Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column - November 30, 2022

Dear Reader,

I went to an early morning appointment yesterday and when I got back to my office, instead of making two trips, I thought I'd be efficient and carry all my "stuff" in at once.

It was not one of my better ideas. Because I didn't notice that I was carrying my coffee mug at an angle.

The first sign of trouble was when I sat down at my desk. I saw a coffee stain on my sleeve and when I looked down, the trail continued down my pant leg, with a small pool of coffee sitting on top of my left shoe. When I reached into my book bag, I discovered the real coffee disaster.

You’d be amazed at how much damage coffee can cause; I know I was. I couldn't believe it. How could I not notice or feel coffee pouring out of my mug?

My favorite book bag was soaked at the bottom--and, of course, in order for the coffee to end up in the bottom of the bag--it had to  travel through the contents first. And believe me, it took a  circuitous route. Everything in the bag was covered with coffee: business cards, wallet, car key, extra glasses, two books  I’m reading, my New York baseball cap, a pill bottle, and a notebook filled with "Dear Reader" notes. Even my tube of lipstick had coffee running out of the cap.

But I guess I'd have to say the biggest disaster was my Daytimer. (I still like the pen and paper kind.) The sides of every single one of the pages had coffee stains on them. Good thing it’s near the end of the year. I ordered a new 2023 version yesterday.

Ironically, one of the now coffee-laden books I had been reading was filled with tips on how to make my everyday life more efficient, and I was taking the tips to heart...

Yeah, right. Remember, you can't believe everything you read.

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

* Congratulations to the winners of I Meant to Tell You by Guest Author Fran Hawthorne: Sharon B., Lonnie E., Sandy J., Sue M. and  Paula T.

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 29, 2022

Dear Reader,

Today's guest is Brigid Kemmerer, the New York Times bestselling author of more than a dozen dark and alluring Young Adult novels like Defy the Night, A Curse So Dark and Lonely, and Letters to the Lost. A full time writer, Brigid lives in the Baltimore area with her family. When she's not writing or being a mommy, you can usually find her with her hands wrapped around a barbell.

Brigid's new book is Defend the Dawn. In the eagerly anticipated sequel to the New York Times bestseller, Defy The Night, Brigid Kemmerer continues her electrifying series with more royal intrigue,  more sizzling romance, and shocking twists that will leave readers breathless.

Drop Brigid a note and welcome her to the book club, [email protected]

 

I've loved stories and writing since I was a child, but I don't think I would be an author without the influence of a librarian in my life. When I was a kid, authors always seemed like celebrities.

It was a career like a movie star--something almost unattainable. But when I was twelve years old, I loved my local children's librarian. My mother took us to the library almost every week, and the librarian always seemed to know every single YA novel on the shelves. (Back then, there weren't many, so maybe she did!) One day, the librarian happened to mention to my mother that she was a writer, and she was releasing her first book, a YA novel. At twelve, I had just begun writing my own stories, but being an author was still something I believed that real people never really got to do. I was stunned that someone I knew could be a real author! So when my librarian's book was released, of course my mother bought me a copy, and I fell in love with that book. It was "The Silver Kiss," by Annette Curtis Klause, and I loved it so much and read it so many times that I could quote lines on demand, even now, more than twenty years later. Reading that book and knowing the author had such a profound impact on me at that age, because it proved to me that even "ordinary" people could be authors, and it spurred me to keep

chasing my dreams of being a storyteller. I'm so glad I had the privilege of knowing Ms. Klause as a child, and it's such an honor to know my books are now on the same shelves she once used to lead me to when I was a child.

-- Brigid Kemmerer

Drop Brigid a note and welcome her to the book club, [email protected]

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 28, 2022

Dear Reader,

It is my pleasure to share with you one of the writing entries awarded Honorable Mention in this year's Write a DearReader Contest. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Karen Schoch. Thank you so much Karen for sharing your story with us.

My sisters and I called them her love letters. My mother had stacks of letters written to her by my father during World War II when he was stationed in North Africa. Four years’ worth as a matter of fact  We knew where she kept them, up in the attic in an old cabinet, bundled together with string and rubber bands. It was fun to sneak a peek once in a while, and as children we never looked at it as an invasion of personal space and neither did my mother. The letters just cemented the knowledge we had that my parents really loved each other, having met on a blind date through my mother’s cousin who was in the same Army unit as my father. Fate. A chance meeting. And a forever after love story.

The story of the blind date at the local amusement park, getting stuck in the Tunnel of Love, and the four years of being apart because of the war, were cherished stories that we heard often.  Every now and then, when we asked, my mother would show us some of the letters. Letters that contained words blackened so you couldn’t read them and whole words and phrases cut out of them, illustrating the censorship caused by being at war. But the majority of time the letters rested untouched in that old cabinet up in the attic. 

My parents were wonderful people and my growing up years were happy and secure. They were loving, respectful of others and of each other, and always had our best interests at heart.  We went camping, had picnics with friends, always ate dinner together, and took a yearly trip to that infamous local amusement park. Life got interesting when, at age thirty eight, my mother had my baby sister. Being seven years older, I looked upon my new sister as my personal plaything. I was the middle child.  My older sister was eleven. My poor father! With three girls in the house I imagine he never got more than five minutes in our one bathroom on a daily basis. 

Time marched on and we sisters grew up, went on to college and work, got married, and lived our lives. My father became terminally ill and passed away within 9 months of his diagnosis, devastating all of us, but most of all my mother. She was never the same, she missed him every single day. One summer, she retrieved the letters waiting so patiently in the attic cabinet, read every single one, and then destroyed them all. When we heard what she had done, my sisters and I were incredulous and heartbroken. How could she do such a thing? As we thought about it, though, we came to realize that the letters belonged to no one else but her. Personal, meaningful, and hers alone. 

Some years later, my mother passed away from the same disease that took my father. Life seemed so very cruel to take them both the same way and at such a young age. At least my mother got to know her four grandchildren. The house, with its attic cabinet, has been sold... more than once. I miss them both, but so very fondly think of the letters, their love for each other, and how that legacy has so positively affected my sisters and me. Like a love letter to us.  

– Karen Schoch, Honorable Mention, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 25, 2022

Dear Reader,

Most people think of shopping on the day after Thanksgiving, but I think of leftovers. The original fare always tastes great, but to me the leftovers are even better. Before I put the turkey in the fridge after the big meal, I pick the bones clean and the “leftovers” go into turkey pies (see the simple instructions below).

Turkey isn't the only food that tastes better to me 'the day after.' Popcorn isn't really at its best until it sits in the pan (covered with a lid), for a day or two. Mickey's Pizza from down the street is unbeatable hot out-of-the-oven, but it takes on a delightfully different texture and taste the next day, when I grab a piece out of the refrigerator and have cold pizza for breakfast.

'Day after' cold potstickers, leftover cold corn or green beans, even a can of flat soda pop sounds like a gourmet treat to me. If you’re a left over eater and you have some suggestions for me to try, please do let me know.

My quick and easy recipe for Leftover Turkey Pies:

Line a pie pan with ready-made crust 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 is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 24, 2022

Dear Reader,

Happy Thanksgiving.

I realize when I say, “Happy Thanksgiving” some readers don't live in the United States--in fact one Canadian book club reader sent me Thanksgiving wishes last Thursday. It was early, but what a nice gesture. So if this isn't a holiday for you, I do hope you find a great meal somewhere anyway, and it's always a good thing to sit for a minute and give thanks.

Family always comes to my house for Thanksgiving. Everybody's favorites will be on the table. I don't vary the menu too much because whenever I ask my husband, "What should we have for Thanksgiving this year?" he always recites last year's menu to me. And that's ok, because tradition is nice. So many things change in our lives and so quickly, it's nice to know there are some things you can count on staying the same, like the Thanksgiving menu. 

After the big turkey meal everybody takes a ‘making room for dessert’ break. Folks either go for a walk, or kick-back in a recliner for a while before we all indulge in too many desserts.

Enjoy the day and remember, I'm very thankful to be reading with friends like you.

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 23, 2022

Dear Reader,

Every year I am amazed at the quality of the writing entries I receive for the Write a DearReader Contest. It’s difficult to choose just three winners, so I choose Honorable Mentions as well. Today’s Honorable Mention was written by Fatima Villa. Thank you so much Fatima for sharing your story with us.

 During the summer before my senior year of high school, my paternal grandpa died suddenly and I remember feeling like I missed out on so much. I can tell you a handful of things about him, like how he drove a red truck and how he always made sure to go to mass on Sundays. I can vaguely remember his voice and how he wore a white sombrero. I remember how one time, there was a new barn cat, a small gray kitten with blue eyes, and how I brilliantly named her Whiskey as a cutesy version of Whiskers. He smiled, letting Whiskey keep the name, without telling me that whiskey was actually an alcoholic beverage and not a cute word for whiskers. 

On occasion, my mom turns on old home videos of our trips to Mexico and I smile when I see him. He was always walking around with his grandchildren, making us all feel loved. My brother was the one who initially was enamored by everything my abuelito did. In moments my mom captured, you can see my brother following my abuelito to feed the cows. My abuelito is whistling and my brother, probably 4 at most, is trying his hardest to whistle too, puffing up his cheeks and blowing without a sound. The static on the tape flashes the scene forward to a kindergarten award ceremony. My brother is in his school uniform and holding a microphone. “When I grow up, I want to be a farmer just like my abuelito,” he beams and then passes the microphone to the girl next to him. 

I’m going through pictures on a flash drive and I see this picture of my abuelita ready to hit a piñata. My mom tells me that my brother was in his “exigente” phase, demanding to be the only one to hit the piñata. “Let him hit the piñata,” my abuelito requested to everyone. My mom smiles, explaining how she was glad he indulged my brother but should’ve honestly ignored my brother’s requests a little, but he just loved his family so much that even the brattiest grandkid to him was still a beloved angel. 

Every trip we made, my dad always brought gifts for the family, but especially for my grandparents. My dad once brought him a store bought pie and my mom made him a box cake. My dad announced to him in the most serious voice he could that he had spent the day before baking that pie. My abuelito laughed and said, “Mijo, I know you didn’t bake this pie. If you told me Rebe made this, I would’ve believed you but you definitely didn’t make this.” In the end, he liked the box cake more. 

My sister doesn’t have any memories of our abuelito because she was just a baby during our last trip. I don’t think there’s even that many home videos from that trip, but I remember how he was happy to just meet her even though she was just a little potato sack of a human being. 

When my abuelita visited us for the first time after my abuelito passed away, I remember her telling my mom how if she ever felt lonely without my abuelito at night, she would take a large body pillow and hug it tightly. She gifted us a horseshoe from my abuelito’s favorite horse and my mom hung it above our front door. “It’s so he can always feel welcome here,” she explained. I wish that we visited his ranch in Mexico more. I wish my memories of him weren’t just from when I was still a little girl. I wish he was still with us because I don’t think I ever appreciated him properly. I didn’t get to say goodbye to him, no last kiss on the cheek or hug. 

Abuelito Luis, te queremos mucho y te extrañamos cada día. 

– Fatima Villa, Honorable Mention, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 22, 2022

Dear Reader,

A Christmas Deliverance is New York Times bestselling author Anne Perry's twentieth heart-warming Christmas mystery: The festive season is fast approaching, and Dr Crowe and his young apprentice Scuff are busy, as always, tending London's sick and wounded. This year, however, Crowe is increasingly distracted by memories of a former patient, Eliza Hollister, for whom he cared deeply.

I’m pleased to welcome Anne Perry as today’s guest author. She is the bestselling author of nineteen previous holiday novels, as well as the William Monk series, the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series, the Daniel Pitt series, and the Elena Standish series. She has also written five World War I novels and a work of historical fiction, The Sheen on the Silk. Anne Perry lives in Los Angeles.

For more from Anne Perry, follow her on Facebook at @AnnePerryAuthor.  Or say “Hello”. Contact her at [email protected]

Like almost everyone else, I stayed home during most of COVID. It was little hardship for me because I work at home. Groceries and everything important were delivered to my door. I kept in touch with friends and family by email and telephone.

What I did not realize was what a hermit I had become. Last year, I had made a commitment to travel to a 2022 writers’ conference when I thought this would all be over. And as I had given my word, I had no honorable choice but to go. When the departure day finally arrived, I realized that I had become afraid of being in public. Crowds, Airports. Queues a mile long. Delays. Missing connecting flights. I’ve been in that situation before. I also knew what it meant to be the last one standing in an airport in the middle of the night. As they say: been there, done that. Aching with tension, pulling my one small case, I set out. I was quickly reminded that I have a sore back. Probably from sitting in one position too long. And not enough walking. Envisioning long queues of people waiting to check in, I had asked for a wheelchair, which was provided at every stop. I was treated with care and courtesy. No waiting, no getting lost.

Everything went well, nothing was more than a few minutes late. There was a connection where the second gate was a quarter of a mile away from the first, but I whizzed along in the chair. When I arrived at the other end of my journey, I found a taxi immediately. A most interesting driver, and we had a terrific conversation about all sorts of things.

There were roughly four hundred people at the writers’ conference, mostly from the United States and Canada, and a few from scattered places. I met old friends, and made new ones. We were given very smart black masks in our welcome kit, and wore them everywhere except the dining room, or if we were the lecturer or on a panel. And all the time I was there, I never heard a single complaint or unkind word about the masks, or anything else.

After the years alone, most of us were happy to meet again.

Some familiar faces were deeply missed, but that is inevitable.

What I particularly enjoyed was breaking the imaginary bars that had been imprisoning me.

What else have I missed because it involved stepping into the unknown? I promised myself not to let that happen again. It is up to me!

-- Anne Perry

Follow her on Anne on Facebook at @AnnePerryAuthor. Or contact her at [email protected]

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 21, 2022

Dear Reader,

Every year I receive so many outstanding entries in the Write a DearReader Contest, it seems a shame to only publish the three winning submissions. So I like to choose some Honorable Mentions I also feature at the book club.

Today, it is my pleasure to share with you one of the writing entries awarded Honorable Mention this year, written by Betty C. Eng. Thank you so much Betty for sharing your story with us.

Life as Maintenance and Wonder

I wash dishes, I wash dishes, I wash dishes, and then, I wash dishes. Clean dishes are important and essential, but there is the relentlessness and seemingly despairing nature of it that tempts the use of paper plates.  Washing dishes, brushing my teeth, taking my medications, doing my exercises, answering “what’s for dinner”, sorting for garbage day…. I Wonder:  Is this all there is?

I make lists, I make lists, I make lists.  Lists for groceries:  apples, bananas, milk, bread…. Lists for Tasks:  pay bills, appointments for the dentists, tune-up for the car…. Feeling smug when I have completed each item until I realize each list is primarily for maintenance that keeps me standing in the same place and does not seem to be advancing me forward.

I write, I write, I write and I write. It seems all I have are my words.  My words are gathered into stories that become a book. And Wonder: The book is published. The stories are family narratives that are reclaimed to honor and celebrate the legacy of my mother and father. They are stories of immigration, seeking Gold Mountain, what we found and who we became.

The stories that became a book remind me that the routine and repetitive nature of maintenance can fortify and renew to prepare me for something wonderful. The rhythm and pace of these daily acts sustains and nurtures. Washing dishes, washing dishes, washing dishes becomes meditative and the cleaning becomes cleansing for the soul and spirit. The simplicity of the repetition is reassuring, affirming and inspires me to be patient, to listen and to feel and hear the power of silence. The quiet heartens me to be kind, to be grateful and to Wonder with hope.

– Betty C. Eng 

Honorable Mention, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 18, 2022

Dear Reader,

It's one of my family's traditional Thanksgiving recipes, Crock Pot Dressing, and it's become a classic recipe at the book clubs, too. Every year readers email asking for the recipe, like Bryce, who emailed last weekend…

“We are hosting Thanksgiving a bit early. I cannot find my Thanksgiving folder with all my favorites.  Would it be possible to get your CROCK POT Stuffing recipe a bit earlier than you might have planned? I about cried the first time I saw the recipe, because all the ingredients were what was in my mom's, but nicer to do because of the crockpot! I hate asking, but am desperate! Thank you in advance.“ 

He later emailed,   

“…I am a bit frantic with the holiday being moved up! It felt good when I thought of you as a friend who could/would help me.”  – Bryce C.

If you're cooking for a crowd, or if all of your stuffing never fits in the turkey and you have to find room for another casserole in your oven, consider making my Crock Pot Dressing this year.

Crock Pot Dressing

1 cup butter, melted

2 cups chopped onion

2 cups chopped celery

1/4 cup fresh parsley

2 cups mushrooms (if you use canned, drain them)

2 eggs beaten

3 1/2 to 4 1/2 cups chicken broth, or enough to moisten well

13 cups dried bread, cubed

1 1/2 tsp poultry seasoning

2 tsp salt

2 tsp sage

1 tsp thyme

1 tsp pepper

1/2 tsp marjoram, (optional)

Melt butter in a fry pan and saute onion and celery until soft. Mix with remaining ingredients and toss well. Pack in a large crock pot. Cover. Cook on high for 45 minutes, then turn to low and continue cooking for 6-8 hours.

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

* Congratulations to the winners of Dead and Gondola by Guest Author Ann Claire: Elizabeth I., Linda S., Jeanmarie R., Henry K. and Karen B.

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.

Dear Reader Column - November 17, 2022

Dear Reader,

It’s my favorite time of year at the book club, because I get to announce the winners of this year’s Write a DearReader Contest! I read hundreds of entries every year in my annual Write a DearReader Contest. This year’s First place entry, written by librarian Deanna White, tells a beautiful story that my heart just couldn’t let go of. I must have read her entry five or six times, and each time I smiled. 

Congratulations Deanna! Thank you so very much for sharing this story…

 

She shuffled into the library every Saturday morning and bee-lined straight to the newspaper section. Well into her nineties, her fragile frame was draped by a green housecoat that stay-at-home moms wore zippered up over their day-clothes once upon a time. The housecoat was faded, worn and weary--on the verge of becoming grey--but in another lifetime I imagined the color was a festive Christmas green. 

Mrs. Green Housecoat was followed in every Saturday by Mr. Kind-Heart, her middle-aged neighbor who lived across the street from her and told me with a shy smile as he peered over his glasses, "her husband passed away and she doesn't drive anymore." While Mrs. Green Housecoat devoured the newspaper, Mr. Kind-Heart requested DVD's for her to watch at home, "She loves the old musicals," he told me the first week I met them, "and the old black and white movies." 

Over the course of a year, I looked forward to Saturday morning exchanges with this eccentric couple. We talked about her favorite musicals, Mrs. Green Housecoat loved, My Fair Lady, Sound of Music, Guys and Dolls, and Singing in the Rain. I shared with her my favorite black and white classics, Pride of the Yankees with Gary Cooper and Gas Light starring Ingrid Bergman. Their weekly visits were sunshine on a rainy day. 

Mrs. Green Housecoat's petite face was framed with a silver, wavy bob worn like the starlets of the silent-movie era. When she smiled, her whole face wrinkled up into a thousand tiny crevices, such as a vintage map etched with highways, roads, and mountains, and revealed missing teeth from her radiant smile. One day, as we scoured the stacks for movies, I pulled out Elvis Presley's Blue Hawaii, holding it out to her like a gift. She glanced at the title and casually stated, "I knew Elvis," and I chuckled aloud as if she told a funny joke. Then she continued, "When I was a young girl, I worked for MGM Studios," her eyes twinkled with delight and her cheeks flushed a glowing pink of a first crush. She paused for a moment as if she were searching through the library in her mind that held volumes of precious memories forged over a lifetime. Suddenly, she leaned into me as if we were childhood friends exchanging conspiratorial secrets on the playground, "One day he walked in and looked straight at me and said, Hey, Good Looking!"

In that moment, Mrs. Green Housecoat was transformed before my eyes. I no longer saw the shriveled woman with faded clothes and a worn-out body, instead I saw a young girl in the prime of her life with golden curls, pink cheeks and red lipstick. I saw a young, strong woman with smooth skin and a curvy frame that could fill out a pencil skirt and a snug-fitting sweater like Ann Margaret in Bye-Bye Birdie. I also became fully aware of the fragility of life--that one person holds thousands of precious memories, countless adventures, and a million beautiful stories that weave a history of their past. 

After the initial COVID quarantine passed and we could return to the library, I expectantly waited for Mrs. Green Housecoat and Mr. Kind-Heart to walk through the door on Saturday mornings. Unfortunately, I never saw either of them pass through the library doors again. I now work for another library, but I often remember the flash of her smile and the twinkle in her eyes as she recounted the fabulous stories of her youth and I wonder at the goodness of  Mr. Kind-Heart who with his selfless act of generosity, provided Mrs. Green Housecoat with as great a gift as Elvis Presley did all those years ago. 

– Deanna White, First Place, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is Metamorphosis by Ovid, a sensuous and witty poem in an accessible translation by David Raeburn. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.