Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column - January 11, 2022

Dear Reader,

Today is the day for Classics and the last day for Chocolate Chip Cookies! To enter this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway and see photos of previous winners, click here.

Every other month, I feature a Penguin Classic. This month's Penguin Classic is, How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win, click here.

In this month's Classics title, the Garcia sisters--Carla, Sandra, Yolanda, and Sofia--and their family must flee their home in the Dominican Republic after the discovery of their father's role in an attempt to overthrow the brutal dictator Rafael Trujillo.

They arrived in New York City in 1960 to a life far removed from their existence in the Caribbean. In the wondrous but not always welcoming United States, their parents try to hold on to their old ways as the girls try to find new lives: by straightening their hair and wearing American fashions, and forgetting their Spanish. For them, it is at once liberating and excruciating to be caught between the old world and the new.

To enter the drawing for a copy of this month's Penguin Classic and read a sample, click here.

Enter my Chocolate Chip Cookie giveaway. To see past winners and to enter the drawing for a chance to win cookies, click here. 

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

THE BAIT (FICTION) by C.W. Gortner and M.J. Rose

Revenge is a diamond best served cold.

The second novella in To Catch A Leopard, The Bait is a nail-biting romantic caper by bestselling authors C.W. Gortner and M.J. Rose. A year after The Steal, Ania Throne is determined to take back what the Leopard stole from her. Together with her lover and partner, Jerome, she stages a spectacular heist during the Venetian Carnival, to lure out the treacherous mastermind they unmasked.

To enter to win one of 5 copies click on Authorbuzz and the book jacket to enter.

Go to AUTHORBUZZ click on THE BAIT to read more and to email author C.W. Gortner and M.J. Rose, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column - January 6, 2022

Dear Reader,

This Christmas my husband and I started a new holiday tradition. We were inspired by an article in the newspaper. The folks at a local community outreach program, were looking for people to "help Santa" by sponsoring kids for Christmas. As I was reading about the program, I recalled my mother mentioning a few years back, "If it hadn't been for your Grandma and Grandpa Hale, there would have been several years when there wouldn't have been many presents underneath the Christmas tree."

And so my husband and I went shopping for two young girls. Each of the children listed in their letter to "Santa" the top three things they wanted for Christmas. One of the lists read: "A bike, fidget toys (I had to Google that one) and new shoes."

It was the most fun I've ever had Christmas shopping, and it was a good thing we started early, because the selection in the stores was slim. Many shelves were already bare. But we did snag the last 16" girl's bike on the shelf, and my husband had a lot of fun putting the bike together. (And yes, we bought a helmet, too.)

I was surprised to see shoes on the list. So of course if a girl wants shoes, she must want more than one pair, and then you need new socks, pants, tops, a dress with matching tights, pajamas, a couple of sweaters, barrettes, a necklace and of course a jewelry box with a ballerina twirling around and music playing when you open the lid. (I used to have one when I was a little girl.)

Shopping for two little girls, it was a mighty fine Christmas, because Santa brought "us" the best gift of all.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - January 5, 2022

Dear Reader,

The quality of writing in this year's Write a DearReader Contest was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Connie Blocher. Thank you so much Connie for sharing your story with us.

MY DIET DILEMMA

Many people grow up with nicknames given to them in their youth that are cute and often descriptive of their looks. Names such as Curly or Blondie are harmless and often follow the child into adulthood without embarrassment. During my junior high years, my brothers christened me with not one, but three unflattering nicknames--Fats, Beast, and, my least favorite, Blob. As you may have determined, I had a weight problem and my siblings happened to be brutally honest. I did not consider myself to be obese, but maybe pudgy or pleasingly plump. My grandfather said it in a more polite way when he described me as "healthy-looking". Fortunately, my nicknames were private and did not travel with me into the school environment. From that time forward and through high school, my life became one of constantly fighting flab. I lived a life of food and fun deprivation. All to no avail.

Amazingly, my college years brought a major and much needed transformation. My impoverished state did not allow me to own a car so my legs carried me everywhere. Magic happened! My body shrunk and this Blob deflated into the slim person I desired to be for many years. Life changed and my social life soared. I felt ecstatic and when I looked into the mirror, a thin person greeted me. A very thin person! My new body gave me new life and new confidence.

I married a wonderful man who had the appetite of a wild boar, ate tons of high calorie foods, and never gained a pound. His tremendous addiction to sweets, my pregnancy, and my affinity for baking had me approaching my Fats, Beast, and Blob state once again. Something had to be done. Over the years, I had tried so many diets that I lost count. I ate grapefruit and eggs ad nauseam. Cabbage soup became a staple for weeks. I counted and counted--counted calories, counted fat grams, and counted carbs. I denied myself sugar, wheat, corn, alcohol, pasta, and anything tasty. Denied! Denied! Denied! My whole life revolved around forbidden foods and elastic waistbands. I did lose a little weight here and there and sometimes even a lot, but I could not maintain the slender profile that I so much wanted.

Earlier this year, I decided to give dieting one last try. My bookshelf held reminders of my past endeavors--Atkins, South Beach, Fast Metabolism, and Weight Watchers to name a few. I chose one and vowed to faithfully follow it so by summer I would be so slim and trim that my husband's eyes would sparkle. Honestly, it was tough going. When I passed someone eating a soft-swirled ice cream cone with two flavors, I wanted to rip it out of their hands. While moseying by a pizza shop, I wanted to leap through the glass window and grab a slice. Diet failure quickly became reality.

Then, one day, I took all the diet books from the shelf and threw them in a box and marked it "Rummage Sale". You see, I had learned something albeit the hard way. Through many diet failures I soon came to realize that the best diet book did not sit on my shelf or anyone's shelf. The best diet book of all could be found in my head--the book of common sense. If I ate anything I wanted, chose wisely, did not overindulge, and used self-control, I might just drop a few pounds.

I will never understand why it took me so long to discover such wisdom, but it seems to be working. I may not be the slimmest babe on the block, but I am content. The female once known as Fats, Beast, or Blob has been banished forever. Good riddance! Now I think I'll have some ice cream with whipped cream and, of course, a cherry on top!

-- Connie Blocher
Honorable Mention, 2021 Write a DearReader Contest

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - January 4, 2022

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author, Dallas Louis is the author of the new book, Why Some Animals Eat Their Young: A Survivor's Guide to Motherhood. This laugh-out-loud book that channels Erma Bombeck, will tell you the things your friends won't and the things other books are too afraid to print.

Dallas grew up in Austin, Texas. She earned a BA degree in Christianity from Houston Baptist University and served as the women's ministry director of her church for seven years. A former field leader for MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) International, Dallas now travels the country speaking to women's groups, encouraging them in their faith, parenting, marriages, and ministries. She is also the author of Girlfriends, Giggles, and God. She lives in Houston with her husband and three children. Find Dallas online at www.dallaslouis.com.

Dallas is giving away five copies of Why Some Animals Eat Their Young. To enter the drawing, simply send her an email.

 

The Holiday Hangover

Well, here we are...the first week of the new year. The holidays are nothing but a memory, many of us are sitting in our homes, looking at decorated Christmas trees, lights on the house, counting leftovers in the fridge, and wondering...

What now?

Do we still keep the tree lit? Should we take it down? How long does turkey keep in the fridge?? We are suffering from a hangover. The Holiday Hangover.

We have put an extra-ordinary amount of effort into making this season literally the most wonderful time of the year. And yet, when it's all over, we doubt whether or not the energy was worth it. Sure, putting the tree up was fun! But now when you look at it, all you see is the metric ton of ornaments and 52 strands of lights that need to be put away.

Sigh.

If you're like me, you have decorations in more than just ONE room. As I sit here and type this, I'm almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of STUFF that needs to go back (safely) into their boxes. I have SIX trees to undecorate. I have twenty-five (truth) Nativity sets to wrap and store. Don't even get me started on the countless other bits of Christmas paraphernalia that is scattered throughout my two-story home.

It can be overwhelming...check that, it IS overwhelming.

I am suffering from a major Holiday Hangover.

But, today is not the day for me to start this massive undertaking. Nope. As with any hangover, you must take time to rest and recuperate. The week after Christmas and New Year's is a time for re-grouping and coming up with a successful plan of attack. Eventually all of my decorations will come down, and be lovingly stored in their boxes. My heart will ache a little when the last ornament comes off the tree, and the final snowman gets tucked away. But, when my house is clean and orderly, I will be thankful. Then I will start the process of looking forward to NEXT Christmas.

So, enjoy the next couple of days before the holiday season is officially over...before the kids go back to school...before work routines fill our days...and normal life consumes us. Take the time to revel in your decorations for a few more days, and may the true Spirit of Christmas stay with you well into the New Year.

-- Dallas Louis

Dallas is giving away five copies of Why Some Animals Eat Their Young. To enter the drawing, send her an email.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - December 31, 2021

Dear Reader,

This New Year's Eve column has become a tradition at the book clubs. Happy New Year!

My most memorable New Year's Eve was the year my dress fell apart. Well, actually it was shedding. We'd just moved to Florida and some new friends invited us to their New Year's Eve party. We didn't know anyone else at the party, but I made, without a doubt, a big first impression. I was wearing a brand new, black velvet dress--purchased just for the occasion (and it wasn't cheap)--but it started shedding. Everywhere I walked, I left a trail of huge, black fuzz clumps behind. The dress was literally falling apart from the inside out.

I wasn't aware of what was happening until I visited the bathroom. The floor had two huge, white rugs, so it instantly became apparent that I was leaving a trail. I was horrified. I picked up my "droppings" and headed back to the party.

When I walked back into the kitchen, I looked down at the floor and sure enough, there was my dress, all over it. No one else seemed to notice the trail that I'd left around the house. But like a run in your stocking, I was sure they were aware and not saying anything just to be kind.

My first thought was to walk around the kitchen--shuffling my shoe along the floor--so I could sweep up my black fuzz balls. But then I realized that as fast as I was rounding up those little buggers in front of me, I was leaving a new crop behind. My backup plan was to find a dimly lit spot and stay put. And I did, until we left.

I can only imagine what that couple must have thought the next day when they cleaned up from the party! Maybe they thought I'd brought a pet.

* Enter the Book-A-Day Giveaway, win random books from my bookshelf, click here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

Dear Reader Column - December 13, 2021

Dear Reader,

The quality of writing in this year's Write a DearReader Contest was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Judi King. Thank you so much Judi for sharing your story with us.

A horse.

Well, specifically, a horse and a carriage, at Blenheim Palace.

Of all the experiences that we had, all the places that we visited, a simple carriage ride was the one memory my mom relished from our trip to the British Isles.

We hadn't planned on stopping at Blenheim--it was just a spur of the moment "Oh, let's stop and look around." kind of thing. We were on our way back to London, when we saw the signs for Blenheim Palace. "Oh, should we stop?" "Yes--let's!" Giggling like schoolgirls, we pulled in the grand entrance and found a place to park. (Unlike our stop at Princess Di's home, Althorp, where we were rudely bounced from the grounds. But, I digress.)

We weren't sure where to begin exploring Blenheim, when, suddenly from around the corner, a lively and handsome driver and his majestic horse clip-clopped their way towards us. "Would you ladies like a drive around the palace grounds?" The driver, Ian, asked. He barely had the words out of his mouth when my mother swiftly claimed her spot in his carriage. I had no choice but to follow suit, although, I hate to admit, I wasn't as spry as my 51-year-old mom was!

Off we went--two American ladies pretending to be aristocratic duchesses on an afternoon drive to visit the Duke and his court. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, a rarity for English weather--the sun was out, the temperature mild, just the ideal day for a splendid carriage ride around the estate. My mother sat totally rapt as Ian pointed out the perfectly landscaped gardens, the Grand Bridge, and the Column of Victory. I would have paid Ian my whole paycheck just to have Mom spend more time perched up high on her carriage seat behind that white and black dappled horse--her face radiated pure happiness.

My mom was a child of the Depression, one of the youngest of ten, so life was a bit hard-scrabbled in those days, always making do with whatever they could find. My grandpa went town to town looking for any work they could get. I think those times they spent moving around the different farms was where my mom developed her love for horses. And for travel. When she married my dad, they traveled when they could, but with my dad helping to raise his younger siblings, plus a daughter from a previous marriage, they never did get to travel to England. Although we didn't share our feelings with words, my mom had passed on her love for all things British to me. Music and books were the things that connected us. My mom and I both plotted, planned and saved like mad to go to England. To see her getting to go to her oft-dreamed of places like William Shakespeare's home town, James Herriot's veterinary practice, Sherwood Forest, not to mention all the palaces and castles, it was touching and heartwarming. It was a fantastic trip, and while we had our ups and downs, (did I mention Althorp?) we never forgot a minute of it.

I didn't realize how much our adventure had meant to her, until years later after her death, one of my aunts happened to chat with me about that trip. She said, "You know, your mom really loved going to England. That carriage ride was all she could rave about for months and months. I am so thankful you all were able to go."

My mom never told me so with words, but whenever I see a mention of Blenheim Palace, my heart bursts with those memories, knowing what that one happenchance stop-off meant to her. So if you ever get a chance to take a carriage ride with a white and black dappled horse at Blenheim Palace, give it a fond pat for my mom. She'd be beaming with joy.

-- Judi King
Honorable Mention, 2021 Write a DearReader Contest

* Congratulations to the winners of this month's Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway. Your cookies are on the way: Susan S., Kathy P. and the River Valley District Library.

And congratulations to the winners of Love Is: A Yearlong Experiment in Living Out 1 Corinthians 13 Love by guest author Kim Sorrelle: Linda H., Carolyn H., Dorie F., Alexandria H., and Nancy O.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - December 8, 2021

Dear Reader,

From my email bag:

Book club reader Mary Lee M. sent me a fun idea for the holidays...

"The year is zooming by and if you have someone who can't be home for Christmas, this is a fun thing to do. I did this when my daughter couldn't come home from college and had to work. I sent her a Christmas present [with 12 gifts separately wrapped], and then for the next twelve days she had a present to open. Example: the first day I sent bubble bath, then a small rubber duck, a floating candle, a CD of relaxing music and a small box of candy. For a weekend night my daughter got popcorn, hot chocolate, candy and a movie. She enjoyed it and so did her co-workers, who were anxious to hear about the next gift she opened. There can be a let down with a rush to get to Christmas, and then the let down when it comes and goes so fast."

Thanks for the idea Mary Lee, another gift idea that I guarantee will be a big hit is homemade cookies.

Every month it sure is a lot of fun to bake two dozen chocolate chip cookies for three lucky book club readers. If you've never entered the drawing, You're missing some mighty tasty cookies. It's easy, click here, and you'll see recent smiling cookie winners, too. The cookies are delivered right to your front door.

I'm ready to bake, are you ready to dunk and munch?

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

Happy Holidays,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - December 3, 2021

Dear Reader,

My phone started screeching and a message flashed, "Tornado warning go to shelter. Take shelter immediately!!"

My husband and I live in a 1925 home and the safest place to take shelter from a tornado is in the hall closet--our linen closet. There are only five closets in our home, and they all seem to be designed for a single person who doesn't have many clothes. But our water heater does fit in one, an air conditioner in another, the closet in the family room/office holds extra canned goods,
wrapping paper and a copy machine (The old bulky kind that we really should replace, but we hardly ever use it.) And the remaining two closets; one my husband uses for his clothes (he's a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy so he doesn't need much room) and finally there's the linen closet. It's more like a catch-all closet. It holds a floor scrubbing machine, an overflow of canned goods, dry cat food (we have five cats), and our suitcases.

A label on one of the suitcases reads: 'hatchet hurricane/tornado.' A hatchet? My husband figures if the house falls down on us we can chip away at the wood until we see daylight. There's a change of clothes for each of us, which come to think of it, I better try those clothes on to see if they still fit. They've been in that suitcase for a few years now. Oh yes, and among other emergency items, he's included an irritating whistle that would encourage any passers-by to get us out first if they wanted to keep their sanity. (Stop blowing that whistle!!)

Even though it's close quarters in our linen/tornado closet, it is a peaceful place to wait until we get the "all clear!"

I've always dreamed of opening the linen closet door, and seeing the towels all folded in the same direction; bath towels, hand towels, washcloths, and our sheets each in a nice, orderly stack. So since we were going to be in the closet for a while, I told my husband, "Scooch over a bit dear and give me some more room, it's time to organize this closet, and I need room to fold."

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - November 22, 2021

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.

"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.

*If you'd like to see a photo of my "treasures" click here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

This month's Penguin Classics book is THE PENGUIN BOOK OF DRAGONS, edited by Scott G. Bruce. 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 16, 2021

Dear Reader,

Lynn Austin, today's guest author, is the bestselling author of nearly thirty historical novels. Her newest is The Wish Book Christmas, a Christmas novella that takes place in the 1950s. She and her cat-loving husband live in the snowy Midwest and still drive a tiny, two-seater convertible. Lynn's books have been translated into eleven languages, and one of them, Hidden Places, has been made into a Hallmark movie.

Lynn loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at: lynnaustinbooks@gmail.com

Every November, my husband and I reminisce about a memorable Thanksgiving when we were first married. We had decided to drive from our home in Connecticut to my grandmother's house in Pennsylvania, but being young and stupid, we didn't check the weather forecast before leaving on Thanksgiving Eve--in our tiny, two-seater convertible. Big mistake!

By the time we reached the New York-Pennsylvania border, it was snowing so hard the state troopers closed the road into the Pocono Mountains where Grandma lived. We stopped at a fleabag hotel in the last town before the closure and learned that only one room remained. The desk clerk didn't know if we had gotten there first or another young couple had. We talked it over with these strangers and decided to share the room. Did I mention that we had our cat with us? Well, so did the other couple.

The room had two twin beds. The strangers crowded onto one and we squished together on the other. The bathroom down the hall was shared by everyone on our floor. The cats snarled and hissed all night. But we were thankful. Other stranded travelers had slept in the lobby or in their cars that night.

By noon on Thanksgiving Day, the road reopened. We headed into the mountains again, but the snow was falling faster than the snowplows could keep up. Twenty miles from Grandma's house, we halted in another traffic pileup in the middle of a forest. We sat until dusk, cold, hungry, and running low on gasoline as we tried to keep warm. The snow piled as high as our windowsills.

As the sun set, a family in the only nearby house took pity on the dozens of stranded travelers and invited us all into their modest home for the night--including our cat. They fed us their Thanksgiving dinner and emptied their refrigerator, too. About twenty-five of us slept on their floor that night.

The plow came through the next morning. We shoveled our car out of the snowbank and made it to Grandma's house, the only members of my family who did. We had Grandma's twenty-five-pound turkey all to ourselves. Our cat feasted, too.

That was the year we learned the real meaning of being thankful. We have never forgotten that family's generosity, and so in the true spirit of Thanksgiving, we make sure to include outsiders in our celebrations each year, whether college students or foreign visitors or people with no family nearby. And yes, their pets are always welcome, too. Happy Thanksgiving!

-- Lynn Austin
Email: lynnaustinbooks@gmail.com

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

* This month's Penguin Classics book is THE PENGUIN BOOK OF DRAGONS, edited by Scott G. Bruce. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.