (30 minutes), Jenson (30 minutes), and into Munsonville (30 minutes). (82 miles; 1 hour, 30 minutes)

Estimated travel distance and time: 359.85 miles; 9 hours, 10 minutes

Bryony Official Music Video

NaNoWriMo #15 and Over-Editing Syndrome

Bryony Preqeul, Secton One, etc.: No check. :(

Word Count: 0

I debated titling this blog Confession of a Medical Phobic (I had an allergic reaction to one of the antibiotics I was taking, so I get to try a NEW drug tonight, oh joy!), but decided to focus on another condition I've been battling: over-editing syndrome.

Over the past couple of years, the amount of editing I do has vastly increased. I not only self-edit my "regular" work, but I've spent hours upon hours pouring through Bryony, and that's on top of the occasional editing assignment I'll assume for another writer.

While all this editing is sharpening my skills, I now have an inner editor monitoring my social media posts and my rough drafts, but it doesn't stop there. I scour for mistakes in my children's textbooks, other books I am reading (I can now pick up any book and find errors), and even educational pamphlets.

The other night, while at a hospital emergency department, I noticed a stack of flyers listing policy and procedures. Since I had nothing else to do as I waited at the desk, I read the flyer. Soon, I was nudging my son and pointing.

"There's a common error here."

He rolled his eyes.

Then I noticed the "pardon our dust" construction sign on the window.

"I don't know," I said. "The sentence structure sounds clumsy."

You get the picture.

As I read through Bryony's proof copy for what I hope will be the last time, I have to squelch the urge to second-guess grammar and punctuation rules and rewrite, rewrite, rewrite.

I hear this is common with other writers, but I never dreamed I'd fall victim to it. So if my mind is so persnickety, Why do I still keep making mistakes?

NaNoWriMo Day #'s 13 & 14 and Miscellaneous Munsonville Musings

Bryony Prequel, Section One: Nothing

Word Count: 0

Hand is getting there; hopefully, the prequel will soon be, too. I'm reluctant to give away details yet, since I will be writing about the mishap for the Herald News. When that day comes, I'll share the link. At any rate, National Novel Writing Month's good intentions aside, this was one sidetrack I hadn't seen coming.

My book designer, Serena Diosa, author of Tinkey's Goldfish, had a family emergency last week, but we are meeting on Thursday evening. I'm using this extra time to give Bryony one last read. Once formatting errors are repaired, we will FINALLY have a book ready to go. I've also made a dent in some other editing projects, so, all in all, the hand injury wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Definitely missing the five-mile walk, but had no energy for it, until today. Now, if I could just stop oversleeping....

On the crisis homefront, I now have a sick cat, and my oldest son has an infected tooth. He's following right behind my oldest daughter, who just had four iinfected and impacted wisdom teeth removed and then waged war on an antibiotic allergic reaction and two dry sockets. Rebekah pulled her back while emptying garbage cans at the warehouse, and Daniel's bloody nose has returned, necessitating another cauterization. It's starting to look like an infirmary around here.

Sarah Stegall, Bryony's web administrator, has been working with Rebekah (who's now offically the web administrator assistant) on creating Bryony Facebook ads. Those should be up and running by next week. Tommy Connolly, Bryony's media researcher and developer, is putting the finishing touches on the press kit.

Last Wednesday, earlier in the day, before the hand emergency thing, the lovely Kallan Dee Ellis of KALLAN Studios, shot some gorgeous publicity photos at the P. Seth Magosky Museum of Victorian Life and Joliet History. The idea was to have a press shot of me with a Bryony aura, and Kallan more than successfully accomplished it. I can't wait to show off the pictures!

Also, Dulcinea Hawksworth, Bryony's director of marketing, completed the "music box," which has been duly sent for CAL Graphics, Inc. for completion of the official CD cover for The Best-Loved Compositions of John Simons, the CD that contains all the Bryony music--including the theme song--that pianist/composer James Onohan created just for the novel.

To create Bryony's music box, Dulcinea started with simple wood box with a gold clasp from a craft store, stained the box to resemble cherry wood, then painted on green vines and pink flowers. I think she is also intending to line it. I've only seen pictures, but those are beautiful. I can't wait to see it up close.

In the meantime, I'm reveiwing editing options for Visage, so we can start, in earnest, on planning a release date for Bryony book number two. We are also in the end stages of finalizing the Bryony cookbook.

Stay tuned and pray this author's hands stay safe!

"Simple Gifts" (old Shaker hymn) performed by Kathy Welch

NaNoWriMo Day #12 and a Plea from Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara

Bryony Prequel, Section One, et., etc.: No check.
Word Count: 0.

Still struggling with the hand, so saving energy reserves, etc. to regular assignments, which are mounting. Still, have full intentions of returning to that prequel sooner than later.

In the meantime, I received an email from Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, concerning "voter fraud" surrounding his annual Queen of Christmas contest.

You see, one of Ed's "community-building" projects in the newspaper distrubution center where he currently works is buying and giving Christmas presents to all of the carriers' children in his agency.

As part of this project, Ed asks the carriers to submit names of women carriers they feel would make an ideal Queen of Christmas. The winner collects the childrens' names, ages, and general interests for Ed; they also distribute the presents he purchases.

So what's the problem? I'll let you read it for yourself.

Hard as it may be to believe, I have been accused of unethically influencing the Queen of Christmas nominations. Naturally, I promised a full and speedy investigation from an independent, fair, and reputable investigator.

Only after making that promise did I wonder if I knew anyone like that! But, of course, I do. You, Denise, have the journalistic chops that should impress even the most sceptical of my critics.

  

Your mandate is simple! Look for evidence of corruption or misdealings in the nomination process of 2011 on my behave. Remember, I promised a full and speedy investigaion, so you must respond with your findings within my deadline.

Also, you must grant as full of review as can be made on a post 2008 budget, which, if you've opened this email, you're already over. (Sorry, you will not be reimbursed.)

Be fair and inpartial, but remember you're not getting paid for this, and it's not worth your time. When the deadline (five minutes after you receive this) has expired, you need not respond if not a shred of evidence is found; your silence will be understood that way.

However, if you do find wrong doing, you must report it to the proper authorities, unless you consider me as too prejudiced to receive your findings.

P.S. Should you actually look in to this, do not be concerned about the ballots found in the garbarge, as poor handwriting clearly disqualfied them.

Of course, I remained silent (except for a few hearty chuckles while reading). Would you have done otherwise?

NaNoWriMo Day #11 and "Kosmos" by Walt Whitman

Bryony Prequel, First Section, Chapter 10: No check. :(

Word Count: Zero.

No, this is not lack of discipline, or I would not be writing this blog today. I did, however, have a hand injury (right hand, no less, sigh!), whose treatment is taking up some of my time, even as I struggle to meet other deadlines. No fear; I will be back at the prequel before too long.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) seems to be the buzz word lately. One friend is rehearsing a one-man play about Whitman's life; another, who just agreed to do some regular guest-blogging from Bryony, has this poem posted on his Facebook wall. Since it's also one of my favorites, I'm including it here.


Kosmos

WHO includes diversity, and is Nature,
Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and the great charity of the earth, and the equilibrium also,
Who has not look’d forth from the windows, the eyes, for nothing, or whose brain held audience with messengers for nothing;
Who contains believers and disbelievers—Who is the most majestic lover;
Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of realism, spiritualism, and of the aesthetic, or intellectual,	5
Who, having consider’d the Body, finds all its organs and parts good;
Who, out of the theory of the earth, and of his or her body, understands by subtle analogies all other theories,
The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large politics of These States;
Who believes not only in our globe, with its sun and moon, but in other globes, with their suns and moons;
Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day, but for all time, sees races, eras, dates, generations,	10
The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together.

	5

NaNoWriMo Day #10, and a Recipe for the Ailing

Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 9: Check!

Word count: 819

Well, missed another morning today, but I'm feeling confident I can make it back up, now that the story is in my "blood," so to speak.

Had a bit of a mishap last night and moving at a slow pace, but today, I'm very thankful for twenty-first century comfort food. Had I lived in Victorian times, someone might have served me one of these:

Barley Water

2 ounces pearl barley
1/2 pint boiling water
2 quarts boiling water
2 ounces figs
2 ounces raisins, stoned

Put the barley into the half-pint of boiling watere, and let it simmer five minutes; pour off the water, and add the two quarts of boiling water, figs, and raisins, and let it boil till reduced to a quart. Strain it for a drink.

A great Favorite with Invalids:
My note: I already don't like it.

Brisk cider OR acid jellies (when cider is unavailable)
Water
Sugar, to taste
Toasted bread OR toasted crackers
Nutmeg

Take one-third cider or jelly to two-thirds water, sweeten it, crumb in bread or crackers, and grate on nutmeg.

Both recipes adapted from, Miss Beecher’s domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplement to her Treatise on domestic economy.

Arghhh!!! It's Monday morning.

And a crazy Monday it is.

Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines: three stories and one press release, plus a fundraising story. I love fundraising stories, but the "why" is for another post.

In between, I've answered questions about Vamp Fest (the October 14 "Bryony" themed fundraiser for Big Brothers Big Sisters of Will and Grundy Counties--www.bbbs

NaNoWriMo Day #9 and Sneak Peek at "Bryony" Music

Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 8: check!

Word Count: 818

It's James Onohan Wednesday!

The official Bryony CD, The Best-Loved Compostions of John Simons is released and available for purchase through James' website. Samples of all the tracks, including the Bryony theme song, are also on that site.

Even if you're not a lover of piano music, I think you will find James' music hauntingly beautiful. And if you do enjoy quality piano music, no further words are required. A recent reviewer of Bryony just emailed me and said the music sounds just like John. So while you're waiting for Bryony's release, check out this music and get a glimpse into the personality of Bryony's lead vampire.

To listen, visit http://jamesonohan.webs.com/My%20Life%20Bryony.html

NaNoWriMo Day #8 and How Soon Before "Bryony" is Available?

Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 3: Check!

Word Count: 842

Very soon, I hope!

Now that the "red tape," has HOPEFULLY been resolved (and which details, I also hope, can be shared in another blog), I'm meeting with Bryony's book designer on Friday, and we're picking through my notes in the proof copy.

Again, hopefully, we shall finish that last bit of editing (a result of over-editing at this point, but that, too, is a long story), re-upload the manuscript to the printer, find that the red tape has been finally cleared, and order (another hopefully) what should be the last proof copy.

We're targeting a Thanksgiving Day release date. Please send up prayers, well-wishes, nice thoughts, etc., that we're a go this time.

In the meantime, there's been plenty to keep me busy: the usual and customary family drama (and a few additional mountains, too), the prequel to outline, the completion of the press kit (another photo shoot tomorrow), homeschooling, and the welcoming of my third grandson.

I've set aside the editing of Visage (for now) in favor of the prequel and helping to edit Tommy Connolly's (Bryony's media researcher and developer) upcoming book: Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, God, and Myself.

In the book, which is based on his blog (www.tommyconnolly.blogspot.com) Tommy candidly details his journey from life as an addict to new life as a Christian, comedian, and actor. Tommy will donate a portion of the book's profits to  go to Chicago-area addiction, homeless, and mental health centers and programs.

I also have, in various stages of beginnings or completions, two press releases about two outstanding volunteers, a press release about a new hip procedure, a story about a family's fight against polycystic kidney disease, how a youth ministry internship changes a journalism student's life, and an American Idol-type competition.

Coming up this week is a local resident's first CD, a woman who designs fashion-conscious clothing for medical patients, An Extraordinary Life piece on a man who fabricated his original jewelry, and an empath. Also, thankfully, next week's schedule is also full. Plus, I'm on the look-out for a pet story for next Tuesday.

Wish me luck!

NaNoWriMo Day#6, Some Thoughts About the Prequel Thus Far, and Another "Bryony" Moment of the Day

Prequel Chapters 4, 5, 6: Check!
Word Count: 1329
New Files Opened and Notes Made: General Research, New characters, New Places, Backstories

Alllll righty then! I'm back in the novel-writing saddle!

Despite the usual routine and two family emergencies, Bryony's prequel is on its way. I've done some terrific rough drafts on three chapters, delved into some of the history behind them (Praise God for the internet!), opened three new files of notes for further research that needs to be done, and added new info to the fourth.

Of, course, I did get behind in my "regular" work, so this morning requires some restructuring. Nevertheless, that is completely do-able (I hope).

Since the drafts of Bryony books two and three required far less historical background than the first, I'd forgotten how much fun I'd had recreating a past time. And, because this book ventures into all the back stories, there's a ton of new characters to name and enliven, all with THEIR back stories. It's an exhilarating process.

Another Bryony Moment of the Day. A book designer posted a video on my Facebook wall today. She said it reminded her of Bryony. Watch and see!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bobskjQwWI

Lucas Piano - "This is our God" (Hillsong Music Australia 2008)

NaNoWriMo Day #5 and "Bryony" Moment of the Day

Well, it's not even a week into National Novel Writing Month, and I've already slipped away from my best resolve.

Never mind the excuses (and they were good ones, too). I really could have given one hour to the deed had I structured the remaining hours of the day differently. Instead, the proof copy of Bryony beckoned me, which did needed to be scanned for errors since I'm meeting with my book designer on Friday, and, even though I knew I was lying to myself, I decided to quickly read through JUST ONE chapter of the book, then bang out my promised chapter of the prequel.

You can guess what happened.

Even more embarrassing, once I came back to the prequel today (with the equally good intention of writing TWO chapters, along with four writing assignments and the day's assorted fires that needed extinguishing), I spent more time typing in the research that needs to be done if I'm to chronicle the events in that chapter correctly.

In short, I really could've and should've written it yesterday, because it was hardly a brain-taxing task.

So now I'm behind and the only way to catch up tomorrow will be to write those two chapters...and the four writing assignments, sigh!. I did, however, finish the proof copy of Bryony, and that's leaving me feeling pretty darn satisfied.

On another note, did you know I belong to a fan club? It's one dedicated to the 1970's British comedy trio, The Goodies, and, although I haven't visted the site lately, there's an ongoing forum topic called, "Goodie Moment of the Day." That's where fans post random occurances with a Goodie "feel."

Recently, I've had several "Bryony Moments of the Day." Today, I'm posting a link to a story I wrote a few weeks back. It's about a family with a christening gown dating from the 1890's that has been passed down the generations. It's made, of all things, from Irish linen. When I met with two of the family members, they had brought the actual gown for me to see and touch. Wow!

Here's the link. Enjoy!

http://heraldnews.suntimes.com/lifestyles/7674670-423/family-christening-gown-in-use-since-1894.html

NaNoWriMo Day #4 and "Markheim" by Robert Lewis Stephenson

Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 3: check!
Word count:  1789

"Markheim," by Robert Lewis Stephenson, first published in 1884, opens on Christmas Day with the protagonist badgering a shop dealer for the perfect present. The gift, however, is a cover for the protagonist's real motive, which is murder, then theft.

As the protagonist moves about the shop, seeking money, fears of being detected and having the dead body exposed plague him, until a supernatural being warns him of impending visitors and offers to point him in the right direction.

Whenever I read this story with my teens, I always cover the last line and ask them to guess what happens. They are invariably wrong.

Read the full text at
www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/1851/

NaNoWriMo Day #3, Kitty Alarms, and Middle-of-the-Night Cleaning

Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 2: check!
Word count: 1378.

Faith, my calico, woke me up at three a.m., and I am happy for that, but not for my kitty's original intention. I had overslept, but her stomach clock had "dinged" an hour early, so for the next sixty minutes, she, and all her relatives, mournfully followed me around the house while I drank coffee and swept floors, wondering why I wasn't feeding them yet.

Living in a house that never sleeps means I rarely need to set an alarm clock, for I can always count on a "meow" or a phone alarm (Timothy sets it to take his medicine) waking me up should I snooze past my customary rising time.

Luckily, sleeping late rarely cripples my writing schedule, but it does cut into my housework time. A messy, disorganized house seems to breed messy, disorganized minds, which are definite handicaps when you and your family work and school from home.

For some people, those midnight cleaning sprees are insomnia cures only, but for me, they are the most logical times to clean the bathroom, scrub the floors, and note the little projects that need attention (the coffee cart needs reinforcing, the little white bathroom table requires a coat of paint, and the aluminum can bag needs changing).

That's because I not only live in a small house with any number of people and cats moving about it all day long, my life revolves around deadlines, jumping from task to task all day long, and extinguishing fires. Three o'clock in the morning cleaning marathons afford me a long stretch of quiet time, perhaps accompanied by my mP3 player and ear plugs, to scrub, clean, and mentally write. This last is very important since it dramatically cuts down the amount of time I sit staring at a blank screen when I should be typing masterpieces.

And speaking of masterpieces, the computer clock says 6:37. Time to get cracking on that novel!