Beach Craft...Just in Time for Summer!

posted by Jayne Ormerod

This is the view when you come in the back door of our little beach cottage.  So while life is not always a "vacation," at least every time it feels like one!

But this is what it looked like before I got crafty:

Boring, right????  And it screamed "You've got a long list of chores to be done. Go get a load of laundry!" Not the thing you want to think about all the time.


So one day I decided the room need a look with a more positive vibe.  This one-day craft project involved a trip to Michael's for craft supplies and two hours of painting.  It comprised of four east steps:

Clear the clutter.

Stencil the words. (Paint and brushes, Michael's <$10)

Apply the flip-flop stick ons (Michael's, <$15)

Roll up the towels and fill the beach bag.

The project was cheap, required no talent, had was done before it was time to start cooking dinner.  Easy Peasy.  And fun.

But in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that things got a bit out of hand when I decided I needed a nice piece of furniture to hide the clutter.  Thankfully the furniture store was having a sale and since it was the last one I got the "floor sample discount", so $250 over budget. But you can’t put a price on “perfect” when it comes to decorating, can you?

Isn't that the way that projects usually go? 

Now I'm waiting for the dryer to break down so I can get really nice stainless steel front-loading washer/dryer set.  This brings to mind the Home Depot commercial where a woman takes a sledge hammer to her old machine and informs her husband that it "broke" and she needs a new one.  (Anyone got a sledge hammer handy?)

Happy crafting, beach lovers!

Oh! The Places I've Been

Posted by Jayne Ormerod

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You’re off to Great Places!

You’re off and away!

So begins the motivational book, Oh, The Places You’ll Go by the esteemed Dr. Seuss.

            The book was first published in 1990, years after my own graduation from high school, but if someone had given it to me I would have scoffed.  Why would anyone want to go explore that big scary world when everything I wanted/needed was right here in my small Ohio town?  I planned to live in the same area–possibly the same house–where I had grown up and raise a whole passel of children who would wear the same unflattering Orange and Black school colors and then they’d grow up and have babies of their own and live right next door to me.  In a word, I was wanderlust-less.  So even if Oh, The Places You’ll Gohad been available, its encouragement to go off and see the world would have been wasted on me. 

You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself

Any direction you choose.

            Okay, I did wander a teeny bit, about 300 miles south to college in another small Ohio town.   It was there I fell in love with a Navy ROTC man and, in complete contrast to my life’s plan, we sailed off to see the world.  None of that “live in the same house for the rest of my life” for me.  Nope.  Not even close.  Over the course of 28 ½ years we’ve had 18 home addresses and made six coast-to-coast moves (one with only 10 days notice), and we’re not done yet.   And, oh, the places I’ve been. 

            First let me just say I wouldn’t even be a writer if we hadn’t had to schlep our worldly belongings to a new place every few years.  Even though I’d begun my Navy Wife adventure armed with a degree in accounting, every time we moved to a new cityI had to start at the bottom of the food chain again.  Eventually I forsook my career to be a stay at home mom.  With not much else to do on those long lonely evenings while my husband was deployed, I did a lot of reading.  And then writing.  And finally I decided that writing was a more transportable career than accounting, and the switch became official. 

            Here’s a little secret – I’d never really wanted to be an accountant.  Ever since I’d read The Secret of the Old Clock, I’d wanted to be a writer, but my parents thought I had a better chance of supporting myself if I had a business degree.  And it did help, if only because it led me to a career as a navy spouse. And oh, how the places I’ve been have influenced my writing. 

It’s opener there

In the wide open air.

Out there things can happen

And frequently do

            My writing has benefited from living so many places because that translates to exposure to new and exciting foods. Trust me when I say, “Military spouses do potluck parties better than anyone.”   Be the occasion a BUNCO game or a Wardroom Hail and Farewell or a half-way through deployment bash, the participants always bring their best “home cooking”.  I prefer to learn about foods this way instead of watching the Food Channel because I not only see, but also smell and taste all the yummy dishes.  So instead of feeding my characters a steady 1960’s diet of meat, potatoes and Jell-O salads, they now feast on everything from Lumpia (Filipino Egg Rolls) to authentic southwestern Salsa to Kahlua Trifle.  So I’m happy, my characters are happy and the reader is happy.  And hungry. 

            My characters, as well as my readers, also benefit from the many styles of homes we have lived in.  I can write with a modicum of authority about everything from inner city apartments to aging suburban cookie-cutter neighborhoods to brand new beach side cottages to rural farmhouses or old (and possibly haunted) sprawling Victorian homes.  Yes, a writer can look at a picture to use as inspiration for a character’s living space, but I’ve actually tripped over a hump in our old plank floor causing me to fall and break my wrist and had to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for 10 in a kitchen the size of a closet and had a flock of seagulls attack the food table at an outdoor barbecue.  I’ve brought these experiences to my writing.     

            But the story element most influenced by our nomadic lifestyle is setting.  Except for one tour in Memphis,Tennessee, we have always lived within a flip-flop’s throw of the ocean.  So the beach lifestyle combined with my small town roots has shown up in every piece I’ve written.  Introducing the feel of sand between the character’s toes or the scratchy feeling when it invades a bathing suit is a great way to infuse the sense of touch.  This, in turn, draws the reader deeper into the story.  The sound of crashing waves is a universal soother.  The sight of a sunrise on the water makes everyone happy, not just John Denver.  (Oops, I think my age is showing there.)   Appealing to the reader’s five senses is the best way to help them experience what the characters are experiencing, and by engaging their seaside senses, they enjoy a vicarious trip to the beach.

            Had I not wandered far from home I imagine my stories would be full of a sameness, rather “beige” instead of colorful. Not bold, not spicy, and not worldly.  And I don’t imagine they would be the least bit entertaining. They’d be as “wanderlust-less” as my teenage self. 

            Dr. Seuss may have been talking about graduates heading off into the world, but his poem has meaning for any aspiring writer, encouraging them to go off and experience life before writing about it.  

You’re off to Great Places!

Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting.

So – get on your way! 

"Surprise, Surprise" a Romantic Short Story by Jayne Ormerod

          I’ve swum with sharks in the Caribbean, jumped out of a plane from 4,000 feet above ground level and shot a basketball from half-court in an attempt to win a million dollars. If I combined the nervousness of all three of these events, it wouldn’t amount to more than one snowflake in the blizzard of anxiety I felt right now. What had I been thinking?

          Standing on a crowded pier at Naval Station Norfolk, I waited to meet the man of my dreams. Literally meet, as our relationship consisted of six months and eleven days of emails. We’d swapped pictures, and the sight of him in his dress blue uniform with all those colorful ribbons had sent my heart ka-thumping like a steel drum solo. But photos could be doctored, emails ghost-written, and marital statuses falsified. For all I knew, one of these wives and papoosed infants were waiting for him, too. What had I been thinking?

          I’d lied to my parents, telling them I was going on a camping trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains with my sorority sisters. I’d also deceived them about my cyber relationship with my naval officer. They had no idea Lieutenant Jake Porter existed, let alone that I had accepted his very romantic cyber-proposal of marriage. What had I been thinking?

          And if that wasn’t enough, I’d bribed a workman to sneak me onto the base. What was a poor girl to do? I’d driven 529.9 miles only to discover that security around the navy base was designed to keep terrorists out and was no match for a naïve fiancé, regardless of how hard I batted my baby greens at the young MP. So not only was I going to hell for lying to my parents, I could also be going to jail for slipping an electrician a hundred bucks to let me ride with him in his truck when he drove through the gates.

          “Guess you didn’t get the memo on pantyhose,” said a woman standing next to me.

          I compared her cute sailor shorts and midriff-baring sailor top, bare legs and matching sneakers against my mint green linen dress, taupe hose and three-inch strappy sandals. She was cool and sexy, I was hot and frumpy. I hadn’t planned on standing for three hours in the heat and humidity that defined southeastern Virginia summer. “This is my first homecoming.”

“I remember my first. Isn’t it exciting?”

          “Yes,” I lied. Terrifying would be a more accurate adjective.

          I licked my lips and felt the effects of too much sun and not enough sunscreen. Jake’s and my first kiss would be like satin scraping sandpaper. How unromantic was that? One more tick on the “Stupid” side of the scorecard keeping track of my romantic folly. “Can you tell me how this works? I mean, how do you find your sailor?”

          “Don’t worry, he’ll find you.”

          A cheer erupted from the crowd at the emergence of a great grey ghost on the horizon. The USS MACDONALD inched closer to the pier after her nine-month deployment to the Persian Gulf. A gigantic red, white and blue lei hung from the bow until it just skimmed the water.  Sailors dressed in Cracker Jack uniforms stood “at ease” around the perimeter of the deck. The sight sparked a surge of patriotic pride I didn’t know I had.

          Tugs pushed the ship into her berth as deckhands scrambled to toss lines and secure her to the pier. The band struck up “God Bless the USA” as the crowd tightened its ranks until deep, nerve-calming breaths were no longer an option for me. Finally, when I thought my heart would explode from my chest from all the excitement, the gangplank was lowered to connect the ship to land and the Captain called liberty.

          Sailors rushed forward to meet their newborn babies for the first time. Men swooped women into their arms and spun them in dizzying circles. Female sailors grabbed children they hadn’t seen in almost a year and held them tight. A melee of kissing, hugging, crying and shouting surrounded me. Joy filled my heart as I searched every smiling face for Lieutenant Jake Porter.

          An hour later, I stood alone on the pier. My romantic dreams felt like the discarded rose petals that littered the ground.

          “Can I help you?” a sailor shouldering a sea bag asked.

          “Is everyone off the ship?”

          “The duty section has to stay onboard. Usually the bachelors volunteer so the married ones can spend time with their families.”

          “How would I find out if someone has duty? I’m, ah, kind of surprising him.”

          The young sailor smiled. “The Duty Officer on the quarterdeck can help you. Just go up those stairs and across the brow.” With a tip of his Dixie cup hat, he turned and walked down the pier.

          “Thank you,” I called after him and flew towards the ship.

          With every step I took up the steep metal staircase and across the gangplank, my emotions flipped between hope and despair. Ensign Singleton approached me when I stepped onto the quarterdeck. “I’m here to see Lieutenant Porter,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

          A puzzled look crossed his face. “Your name?”

          “Kara Stevens. I’m a friend of Jake’s.”

          He nodded. Then silence. Cold stone silence. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully. I prepared myself for the worst.

          “Lieutenant Porter is not aboard, Ma’am,” he said.

          “Oh.” He must have left without me seeing him. But then I didn’t really know what he looked like, did I? The idiocy of my engagement hit me like a jumping roundhouse kick to my solar plexus. What a fool I’d been to believe in a relationship that was as intangible as the cyber world in which it had been created. This had probably been a game to him, a diversion to help pass the time of the long, lonely days at sea.       

          I kicked off my shamefully expensive strapy sandals and tossed them into the oily waters of the Elizabeth River before racing across the gangplank and down to the pier. The scorching asphalt against my stockinged feet gave me something to cry about. I’d just allowed myself my first long, mournful wail when the refrain of “Hey There Delilah” sang from my pocket. Last Sunday, Jake and I had declared that as “our” song and I’d changed my incoming ring tone immediately. I reached for my cell phone with the intention of tossing it to be with my shoes, when the caller ID caught my eye. Mom. I’d better answer, but I couldn’t let her hear me crying. Deep breath. Nose wipe against the shoulder of my mint green dress. Sniffle. Throat clear. “Hi, Mom.”

          “Kara?” asked a deep male voice. “This is Jake.”

          “Oh,” was all I could choke out against the tide of tears that rushed out despite my best efforts to control myself.

          “I pulled a few strings," he said, "and flew off the ship a day early so I could get to Cleveland to surprise you.  Your mom tells me you’re camping.”

          “No, I’m standing beside your ship. I wanted to surprise you.”

* * *

          I spotted Jake first as he rode the escalator down to the baggage claim area. The sight of him, standing tall in his crisp white uniform and shiny gold buttons, took my breath away. Our first kiss, where lips met lips and souls met souls, turned my legs to spaghetti. When he dropped to one knee and, amidst the cheers of hundreds of other travelers, presented me with an antique diamond engagement ring, I nearly went into cardiac arrest. I’d doubted this man’s love for me? What had I been thinking?

A Sure Sign of Spring

posted by Jayne Ormerod

     As snow still covers the ground in my home in southeastern Virginia (where “normal” temps are in the high 50s this time of year—today we’re expected to top out at 29!) it seems natural for my thoughts to turn to spring.  More specifically, spring activities, such as gardening.  So I thought I’d dig out and dust off an article I wrote almost 10 years ago, but is still relevant today, and gives me hope that spring will be here soon!

YARD OF THE MONTH

My first gardening catalog came addressed to “Robert S. Jones or Current Resident."  That’s me.  Current resident.  We’d just made our fourth move in two years in conjunction with my husband’s career in the US Navy.  He had orders for twenty-four months.  Why, that’s long enough to plant perennials, I thought! 

                I showed a great deal of restraint when I limited myself to a $500 order from that gardening catalog.  A rainbow of reds, whites, blues, pinks and yellows.  A selection of varying heights and curious textures.  My home would stand out from the others in this new, cookie-cutter neighborhood.  Okay, so I would eat nothing by macaroni and cheese for two months, but with the Yard of the Month awarded by my neighborhood association came a $50 gift certificate to the garden center, so it would balance the financial scales a bit.  And based on the glossy catalog pictures of what my gardens would look like, I was a sure winner.

One sunny day in early April a small box arrived.  A very small box filled with more than a hundred two-inch plants that looked like they should be on life support.  But hope springs eternal, and I had faith these would grow quickly to look like the advertisement in no time.

                The instructions said I should plant the garden as soon as possible.  Hmmm.  I hadn’t actually thought about that part of it.  I’d ordered enough flora to fill three very large areas, all of which were currently sprouting bright green weeds.  As any good navy wife would do, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.

                First I outlined the beds with edging bricks, hauled in station-wagon loads of 50 per day.  That took two weeks.  Next step was to loosen the top four inches of soil.  After three days of back-breaking labor, I broke down and rented a tiller.  Then the dump truck deposited a load of topsoil in the middle of the driveway when I wasn’t looking. I had to borrow my neighbor’s car to run to the hardware store to purchase a wheelbarrow and move the dirt before I could even get my car out of the garage.  The important lesson here was exactly how much dirt fit into a dump truck, most of which my neighbor ended up using to fill in his swimming pool.  Thinking I’d learned my lesson on the soil, I opted for hauling in mulch bag by bag by bag by bag.  One-hundred and seventy-two, if memory serves.

                It took over a month, but I celebrated the day I popped the teeny plants into their tiny holes, being careful to adhere to the paint-by-number instructions in order to achieve the same stunning effect shown in their catalog.  Little tiny specks of plants spaced twelve to eighteen inches apart.  It looked like a barren wasteland.  I wanted to cry.  It looked pathetic.  All that work….  My back ached, my legs ached, my hands ached.  But most of all, my budget ached.  I was in for over $1,500, once I figured in the repair costs after I’d run over the tiller I’d parked behind my car.  I reminded myself it would all be worth it when my husband returned from deployment to find our yard looked like it should be on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.

                That was my very expensive lesson in patience.  Having been raised in a well-established mill town, I’d taken flora planted by long-dead ancestors for granted.  I had no idea it took fifty years for ivy to climb the brick exteriors, or forsythia bushes to grow as tall as the houses.  I expected instant gratification in my gardens.  Needless to say, my sparse plantings did not earn me Yard of the Month, let alone even a "wow" from my husband when he returned home.

                We moved nine times over the next fourteen years.  I never again made the mistake of undertaking significant landscaping projects I would never be around long enough to enjoy, but at every place we lived I left some small patch of perennials or a few puny peonies for a future nomadic tenant to enjoy.

                We found ourselves back in the area of our first home and detoured down the street where I’d foolishly invested so much time, energy and money.  I cried when I saw it.  The big pink peony blooms smiling up at the sunshine took my breath away.  Lush vinca had filled in enough to choke out all the weeks and make annual mulching unnecessary (which had been my goal.)  The gardenia bushes, which had started as one-foot high twigs, now formed a tall, thick, fragrant hedge.  But the thing that caught my eye was a sign right smack dab in the middle of the beautiful red, white and blue field of perennials—Yard of the Month.  That sign was more a testimony to the passage of time than to my efforts, and certainly the current homeowners spent a lot of energy and money maintaining it all through the years.  But even though the sign read Yard of the Month, I know what it really meant…Congratulations Jayne Ormerod! You’re a Gardener with Vision!  

Getting to Know Us—Love Songs

Collected by Jayne Ormerod

 Let’s all sing together now (cue the bouncing ball over the words…)

“What the world needs now is love sweet love…it’s the only thing that there is just too little of!”

In keeping with the Classic and Cozy them this month, we are forgoing our regular one-on-one interview with one of our bloggers but instead have invited members to share with us their favorite Love Song.  Choices say a lot about a person, IMHO, so let’s get to know us a little better. And by the end of your post you might have a few ideas for a Valentine’s Play List. 

Gina Ardito:

My all-time favorite love song is "At Last" by Etta James. Here's why:

Okay, don't tell my husband, but before I met him, I was dating someone else and that song came on the radio while we were parked outside my parents' house. It was late--definitely after midnight. Well, he turned up the music and told me to get out of the car. Baffled, I stepped out, and he proceeded to slow dance with me on the front lawn. All these decades later, it's still one of the most romantic things I've ever experienced.

Sandra Wilkens:

Pick a love song?  Oh, my.  Music of all genres can capture my heart, but I was able to narrow it down.  I’ve enjoyed John Denver’s music since I was a girl and I would sit in my grandma’s black rocking chair to listen to his record.  “Annie’s Song” was a favorite romantic song for most of my life, but a few years ago I found a little known gem called “For You”.  It’s his pure voice and a piano.  The entire song is lovely, but these lines really resonate with me.  “Just to look in your eyes again…Just to live in your laughter…Just to sing in your heart…Just to be every one of your dreams come true…For you—for the rest of my life…For you—all the best of my life…For you alone, only for you.” 

Janis Susan May Patterson

My favorite love song is "If Tomorrow Never Comes - Will She Know How Much I Loved Her" as done by Garth Brooks. It was the song he was singing (at a concert) when I decided that after 50 years of singledom I wanted to marry the man who became my husband. 

Leigh Verrill-Rhys

My favorite love song is: Stephen Bishop's "Looking for the Right One." I heard this song when my husband and I were on a date when we first met (to be detailed on February 24th). The song is so evocative of romance and the heartache of searching for love. I used a line from the Beatles' "I Will" for my debut romance "Wait a Lonely Lifetime" which is echoed in Bishop's later recorded song. Art Garfunkel also recorded  "Looking for the Right One" but Bishop does it best.

Victoria M. Johnson

I'm a die hard Beatles fan--so picking just one favorite love song is hard.  But since my arm is being twisted here, "If I Fell" gets my vote as the most romantic.  The words are so raw, of someone hurt and vulnerable, someone who truly wants to give love another try.  The lyrics are heart wrenching actually.  I would love to love you...  I'm getting choked up just thinking about it.  


Jayne Ormerod

In high school the song my BFF and I thought was THE most romantic song ever was “Muskrat Love” by Captain and Tenille (now divorced…but I digress…)  When it gets to the part about Muskrat Suzie and Muskrat Sam doing the Jitterbug well we substituted our own names paired with whomever the boy was we liked at the time.  My friend Barb would sing “Muskrat Barbie and Muskrat Steve” every time.  She ended up marrying him too! 

So for those of you who have forgotten the lyrics (or are maybe too young to have ever heard them), don’t expect great romance.  In fact from the distance of time they sound kind of cheesey.  But that’s the way we were back in the late 70’s.

Copyright laws preculde me from publishing the lyrics here, but if you need are very curious about the song, you can hear the song and ready the lyrics here:  http://www.oldielyrics.com/lyrics/captain_and_tennille/muskrat_love.html
But consider yourself warned, it's a tough song to get out of your mind!  

Let's talk about Love

by Jayne Ormerod

   It’s a rite of passage, when a young girl bids adieu to group-movie nights and dances held in the high school gym and moves on “grown up” dates…like a military ball.

     It happened to me in 1979.  I’d met a guy at a frat party (also a rite of passage but not quite in the “grown up” date category!) and he invited me to the Navy Birthday ball to be held at a local resort and conference center.  Fancy-schmancy! He showed up on my doorstep wearing his formal U. S. Navy Dress Blue Uniform with “grown up” written all over him.  I sported a light blue chiffon, full-length gown. It was truly a Cinderella Moment for me…until we climbed into his rusty, pea-green Pinto hatchback.  But that’s another story for another day.

     This was 1979 and we were 18 which meant old enough to legally consume 3.2% beer (do the math: drink twice as much to get the same effect full octane beer.) The evening involved lots of men in dress blue uniforms, some sporting lots of medals on their chest (the commanding officer…) and lots of women in sparkling dresses.  We drank our beer and discussed (not talked mind you, but in a very grown-up way discussed) politics and literature and world events.  I pinched myself a few times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming

     I soon remembered the problem with drinking twice as much beer is that you have to visit the ladies’ room twice as often. Before we sat down to dinner (and grown-up speeches that would change the world!) I made one quick visit and returned to the ballroom in time to be seated at one of the many small round tables covered with white linen cloths. There was more stemware and silverware than I knew what to do it.       
     The “head table” with the high-ranking officers and their companions were seated on long dais at the front of the room, overlooking the dance floor which had been pressed into service as the buffet l line.

     They called us by table to take our turn at the buffett, so those of us not in line watched from our seats as other guests piled their plates high with roast beef, baked chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans (I don’t think they’d invented salad in 1979) and other high-carb foods that were the staple of our diet.  While it bore striking similarity to dining hall food, it tasted so much better when seated under dim chandelier lights  and with a linen (not paper) napkin in my lap.

     Eventually our turn came to go belly up to the buffet. It felt like every eye in the house watched me as I filled my plate. About half-way along, a server came up behind me and whispered in my ear…”Honey, you might want to pull your dress down…it’s all tucked up in your underwear.” 
     Yes, there is more to being "grown up" than dressing the part. 

     The good news is the young midshipman married me anyway.  Now that’s love! 

Classic and Cozy Foods: FIG NEWTONS!!!

by Jayne Ormerod

           I like to eat.  Correction, I love to eat. As a result, my characters also love to eat. I incorporate a lot of Classic and Cozy (and hence Comforting) foods in my books.  Here is but one example:    

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sam asked as we exited the dimness of Flossie’s Pharmacy.  I squinted against the sunlight of a glorious summer’s morn.  The three Fig Newtons I’d stuffed in my mouth prevented me from answering, but I figured it was a rhetorical question, anyway.  I was right.

~Excerpted from The Blond Leading the Blond 

          In the interest of researching my topics thoroughly, I did a little research on the Fig Newton.  I was surprised by what I found, not the least of which is January 16th (this Friday!) is National Fig Newton Day!  As they say timing is everything, so let's get ready for the big event by learning all there is to know about Fig Newtons.

          Raise your hand if you thought the Fig Newton was named after that Apple-to-the-Head guy.  You know, Sir Isaac Newton, the brilliant man who first proposed the laws of gravity. Yeah, me too.  But in my research for this food-related topic I learned something quite different. 

          The Fig Newton was originally called just The Newton, named after a town in Massachusetts.  That was back in 1891.  But the cookie wasn't new then; it was already hundreds of years old by that time.  So let’s start our history lesson a few hundred years earlier.

          The history of figs can be traced back as far as 15th century Egypt when figs first began being cultivated.  Somebody (and nobody knows for sure who, because that was a rather long time ago and records did not survive the ensuing 500+ years…) figured out a way to bake the figs into a light pastry in order to keep them fresher longer.

          Good ideas travel fast (well, maybe over a couple hundred years) and the fig-filled-biscuit idea made its way to Sicily, where they were called Cucidati. These special treats were prepared two times a year; Christmas and St. Joseph’s day. 

         

          Eventually this good idea made its way to America, where they were considered “medicinal.”  While today a doctor might say “Take two aspirin and call me in the morning,” back in the 19th century you would have been more likely to be advised to “stick to a diet of biscuits (defined as crisp, dry bread) and fruit” to cure what ails you. Hence a combination of dried figs and biscuits was just what the doctor ordered! 

          An Ohioan by the name of Charles M. Roser, owner of a bakery in Kenton, Ohio, is credited by some sources of baking and promoting the fig biscuit.  Research shows that he may have sold the recipe to the Kennedy Biscuit Company for $1,000,000.  (In today’s dollars that would equal 19 million!) 

          Now enter James Henry Mitchell.  He invented a machine that was a funnel inside a funnel that squeezed out the fig jam encased in cookie dough.  It came out in one loooongg tube and then was sliced into the cookie size you are familiar with today and then baked.  (Ha!  I bet you thought Pillsbury had the lock on the slice-and-bake idea).   This enabled the Kennedy Biscuit Company to mass-produce the medicinal cookie. 

          The Kennedy Biscuit Company, the holder of the recipe, was based in Boston, Massachusetts, had a history of naming their cookies after surrounding towns.  So, the fig biscuit was renamed the Newton. 

         

          The year of the Fig Newtons birth is officially recorded as 1891.  Fast forward to 1898 when the Kennedy Biscuit Company merged with New York Biscuit Company to become the NAtional BIScuit COmpany (hence the name NABISCO) and Ta-Da,  Nabisco Fig Newton became a household world. 

            It’s interesting to note that the recipe, shape, size or baking process hasn’t changed in over 120 years.

          Not a big fan of the figgy cookie?  Well fear not, there are other uses for them.  A Google search for Fig Newton Craft Projects pointed me to these:

Source:  http://www.catholicicing.com/cute-bible-snack-idea/ 

          And of course, who amongst us of a certain age will ever forget the commercials staring The Big Fig Newton who ended the ad with the classic pose.  Time for a sing-along:  Eewy-gooey rich and chewy inside.  Golden flakey, tender cakey outside..."  Take it away Big Fig... (click on arrow to play...)

          (And good luck getting that song out of your head today!)

          And I bet you didn't know that National Fig Newton Day is celebrated annually on the 16th of January.  That's this Friday!  Traditional celebrations suggest you bake your own Fig Newtons from scratch, but I gotta say, the recipes I found make it look messy unless you’ve got access to a double-funnel machine.  I do not.  So I will have to celebrate by eating the store-bought kind.  Heck, I might even really cut loose and have some apple, strawberry or raspberry Newtons! 

          But if you miss National Fig Newton Day this year, fear not, Fig Newtons can be enjoyed any day of the year. And they may make you feel better, if only as a fond memory of your youth.    

Getting to Know Us...an Interview with Victoria M. Johnson

Interviewed by Jayne Ormerod

Victoria M. Johnson
Author of The Doctor's Dilemma

Yes, we all have bios on this website, but there is so much MORE to know about our Classic and Cozy bloggers.  So the 2nd Friday of each month is dedicated to getting to know us better.  

Our first volunteer for 2015 is Victoria M. Johnson. She's active on our list and I thought I "knew" her, but boy was I surprised with her answers!  Such an interesting life! Please give a warm Classic and Cozy Blog Welcome to Victoria!  

1. Okay, inquiring minds want to know…why a writer? Certainly not for the fame and fortune…or maybe it is?

I knew by the time I was ten years old that I wanted to be a writer.  I wrote short stories back then but many years passed before I began writing my first novel-length manuscript.  I had a few honorable professions: Air Force medic, police officer, and airline representative, but I really wanted to be a writer.  I even had a twelve-year career as a grantwriter for a nonprofit, which I loved doing and loved using my writing skills and creativity.  Yet I longed to write romance novels.  It's just as well that I experienced other occupations first--those experiences enriched my life and supplied fodder.  As for fame or fortune: I'm not one to seek fame but I do like fortune, and I welcome getting paid for writing :-)

2. When did you first put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to create the your classic and cozy characters?

I created my characters for The Doctor's Dilemma in 2010 and the book was published in 2011. I was thrilled that this book caught the eyes of the editors at Avalon Books.  The book was my baby and I wanted it to have a good home.  Avalon Books was the perfect place for it and it debuted in hardcover.  Montlake Romance later acquired the book and released it in paperback and ebook formats. The Doctor's Dilemma, came about from a visit to the rural part of Mexico in the novel’s setting.  I knew I wanted to write a novel or two set in that remote location and I always loved reading doctor and nurse romances so I combined the two. The Doctor’s Dilemma, tells the story of a doctor and nurse who work in La Clínica Pediátrica, and the villagers whose lives they touch. 

3. Do you have a set writing schedule?

No.  I only know what major projects I'm going to tackle in a year and in-between those I write all the shorter pieces. 

4. Is there a certain routine, food/drink, or location that summons forth the muses for you?

I write first thing in the morning.  I don't have a word count or page count requirement.  I just stop when I get hungry or I need to stretch or I have somewhere to go.  As for place, I like sitting at my desk in my office or looking out the window in my dining room when it's raining.  Walks on the beach, or anywhere really, prod the muse but then I have the task of remembering those thoughts or ideas when I return to my desk.

5. What do you do when not writing?

I attend poetry readings, sometimes I read my poems other times I'm there to support friends.  I attend many literary or art events each month.  I'm lucky to live in a town with a vibrant, creative environment and I attend or participate in whatever events I can.  I was a volunteer for a few nonprofits for many years but I cut back on that last year.  Now I volunteer for one organization.  I still make short films or work on the crew of others.  I take zumba classes and I enjoy jogging with my hubby.  I love to cook and of course I spend time with my family.  My husband and I have two grown children that live close by, and four lovely, energetic grandchildren.  Visiting with them and other family members (I come from a BIG family) is always a pleasure.

6. I imagine you’ve been reading all of your life (all great writers have.)   What was your favorite book as a child?

I read Clara Barton by Helen Dore Boylston when I was about ten and that book became my favorite thereafter.  I read it so many times that the binding wore out.  It's possibly the impetus of my joining the medical corps of the Air Force.

7. Do you re-read books?  If so, which one have you re-read the most?

My to-be-read shelf is overflowing so I don't re-read novels anymore. I sometimes re-read a nonfiction book and I often re-read poetry collections.

8. But there is more to life than reading, writing (and arithmetic)…what is your most memorable adventure in your life? <<I think this is the point where Barbara Walters would ask you if you were a tree, what kind would you be, but I’ll skip that and throw a softball…>>

I prefer to answer the tree question.  I'd be a Christmas tree because I love the colorful lights and the bling on all the ornaments.  I'd only have to look pretty for a short period of a few weeks and then I'd be tucked away and forgotten--which means I could read and write to my heart's content.

9. If you were on American Idol, what song would you sing to WOW! the judges?

I'm very patriotic so I'd sing the National Anthem because I'd sing with everything I had in me.  I'd put all my heart and soul into it and I'd have those judges in tears and applauding and giving me the highest praise.

10. Last question…movie rights…who will play your two main characters when Hollywood comes knocking on your door? 

Bradley Cooper would make an excellent smart and sexy doctor, and Natalie Portman would be fabulous as his strong-willed yet vulnerable nurse.

Bio:

Victoria M. Johnson knew by the time she was ten that she wanted to be a writer.  She loves telling stories and she's happiest when creating new characters and new plots.  Avalon Books and Montlake Romance published Victoria's fiction debut, The Doctor’s Dilemma, (A 2012 Bookseller’s Best double finalist).  Her other fiction book is a collection of romance short stories titled, The Substitute Bride, and a novella titled, Hot Hawaiian Christmas. She is also the writer and director of four short films.   Visit Victoria's website at http://VictoriaMJohnson.com for inspiration and tips and connect with her on Pinterest  Twitter and Facebook.

Getting to Know Us...an Interview with Sandra Carey Cody

Yes, we all have bios on this website, but there is so much MORE to know about our Classic and Cozy bloggers.  So the 2nd Friday of each month is dedicated to getting to know us better.  This month I'd like to introduce you to someone who helped me along when I first came on the blogging scene, Sandra Cary Cody. Not only does she write cozy mysteries, but they are set in one of the many places I’ve lived—Memphis, TN.  I’ve read all of her Jennie Conners cozy mysteries, where, with the help of the residents of Riverview Manor Retirement Home, they solve murders. I highly encourage you to rush off and read them too…but wait….take a moment to read the interview first. 

Okay, inquiring minds want to know…why a writer? Certainly not for the fame and fortune…or maybe it is?

You’re right. It’s not for fame and fortune, though I certainly wouldn’t say no - at least to the fortune part. As for being famous, I don’t think I’d be enjoy that; I like my privacy too much. So ... why? I honestly don’t know. The closest I can come is to say that I’m a lover of stories. I come from a family of great storytellers, most of whom tell their tales under guise of truth. I’m the first to admit mine are fiction. And, of course, like all writers, I’m a reader. If you read enough, eventually I think you’ll be compelled to jump into the pool (or onto the page).

When did you first put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to create the your classic and cozy characters?

I was a late bloomer. I didn’t begin to write until my kids were grown and didn’t become a published writer until after I was a grandmother. What took me so long? When I was younger, I revered writers so much it didn’t occur to me that I could actually BE a writer. It took me a long time to gain the confidence to share the stories I’d always carried around in my head.

Do you have a set writing schedule?

The short answer is “yes”. I start out every day planning to write first thing, but the day seldom goes according to plan. The time I actually get words on the page is usually in the evening or late at night. Dinner’s over. The kitchen is cleaned up. The phone doesn’t ring. My time is my own. And, truth be told, I’m not a morning person. I’ve learned to use my crabby morning brain to edit what I wrote the night before - and I’m usually amazed at what my good-natured evening brain thought was wonderful.

Is there a certain routine, food/drink, or location that summons forth the muses for you?

I like to write alone in a bedroom that’s now an office. My desk is near a window that looks out into the treetops. It’s a great spot for daydreaming (a necessary part of writing). Food/drink? Tea and chocolate. Music? No, I’m much too distractible.

What do you do when not writing?

I’m a quilter, though I haven’t made a quilt in a couple of years. Both quilting and writing take over your life and I chose writing. I also like to be outdoors: camping, hiking, fooling around in the yard. I love old movies, especially anything with dancing, i.e., Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire - maybe because I’m so klutzy myself. Reading, of course.

I imagine you’ve been reading all of your life (all great writers have.)  What was your favorite book as a child?

Heidi. I don’t even know how many times I re-read that book - and I cried every time. Even now, I feel sad when I think about Heidi’s unhappiness when she has to leave the mountain and live in the city. Same for Little Women. I still haven’t accepted Beth’s death.

Do you re-read books?  If so, which one have you re-read the most?

Yes, of course. There are the childhood favorites mentioned above and lately, I’ve been re-reading books by Ruth Rendell, trying to learn from her. She does an amazing job creating suspense and sketching her characters without putting limits on the reader’s imagination. Another writer I go back to again and again is Pearl Buck.

But there is more to life than reading, writing (and arithmetic)…what is your most memorable adventure in your life? <<I think this is the point where Barbara Walters would ask you if you were a tree, what kind would you be, but I’ll skip that and throw a softball…>>

Being the mother of sons, we’ve done a lot of camping and hiking. I’m not sure it qualifies as an adventure, but when the boys were in their late teens, we took a ten-day canoe trip in Maine, following channels cut by loggers to connect the lakes. It was rugged country; there were no amenities - a far cry from the parks and campgrounds we usually frequented. Moose were not something distantly sighted, but were up-close and personal neighbors - sometimes a little too up-close and personal for me. (By the way, if Barbara ever asks, I’d be a willow - slender, graceful, ethereal.)

If you were on American Idol, what song would you sing to WOW! the judges? 

I’m a sucker for old musicals so I’d pick something from one of them - maybe “Younger Than Springtime” from “South Pacific”. Now, if you’d asked me that the day after we returned from our Maine adventure, it would be “I Enjoy Being a Girl” from “Flower Drum Song”.

Last question…movie rights…who will play your two main characters when Hollywood comes knocking on your door? 

Am I allowed to flashback and cast a young Audrey Hepburn? She’s my all-time favorite - the perfect combination of beauty and vulnerability, plus she was so good at those comedic double-takes that the Riverview’s residents inspire in Jennie. It’s hard to pick one other character because Jennie has a host of sidekicks among the residents of Riverview Manor. I’ll take Nate, though, because I love him and because I see him so clearly; he’s Peter O’Toole. At the risk of sounding greedy, please may I have one more? Good. Thank you. Maggie Smith would be the perfect Tess; I can see her scheming away beneath a calm and cool demeanor.

Hey, this was fun! Thanks.

Catch more of Sandra the third Friday of every month here on the Classic and Cozy Blog.   

For a complete list of Sandra’s books click on over to her website http://www.sandracareycody.com/

And be sure and check out her blog https://birthofanovel.wordpress.com/