Booking a trip

Whenever I travel overseas, I try to read novels ahead of time, usually mysteries, which take place in the countries I am visiting.

It wasn’t always that way. I didn’t read Icelandic mysteries until after my husband and I visited that country. We’d heard that there were a lot of authors in Iceland who loved to write, especially during the long dark cold winters, probably one in three of the 375,000 residents. Perhaps that writing bug had been sparked by the Edda but it was something with which I, as a writer myself, could identify. Yet I discovered when reading the books, one set on an island off Iceland where a lava flow had obliterated a town not all that long ago, that I wished I had read the book first so I could have had a sense of place and known to ask more questions while I was there. I can’t beat myself up too much about that though, since the book was not available in the U.S. It was just something my husband picked up (along with a copy of the Edda he still hasn’t read but does double duty as a doorstop) on our way home.

We both enjoyed the Icelandic books and for a while bought as many as we could find online. Many were written by Yrsa Sigurdardottir and Arnaldur Indridason. The descriptions of the land, weather, and amount of daylight, which was either too much (no such thing in my opinion) or too little, fascinated me, as did their children naming conventions.

Taking our past experience into consideration, I read a few mystery novels written on the Emerald Isle to get a sense of what we might expect on our trip to Ireland. I found that while the language is the same, (at least the English, not the Gaelic) there were several words that I didn’t know. More words unknown to me were explained by our tour guide when he mentioned “gob,” which is mouth, “bog,” a word used in many places but in Ireland refers to where peat comes from, and “craic”  which somehow meant good, or news or gossip or conversation, I think. I’ve been taking a refresher course by reading a book by Patricia Gibney and watching Derry Girls, with the helpful subtitles.

I tried to find Scottish writers’ books before our trip. I had read Outlander many years ago, but I still wanted to see some modern-day people and activities, so found one mystery by Pete Brassett. It put me on the lookout for Scottish food, such as sticky toffee pudding, black pudding, haggis, and the ever-present shortbread which was as common as fish and chips. I also read about the extremely changeable weather which was totally integral to Scotland.

I looked forward to learning some Scottish words and I was not disappointed. I heard terms like “hoolies” (big windy storms, not to be confused with a hooley, a traditional dance and music party,) which tap into my inner linguistic interests. I’d learned long ago about all the words for snow the Inuit have, depending on the conditions, and I was fascinated that the Scots have “dreich,” “snell,” “fret,” “drookit,” “stoating” and many more for rain. They expect the weather to change frequently, and I found myself layering up, but always leaving the umbrella on the bus when the sun was shining, only to be caught in rain on the way back to it.

Shortly after returning home, I picked up a book by Jenny Colgan about a fictional island off the northern coast of Scotland. I had almost forgotten about the unpleasantly sweet drink called Irn-Bru, which our tour guide offered us, when I saw it mentioned in Jenny’s book. She reminded me of many other things we had learned about during our trip, such as Cranachan, a delicious whipped cream raspberry dessert never prepared the same way twice. The book also referred to the coos, which is what they call cows, especially the adorable Highland ones wearing bangs. Reading it was almost like extending our trip.

Don’t get me wrong. I like books written in this country too, and many of them remind me of places I have visited. But if I go somewhere new, there is a very good chance I’m going to try to find a book written by a local author.

Reading & the Other Rs

When my first child came into the world, thankfully my mother was present to help me. In no time, she corrected a major deficiency in my parenting skills.

“Talk to your baby. Don’t be silent. The baby needs to hear your voice.”

From then on, I talked to my baby about everything from bathing and dressing, feeding and what happened in the world. My husband and I soon established a routine at bedtime — another of my mother’s wise suggestions. Regardless of where we were in the world, we stuck to a routine: bath, bedtime, read a book, down for the “night.”

By the time our third baby arrived, bedtime had become an assembly line marathon. No matter how old the child, each had a turn in Daddy’s lap reading a book of their choice while Mommy prepared the next in line for their turn or nursed the newborn.

This summer, my business group promoted the opportunity to participate in an ongoing reading program for children of all ages. “Reading Rocks” is held in the city’s parks, every day over a six-week period.  I volunteered to read with or to a child one day each week in the park closest to my workplace. Literacy is one of the necessary fundamental skills. Reading with my children proved to be essential to their education and future employment.

Today, July 25^th, is my last reading session. Most of the children participating in “Reading Rocks” are enrolled in summer daycare programs while their parents are at work. Some of the children have no experience of hearing a story or reading with their parents or other adult.

I gained as much from the program as the children, from encouraging a group of middle school boys to make up their own story based on a title one of the boys had misread, reading to a little girl who was as interested in telling me her story, making the acquaintance of an armadillo from the local zoo and a border collie trained to assist PTSD sufferers.

I was reminded of the many hours I had spent with my children and how rewarding those hours were, especially in terms of the gift of time. 

Thanks to my experienced mother, reading and routine were regularities that established reliability in their young years. There’s more to raising children than reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic.

Perhaps one or two of these young readers will become writers. Story-telling certainly came into my life at a very young age from hearing my mother and father read aloud and tell their own tales.

Why I Write and Read Romance

by Fran McNabb

Not everyone will agree with my opinion here, but that’s okay. Everyone has different likes and dislikes in the books they choose to read and write. Mine happens to be the romance genre. Recently my husband and I watched a rather long movie, almost three hours long. The time didn’t bother me, but the ending did. We watched a soldier fight his way through a bloody war and spend months walking home to get to the woman he loved, just to be killed after only one night with her.

Grrrr. I was mad. The romance writer in me would never have let that happen. I know the point of the story. War is horrible. It shouldn’t be romanticized, but the writers and producers could have made their point another way. I won’t name the movie because it was very well done except for the ending. It depicted the brutality of war. The characters were well developed. The story line was intricately woven. Too bad the ending ruined it—at least for me.

The romance genre is predictable, at least for the endings. Getting to that satisfying ending should not be. I love to read a romance with a unique plot, interesting characters, and, yes, a happy or at least a satisfying ending.

On my website I have a couple of paragraphs about romance and why I write in that genre. I explain that I like a good story that brings me to an "aaah" ending, or leaves me with a tear in my eye or a smile on my face. I like to feel good and be entertained by the books I read or the movies I watch. There’s enough bad in this world so I like to think my books can bring a little joy to someone’s life.

Let me know how you feel. Do you like a feel good ending in your books or one that leaves you with the harsh reality of life?

FRAN MCNABB loved spending time in the city library when she was in junior high. She found the shelf with Avalon’s family-friendly romance novels and read every one of them. Ironically, she started her writing career by publishing with Avalon in 2006. Today she has nine published books, all in the romance genre. Visit her at www.FranMcNabb.com or at mcnabbf@bellsouth.net.

A few small adjustments

On the last Saturday in August, my husband and I arrived in Kayenta, Arizona. We have come here, to the heart of the Navajo Nation, to work in an addiction recovery program called The Good Way. We are already learning to love it here, but there are a few differences between our new home in Kayenta and our former home in the Sacramento Valley. We are making some small adjustments.

For one thing, we are adjusting to an entirely different kind of natural beauty. Our former home was surrounded by brilliant green rice fields and peach orchards. Here we are less than a half-hour's drive from both Mexican Hat and Monument Valley.






  In California, our garage was about four feet above street level. We had a nice, smooth concrete driveway that rose gradually from one level to the other.

Here the street above our home is substantially above our home--about fifteen feet or perhaps a little more. Our driveway is somewhat different as well.

The cattle guard at the bottom is also a difference. Here the livestock roam freely while the people are fenced in.



Our little city car is getting used to driving on pitted dirt or gravel roads as well.



Our living space is also somewhat smaller than we had grown accustomed to. How much smaller? We are living in half  of the building shown below. We have decided to call it cozy.

  

Much is different here on the Navajo Nation. We are adjusting to the weather as well. (When the wind blows here, it really blows! Dust storms are common.)


We are getting used to driving two hours in one direction or three in another to get anywhere with major shopping centers, but that's okay too. Everyone here does that--unless they're shopping in the Kayenta Township flea market, open every Wednesday.

Much is indeed different, but people here have been wonderful, warm and kind. We are learning to "walk in beauty," a reference both to the Navajo Beauty Way and the sandstone formation just above our home, known locally as The Toes.

May you also walk in beauty.

Susan Aylworth and her husband, Roger, are full-time missionaries serving in the Navajo Nation. They have recently moved to Kayenta, Arizona. They are the parents of seven and grandparents to twenty-five. Susan is the author of fourteen novels. Find them at Amazon or at other e-book platforms or at www.susanaylworth.com. You may also reach her @SusanAylworth on Twitter or at susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com. 

Men who Cook

When a mom is raising sons, she has to decide what kind of men she wants to raise. For me, raising men who cook was a top priority. (It's no coincidence that the romantic heroes in my books are often found in the kitchen.)

My dad always cooked. Although Mom usually did most of the cooking, Dad worked beside her--cutting up a salad, prepping fresh fruit and vegetables, chopping onions for the dish she was cooking. If Mom was the chef, Dad was the prep cook. When Mom was needed elsewhere, he could take over and run the whole show--which he frequently did. My brothers learned both by example and by being taught, invited into the kitchen and told how to help.

The family that raised my husband did not take the same approach. Though he is usually willing--and decades of experience have taught him how to throw a few kinds of meals together if necessary--Hubby prefers to bake goodies, his one great cooking expertise.

When our genetic mix produced sons, I was determined they would learn to cook. It worked well for most of them. The one great exception is the boy who took "Foods" four years in high school, but never really learned to cook anything.

My eldest can cook all kinds of foods, but like many men, he specializes in barbeque. His BBQ wins awards and gets him invitations to cook for crowds at parties and fund raisers. He's also a superior breakfast cook.

Son #2 is a chef. "Cooking is creation," he likes to say, "but baking is chemistry." While he largely leaves the baking to others, he subscribes to foodie magazines, watches the Food Network on TV, and experiments constantly with recipes. At the end of a stressful day, he unwinds in the kitchen, leaving his wife free to take on other duties such as helping the kids with homework.

One of his more enjoyable work conferences featured an onstage cooking performance and a meal prepared by celebrity chef Guy Fieri. Anyone who knows my son will not be surprised to know that he skipped a chunk of the conference to introduce himself in the kitchen and ask, "Do you need any help?" He spent the rest of the day working side-by-side with the famous chef and even helping in his onstage show. Teaching this son to cook produced not only a fine household chef, but a bold and polished showman who loves the kitchen.

Like his showman brother, our youngest watches the Food Network, studies recipes, and experiments with variations. He's the one who created a "flying pig" for Thanksgiving last year. You've heard of the Turducken--the deboned chicken stuffed inside a deboned duck which is then stuffed into a deboned turkey and all of it stuffed with stuffing? The "flying pig" takes it one step farther with a layer of ham as well as some bacon in part of the stuffing. Talk about a gourmet treat! I felt rather smug when I saw what had come from teaching this son to cook. This son is coming this weekend to bake Halloween goodies with his wife and (adorable, of course!) children.

Son #4, the one who spent most of three years living in Korea, has learned to prepare Korean food together with a number of other meals and can easily take over the kitchen if his wife is busy elsewhere or he just feels like it. So can Son #5, although he is generally less interested and tends to leave the cooking--except for the outdoor BBQ--to his wife.

It's been an adventure to see how my efforts to raise men who cook have produced such varied results--everything from the son who can hold his own with the best to the one who thinks micro-waving a hot dog is the height of culinary effort. It should also be mentioned here that I have one daughter, who is an excellent cook.

One never knows how parental teaching will play out, but I was gifted with cooks. My daughters-in-law, son-in-law, and grandchildren are glad I made the effort.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 14 novels, all available as e-books. She loves her northern California home which she shares with her husband of 46 years and the two spoiled cats they serve. When she can't be with her seven children, seven great kids-in-law, and 25 grandbabies, she loves hanging with her fictional offspring, the children of her mind. She also loves hearing from readers. Visit her website at www.susanaylworth.com or find her @SusanAylworth, at .facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author, or on Pinterest.

Feeling Naked - No Phone

by Fran McNabb

On my way to a doctor’s appointment this morning, I realized I’d forgotten my cell phone. No

big deal, right? Wrong. I wasn’t going far, just a couple of miles, but I felt vulnerable, and yes, naked.

 

What would I do if I had car trouble? Flat tire? A wreck? What if I stopped at the grocery store on my way home? How would I call my husband to see if he’d thought of something else we needed?

My mind spun. I felt alone. I thought about going back to the house to get the phone, but I didn’t want to be late so I moved along with the slow flow of traffic. I arrived at the doctor’s office a few minutes early, checked in, then took my seat along with the four other people waiting for their names to be called.

 

The first thing I did was to reach into my purse for my phone, but alas, I remembered I didn’t have it with me. I looked at the others in the lobby, but no one acknowledged me. How could they? All of them had their heads down looking at their cell phones.

 

I wanted to giggle. This little waiting room wasn’t just a doctor’s lobby. It was a tiny slice of the world around us, made up of people living and working alongside of others, but most of the time isolating themselves from the masses around them.

 We’ve become a nation dependent on technology. The cell phone is just one of the pieces of technology that has become a necessary part of our lives. Is that a bad thing? Certainly not. I could write for pages about how the phone has made our lives easier, but not today. Today as I think about the waiting room, I wonder how many lives we’ve neglected to see around us because we were so engrossed in our emails, texts, and internet.

 When the nurse called my name, I picked up my purse, smiled to the young man who actually looked up when I stood. I realized if I had had my phone, I would’ve been just like them—isolated and much too involved in a tiny piece of technology to see those around me.

After my appointment, I didn’t stop at the store. I rushed home and the first thing I did was to locate my phone. I didn’t like feeling naked. I wanted to feel connected.

Fran McNabb and her husband live along the Gulf Coast where they raised their two sons. She has used the beaches, islands, and waterways in this area for many of her seven published books. When she and her husband are not boating or fishing, she loves presenting writing workshops. Visit her at www.FranMcNabb.com and mcnabbf@bellsouth.net.