Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column - July 5, 2022

Dear Reader,

Jonathan Vatner, today’s guest author, is the author of The Bridesmaids Union, about an online support group for bridesmaids. Carnegie Hill, about the interconnected lives of Upper East Side apartment dwellers, earned praise from People, Town & Country, The New York Post, and the Los Angeles Review of Books. He is the managing editor of Hue, the magazine of the Fashion Institute of Technology, and teaches fiction writing at New York University and the Hudson Valley Writers Center. Jonathan lives with his husband and cats in Yonkers, New York.

Please email Jonathan and welcome him to the book club: vatner@gmail.com

Leaving the City

In the sixteen years I lived in New York City, I was always on edge, bracing myself for the next indignity. I thought it was a weakness that I couldn't get used to being crammed into fetid subway cars, smelling garbage when I opened the kitchen window, or waking to a cockroach skittering across my face. The sidewalks were ornamented with dog droppings and chicken bones and condoms. At night, souped-up coupes pumped music at maximum volume, and car alarms wailed for hours, inconsolable.

When I finally convinced my husband to flee the metropolis for Yonkers, I cleaved to the natural world as if I might lose it. I reveled in the soil beneath my sneakers, getting lost in a thousand shades of green, chattering crepuscular birdsong, sunsets streaking the clouds orange and pink, the extravagant perfume of lilacs, the silence of the night.

What I love most is our view of the Hudson River, every hour a different splendor. Sometimes it's still as glass until a barge treads past, unfurling an elegant curtain of ripples. On icy winter days, a biting wind froths the surface. On hot summer afternoons, the river lies as still as my cats, sleeping belly up in the press of sunlight. As I write this, the afternoon light is dancing on the surface of the water, silver filigree atop a slab of chrome.

And the cliffs! Every morning, the stoic Palisades greet me as I sip my coffee and begin to write. Under a baby blue sky, the craggy face shines copper. On overcast days, it looks brown or slate or yellowish gray. It hides behind bursts of bright green foliage in summer and shrinks into the darkness at night, distinguishable only by the headlights of the cars threading through the trees at the top.

Often, I watch a hawk circling overhead, but occasionally the raptor of the day is a bald eagle, stiffly regal, and I feel a swell of patriotism. Ducks gossip in eddies along the riverbank. In New York City, all I knew were pigeons, but in Yonkers, the graceful birds that perch atop our building must be doves, bringing tidings of peace that I now recognize as my own.

-- Jonathan Vatner

Email: vatner@gmail.com

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - May 31, 2022

Dear Reader,

Today’s guest author, Sheila Roberts, who’s written more than 50 books is best known for her holiday stories, women's fiction and romance novels in small-town settings. Sheila’s On Strike for Christmas was a Lifetime Network movie, and her The Nine Lives of Christmas is a perennial Hallmark channel movie favorite. 

A long-time Washington resident, Sheila and her husband recently moved to a beach cottage with a picturesque view not unlike that of Moonlight Harbor, the fictional setting for her current series.

Sheila is giving away 5 copies of the latest book in her series, Sand Dollar Lane.

To enter the random drawing, send an email with your mailing address (in case you win) to: nancy@nancyberland.com, with "DearReader Sheila Roberts Giveaway" in the subject line.

(All messages will be sent along to Sheila.) If you'd like to be added to her reader list, be sure to include a note to that effect.

When I Grow Up

Once upon a dream I wanted to be a songwriter. Music was a huge part of my family's life. My mother taught me how to harmonize when I was a little girl. We'd practice while she curled my hair with this vintage curling iron she'd gotten from who knows where. She'd set it on a stove burner to heat up and then proceed to burn my straight hair into curls. Looking back, I think the whole singing thing was to distract me from the torture of getting my hair singed!

Whatever the reason, it took. I sang in choirs, at church, in school talent shows and entered vocal competitions. In college I majored in music and dreamed of becoming a famous songwriter, all while working my way through as a singing waitress.

Falling in love and getting married didn't end my love affair with music. Somewhere along the way I discovered country music. And Nashville! Songwriter Mecca. I began to get serious about this songwriting thing, taking trips to Nashville, spending money on song demos. I look back on the money I spent trying to make that dream come true and realize I could have remodeled my house several times for what I spent.

But raising children and constantly running off to Nashville to try to peddle songs didn't go together like words and music. What to do? Keep dreaming, of course, but be open to other possibilities. Like writing, something I'd been doing since I was a child. One day I got an idea for a book and thought, why not write it?

Who'd have thought that would have turned the direction of my creative life? It did, and I've been happily making up stories ever since.

Of course, music is still in my bones. Over the years I've played in bands, served as a church musician, owned a singing telegram company and, yes, written more songs. I was finally able to enjoy seeing one I co-wrote with a friend make it onto an artist's CD. And I've even been able to make a music video--one of the most fun things ever! (Want to see me getting hauled off by Santa? Check out my song (written as Sheila Rabe), "Merry Christmas Mama," on YouTube.)

My career path didn't go exactly where I thought it would take me, but I think I'm living proof that if you walk through the doors that open in life you'll end up where you're supposed to be. And I like where I am.

-- Sheila Roberts

Enter to win a copy of Sand Dollar Lane. Send an email with your mailing address (in case you win) to: nancy@nancyberland.com, with "DearReader Sheila Roberts Giveaway" in the subject line.

Here’s the YouTube link to Sheila’ song, click here.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - May 17, 2022

Dear Reader,

Today’s guest author, Vanessa Hua, is a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle and the author of three titles: A River of Stars, the story collection Deceit and Other Possibilities and her new novel Forbidden City. 

A National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellow, she has also received a Rona Jaffe Foundation Writers' Award, the Asian/Pacific American Award for Literature, and a Steinbeck Fellowship in Creative Writing, as well as awards from the Society of Professional Journalists. Vanessa has filed stories from China, Burma, South Korea, and elsewhere, and her work has appeared in publications such as The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Atlantic. Most recently she taught at the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers and the Sewanee Writers' Conference. Vanessa lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her family.

Vanessa would love to hear from you. Connect with her: @vanessa_hua

An Easy Sweetness 

After becoming a forager at the start of the pandemic, I'd pinpointed in my neighborhood where to find plums, blackberries,  loquats, bay nuts, butternuts, acorns, and more while taking endless walks with my family in the San Francisco Bay Area.

But late last fall, on an afternoon stroll, I spied something new. Or something that had been there all along, but hadn't noticed until now: by the fence of the local pool, bushes had sprouted small oblong fruits with a dull green skin. The leaves were dark green on top, and silvery on the underside.

Foraging has become more than a hobby that helped get me through the last two and half years; it's a way of seeing, of being present, that makes me feel more at home, at home. Just as knowing what's happening in the lives of my neighbors fosters cordial and warm relations--"How is your son doing in college?"--so too with the plants and trees around me, whose names, background, and seasonality I now consider.

Preliminary identification with the help of iNaturalist suggested it might be pineapple guava, or feijoa, a fruit native to southern Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay and parts of Argentina, and introduced to California around 1900. Widespread commercial cultivation never quite caught on in the United States, where pineapple guava serve mostly as ornamental shrubs.

Based on a photo I shared online, friends all but confirmed my find, but I wouldn't know for certain until I cut it open and it inside, and I'd have to bide my time until they ripened on the tree, after Halloween and early November. And so, I waited with the eagerness I might once have reserved for the opening of a hot new restaurant.

I returned to the bushes, gave them a light shake and collected the fruits that tumbled to the ground; they'd grown to the size of hen's eggs. Other creatures had beaten me to the first ones, gnawing through the rinds.

Slicing the pineapple guava in half, I scooped out the juicy, tender flesh with a sweet-tart taste that reminded me of kiwi. Like Starburst candy, but not cloying or artificial. Delicious fresh, it was even better when I incorporated them into a delectable curd.

The pineapple guava's easy sweetness--in such quantity!--so late in the year was such a delight. In late spring and early summer, I'm looking forward to its flowers with its spiky bright red stamens, a harbinger of the bounty later this year.

-- Vanessa HuaConnect with Vanessa @vanessa_hua

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 People from Bloomington by Budi Darma. 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 - May 6, 2022

Dear Reader, 

We’re going “Bananas” today! 

Indulge in my Whoops! Banana Bread recipe (below).

My love for baking was inspired by my Grandma Hale. When I was young I spent a lot of time in her kitchen. Every once and a while I'd hear her say, "Hmm, I guess I'm in-a-pickle," which meant Grandma just realized she goofed when she was mixing up a recipe and it was too late to go back and fix her mistakes. So she'd dump the contents of the bowl and start over again. (Considering the generation Grandma came from, it was a very bold move.)

Sometimes when I'm baking I find myself in-a-pickle, too. My cell phone rings, then a FedEx delivery shows up at my door, and even though I've made the recipe a hundred times when I walk back to the bowl, iif my mistake is beyond repair, it’s time to say "Whoops!" Because sometimes there's no fixing the mistake. So I dump the bowl and begin again. I've passed on this baking secret to my grandsons and granddaughters, who have all been pretty impressed to find out they can bake worry-free in Grandma's kitchen.

The banana bread recipe, below, came from one of my "Whoops!" that I felt I could fix, and I did. In fact, it turned out to be the best banana bread I’d ever tasted. Enjoy!

Do you have a “Whoops” recipe? If you do, I’d love to hear about it.  Email: Suzanne@DearReader.com

Be sure to enter the Crab Party Hat giveaway. Today is the last day. To enter, and see some fun party photos. Click here. 

Suzanne's Whoops! Banana Bread

1 1/4 cup mashed overripe bananas (the riper, or browner, the bananas are, the better the bread will taste)

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/4 cups buttermilk

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup packed brown sugar

1/4 cup shortening

2 eggs

3 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 cup (overflowing) chopped walnuts

1/2 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease bottom only of either a 9x5x3 loaf pan or 4 smaller loaves. Beat all ingredients together, scraping bowl. Beat just until blended. Pour into pan(s). 

Bake until wooden toothpick comes out clean when inserted in the center. About 50 to 60 minutes baking time for one loaf and about 35 minutes for smaller loaves. Immediately remove from pans after you take out of oven. Cool on a wire rack. 

Enjoy, share with friends and family and be sure to tell them about the book clubs. Thanks!

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 People from Bloomington by Budi Darma. 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 - May 5, 2022

Dear Reader,

When our family yelled, “Happy Birthday!” Paul, my grandson, was definitely surprised. Because his 15th birthday was this past December, and we were yelling “Surprise!” on Easter Sunday. 

I host our family birthday parties, and no, I didn’t forget Paul’s birthday. The Sea Party, including a purple octopus and gray and white seagulls flying through the air, had been tucked away in my closet since the beginning of November. But the month of December was a tough one for our family. There was always someone who wasn't feeling well, including Paul. Heck, we almost missed a family get together at Christmas. We did manage to get together, but it was only for a short Merry Christmas gift exchange, and then everyone went home early to take a “get-well” nap.

Over the months I kept reassuring Paul that his birthday party was on my agenda, and it would happen real soon. But every time I set a date, another family member would take to the bed. Even when we finally surprised Paul on Easter, I was recuperating from surgery, so the only time I made an appearance was when my grandson blew out his 15 candles. 

I’m happy to report that everyone in my family is finally healthy, at least for today. Now if we can just stay that way until the next big family birthday party (my birthday), only 21 days away.

The photos are cute. Don’t miss them. And be sure to enter the crab party hat giveaway. To enter, 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 People from Bloomington by Budi Darma. 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 - May 3, 2022

Dear Reader,

It’s my pleasure to introduce today’s guest author Lorenzo Carcaterra, a #1 New York Times bestselling author of many titles including: Sleepers, Chasers, Midnight Angels, The Wolf, and more. Lorenzo is also a former writer/producer for Law & Order and has written for National Geographic Traveler, and The New York Times Magazine. He lives in New York City with Gus, his Olde English Bulldogge.

Welcome Lorenzo to the book club and enter to win one of five copies of his newly released novel, Nonna Maria and the Case of the Missing Bride. The story is set on the island of Ischia, in the Gulf of Naples, where Lorenzo spent summers as a youth. 

To enter, simply send an email with your shipping address to: AtRandom@randomhouse.com

 

ISCHIA: ISLAND OF MEMORIES

I was 14 the first time I saw Ischia. It was 1969 and my parents thought I should spend a summer with relatives and friends, on an island 18 miles off the coast of Naples.

I had never talked to these friends or relatives other than the times their names were mentioned around the table or when I would glimpse at black and white photos in an album.

I traveled alone on a trip that seemed to take forever. But, there, in the final minutes of the journey, on the back of a boat, glimpsing the mouth of the harbor, I knew I found my place.

During that first summer and others that followed, I grew to love the faces I had seen in the pages of that album. Many have long since died, but their memory lives in my mind and heart. None stronger than that of my grandmother, Nonna Maria.

I spent seven summers in her company and she watched me grow from unruly teenager into a young man filled with hope and ambition. She paved the way to a happier life.

I got to know the island of Ischia.

Mornings filled with the aroma of baked bread and pastries and smell of the sea; walking before sun-up with my aunts, heading to the port, waiting as fisherman tossed their catch on the pier and listened to the bartering that began. Above me, women sang Neapolitan ballads as they hung fresh-washed clothes. I would join friends and cousins and swim for hours, then sit under the shade of an umbrella and talk about a future we envisioned. Those friendships have lasted decades and that first hint of love, looking in the eyes of a young girl and losing my heart, has stayed with me to this day.

Evenings were filled with laughter as we went to movies, shared pizza, took walks along the Lido, the Bay of Naples close enough to touch.

There was magic to the island. Stunning beaches, thermal spas, fresh fruits, vegetables and fish made into unforgettable meals, the first taste of cold mountain-made wine. The beauty of Ischia grows stronger with time.

I go back every year and visit favorite places--Bar Calise to listen to the music of Aldo Poli; sit on the stone bench in front of Saint Peter's, where I spent evenings alongside Nonna Maria, soak in her words of wisdom; take a boat tour around the island; visit the D'Ambra Vineyard with friend and co-owner, Sara, standing on the top of the island, in front of us the majestic vista of the bay.

I belong to Ischia. Have since that afternoon on a crowded boat when I first laid eyes on the island. I feel now, at 67, same as I felt at 14.

Forever in love.

-- Lorenzo Carcaterra

To enter the book drawing,, simply send an email with your shipping address to: AtRandom@randomhouse.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 People from Bloomington by Budi Darma. 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 - May 2, 2022

Dear Reader,

Congratulations to the winners of the April Chocolate Chip Cookie Giveaway: Jennifer M., Westchester Public Library, Marian W., Springville Road Library and Sherri G.  Get ready to dunk and munch, your cookies are on the way.

I'm a brave soul--usually up to the challenge of taking on something new. But every now and then when I'm about to start a new beginning, I get cold feet. If I'm not careful, the butterflies in my stomach can quickly build into a bad case of stage fright. So I've come up with a way to trick myself into thinking that what I'm doing is really no big deal.

Instead of telling myself that I'm doing something I've never done before, I label the new thing an "experiment." If I'm conducting an experiment and it doesn't work out, that's okay. That's why people test things. Putting an R&D stamp on a new endeavor takes the pressure off of me. All of a sudden it's not a win/lose, good job/bad job situation--it's just something that I'm trying, to see if it will work.

Cold feet? I live in Florida so my toes are always toasty, and lately I’ve been adorning them with uniquely, designed socks. Since it was time to toss out all of my old white ankle socks (that I wear every day), I decided to replace them with color. To see my new finds, click here.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

Gratefully,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

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

DARK OBSESSIONS (THRILLER) by Marie Sutro

In this follow-up to my bestselling and award-winning debut, "Dark Associations," Detective Kate Barnes' search for personal peace is derailed by a gruesome murder in the woods. She soon discovers the darkest of woods hide the darkest of obsessions.

I'm giving away five copies, to enter the drawing, click on the link to Authorbuzz and the book jacket to enter or email: msutro@mariesutro.com, and reference "DO Book Giveaway"

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on DARK OBSESSIONS to read more and to email author Marie Sutro, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column - April 29, 2022

Dear Reader,

Today's column is continued from Thursday. If you missed yesterday's column and need to play catch-up, here's a link and a photo, click here.

All of Mom's friends were widowed too, and they insisted she needed a night out. So after a little coaxing, we were all on our way to the dance. 

The parking lot was full and buses were dropping off seniors near the front door. It was a huge dance hall, decorated with crepe paper and balloons and a sign on the way in reminded: "Get your name tag and sign up for door prizes!" We were lucky; we found a big round table near the front. The band had already started playing, but no one was dancing. I was thinking, 'This is pretty much like the beginning of every dance I've ever gone to. Who is going to be the first couple on the dance floor?' 

And two songs later, when the slow beat changed to a swing, the first couple, two women who must have been in their late 70s, braved the dance floor. Hands clasped together, not the least bit concerned--all eyes were on them--they held the dance floor alone, and when the song finished they stayed put, anticipating the next number. But when the music started again,  couples (mostly women dancing with women), flooded the dance floor and soon it was standing room only. "If you want to dance," one of my mother's friends advised, "you'd better not wait around for a man to ask, because there aren't enough of them to go around."

I noticed my mother tapping her foot and there was a remnant of a smile on her face when she leaned over and whispered to me, "May I please have this dance?"

Now it was a very strange thing, to be dancing with my mother. At first I just stood on the dance floor staring at the 5-foot woman, my dancing partner, my mother--who I'd never, ever, seen dance before. I was shocked. Her hips swaying side-to-side, shoulders loose, keeping time to the music. Just when did my mother learn how to do this? I had no idea how to do these dance moves, but it didn't matter. The next thing I knew my mother took me by the hand and I was twirling around the dance floor. On second glance, I could have sworn her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was sporting white bobby socks and saddle shoes.

Breathless and a bit stunned, I started walking back to our table when the song was over, but instantly the music started again and so did my mother. We danced another dance, and another dance, and another dance after that--it was all kind of a blur, and finally when the music moseyed its way into a slow song, I was so thankful, thinking I'd finally get to sit one out.

But my mother stood her ground, forcefully grabbing my elbows, and then gently looking into my eyes, letting me know that for whatever reason she had to keep dancing. Then she slid her arm around my back, our hands came together, my mother closed her eyes and some of her sadness melted into a smile as we glided around the floor.

It was the most memorable dance of my life. 

Slow dancing with my mother.

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - April 28, 2022

Dear Reader,

"May I please have this dance?"

Two months after my father died when I was home visiting my mother, some of her friends stopped by and invited us out to dinner. They were going to the Elmo Club, a local supper club, and afterwards they were heading to the big senior dance in Platteville to listen to the Busch's Swing Band.

My mother immediately declined, insisting it was too soon for her to be seen out in public. But I knew what the alternative was, the two of us sitting in the living room watching television and eating a liverwurst sandwich. So I coaxed Mom along, reminding her how much I loved to go to the Elmo Club. My parents used to take me there when I was a kid and my dad always ordered a kiddy cocktail for me.

"Couldn't we just go for an early dinner Mom, and then come right home?"

And she finally agreed.

At the Elmo club, I knew all of the women sitting around the table, most of them were moms of the kids I used to play with and if I didn't show up on time for dinner, my mother would call one of them looking for me. The 78-year-old woman sitting across from me was one of my teachers in high school. So it did feel a little strange at first--switching roles, but now here we were having dinner together, all talking on the same level as if it had always been this way.

The Elmo Club didn't disappoint me. The food was just as good as I remembered, though I didn't order my usual kiddy cocktail. Yes, it was a great idea going out to dinner. Mom looked a lot more relaxed, until someone mentioned the senior dance again. But before my mother could refuse, there was kind of a group intervention. All of Mom's friends were widowed too, and they insisted she needed a night out. So after a little coaxing, we were all on our way to the dance.

(I’ll continue my story tomorrow, or if you want to read it in advance, click here. 

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

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

Dear Reader Column - April 27, 2022

Dear Reader,  

(A note from Suzanne... I was finally able to have my gallbladder surgery. Thank you for all the get-well wishes, I really appreciate it. I've been sharing some of my favorite funny columns, while I’m on the mend, because it’s true: Laughter is the best medicine!)

My toilet whistles at me. It's kind of a sly, little "Yoo hoo! Come hither!" sort of whistle. This is a new thing for me and my toilet. Our past propinquity has been the customary toilet/owner relationship. We keep each other clean and tidy.

Don't get me wrong--I always applaud creativity. So at first, a whistling toilet was actually quite amusing. I was even a little boastful, thinking I probably had the most entertaining toilet on the block. Why, my toilet whistles every time I flush! It even puckers up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. But this whistling thing is beginning to get a little irritating.

You know how a joke is hilarious the first time out, still funny the second go-around, but after three times, the punch line just doesn't do it for you anymore? Well, my toilet has whistled one too many tunes.

I asked friends if they had any ideas about how to solve the whistling toilet mystery, but they were only amused. "Why does your toilet whistle, Suzanne? Maybe it wants to play, 'Name That Tune?' Maybe it thinks you have a cute butt."

O.K., it's time to call a professional.

"Joe's Plumbing. Can I help you? Why does your toilet whistle? Well, maybe it thinks you've got a cute...."

Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before.

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

* Congratulations to the winners of The Lifeguards by Guest Author Amanda Eyre Ward: Dorothy P., Katrina W., Lisa M., Eileen M., and Karyn W.

And congratulations to the winners of Almost a Whisper by Guest Author Priscilla Masters: Janice D., Nancy R., and Sharon B.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com