Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 05-03-18

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Dear Reader,

Do you still iron some of your clothes? Or have you donated your ironing board in favor of using the wrinkle release sprays? Please let me know: [email protected]

Here's my take on ironing...

I'm an ironer from way back. Every Saturday morning my mother would leave me a list of chores to have done by the time she got home from work, and ironing was always at the top of the list. Everything needed to be ironed, including socks, sheets, pillow cases and even underwear. I did it, but I never understood the logic of it all. Wash the clothes, roll them up while they're still wet, freeze them, and instead of playing softball on Saturday, it was my job to unroll those frozen stiffs and iron the wrinkles out of them.

Why didn't we just dry the clothes? Because my mother said it cost too much to run the dryer. But then, when the small freezer on the top part of our refrigerator wouldn't hold the frozen peas and my dad's underwear too, we bought a new upright freezer, put it in the basement, and all we kept in it were our frozen clothes.

Wash the clothes, roll them up, freeze in the wrinkles, and buy a freezer whose only purpose was to freeze the sheets? But hey, I was just a kid--what did I know?

Old habits die hard and I confess I continue to iron some of my clothes today, including pillow cases and yes, if the sheets come out of the dryer with too many wrinkles I give them the once over, too. But ever since I moved out of my parents' home, I'm proud to say, I've never ironed anyone's frozen underwear.

But what if Mother really did know best? Thinking about my mother's laundry ritual piqued my curiosity, so over the weekend I decided to do a "freeze-or-not-to-freeze" laundry experiment. I washed eight pillow cases, dried four of them and froze four of them while they were still wet. Which ones were easier to iron? And did I save money by not using the dryer? It was a true test, because I still have some of the pillow cases that my grandmother made, the same ones I used to iron when I was a kid.

For freezer to ironing results click here.

Thanks for letting me know...do you still iron some of your clothes? Or have you donated your ironing board in favor of using the wrinkle release sprays? Email [email protected]

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

AUTHORBUZZ: With so many new books out every week, we promise this title deserves your attention:

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A MATTER OF CHANCE by Julie Maloney

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Dear Reader Column 05-02-18

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
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Dear Reader,

I love it when I share a story with you and You share a story with me. Especially about this topic, it's comforting to know I'm not the only one...

"Hey Suzanne!

Yes! I am guilty of Googling my symptoms and self diagnosing myself, usually with the worst possible scenario.

A common cold? Nope, must be lung cancer.

A scratch that might just need some ointment? Nope, better get that rabies vaccine!

I know I shouldn't do it, but I can't help myself. Maybe it's because I don't want the disappointment of having a banal headache that needs aspirin, when it could be brain lesions. Oh well, at least now I'm more in tune that when I don't feel my best, I know to make a cup of chamomile and jasmine tea, and take care of myself. And if I really feel something is amiss to call my doctor. Who actually went to medical school. Imagine that!

Thanks for sharing Suzanne! And know that you're not the only one!"

-- Mike

And Carol E. shared,

"As the doctor from our emergency room says, 'Don't confuse your Google search with my medical degree.'"

* Congratulations to the April Chocolate Chip Cookie winners: Judith R., Wayzata Central Media Center, Glenda J., Amherst County Public Library, and Daniel R., Macomb-Clinton Public Library. I'm baking Monday, so your cookies will arrive next week.

And the winners of I Liked My Life by Guest Author Abby Fabiaschi are Judy B. and Kathy B.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

Dear Reader Column 05-01-18

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books,
"meet" the authors and enter to win.

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author, Jenny Milchman, is a Mary Higgins Clark Award winner and USA Today bestselling author of four novels, including the latest release, Wicked River, a wilderness thriller set on a backcountry camping trip.

Say hello. Email [email protected]

Please welcome to the book club Jenny Milchman...

Headless Chickens

My family didn't go camping when I was a kid, even though in many ways, camping would've been the perfect vacation for us. We didn't have much money while I was growing up, and my parents loved being out in nature. Some of my happiest memories involve seemingly endless hikes and cold mountain lakes.

Actually, we did go camping once, at a family friend's request. My parents hated it. The sleeping on the ground, the bugs, the instant coffee. They were okay with rough, but not that rough.

As I grew up, I found that I had a slightly greater tolerance for doing without creature comforts. My brother and I planned a few overnights, and purchased some basic gear, like pads to go beneath our sleeping bags. Unfortunately, the trips got cancelled due to rain and I never actually used the equipment.

Then I met my husband and we decided to get serious.

No more rained out expeditions or excuses of any kind.

WE WERE GOING CAMPING.

We decided to start small in my parents' back yard.

They lived in suburban New Jersey. What could go wrong?

In the middle of the night, snuggled deep in my sleeping bag, I flung out a hand and grabbed a fold of the puffy cloth covering my husband.

"Josh!" I hissed. "What is that noise?"

He stirred groggily. "What noise?"

"The one that sounds like...rrr rrr rrr argh grr hrrr hrrr hrrr!" I responded. 'Duh.'

"I don't know," Josh mumbled, rolling over in his downy cocoon. "But we're in your parents' backyard. How bad could it be?"

I was sitting bolt upright now, sleeping bag shoved toward my feet. "It sounds like...headless chickens," I said. "And chickens can move without their heads. What if they're moving right now? What if they run into our tent?"

My husband says I sometimes let my thoughts get away from me.

By that time I was standing up in the tent, and if headless chickens didn't take it down around us, I was going to do it myself.

My panic must've been a little contagious.

My husband wormed his way out of his sleeping bag, and began knee-walking toward the entrance of the tent.

The rrr rrr rrr argh grr hrrr hrrr hrrr-ing was getting louder.

"I guess we should make a run for it," Josh said.

My parents' back door was ten yards from our tent.

I've never sprinted that fast in my life.

The headless chickens turned out to be raccoons. Which we never actually saw.

And that is why the next generation of my family didn't seem slated to do much camping either.

Until I got married...but that is a story for another day. Email me to hear about it at [email protected]

-- Jenny Milchman

Authors are never too busy to say hello to readers. Email: [email protected]

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]