Today's Guest Author is Karen Barnett, the award-winning author of nine historical novels including When Stone Wings Fly and the Vintage National Park Novels. As a former ranger with the National Park Service, she enjoys a unique perspective on our country's greatest scenic treasures.
In Karen's newest release, Where Trees Touch the Sky: A Redwood National Park Novel, Marion Baker leads the charge for redwood conservation until a chance meeting with the son of a timber baron presents her with an impossible choice. Nearly 50 years later, polio-survivor June Turner is determined to live up to her aunt's reputation by becoming a ranger in the newly established Redwood National Park. When aspiring filmmaker Adam Garner asks her to collaborate on a documentary about Marion's groundbreaking work, the secrets they uncover may put the family legacy--and June's dreams for the future--in jeopardy.
Karen is giving away five copies of Where Trees Touch the Sky to five readers. Drop her an email: [email protected] and be sure to include your shipping address in case you're a winner.
Please welcome author Karen Barnett to the book club…
POTTY TALK
My kids are in their twenties, and I'm very conscious of the fact that they frequently "clean up" their language when they're around Mom and Dad. Cussing is commonplace amongst their generation, and they find my use of creative replacements hysterical. They roll their eyes when I blurt out "crudmuffins" after stubbing my toe. I still remember my own mother saying, "Oh shhhh-sugarfoot!"
As a young mom, I was convinced that protecting their little ears from "potty talk" was pretty high on the list of things I was supposed to do. We stuck to G-rated movies, listened to clean music, and hustled them out of the playground when roving bands of foul-mouthed teenagers showed up.
Near the end of a busy summer, we made a special trip to the local children's museum, The A.C. Gilbert House in Salem, Oregon. I was waiting outside the bathroom stall when my six-year-old called out, "Hey, Mom, there are POTTY WORDS on the wall in here!"
I remember thinking--honestly, in a children's museum of all places? "Just don't look, honey."
"I can't help it. It's right in front of me."
"Well, hurry up and try not to pay any attention." I made a mental note to say something to the volunteer at the front desk.
"But Mom..." My child's voice grew shrill with excitement. "There are pictures, too!!!"
"That's it." I banged on the door and rattled the latch. "Let me in, right now!"
A minute later, I was standing in front of a detailed schematic of the inner workings of a toilet. Every piece was labeled in neon Comic Sans--flapper, siphon, float ball, and more. They'd taken colorful language to a whole new level.
I nearly wet my own pants, I was laughing so hard. There were indeed potty words on the wall. The best kind.
Neither of my kids grew up to be plumbers, but in time they matured enough to make their own choices about language. I appreciate the fact that they respect us enough to not use curse words around their dad and me, even if we wouldn't be terribly shocked anymore.
And thanks to the children's museum, both have an elementary understanding of the inner mystery of toilet fixtures. I'm going to count that as a win.
-- Karen Barnett
Enter the drawing for one of five copies of Where Trees Touch the Sky. Drop her an email: [email protected] and be sure to include your shipping address in case you're a winner.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]
Recent Comments