Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 11-30-2020

Dear Reader,

Today's the last day of November, so with this week's giveaway, we're getting ready for December...with snow! Two lucky readers will win a package of Let it Snow Instant Snow Powder, for indoor use. It's a special treat for folks like me, who live in warm-winter climates. To enter the Instant Snow Giveaway, click here.

It was very difficult to choose the winners in this year's Write a DearReader Contest because the quality of writing was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Maureen Jane Orr. Thanks Maureen for sharing your story with us.

GRANDMA'S FRUITCAKE

Although fruitcake seems to have developed a bad reputation as a hard, tasteless hunk that is presented as a gift only to someone who is not liked, in my family, fruitcake has a reputation that brings back precious family memories. Our Grandma Kitty immigrated to our country from County Mayo in the late 1800's. She did not bring much with her, but she did bring a recipe for fruitcake, a family tradition.

When I was a kid, I began helping my mother and grandmother with the preparations for this dessert. It began when we took the trolley downtown to the Italian grocery shop where there were long strings hanging from the ceiling with dried fruits, including dates, figs, cherries, and pineapple. Once the many ingredients were assembled on the dining room table, the night before, preparation of the ten pans began. This was a very time-consuming task undertaken before all the easy sprays that we have today. Old paper bags were cut to fit into the pans and rubbed with butter to prevent sticking. Also, raisins and currents were soaked with sherry overnight, too, and the amazing aromas began.

The date for preparing the fruitcakes was also important. It was always on "All Souls Day," the day after Halloween, November 1. This date was important for two reasons: 1. School was off in order to attend church and pray for the departed souls (we attended Catholic school) and 2. The cakes needed to be prepared weeks ahead of Christmas for them to be truly delicious.

Grandma always arrived early, walking the 2 short blocks from her home to ours. The room-temperature butter was whipped, then combined with white and brown sugars, honey and coffee. If Mom turned her back for a second you could be sure at least one of us would have sneaked a taste! Little by little the eggs were incorporated followed by the flour mixed with spices, then all of the fruits and nuts. Ten pans were filled with the batter and slow baked at 250 degrees for almost 4 hours. In my mind I can almost smell the amazing aroma from these cakes. Once cooled, Mom wrapped each cake in cheesecloth then sprinkled them with sherry prior to placing them in large containers in the cool basement. Christmas Eve arrived and along with cookies placed near the tree for Santa Claus, Mom unwrapped a fruitcake so that we could tell Christmas was finally here!

I continued the family tradition of making the fruitcakes and mailed some throughout the country to folks who had developed a taste and love of our family fruitcakes. One year I told my husband, "I cannot continue doing this. It is too exhausting." However, when visiting Ireland, we were driving down long country roads when we saw a sign for a cafe. We were thirsty for a warm drink and drove and drove to locate the advertised cafe when we finally spotted it high on a hill. Gratefully, we stopped and ordered hot tea. The proprietor asked "and a piece of cake?" Low and behold, she pulled out the dark, familiar cake and cut big slices for us. Tears in my eyes, I said to my husband, "How can I stop making fruitcakes? They are part of my history, my blood, my family." Now, I make 20 fruitcakes every November, wrapping, mailing and consuming cakes, laden with history and family.

Maureen Jane Orr
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

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

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-27-2020

Dear Reader,

I prefer to send an actual put-a-stamp-on-the-envelope holiday card to friends, but I don't like to rely on the preprinted message and simply sign my name. So for a number of years, I included a quote that was dear to my heart, but then Kathy, a reader at the book club, sent me a great idea, a couple of years back, and I've used her suggestion ever since.

"Dear Suzanne, I'm writing my annual Christmas letter to friends around the country (and in Canada), and had thought of including a paragraph about the book club emails. What I don't know, though, is how people from other cities can access this. Thanks!"--Kathy

(Suzanne responds:) Kathy, your friends can read at my book club by going to: http://obc.dailybookclubs.com/ I really appreciate that you're spreading the word. It's one of the best presents you could give to friends and family, and to me, too.

Thanks for reading with me...and for spreading the word. It's so good to read with friends.

Gratefully,

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-26-2020

Dear Reader,

Happy Thanksgiving to my readers in the United States. I hope you're able to get together with your family this year.

Tis' the season of giving. Every week this month I'm giving something away to readers. This week, a set of Christmas dish towels. Keep them or give them to someone as a gift. To enter, click here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-25-2020

Dear Reader,

Featuring today's column for the Thanksgiving holiday has become a tradition. It's the story of one of those unforgettable, life-changing moments, and every year when I set my Thanksgiving table I think of him...

It was obvious he didn't want to be in my kitchen. He had been kicked out of every public and private school and home schooling was a last resort for his parents. I'm sure his folks were jumping for joy, and would have gladly paid double the price when they saw my announcement: 6-Week Cooking Class for Homeschoolers, because it would give them a three hour break during the day.

Ryan was tough looking, the kind of kid that would make you cross over to the other side of the street if you were out for a leisurely stroll. Ragged hair that always looked like it needed to be washed, baggy clothes and big oversized, steel-toed, curb-stomping boots. In his mind, I'm sure he was lookin' cool.

Eight, fifth grade students enrolled in my class, including Ryan. On our first day, when we did introductions, I asked each kid to tell me what they hoped to learn. Tough kid's response, "My parents made me come here, sounds stupid to me."

Okay, I could work with that. Maybe?

But Ryan would never give me an inch--it would have been giving in to the establishment to actually enjoy himself, even when he was eating a cream puff. "Well, what do you think? Do you like them?" I was hoping the fluffy white filling might force one crummy smile from him, but no...he was one tough cookie. Nevertheless, I genuinely liked the kid. I respected his pigheadedness. It reminded me of myself when I was his age.

Each student had kitchen assignments, but I didn't press Ryan to do much of anything, except I did enforce a "No Smoking" rule during the three hour class period. But I'd still catch him smoking outside when we'd take a break. I spoke to his parents about it, but they just shrugged their shoulders: "What can you do?"

Ryan wasn't disrupting the class and the other kids accepted his behavior for what it was--so I figured no real harm done. Tough boy would try to follow a recipe every now and then, but he moved so slowly--to emphasize his disgust in being there--that by the time he'd get some cookie batter mixed up we were out of time.

The finale of the six week cooking class was to prepare a holiday buffet for the kids' parents. Thanksgiving was only a couple of weeks away, so we decided to do a half-Thanksgiving, half-Christmas theme with the table decorations. All of the kids showed up for class early on the big day, even Ryan, which surprised me, because I wasn't sure he was going to show up at all, so I hadn't given him an assignment.

Doesn't matter if it's Thanksgiving or Christmas I always put these figurines on my holiday table. Because re-telling the story has become one of our family traditions. It just wouldn't be a holiday meal without Ryan.

"Here, these are for the table," Ryan said, his eyes looking away from me, "I made them last night." And he handed me two wooden snowmen, two Christmas trees and a Pilgrim and Indian.

I was stunned, they were adorable. He'd hand carved and painted them, on all sides, so no matter where they sat on the buffet table you'd be able to see the detail of his work. You never know about people. I thought I was going to cry, but I could tell he didn't want me to make too big of a deal about it. His parents were as shocked as I'd been, when I pointed out what their son had made.

Two wooden Christmas trees, two snowmen, and an Indian and Pilgrim, sit on the shelf of my china closet, but every year on Thanksgiving and Christmas, I take them down, and put them in the center of my table and of course, I retell the story of the boy who made them for me.

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

Happy Thanksgiving!

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-24-2020

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author, Nev March, says she's achieved another life goal because her new book, Murder in Old Bombay has already earned a national Best First Crime Novel Award from the Mystery Writers of America, and a book deal from Macmillan Publishers. Currently Nev is writing a sequel, set in 1890s Chicago, featuring her same beloved characters--Lady Diana and Captain Jim.

An immigrant herself, Nev has an affinity for diverse individuals facing life's challenges. Her books combine the excitement of mystery and adventure novels with the emotional journey of personal adversity, building characters that readers can identify with. Nev writes book reviews and articles and periodically edits for the FEZANA Journal, a community publication.

Please take a moment and say "Hello." You can reach Nev here: [email protected].

Take it away Nev March...

As my husband and I took our seats in the little puddle jumper to New Orleans, I settled in, remembering my very first flight.

Only twenty four, I'd won a scholarship to study for a Master's degree in Illinois. That night, as I stepped onboard the massive Airbus 737 with plush upholstered seats and elegant grey carpet bearing Air India's distinctive red motif, emotion ran through me like a current.

I was leaving home--tears crowded my throat as soon as I clicked into my seat-belt. Cabin lights dimmed, shielding me from other passengers, giving me time to collect the scattered bits of myself that seemed to have splintered over the globe. I desperately wanted to go to America--it had been my dream for three long years. But leaving mum's tight hugs and the shelter of my papa's home was like tearing off my own skin. Do butterflies feel this when they squeeze out of their cocoon?

The flight left Mumbai, stopped in Delhi and went on to New York. There I took a connecting flight to Chicago. As my plane took off and landed, I threw up each and every time--six times in total. The first time I grabbed the crumpled plastic bag that had contained complimentary headphones. Better prepared the second time, I held an air-sickness bag at the ready. The sixth time, I was exhausted, having decided not to eat anything onboard.

After twenty seven hours in transit, when I landed at Chicago having crossed twelve time zones and eight thousand miles, I felt light-headed. No wonder the custom's officer I met repeated himself three times, then asked "D'you speak English?" I must have answered sensibly, for I was sent off with a smile and my first entry-stamp on my passport.

Almost thirty years have passed since then, and I've flown, without mishap, across the globe to Mumbai dozens of times.

"All right?" my husband asks, taking my hand.

"Just fine." Thoughts and feelings weave through me, gratitude, and loss, a montage of memories of every color; my wedding in New Jersey, which mama and papa could not attend; my toddlers careening toward my parents at the airport, arms outstretched; my parents dragging their strolly bags behind them, their weary faces lighting up in smiles.

We land softly at New Orleans. Pulling down bags from the overhead bin, my husband smiles. "It's nice, just you and me, this vacation."

He's wrong. It's never just me. I bring all my loves with me everywhere I go.

--Nev March
Email [email protected].

Tis' the season of giving. Every week this month I'm giving something away to readers. This week, a set of Christmas dish towels. Keep them or give them to someone as a gift. To enter, click here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-23-2020

Dear Reader,

Tis' the season of giving. Every week this month I'm giving something away to readers. This week, a set of Christmas dish towels. Keep them or give them to someone as a gift. To enter, click here. 

Congratulations to the ten winners of last week's Ink & Willow Gift Giveaway.
1. Amie L.
2. LeeAnn C.
3. Suella B.
4. Bette M.
5. Marie B.
6. Lisa M.
7. Tammi B.
8. Carole F.
9. Nancy C.
10. Terrah C.

Turkey, turkey, gobble, gobble--if your Thanksgiving dinner guests don't gobble down all of your turkey, I have the perfect recipe for your leftovers. It's become a tradition at our house, the Friday after Thanksgiving we make turkey pies.

Line a pie pan with ready-made crust (or make it from scratch), and fill it two-thirds of the way with cut-up leftover turkey. Dice a fresh onion, add vegetables (a package of frozen, or leftover fresh veggies from the relish tray). Pour any leftover gravy on top. If Uncle Fred polished off the gravy, open a can of turkey or chicken gravy. I prefer chicken because it has more flavor. Season with pepper. Add top crust.

Bake in a 400 degree oven until golden brown. You've got the perfect leftover turkey pie. It's as simple as that.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-20-2020

Dear Reader,

Every year I look forward to reading the Write a DearReader Contest entries, and this year didn't disappoint. The quality of writing was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Susan Specht. Thanks Susan for sharing your story with us.

Home. Sounds so simple. Home is where the heart is. Home is where you lay your head at night. Love begins at home. So many lovely quotes and art work that can be hung on a wall. I have had many homes over the years. Home was with my parents, home was with my first husband, home was living as a single parent with my children, home is with my second husband and our grown children moving in and out. I truly did not understand that home wasn't a place, but a feeling until now.

I have grown up and lived in the same city in Ontario my entire life. I had always wanted to go to the East Coast but something always came up. Finally my second husband and I travelled out East for our honeymoon in 2008 and we have returned every year since. You see, my husband has an extremely large extended family in Nova Scotia who embraced me with open arms. They welcomed us into their homes and were there to provide anything we needed. Laughter, comradery, meals; they opened their hearts to us and us to them.

This year, we decided we should buy some property of our own in Nova Scotia. Buying property from thousands of kilometers away was a challenge in itself, but you guessed it, the cousins helped us. Various road trips were taken to scope out vacant land for us, pictures and videos were sent back and forth. We were finally successful on purchasing property and plans were made to go see it in person. We realized after reviewing the deed that the property was indeed owned by members of my husband's family generations ago.

One cousin heard we were coming and oiled the lock on the gate for us as he noticed it was rusty, another offered to clear all the brush with his tractor and brush hog, a third offered the use of his small trailer to help move debris around the lot. Another cousin sent a text shortly after we arrived saying simply, "Welcome home." Home in this case is a vacant lot on St. Mary's Bay with a fire pit and a whole lot of love from family who were thrilled for us. Home isn't a place, it's a feeling. Welcome home.

Susan Specht
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

 *Today's the last day to enter this week's special giveaway sponsored by Ink & Willow. Ten lucky book club winners will receive a copy of To Read or Not to Read: A Literary Journal for the Book Lover's Soul and those same ten winners will also each receive a second prize, randomly selected from the list of Ink & Willow's gift ideas and stocking stuffers, such as Choose Joy, an adult coloring book or 52 Weeks of Gratitude, a thankfulness journal. To enter, click here. 

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-19-2020

Dear Reader,

Today's Honorable Mention piece from this year's Write a Dear Reader Contest, was written by Angela Jeffries.

Angela said, "I (briefly) worked as a Substitute Teacher while I was in college and entertained the thought of majoring in Education. This [story] is one of the reasons it was brief..."

I was scheduled to sub and woke up enthused about it, as it would be working in a school that I had worked in before and was known as a reliable fill in. But when I came out to my trusty 1988 Ford Escort, the doors and windows were frozen shut that winter day. No matter how hard I tried, none of the doors, nor the hatchback would budge--everything was completely frozen. Not wanting to be late, the only idea I could come up with was to throw hot water at the driver's side door. It worked! I was on my way, singing along to my radio, and dismissing the little crystalline noises I heard coming from the outside.

I pulled into the school's parking lot just as the final warning bell was ringing and I was excited to have made it on time. And then--my car door wouldn't open! I pushed and pushed, and it wouldn't budge! I pounded and shoved to no avail; the driver's side door wouldn't open. I tried the passenger side door--no luck! I crawled into the backseat--tried both doors and the escape hatch on the trunk--nothing. My car was a literal ice cube! I climbed back into the front seat, just as I heard the Pledge of Allegiance being read over the loudspeakers. Great--I was now officially late! I sat there in disbelief and had no idea what to do. Suddenly a car pulled up next to me--I frantically tried to roll down my window--managed about an inch and explained to the harried teacher my situation. She promised to send help--but was more concerned about being late and left me sitting in my frozen mobile.

Morning announcements came over the loudspeakers, and still I sat. First period bell--no one in sight. Finally, I saw the front doors open--and out came the Principal and Vice Principal, shaking their heads. They came over to me, barely suppressing their laughter. They tried all the doors too, then told me to pull around to the Auto Shop classroom, they would alert the teacher and students that I was coming. They went back into the building chortling, while I tried to regain my composure. I turned the key in the ignition, and--click! Nothing. Tried again--click--nothing--my battery was dead!

So, I sat--no one in sight. End of first period bell rings. Second period bell rings. I keep trying to start the car, flooding my engine. I try the front doors again--nothing--still frozen solid. I'm in the process of climbing into the backseat, and I hear a rapping on the front window--it's the Vice Principal, asking what I am still doing in the parking lot. I am so overcome by this point, that I barely manage to explain that my battery was dead without bursting into tears. The Vice Principal tells me to sit tight and disappears back into the building. Five minutes later, the Auto Shop class of about 15 students comes out to push my car over to their classroom. Along the way, I see classroom windows open, and both students and teachers' heads poking out, watching the procession. My car and I made it to the auto shop bay, and I was eventually freed from my ice palace.

To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement--I managed to get through the day, enduring the laughter and expressions of pity and disbelief from both staff and students, and the crowning of my new nickname: Subpolar.

That marked the end of my teaching career.

Angela Jeffries
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* Be sure to enter this week's special giveaway sponsored by Ink & Willow. Ten lucky book club winners will receive a copy of To Read or Not to Read: A Literary Journal for the Book Lover's Soul and those same ten winners will also each receive a second prize, randomly selected from the list of Ink & Willow's gift ideas and stocking stuffers, such as Choose Joy, an adult coloring book or 52 Weeks of Gratitude, a thankfulness journal. To enter, click here. 

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-18-2020

Dear Reader,

Be sure to enter this week's special giveaway sponsored by Ink & Willow. Ten lucky book club winners will receive a copy of To Read or Not to Read: A Literary Journal for the Book Lover's Soul and those same ten winners will also each receive a second prize, randomly selected from the list of Ink & Willow's gift ideas and stocking stuffers, such as Choose Joy, an adult coloring book or 52 Weeks of Gratitude, a thankfulness journal. To enter, click here.

Congratulations to the five winners of Wanda E. Brunstetter's Amish Friends From Scratch Cookbook and The Blended Quilt written with Jean Brunstetter: Sheila D., Shari B., R. Marshall B., Mary D. and Susan H.

A long time reader at the book club comes to my rescue. Maybe I'll actually get a full night's sleep this evening.

"Suzanne, as a former nurse, I routinely disseminate health information to my family and friends...

[Your chocolate chip] cookies and book clubs notwithstanding, this information gleaned (from the NY Times) might be helpful for managing through these perilous times.

There is a yoga practice of alternate nostril breathing that is calming. Hold the right nostril closed...inhale through the left nostril. Then, close the left nostril and exhale thru your right nostril...and then inhale...thru that right nostril. Close the right nostril and exhale... then inhale... repeat.

It is so easy...just get a rhythm going.

Be well." -- Fondly, Lee R.

It's always a pleasure to hear from readers.

If you were a chocolate chip cookie winner, be on the lookout for a box of my homemade cookies to show up at your house today. Enjoy!

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.

Dear Reader Column 11-17-2020

Dear Reader,

Once a week I invite a guest author to the book club. Let me introduce you to author Michael Jecks. He's written almost fifty novels and he uses many "different inks" to plan them. Let me explain. Michael has a streaming channel where he reviews pens, paper and ink, and you can watch and listen in at writerlywitterings on YouTube. His latest novel, Death Comes Hot, the fifth in the Bloody Mary Tudor mystery series, will be available in December.

Please welcome Michael Jecks to the book club. Authors do indeed feel blessed to hear from readers. Email Michael. 

FOUNTAIN PENS AND WRITING

I have an incurable addiction.

Many years ago, when I was a computer salesman, I realised that although I loved my Cross ballpoint pen, its slimness and elegance, there was something about it that didn't work for me. My writing, basically, was the issue: it invariably looked as though a drunken spider had fallen into a pot of gooey ink and tried to make its way across the page before expiring.

One day, I happened across a counter in a department store, and rediscovered the joy of writing: I bought a Cross fountain pen.

And my incurable addiction began.

That Cross led to a second. One had a medium nib for writing and planning, the second a fine nib, so I could edit between the lines. And then I started writing novels, and began bingeing like a drug addict. Pens are, after all, like any other addiction. You learn about the subject, and are led down dangerous paths that tempt you beyond endurance. I developed an unhealthy interest in Kaweco pens. The first was a delightful little AL-Sport--light, tiny in the pocket, but full-sized in the hand. Perfect for everyday use.

More Kawecos followed, especially the fabulous Liliput with its wonderful slenderness, there was a newer Cross, a Sheaffer--and at last I drowned in the glory that was Conway Stewart.

I acquired my first Conway Stewart when I was Chairman of the Crime Writers' Association. The Churchill really appealed to me. A good capacity, but with a style that was pure Edwardian. I loved it, so much so that I collaborated with Conway Stewart in designing pens.

But now I was led astray. Dante del Vecchio, a wonderful genius, worked with me to design a prototype. This Visconti pen is one I have used almost daily for five years. It holds more than five times the ink of even my Churchill, which means I can write all day without having to refill it. Now, I am fortunate enough to own four different models of this, the Homo Sapiens from Visconti.

But these pens...well, I don't write books with them. I've tried, but I can't! But the pens, my addiction, are used every day for making notes, for planning and outlining.

I am now in New Zealand, in quarantine, as I write this. I first outlined with my Conway Stewart Indiana Jones--it's perfect--and now I'm going to attack a plot with my Visconti Crystal Dream.

No. I don't want addiction therapy. I want more ink.

--Michael Jecks
Email Michael

Enter this week's special giveaway sponsored by Ink & Willow. Ten winners will each receive two gifts. To view the items and to enter, click here. 

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

This month's Penguin Classics book is The Cancer Journals, by Audre Lorde, with a foreword by Tracy K. Smith. I have a copy to share with you, so start reading and enter today.