Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column - January 31, 2023

Dear Reader,

Today’s guest author, Becca Kinzer lives in Springfield, Illinois, where she works as a critical care nurse. When she's not taking care of sick patients or reminding her husband and two kids that frozen chicken nuggets is a gourmet meal, Becca enjoys making up lighthearted stories with serious laughs. She is a 2018 ACFW First Impressions Contest winner, a 2019 Genesis Contest winner, a 2021 Cascade Award winner, and an all-around champion coffee drinker. Dear Henry, Love Edith is her debut novel. (Web D2C Photo Author photo by Jennifer Claytor, Copyright © 2019. All Rights Reserved.)

Becca is giving away two copies of her book, Dear Henry, Love Edith. To enter the drawing email Becca at, [email protected]

Please welcome Becca Kinzer to the book club…

One of the first bits of advice I heard about being a writer was to not quit your day job. So I haven't. For over eighteen years I've worked as a registered nurse in the intensive care unit. Which means I've dealt with some true life-and-death situations. It's not unusual for me to work a shift where I have to do chest compressions. Administer lifesaving medications. Transfuse massive amounts of blood. All while keeping my cool.

And yet...

It's also not unusual for this cool, calm, collected woman you see in the ICU to transform into a hot mess whenever she enters a fast-food drive-through. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's the line of cars behind me. The overwhelming feeling they're going to riot if I don't get my order placed in under thirty seconds.

Part of the problem is the menu never looks like the menu inside the restaurant. Which shouldn't matter because I already know what I want, but for some reason it does matter. I need to see it on the menu. Why can't I find it on the menu? Why can't I find anything on the menu? Are we even at the right drive-through?

It doesn't help that the whole time I'm frantically searching the menu, I hear the frenzied whispers of my children from the back seat trying to add more things onto their order, usually ice cream.

And now my gaze is swiveling in search of ice cream. Does this place sell ice cream? Why can't I find the ice cream?

So I panic. Which means I start shouting things like "Extra pickles!" just to buy myself more time. Except I don't want extra pickles. I don't want any pickles. What I want is an iced tea, which the guy taking my order somehow hears as Swiss cheese, and I reply, "Yep! And a spicy chicken sandwich!" even though I'm supposed to be ordering my husband a Quarter Pounder. But I can't find a Quarter Pounder on the menu, and the line behind me is only getting longer.

By the time I get home, we have a sack full of pickles, two ice cream cones, and a sandwich nobody wants. But hey, at least I didn't have to cook. And whenever the drive-through pressure gets too high, I can always take comfort in knowing I'll be back for another relaxing shift in the intensive care unit soon enough.

-- Becca Kinzer

Enter the drawing to win one of two copies of Becca’s new book, Dear Henry, Love Edith. Email Becca 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 The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 30, 2023

Dear Reader,

Today’s Honorable Mention entry from the 2022 Write a Dear Reader Contest was written by Deanna White, who was also this past year’s First Place winner. Actually after reading Deanna’s two entries--it was a tough decision deciding which one to label First Place. It may be unusual to also acknowledge someone’s second entry, but as you will see, it’s worthy. 

Congratulations, Deanna on another wonderful story…

From the first moment they laid her in my arms, I knew she was mine. Just a smidge over five pounds, she nestled in my arms and cooed. I can still remember her doll-sized dress sprinkled in tiny rosebuds. As my eyes trailed her indescribable beauty--from the top of her oval shaped face, down to her pouty, pink lips, and onto her slender fingers threaded together in prayer—my heart tried to catch up with my mind. She is yours. My arms that had ached for a baby for over nine years, now held the most precious life. Her tiny body let out an audible sigh and she sank into my embrace, and tears spilled from my eyes. “She’s never done that before,” the Emergency Shelter Home (ESH) foster mom whispered, “We’ve had her for three weeks and I’ve never seen her body relax.” My heart soared with indescribable joy.

Her name was Baby Girl and my social worker assured me I could name her anything I wanted. Her birth mom had admitted using crystal meth 6 times a day, every day during the pregnancy and therefore delivered her daughter during a jail sentence without being allowed to see her. During the first month of caring for my precious baby, I wallowed in projectile vomit, doctor’s visits, and round the clock bottle feedings due to an underdeveloped sucking reflex. I survived on no sleep just so I could stare at her as she slept and observe her tummy moving up and down as she breathed in life—her long eyelashes splayed over her bubblegum pink cheeks. Her heart pounded into mine as I sang her to sleep with the rocking of the chair, while simultaneously guiding her to swallow as I kneaded the bottle back and forth between her tiny lips, praying her body would flourish and grow. 

One day I received a call from Social Services with a worker that introduced herself as the birth mom's representative and informed me that monitored visits would begin the following week. “My plan is to reunify this baby with her mother as soon as possible,” she carelessly quipped on the phone. And my world spun black. At the first monitored visit, my anger toward Birthmom melted away as I saw that she herself was a baby who needed a mother to take care of her. While I wrestled at night on my knees after laying Baby Girl down in her crib, I yielded to a force stronger than myself to love unconditionally. I still remember baking chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen while tears streamed down my cheek—fully knowing that Birthmother had never had someone bake homemade cookies for her. With every monitored visit, my heart slowly changed from resistant and angry to yielding and supportive. Several months later, Birthmother was in my home for dinner, while our family demonstrated how to feed her baby, bathe her, change her diaper, and rock her to sleep. A few weeks later—exactly two weeks before Christmas and three weeks before Baby’s Girl’s first birthday—we handed our precious foster baby back into the arms of her mother never to see her again. 

No words can adequately describe the heartache of loss. Yet when I look back at this moment in my life, I recognize it as the greatest privilege I have ever been given and one of the most challenging, yet beautiful gifts ever presented to me. Three months later I received a call from my social worker, “I have a special circumstance I would like your family to consider…it’s a boy and a girl; a brother and sister…and they are ready to be adopted!” And of course, we said, “yes!”

– Deanna White, Honorable Mention, 2022 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

AUTHORBUZZ: Discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

BOND OF PASSION (Fiction) by Larissa Ione

I'm so happy to be back in the Demonica world, especially with the people and the hospital that started it all. You'll find hints of what's to come in the new series, and you'll catch up with old friends. And best of all, Tavin gets his story!

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on BOND OF PASSION to read more and to email author Larissa Ione, you'll get a reply.

 

 

 

* This month's Penguin Classics is The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 27, 2023

Dear Reader,

It's raining today and my cat Barry has the right idea. He's curled up on a plush, white rug on the bathroom floor--sleeping. When I walked by him he looked so comfy, and there was another rug right next to him that looked inviting, so I lay down, threw a robe over top of me, and the two of us fell asleep listening to the rain.

I do confess to occasionally quilting myself and napping on a rainy afternoon, but usually it's on a sofa or on my bed. Sleeping on a rug in the bathroom with my cat--that's a first even for me.

Rainy days seem to give me permission to kick back and take a rest. My "rainy day feeling" consists of being quilted, fluffy pillows under my head, the phone on silent, the house totally quiet except for the sound of the rain on the roof, a hot water bottle under my feet and a box of chocolate covered raisins--"just in case."

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 26, 2023

Dear Reader,

I admire creative people and I met one at a new bagel store the other day. It is a popular place. I'd heard a lot of great things about their chocolate chip/raspberry bagel and I wanted to taste it for myself. There were two lines for customers: one for "Order Ahead Only," and the other was a walk-in line for those of us who didn't pre-plan our bagel urges. There was only one customer in the Order Ahead line, while the other Waiting to be Served line--the one that I was in--snaked around the store; all the way back to the front door.

I don't mind waiting, but I did start to covet that Order Ahead Line. I couldn't take my eyes off of it as my mind was racing, trying to find some "gray area" in the call ahead rule that I could fit into.

I get the same feelings whenever I'm in the grocery store--waiting in a long line--staring at the customer-barren "10 items or less line" right next to me. (I always try to talk my husband into splitting up our basket of groceries; each of us taking 10 items. But, he was one of those kids who played a prank in school and then had to fess-up out of guilt. So, I've never been successful in selling him on the idea.)

The employee behind the Order Ahead check-out line in the bagel store empathized with our situation and called out loudly, "Does anyone have an online or called in order?" Everyone stared at that open line, our mouths watering, but no one responded. "Would anyone like to call me on their cell phone and give me their order?" Now this is my kind of woman--creative and resourceful--and I reminded myself to tell her so, just as soon as she answered 'my' cell phone call.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 25, 2023

Dear Reader,

I received so many outstanding entries in the 2022 Write a DearReader Contest, it seemed a shame to only publish the winners. So I chose several columns to be Honorable Mention. Today's piece was written by Lee Rothberg. Thanks for your entry, Lee…

When Auntie, our family's matriarch, immigrated to America from Greece, she left behind material possessions, yet preserved her heritage by carrying the memories of the recipes that she had cooked with her mother. She trained me to prepare these traditional recipes so that my family could enjoy the festive meals that were a cherished part of my childhood.

Her kitchen was the epicenter of our weekly feasts. I still remember the incredible aromas that would drift out from under the covers of the pots on her stove, hinting at what delicious treats were to come: roasted chickens, rice-stuffed zucchini and tomatoes, spinach-filled meat patties and her legendary, chicken noodle soup. She would present the food to our family and stand back to study us at the dinner table, like a sculptor admiring her perfectly completed creation.

Auntie had an intuitive feel for how to coax the best flavors from any food. This gifted instinct was the reason why I could never duplicate the flavor of her recipes, especially our family's favorite Greek appetizer, Spanakopita, made with spinach, feta cheese and eggs, wrapped in flakey, filo dough. She would thoroughly blend the ingredients and drop two tablespoons of the mixture onto a rectangular, filo "sheet," and begin the process of folding each one into a traditional, triangular shape, in preparation for baking.

Filo is so thin that it dries and crumbles into confetti in minutes. Antiie'd oil and cover the sheets with a damp cloth and proceeded to form each triangle with an assembly line speed that reminded me of "Lucy and Ethel" in their chocolate candy-wrapping caper, minus the comedic chaos. The geometric perfection of each pastry was artistic. We visited every Saturday and she always had a batch ready for us. 

When my twin sister and I moved to raise our families in the suburbs, we implored her to teach us how to make her famous Spanakopita, lest we perish from craving in between visits. She had us gather the ingredients and we dutifully mixed the spinach, eggs, flour and cheese, and then she said... "Add some sugar." 

We turned to her in amazement and replied, "Sugar? You never said sugar!" 

"Yes, I did," she insisted.

"I don't think so," we both chanted in our stereophonic cadence.

"You are cooking with spinach," she answered.  "You always need a bit of sugar when cooking with a bitter vegetable." 

We exchanged a knowing glance and said, "Of course, what were we thinking?" 

(Note that "a bit of this," and "some of that," were her standard quantities.)

That solved the riddle of why her Spanakopita always tasted better, she had secret ingredients: sugar, and experience with "Auntie" measurements.

As cooking is often squeezed into a hectic day, I have created a condensed version of Spanakopita. And, because food allergies are common, I was mindful of creating a recipe with alternatives to gluten, cow's milk and eggs.

I have excluded the filo and use sheep's milk feta cheese. I make a pie instead of triangles, which makes it super simple and yet, still amazingly delicious.

When I put it in the oven to bake, the scent fills my kitchen and I say out loud, "Yes, I remembered to add the sugar."

My Auntie is laughing.  I can hear her as clearly as if she were standing next to me. 

Spanakopita

2- 12oz bags of frozen chopped spinach, defrosted and drained.

14 oz of feta cheese crumbled (Greek sheep's milk feta in salty brine)

4 eggs (or equivalent substitute)

1/3 cup quinoa flour (or any flour alternative)

2 teaspoons sugar

1/8 teaspoon pepper

No added salt

Oil for the baking dish 

 

Mix crumbled cheese, eggs, defrosted spinach and flour in a bowl

Blend well, with your hands

Put in a well-oiled glass lasagna-sized dish (13 x 9)

Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes

Cool and cut into 12 squares

– Lee Rothberg, 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 The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 24, 2023

Dear Reader,

Erin Davis is today's guest author. Her new book is Fasting & Feasting, 40 Devotions to Satisfy the Hungry Heart." Thanks for visiting the book club, Erin...

Four decades of living have trained me to look for wisdom among the women who are older than me. Like the piles that stack up when you live in the same house year after year, wisdom seems to accrue in the hearts and minds of women with a lot of candles on their birthday cakes. Here are life lessons I wish I'd learned in high school:

1. The college, major, and career I pick don't define me. I am not my work.
   

2. Marrying someone who treats you well really, really (really!) matters.

3. God's promises are true. If He said it, it is as good as done.

4. Being the prettiest or most popular girl in school matters for about half a second after graduation. In contrast, being the kindest girl in school gets remembered well past your ten-year reunion.

5. You will look back at pictures of you and think you were stunning. Trust me.

6. Insecurity is a massive waste of time and energy.

7. It's okay to have a ten-year plan, but there's a 100% chance it will get interrupted. That's a good thing.

8. The bands you listen to in high school will be your very favorite bands forever. Keep the T-shirts.

9. You are being formed by your habits.

10. Saving money is about freedom, not denial.

11. Don't wait until you're rolling in the dough to be generous.

12. The world doesn't revolve around me. That's a good thing.

13. Champion others often.

14. Normal is a mirage. Embrace your weirdness.

15. Worry less about having the right friends and worry more about being the right friend.

16. Don't be afraid to fail. Stand up in front of the class and give that speech. Try out for the lead role in the play. Start a club. You may fall on your face. You may not. But at least you went for it.

17. Your parents turn into your favorite people.

18. Most of this will make a good bonfire some day. Invest in what lasts.

19. When you do something stupid to impress someone, it's still doing something stupid. Do the smart thing instead.

20. Nothing good happens after curfew. Go home.

21. Since outward beauty cannot last, spend your time growing a beautiful heart.

22. Social media doesn't make you smarter. It doesn't expand your horizons. It's fine, but it's finite.

23. You only get one body. Take care of it.

24. You have time. I had a baby at 38, switched careers at 39, and started grad school at 41. There's more sand in the hourglass than you think.

25. Work hard, rest hard. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

26. Assume the best in people and when they give you their worst--faggehtabout it. That's not about you.

27. Bitterness will eat you alive from the inside out. Forgive those who hurt you, not as a gift to them, but as a gift to you.

28. Life never gets any sweeter than pancakes and children in pajama pants. Learn to linger with the ordinary moments. They are the good stuff.

--Erin Davis

What items would you add to the list? Reach out to Erin at: [email protected]

More about Erin: 

Erin Davis is a writer and teacher passionately committed to getting women of all ages to the deep well of God's Word. She is the author of more than a dozen books and Bible studies, including Connected, Beyond Bath Time, and 7 Feasts. Her latest book, Fasting & Feasting, 40 Devotions to Satisfy the Hungry Heart has been warmly received by women of every age. Erin hosts The Deep Well podcast and Grounded videocast. When she's not writing, you can find Erin chasing chickens and children on her small farm in the Midwest.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 23, 2023

Dear Reader,

I was in a toy section of a store the other day and saw some hula-hoops. I just couldn't resist--I pulled a purple and white striped one out of the box, put it around my waist and started moving my hips. I had my doubts about keeping it from hitting the floor, but my childhood hula-hooping skills were still with me. I could have kept it going and going. When the clerk started rolling his eyes and giving the other store employees the 'this one is a weirdo look' I thought I better make my purchase and get out of there. Hula-hoops are a real deal now. I got mine for only $4.29.

I keep my new toy by my desk, and periodically throughout the day I jump up for a 5-minute hula break. When I tell people about my pastime they either smile and fondly recall their own childhood hula-hoop memories or they get a disgusted look on their face and tell me about what an embarrassing experience this colored circle was for them.

I'm counting on hidden benefits from this new hula-hoop craze of mine. I've convinced myself that with every right and left twist of my hips, the inches are melting off my waist and behind. I sure hope it's true. I'll keep you posted.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

AUTHORBUZZ: Discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

THE MARRIAGE AUCTION (Fiction) by Audrey Carlan

What would you do for Three Million Dollars? Would you auction yourself off for marriage to the highest bidder, sight unseen?  our women did...and this is their story.

Arranged marriages. A woman on the run. Family drama. Twins vying for the same bride. It's all part of the deal when you enter into The Marriage Auction. The Marriage Auction promises a spicy, romantic, thrilling adventure, with forced proximity, taboo undertones, found family, and four loves stories that will fill your heart to bursting.

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on THE MARRIAGE AUCTION to read more and to email author Audrey Carlan, you'll get a reply.

* This month's Penguin Classics is The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 20, 2023

Dear Reader,

It's my pleasure to share another Honorable Mention column from the 2022 Write a DearReader Contest. Today's piece was written by Deanna Hahn. Thank you for your entry, Deanna…

I am the guardian of an accidental time capsule. I should be perfectly honest though; it is not the traditional version. There isn’t a carefully decorated box, clearly labeled and fondly kept on an organized shelf of mementos. It wasn’t buried in our back yard with specific instructions to open in a future year. My time capsule is just one simple thing. A roll of undeveloped film.

This little black Kodak tube has been in my possession for years. It has rattled around in boxes with stickers and note paper. Photo corners were stuck to it, a clear sign that the pictures inside were hoping to be set free. I would lose it, find it, wonder about it, then absentmindedly place it in another random spot.

You might ask what kept me from immediately developing this roll of film. I confess that I am, at best, a haphazard memory keeper. Photos from years past are arranged by box, not by album. Any photos that actually made it into a self-stick album are now half stuck, half unstuck to the pages. I frequently resolve to take them out of their jumbled misery and give them the organization they deserve. But like all good resolutions, I typically shuffle that commitment away to the next year.   

Other time capsules fill the nooks and crannies of our house. In a closet, a box is stuffed with elementary school memories. High school yearbooks are lined up in another container. Folders on my desk have stories written as long ago as the first grade. I rarely have the time to unearth these treasures, so they sit waiting for me, holding bits of the person that created the one that sits here today.  And I’ll share a secret. Midlife me, every so often, wonders what it would be like to have a sit-down chat with the young version of me. The vaguely familiar contents of each box might give me a bit of the time travel I need to make that happen.

This roll of film is a bit different though. Unlike the boxes, the contents are completely unknown to me. Questions bump around in my brain Will these photos make me happy? Or sad? Will I have blurry pictures I wish were clear? Clear pictures of a time when I have better hair and less tummy bulge? My sentimental self is imagining the smiles of my parents, forgotten family gatherings and the faces of friends from long ago. I wonder how I will juggle all of these unexpected memories. And even more so, I fear the imaginary photos conjured in my mind are better pictures of the past than what would be developed from that film. 

If I do decide to hand my film to complete strangers to develop, I’d need to do some research.  Sadly, the convenience of a one-hour drive by photo booth in the middle of a parking lot no longer exists. I suppose Google would be happy to provide some options, but that seems risky.  My local drugstore might take it, they seem like reliable people. If I entrust it to anyone, I should probably enclose a letter explaining the significance carried within this roll of film. 

Dear Trusted Film Developer,

I have been the keeper of this roll of film for many years. Please handle it with care. I’m confident you understand the importance of this mission. 

All my best,

Deanna

Update: My letter has been printed on stationary rimmed in flowers and I’ve carefully rolled it around my film. A respectably sturdy shoe box has been repurposed and now holds my pet rock, my mood ring and a newspaper dated August 16th, 2022. The film is also tucked safely inside the box, memories included. My accidental time capsule has become an intentional one. 

– Deanna Hahn, 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 The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 19, 2023

Dear Reader,

Congratulations to the winners of my January Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway. I’ll be baking for these lucky readers this weekend: Aurora M., Akron-Summit County Public Library, Lolita M., Robeson County Public Library and Michelle W.

I've got a project for you today. It might gross you out, but you'll feel much better after it's done. I know I did.

If you're reading this email, you might be sitting in front of your computer. So lean over your keyboard and look down in-between the keys. That's what I did the other day and what I saw was disgusting. I can't understand why I hadn't noticed it before.

I grabbed a paper clip, hoped no one was looking, and started dragging it between a row of keys. What came out the other end was a mixture of dust, dirt, lots of fuzz, small pieces of cracker, bits of paper, tons of cat hair and the back of one of my pierced earrings (that I lost six months ago. The vacuum put the finishing touches on my cleaning job. Now I can relax. My keyboard is respectable again.

If you find anything valuable in your keyboard, feel free to send me a finder's fee. Otherwise, keep the rest of the stuff. I've got enough “gems” of my own.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. 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 - January 18, 2023

Dear Reader,

I absolutely have to spend some quality time outdoors in the sun this weekend. I know it's only Wednesday—a work day—and I'm thinking ahead, but if I don't schedule outdoor time it might not happen. (I've been working a lot lately and the only outdoors that I've seen is through the window by my desk.)

It's urgent that I get outdoors because I don't see any tan left on my body. And because I live in Florida, I almost consider not having a tan a sin. Ever since I moved to Florida, I've felt an obligation to promote its well-known resource--the sun--to perspective tourists. I feel that every Floridian needs to do their part. "Promote what your state offers"--that's what I say. If you live in Wisconsin you better eat your share of cheese. If you live in New Orleans, Louisiana you better like to party. If you live in Tennessee, well I'm not sure what they do there, but you get the idea.

It would be unthinkable for me to show up at an appointment in the Midwest or in New York in the middle of winter with pasty looking skin. It's my job to look like a Floridian, to show off just enough of a tan (don't write me about skin cancer--I'm a safe sunbather), so people will want to come here to visit and spend their recreation dollars.

It's a tough job keeping up that Floridian appearance, going to the beach, boating, laying in the hammock and reading a good book. But hey, someone's got to do it.

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

Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]

* This month's Penguin Classics is The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win