Celebrating our Dreams

While we encourage our youth to strive and follow their hopes for the future, we also must encourage our seniors to follow their dreams. So many have sunk into their armchair—to wait for death.

I have never been happier. Retiring from an international lifestyle, I moved to a small community in Arkansas. I now follow my dream: To write serious fiction. About Ancient Egypt, to be exact.

The research was fascinating; the gained knowledge astounding. The result—to me, at least—was amazing once Khamsin, The Devil Wind of The Nile, swept out from the Sahara to storm through my pages. I became fascinated with ‘winds,’ and followed up with Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea. My previous sailing experience comes in handy, as does my command of the English language.

Am I just another unknown on Amazon.com? Sadly, “good writing” does not sell in a culture that no longer wants to follow complex sentences and extensive vocabulary.

But to me, the communicative power of an idea, the descriptive beauty of good prose, and the spreading of knowledge, ideas and imagination is a wondrous achievement. To treasure and share these with my readers is my dream.

As I said: I have never been happier.

A Dog Mourns

Back in May, I had an article about “Duke,” the gentle pit bull, who comes and visits our little neighborhood regularly.

Lately, though, he seemed depressed. Whereas he would come bounding over to me waiting for a stick to be thrown, he now just stands there with his head hanging down. First, I thought it was the heat, as he readily lapped up the water I gave him.

Then, sadly, I learned from a neighbor (writers don’t get out much to hear the latest news), that Duke’s young ‘daddy’ had been in a fatal motorcycle accident. Now, I understand: Duke is mourning.

When a Book Makes a Difference

When I wrote about Pasha, it basically began as a love letter to that disreputably smelly tom I adopted from our shelter. I lovingly still refer to him as my “trailer-trash boy,” because that’s where he came from. It wasn’t his fault and, luckily, his natural nobility overcame his sad origins. He is one awesome, loving and tolerant cat. To this day, Pasha visits with the kittens he helped raise, with even a dog-buddy or two thrown in. He is amazing: strong of character, steady of resolve, always forgiving about an errant foot on his tail, or an inexplicable (and cowardly unspecified) attack by cyber-bullies on his story...If only the world would emulate him...I am surely going to try as I remember there are those sad of heart, and mean of soul. I guess they just can’t help it. It is therefore heart-warming when readers comment that Pasha’s journey made them think that, the next time they were to get a pet, it would be from a nearby animal shelter. That’s really what Pasha’s message is all about because all animals deserve to be cherished

Memories--Celebrating Memories

My old turntable finally gave out. I took the thing apart, but there was no rescuing the disintegrating rubber belt. Kaput! As with anything you can’t have, I yearned to hear my old records. Most of them had been sent to me over the years by my parents. Viennese waltzes, delightful operettas and other indigenous sounds of my homeland.

I ordered an old-fashioned-looking apparatus that incorporated modern features. With a celebratory glass of wine, I am solo-dancing to the old sounds. Yes, there is some yodeling involved.

I think it is only fitting to show the fameous bronze of Johann Strauss in Vienna

Shadow on my Heart

Poor Pasha. He does not know yet that his furry little butt was just placed on some nasty lists of three infamous Goodreads trolls, along with all my other books. It is not his fault that his author uses “condescending” words—such as perhaps “unpublished” as I clearly labelled one of my novellas that nevertheless got shelved under “do-not-read.” Duh!

As far as authors go, I am a nobody but I do write real books with big words, alas almost no sex, but in complete sentences. Few sales here and there, and no controversial discussions anywhere about any subject on any site. So, how did these admirable gatekeepers zero in on me? I haven’t the faintest idea. E tu, Brute? Or maybe they hate "the other Borgs," the ones from outer space.

At least, I found that I am in good company. Many others had to endure their pranks condoned by the GR site. Besides, I trust that the overwhelming “To-Be-Read” listings will wipe out this sorry shadow on my writer’s heart. I am thankful for my readers and supporters.

And, if it is still true that “any publicity is good publicity,” I should even be grateful to these misguided individuals as well. This old gal could use a little controversy; it keeps the juices flowing.

Celebrating Good Samaritans

The Rescue of these puppies prompted me to share my poem with you.

My Arkansas

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Forests clad in emerald shrouds

An endless sky dotted with cotton-candy clouds

A darling house that I just bought

This is the Arkansas I sought.

Lumber trucks clamor for strong nerves

A yelping puppy tossed; not what it deserves.

Trash and litter does abound

This is the Arkansas I found.

Life’s multi-layered quilts are evident

from ev’ry distant corner of this land.

Where people kindly rescue dogs and cats,

And women still wear gorgeous hats.

Where gardens bloom by masters’ grace,

And peace pervades this quiet place.

This, too, I found—and happily I vow,

That is my Arkansas right now.

(Excerpt from Moments of the Heart)



Do Not Try This At Home

I usually write about my and other people's pets. However, this should not encourage anyone to keep this one at home as a pet. The following is from my short stories and poetry book: Moments of the Heart.

THE OLD SEAL

Fat-sleeked bodies glisten, fins thrash blackening the water until only the old bull is left on his solitary rock; a deposed king without subjects.

The seals had stayed on this island until the brief summer day relieved the arctic night from its long guard. Here, they had fished the bays without fear of being pierced by storm-driven floes. But on this day, they are to return to the far North to bear the offspring of their new ruler.

The old seal watches until they disappear. For uncounted seasons, he had led his herd unchallenged, reining in the impatient, encouraging the weak, beckoning the disheartened.

He attempts to heave his aching bulk toward the water. His wounds are deep and he longs for the icy spray to numb his pain.

Not since his early years had he been defeated as the herd’s leader. The younger bulls had never before attempted to challenge him. Secretly, patiently, they had waited for them to grow strong; and for him to grow old, and nearsighted, and weak. They attacked in the late morning while the females were sunning. His indignant, angry bellows had echoed over the island, then turned into grunts coarsened by blinding pain. One after the other, the cows had left his side to seek favor with the new ruler who impregnated the still wintry air with heady barks of victory.

A streaming mass of raw burning wounds, the old seal can no longer support himself on his frayed fins. Flat on his fat-rippled belly, he wriggles toward the shore, leaving a trail of darkening blood. He must reach the water before nightfall before frost will sink its murderous teeth into his exposed flesh. Red fog shrouds his sight as he heaves himself toward a drop of jutting rock that lies between him and the water. Over the millennia of their predestined journeys the tumbling herds had chiseled smooth slides toward the ocean. The old seal catches a glimpse of white froth and leaps with habitual faith and his remaining strength toward the savaging edge as razor gravel tears through him. Unconsciousness cloaks his senses.  The incoming tide halted his fall.

Crystals of white spray shudder on his pelt. The faint throb of life still pulses through the old seal’s heart. As the next wave crashes over him it carries him into the sea; he is home.

Punctuality

It is Saturday, and I am celebrating Punctuality for our Friday Blog Hop.

I have never been late for anything. Planes, trains, dates or work. Except once: Working in Vienna (Austria, that is), my roommate and I had been solving the problems of the world the prior evening - with a little too much sweet Red Currant Wine (don't EVER do that!). Instead of phoning in sick (which I was), I frantically hopped onto a streetcar and tore into the office where the receptionist happily told me: "The 'Herr Generaldirector' (CEO) is waiting for you." I am sure the elegant man didn't believe my stuttered excuse that I was at the dentist, and ultimately transferred me to the States (I sometimes wonder if that was his punishment--just joking because I am still here forty years later).

I still live by the clock especially to wake up. My alarm goes off at 5 A.M. That purring in my ear and those cold noses in my face are impossible to ignore.

Pasha and Lilliput waiting for the clock to strike 5 AM.

Celebrating the Stars

It's Friday and I need something to celebrate. Maybe I should mention that my new novella Shadow Sanctuary received its first 5-star review.

What does that have to do with my "animal blog?" First, that's the one I am using for our hopping (through the blogs, that is), and--come to think of it--there are two cats in that novella; one domesticated--the other wild. How is that for an excuse to brag?


I hope you'll also check out my previous post about "Authors and their Tootsies." (There is a theme that runneth through this blog...don't you know?)



Authors and Their Tootsies

Before you get the wrong idea about the title, this picture is of

Author Lee Hanson with Toots,

her “grand-pet.” The darling dog is the star of her daughter’s family.

Lucky Lee has another shining star on her hands: Julie O’Hara, her intrepid body language expert in the highly successful Julie O’Hara Mystery Series. Speaking of stars, all three novels are rated four and five stars on Amazon. Here’s an inside tip… the author’s favorite is book two, Swan Song, about a beautiful young woman who turns up dead one morning in a swan boat on Lake Eola, smack in the middle of a jewel-like park in Downtown Orlando. You’ll never guess who did it…

Check it out here:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0040JI3P6

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PS:  There is another Tootsie in my Pasha’s life:

She is the one occupying the middle of the back cover of his book (print version).

And while she does not belong to an author, her adoring human is that other most appreciated ingredient in an author’s life: an avid Reader.

Sweet Tootsie (Another Shelter Rescue and one of Pasha's Buddies)