Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 07-09-2020

Dear Reader,

My column posted July 2nd brought readers to share some memories of their own.

If you missed the original column you can read it here, plus see photos of the quilt I wrote about, and the one I'm currently working on.

"Hello Suzanne, thank you for another from the heart Suzanne story! I am so glad you had the foresight to save the quilt you made for your mother. It sounds like there were many mixed feelings but you chose love in keeping the quilt. Think of the happy memories when admiring your quilt!" -- Carol

"Still on my first cup of coffee when I read your piece about the 'Wizard of Oz' plates, the unused but jealously guarded crock, and the quilt you made, thoughtlessly bunched up on the garage floor. My first thought was a memory of packing for Goodwill my mom's t-shirts after she died; I swear she must have had over 100. My second was a nasty fantasy of taking that [your mom's] crock and throwing it from the top of the highest hill in Florida (I believe it's all of 500 feet high). But there you are, taking that symbol of your love and effort to reach your mother, and turning it into a quilt of acceptance of what was. If I were there, and we were close enough to do so, I'd give you a hug. You are pretty amazing." -- Sue M.

"My mom wasn't good about keeping things I made for her, or gave her. Always hurts a little bit even though she's been gone for 26 years." -- Sandy L.

"Suzanne, we all have drawers we need to open, be they literal or symbolic. Your column this morning is a most moving lesson on forgiveness and how it floods our own hearts with love. Letting go....Thank you." -- Merle H.

"Your note was the first message I read this morning. The book club messages bring pleasure and I always look for them, especially on days when I wake up with nothing to look forward to, or so I think. Your story, few words but a vivid picture, made me look at some of the things that surround me in our home, drawers that I too have been opening at this lonely time. My experience with my mother was different, those things I come across in those drawers and boxes bring good memories. I am sorry that yours didn't. I thank you for reminding me how lucky I have been. I love [your words], 'filled the space with love.' I can remember the love and release the objects, and now pass on the stories. My granddaughters love 'When Grandma was little' stories at bedtime. I need to write some down now that I don't get to see them." -- Nancy H.

"Everyday I am inspired to write back to you, when I read your daily note to all of us I feel like I'm chatting with my best friend. Today is no different, however your keepsakes from your mom really hit home. I quilt too, and it all started with my mom. We took a quilting course together back in the 70's and I took it up again when I retired. Not to get side tracked, but in my closet I have my mother's old house coat. It used to be white with bright pink flowers splashed on it! To top it off I also keep a bottle of Elizabeth Arden's Blue Grass perfume in my underwear drawer. It seems that keeping these two things close by help me keep the memories alive, especially the perfume. Thank you Suzanne for being there for so many of us every morning when we drink our coffee. Thanks for the laughs, the tears and bringing back so many lovely memories." -- Suzanne D.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

(Fiction) AN APPALACHIAN SUMMER by Ann H. Gabhart

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader

 

Dear Reader Column 07-06-2020

Dear Reader,

My husband always likes to drive the car when we're going somewhere together and I've decided I might as well let him. There's a long list of wonderful things I could tell you about my husband, (we've been married almost 43 years and it just keeps getting better and better), but he's a backseat driver.

When I'm driving and he's riding along, why you'd think I was new to the city and had no idea where the market, the vet and our favorite Mexican restaurant was, because my husband thinks he has to tell me how to get there.

"Turn here. No, don't go that way. This way is faster. Turn left. Look out, that car looks like it's coming over into our lane. I think you should drive a little slower, Suzanne."

"I think you should be quiet, Dear."

There have been times I've simply pulled the car over and surrendered the wheel.

Pulling out of a driveway--it takes two. Did you know that? Funny, I remember doing it solo in my Driver's Ed test, and I passed on the first try. When I'm pulling out of a driveway my husband leans over so far to look out the side window, that all I can see is his head when I'm trying to look for cars.

"All clear," he'll assure me.

But somehow I think I'd be the one getting the ticket. "Officer, the accident is really my husband's fault. He told me it was all clear to go."

I'm beginning to think there's a backseat driver gene that runs in our family and our son has inherited it, because whenever we go anywhere together, even if we take my car, my son wants to drive. And if I don't relinquish the wheel, it turns into a bad rerun. I might as well be driving with my husband.

"Mom, you shouldn't go this way. Turn here. It's faster."

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

* For readers who've been asking, yes, I'll be including photos of my vintage hats in a column later this week.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

AN APPALACHIAN SUMMER (Fiction) by Ann H. Gabhart

With the country deep in depression in 1933, Piper Danson shrugs off the expectations of her debutante season and heads to the Appalachian Mountains to volunteer with the Frontier Nursing Service. Adventure and romance await as she cares for the nurse midwives' horses, experiences the miracle of birth and more. Much more. Fascinating FNS history combine with the beauty of the mountains in this story of a young woman caught between two worlds--each promising something different.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on AN APPALACHIAN SUMMER to read more and to email author Ann H. Gabhart, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 06-30-2020

Dear Reader,

Despite having lectured in English Literature, today's guest author, Suzette Hill had never hankered to write a novel. However, after retiring and on a whim, she embarked on a short story--to see what the creative process felt like. She found out. For the story grew, and to date Suzette has produced twelve novels comprising two series. The first concerned a bumbling vicar (plus cat and dog), who thoughtlessly committed murder; the second features a bright young woman who, with eccentric companions, becomes embroiled in murky skulduggery. Satirically humorous, both series span the 1950s. Deadly Primrose (starring the vicar's sister) is the latest sequel to the first series. The second's current tale is The Cambridge Plot--absurdities in English academia. Suzette lives a merry, but blameless life in rural Herefordshire in the UK.

Please do say "Hello." Email: molehill@svengali.plus.com

Not planning, but spinning!

As a novelist I often think how pleasant it would be to have an ordered mind, a mind instinctively geared to plan and arrange, to devise ends whose means are meticulous and whose route assured and logical. Yes, how comforting to have supreme mastery over one's material and to know exactly where it is going! There are such authors, and I envy them their logic and control.

Alas, I am not so endowed, am not of that ilk; and my plans, such as they are, soon come adrift and I am left in a 'cloud of unknowing'. But surely, I hear you ask, a so-called skeleton draft would be immeasurably useful. It would give direction and 'structure,' would be a firm scaffolding on which to harness your flitting thoughts! With the bones already in place you would then merely have to flesh the skeleton with detail and niceties of style, i.e. create the 'texture'.

Hmm. This is precisely what I used to tell my students: organise first and write afterwards. But the moment I took up my pen to write 'fiction' such sane advice vanished in leaps and bounds, and I wrote as the spirit moved: intuitively, nudged by instinct not logic. Why? Because it seems I am less concerned with puzzles per se than with people; and it is the latter--the invented characters with all their quirks, oddities, lusts and conflicts--that really absorb me and dominate the whole imaginative process. It is 'their' lives and antics, rather than the steps of a prescriptive narrative, that directs the drama. So yes, as with some of my colleagues' novels (reassuringly!) mine are what can be called evolutionary and 'character driven', relying less on the ramifications of a premeditated plot for their momentum than on the wayward cavorting of individuals--including cats and dogs!

Naturally, not sticking to a cogent plan has its downside--writer's block, irritation, bemusement etc. But it has its benefits too. For with only a hazy sense of how things will proceed, I write to find out. Thus in a way I am telling 'myself' a story, and never quite know what or who is round the corner. It is a process of exploration and discovery. And it is partly that element of lurking surprise that keeps me writing!

-- Suzette A. Hill
Email Suzette and say "hello," molehill@svengali.plus.com

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 06-29-2020

Dear Reader,

I don't like it, I don't know how I lost it, but I feel sad and I want it back. I've lost the spontaneity of something I used to love--wearing a vintage hat. It used to be an everyday thing for me. It felt totally natural. Put on a shirt, skirt and shoes and then pick out a vintage hat from my collection and I was ready to go--anywhere. The market, the dentist, taking my cats to the vet. I didn't think twice. I felt fun and fancy free when I was wearing one of my hats.

I was introduced to the vintage look when my friend's husband passed away years ago. He had been ill for a long time and the heart transplant that doctors thought would solve the problem, unfortunately didn't. My friend owned a vintage clothing store at the time, and I offered to help out as she was going through a difficult time. Every day I volunteered in her store I was wearing one of my vintage hats--and I absolutely loved it! After I stopped helping out at the store, my everyday habit of wearing a vintage hat continued, or I guess I thought it did. Granted, I'm not going out all that much these days, but looking back, I realized it had been a few years since I'd worn one of my hats. And I wanted to change that, so in the midst of writing today's column, I took my favorite hat off its hat stand and gently put it on my head. Instantly, I smiled because the 'hat magic' was back. And when I looked in the mirror, I smiled even more.

But later, as I was ready to walk out my front door, I started thinking, 'Should I wear this? What will people think? People are going to stare at the hat.'

Thankfully I fought my way through the self-doubt, finally believing what I know to be true, 'Yes, Suzanne, some people will stare, but the hat brings out the best in me and apparently in some other people too. Because the hat made some people smile, and they even complimented me on how adorable it was.'

And the people who couldn't appreciate the fun of wearing a vintage hat? Not to worry, they just haven't experienced the 'hat magic' yet, but give them time, they will.

Looking for a vintage hat photo? I'll get some photos of all of my hats and publish them in a future column.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column 06-24-2020

Dear Reader,

The book club has gone to the birds and I couldn't be more thrilled! Apparently you're enjoying the bird stories, too. Because readers sharing stories about their bird encounters has been the most popular topic we've ever had at the book club. And I can see why, because as I'm writing this morning, I hear two new red-bellied woodpeckers out in our old oak tree. The 'apartment' in the old oak tree just became vacant when four young woodpeckers flew off on their own. And now it looks like another newlywed couple will be moving in and starting their own family. I'm very excited and I'm keeping my binoculars close by.

Over the next two days I'll continue sharing readers' bird stories and even some heart warming photos. (The link is at the end of today's column.) If you haven't sent me your bird story, I'd love to read it. Email me at: Suzanne@DearReader.com

(Your story might be just the thing to expand on and save for this year's annual Write a DearReader Contest in September.)

"We have a wren that comes back every year, and builds a nest in two bird houses we have hanging from the gutters of the house. When the nests are finished the hard work starts, finding the right mate. The male spends hours singing from the top of our umbrella cover looking for the right partner. The funny thing is, when he finds his partner and she inspects the nests and picks one to start her family, she throws everything out of the house and rebuilds it to her satisfaction. My friend always says if you want something done right don't ask your husband. Sounds like birds feel the same way. Thanks for letting me share my bird story." -- Joanne S.

"My bird story is a little different. We have lots of birds who return every year to build their nests in the same spots. They are always so quick and efficient at building a solid nest. It was a shock to me when I went out to bring in my laundry from the clothesline, that I hung that morning, only to discover the clothes were on the ground. Apparently the birds like my clothesline for building their nest and managed to shred it apart!" -- Maria K.

"Suzanne, I had to Google if a chicken was a bird, and the answer was yes! Every spring we would get a delivery of 100 baby chicks which we would nurture in the basement under warm lights until the weather warmed up for the outdoor chicken coop. I developed a close relationship with a beautiful Cornish hen who had a malformed leg. This bird followed me everywhere from morning until night, perching on my handlebars, shoulder, or sitting next to me on the tractor seat. It was a beautiful love story to behold. I would sometimes spend the night in the coop cuddled to my forever friend. The neighbors would love to give us rides on haystack carts to show us off.

As some love stories don't have happy endings, this is the doomed story of my first love. One morning as I raced out the door to begin my day, I was greeted with mass carnage. A fox had obliterated the whole stock of laying hens. Even in death, my beloved Hennie was beautiful. We had a tender burial with over 100 mourners. I still remember the softness of her feathers and feel her gentle beak of a kiss in my dreams." -- Alice S.

To read more stories and see photos of the birds, click here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

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

Got kids who love science? Check out what author Jennifer Swanson (who runs the Solve It! For Kids science podcast) has to say about new her book BEASTLY BIONICS: Rad Robots, Brilliant Biomimicry, and Incredible Inventions Inspired by Nature. For a chance to win free copies, to talk with the authors, and more, see KIDSBUZZ.

Dear Reader Column 06-23-2020

Dear Reader,

Kyle McCarthy, today's guest author has a new release, Everyone Knows How Much I Love You. Her fiction has appeared in The Best American Short Stories, American Short Fiction, and the Harvard Review. A graduate of the Iowa Writers Workshop, she lives in Brooklyn, New York.

Kyle would love to hear from you! You can reach her at mccarthk@newschool.edu.

Most of us have done it before: painted a room the wrong color. A bad color. Well, last September, I painted my front hall pink. Not pale rose, not a shy girl's blush, but Pepto-Bismol pink. Right away I knew it was a mistake, but I was too stubborn to stop. After all, I had vowed to stop treating my apartment, where I had lived for seven years, like a temporary spot. I wanted to make it a home, and fill it with the bright colors I loved.

But I did not love this color. This color was childish and cheap. My mom, after seeing a photograph, was politely appalled. She reminded me that I could always repaint. I said I would, but knew, deep down, that I lacked the energy.

Then a funny thing happened: friends, over for dinner, complimented the color. They said it was like being wrapped in a sunset, or warm embrace. Under the shadowy light, it glowed. I thought about how many years I had spent thinking pink was frivolous, girly, babyish. That it was unserious. Or worse: in bad taste. For shouldn't a woman, above all, be discrete and well-mannered? Shouldn't vulgarity be avoided at all costs? No, of course not! How silly of me. I decided I liked my outlandish walls. Maybe I was even proud of them.

Fast forward three months, and I'm choosing the cover for my book. My editor likes one version, my agent another. I find myself, against my better judgement, gravitating again and again to the one of a woman looking away, the title exposed in trompe l'oeil gashes, the whole scene lit in a hallucinatory savage salmon. That one, I finally decide.

Not until last week, unwrapping my carton of author copies, did it hit me. My bright pink hall; my bright pink book. Unwittingly, I had chosen the same color twice. Or maybe not unwittingly: maybe learning to love the boldness of my walls helped me learn to love the boldness of my book. It helped me choose a fierce, unsettling color to house its fierce unsettling heroine.

All those months ago, when I was picking out a paint color, I was indeed making a home--just not the home I thought. Painting the front hall was a kind of practice for "painting" my book. It helped me see that outlandish is okay, even fun. And so there, between two bright pink covers, my outlandish heroine--who I somehow had the foresight to name Rose--will live.

-- Kyle McCarthy

Drop Kyle an email at: mccarthk@newschool.edu.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

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

 

Dear Reader Column 06-22-2020

Dear Reader,

It was a fun 'bird' week at the book club. The baby birds in my daughter's back yard were robins. I'm happy to report the robins are happy and healthy and I think, almost ready to head out on their own.

Thank you to everyone who shared a bird story--they were delightful. You might consider expanding on your bird story and enter this year's Write a DearReader Contest. Watch for details later this summer.

Drum roll... Congratulations to last week's bird contest winners: Rachel B., the winner of the drawing for sending in a bird story and Amy B., the winner of the Guess-What-Bird drawing.

When my husband and I were raising our children, we had a spacious, sunny kitchen and there was always a cage off to the corner, with a soft, loveable guinea pig inside. "Screech, screech," the pig would know when we were peeling fresh vegetables and he'd holler (loudly) for his share of the scraps. To this day, whenever I'm peeling fresh vegetables, part of me misses Pig.

Pig would go outside on good weather days. He'd stay close to the foundation of the house and hide in the bushes. It was an every other day ritual, until one day when a huge hawk spotted lunch. I got Pig before the hawk, but that ended his roaming days. Instead, I'd put him outside in his cage. But it just wasn't the same for me; maybe it wasn't the same for Pig either? I missed looking out the window and watching Pig enjoying the outdoors. I imagine he missed feeling the warm grass underneath his bottom and the opportunity to occasionally nibble on a dandelion. And even though Pig might have been thinking, 'I bet I could outrun that hawk,' my motherly instinct knew better.

Over the years, when our children were growing up, we had several pigs because even though we gave each one tender loving care, after four years we'd have to say good-bye. "Guinea pigs don't have a long life span," I remember explaining to a friend one day when I had to cancel our lunch because Pig died the night before.

I think sometimes people feel awkward when they mention their pet is sick or has passed away, because the concern in their voice sounds as if they are talking about one of their children. But in a way, they are--even when they're remembering a guinea pig...."screech, screech."

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

SEXY LOVE by Carly Phillips

I've always found forbidden romances intriguing and what is hotter than a professor and his student? My new book tells the story of a mom whose future is riding on this chance at an education and a professor who is just shy of getting tenure. The last thing they need is for their affair to be exposed. It will only take one hint of a rumor to destroy everything they worked so hard to achieve.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on SEXY LOVE to read more and to email author Carly Phillips, you'll get a reply.

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

Dear Reader Column 06-16-2020

Dear Reader,

A reminder, there are two ways to win at the book club this week and two fun, bird-themed kitchen towels waiting to be delivered to (two) lucky book club readers.

First, look at the photos I've posted. My daughter sent me pictures of what she discovered in her backyard. Guess what kind of baby birds are pictured, and you'll be entered in one of this week's giveaways.

Second, share a bird story with me and you'll be entered in this week's second giveaway. Email: Suzanne@DearReader.com

Please Welcome Today's Guest Author...

Allison Montclair grew up devouring hand-me-down Agatha Christie paperbacks and James Bond movies. As a result of this deplorable upbringing, Montclair became addicted to tales of crime, intrigue, and espionage. She now spends her spare time poking through the corners, nooks, and crannies of history, searching for the odd mysterious bits and transforming them into novels of her own. Allison's new mystery, set in 1946 London, is "A Royal Affair."

Zoos in War and Plague

I am a zoo lover, as is my spouse. So much so that we spent the first two days of our honeymoon visiting the San Diego Zoo and Safari Park. [How we spent our nights is none of your business!] I have been following the plight of zoos during the pandemic, and find myself comparing their current crisis to that of the London Zoo during World War Two, which I've been researching for my own work.

Zoos may not leap immediately to mind when one thinks of essential services, but they are. They bring the world's diversity to us for education and study. They preserve the endangered while allowing us to study how to bring them back from the brink of extinction.

And in WWII, they provided much-needed morale to their equally endangered human hosts. The London Zoo stayed open despite the Blitz, despite rationing, despite the exodus from the city. Pretty young women were recruited to become guides, their smiling, uniformed ranks captured on camera and sent around the country to cheer it up. Rota the lion, who lived in a suburban house in Middlesex until the advent of meat rationing forced his owners to donate him, was "given" by the Zoo to Prime Minister Winston Churchill to celebrate Allied victories in North Africa. Churchill gleefully fed Rota steaks while British Pathe newsreel cameras cranked away, turning the creature into a symbol of British might.

The Zoo suffered during the war as well. Wayward bombs destroyed various animal houses. A more somber effect was the decision, anticipating the effects of the bombing, to put to death all the poisonous inhabitants, lest they be unleashed on an unsuspecting populace. That these should have been killed but not the predators of the mammal family who would be more likely to attack humans I personally attribute to the perceived public fears of the crawly versus the furry.

Once the war had ended, the Zoo faced the problem of replenishing its population. One interesting source of renewal: Demobilised soldiers returning from every part of the globe; from deserts, from jungles and from islands. Many brought back living souvenirs, and when confronted with the needs of the Zoo, or the desires of their families, creatures plucked from their war-torn habitats were given a new home where they could be on display. [In my mind, this was accompanied by the frenzied shrieks of "I'm not 'aving that 'orrid thing in my 'ouse!"]

Our zoos today face drastic drops in revenue from being closed to visitors. They keep going nevertheless, feeding and caring for their denizens. Don't omit them from your charity. They are essential.

-- Allison Montclair

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

THE HOUSE OF LONG AGO by Steve Berry & M. J. Rose

The time has come for Cassiopeia Vitt to sell her ancestral home. It sits on a Spanish bluff, by the Mediterranean, and bears the name Casa de Hace Mucho Tiempo, The House of Long Ago. Inside her family home Cassiopeia revisits memories of her rebellious adolescence and now regretful days when she often found herself estranged from her parents. She also revisits her father's private art collection. Each of the fifteen paintings is a masterpiece, together representing an investment in the ten of millions of euros--which she intends to donate to museums. But when an art expert declares all the paintings fake and suggests her father may have been involved with something illegal, Cassiopeia embarks on a quest to find answers.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on THE HOUSE OF LONG AGO to read more and to email authors Steve Berry & M.J. Rose, you'll get a reply.

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

Dear Reader Column 06-10-2020

Dear Reader,

Four leaf clovers, wisteria, ivy, waving the white flag and snakes! Oh my....

"Good morning! I am a gardener too, who chooses not to put any chemicals on my yard. My theory is if I spread enough grass seed, someday the grass will win. It's working a bit in the backyard. While walking my dog in the 'wild' field a block from my house, I stopped in my tracks as I looked down--and big as life there was a four-leaf clover! I sang 'I'm looking over a four-leaf clover, and it's looking over me' and started to lean down to pick it. I stopped myself, and wondered if little girls today watch out for four-leaf clovers, or is that just an old lady, grandma-taught-me thing? I keep meaning to look for it again, and kind of hope it made another little girl smile and maybe sing!" -- Sharon B.

"Good morning Suzanne, in my yard I have a few battles that I decided to just wave the white flag. The first is wisteria--it grows faster than a person can keep up with but it does have beautiful blooms so I surrendered.

The second is ivy taking over the lawn and we've come to a compromise. My gardener keeps the ivy off my house and we've determined a line in the lawn that can't be crossed although my fingers are crossed on that one. Where the ivy took over the pathway to the side of my house gets mowed though to maintain the path, so I can walk safely and not worry about snakes--yikes! Good luck with your clover - perhaps you'll find some four-leaf ones."--Jo

(Suzanne replies:) Jo, your email reminded me of a humorous column I wrote about the black snakes in my yard...

I don't mind sharing my space with creatures, because I realize they're probably thinking they're the ones that are tolerating me. But the big black snake--the "bigger around than a garden hose" snake, the one that's been hanging around my house lately--we have to come to some sort of an agreement, because he's scaring the bejeebers out of me.

As far as I know, black snakes are harmless. (Usually I want to hear from you if you know something I don't, but not this time. Please don't write and tell me I'm wrong--I think I'd rather be in the dark about what this snake likes to eat.)

Black snakes, at least the one that likes to sun himself on my porch, are docile. He doesn't rattle and he doesn't rise up and hiss at me. We haven't discussed it, but I get the impression that I make him just as nervous as he makes me. There's plenty of sun to go around, so I don't understand why all of sudden this snake wants to sunbathe on my back porch.

Once you nearly step on a snake, then everything that moves, means snake. But after a couple of days with no snake on the steps, I forgot about him--until today, when I went out the back door, stepped down, and put my foot right beside his head. Snake and Suzanne, side-by-side on the same step, he side-winded off, insulted that I'd almost tromped on him--and I was screaming.

There's always a reason for everything and since I've seen some little baby black snakes around lately, maybe this is really a mother snake in desperate need of a few minutes away from her demanding children. Maybe she's searching for a day at the spa--a little sun, and a little snake cocktail, topped off with one of those fancy umbrellas.

I raised four children and heaven knows, I can relate.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

Dear Reader Column 06-05-2020

Dear Reader,

It can't be a coincidence.

My husband and I have five cats: Barry, Mama, Natie, Claire and Cooper, and it never fails, when they're urping up a hairball, it's one, two, three urps before they get that thing dislodged. While my husband was cleaning up the latest urp yesterday (my husband and I divide up household duties--urping is on his list), it got me thinking about what else comes in threes?

Three bears (Mama, Papa and Baby Bear) and the beds that were too hard, too soft and just right. Three blind mice, rock-paper-scissors; location, location, location; blood, sweat and tears; a three ring circus; the Three Stooges; three piece suits, always three sneezes in a row; on your mark, get set, go! And of course, third time's a charm, but on the other hand, three strikes--you're out! So there are plenty of folks who are looking over their shoulders, because they believe bad things do happen in threes. It's "The Rule of Three."

But then there's the other "Rule of Three." The (Latin--"omne trium perfectum") principle suggests things that come in threes tend to be more humorous, satisfying and effective, than any other number of things. Maybe? Unless you're a cat. Three urps to remove a hairball is definitely satisfying and effective. But humorous?

I don't think Barry Mama, Natie, Claire, or Cooper would agree and neither does my husband as he's cleaning it up...

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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