I Hear a Symphony by Hannah Rowan #RomanceGems

 Here in New Jersey, and no doubt in many other parts of the Eastern US, we’re being treated to courtship rituals of epic proportions. Namely, the emergence of the cicada brood known as Brood X, which is the largest group to emerge en masse once every 17 years.

Their presence is unmistakable in the areas where they appear. The nymphs burrow out of the ground and make their way to the treetops, where they shed their shells to reveal a fairly frightening looking creature only another cicada could love.

Cicadas are the original litterbugs. Once they arrive their discarded shells litter the ground. They spread their newly hatched wings and wait a few days to harden, and then the fun begins, because their entire purpose is to find a mate.

Teenagers and rock stars blasting their music have nothing on these little guys. The din of what seems to be loosely translated as the male trilling “come on, honey, I’m up here in the treetops waiting for you” is overwhelming as thousands of males rub their legs together to produce a raspy, crickety symphony, which in concert is about equivalent to a jet engine, maybe.

Who knows how the ladies choose their ideal mate? Is it the bug with the loudest song, the highest perch on the tree, the most attractive wings?

The entire production lasts about a month, during which people are subjected to swarms of flying insects, followed by the corpses of the satiated adults dropping from the trees. Because once the male lures the female and fertilizes her eggs, his job on earth is done, and he’s done for. Mama cicada follows soon after, once she lays her eggs in a tree branch. Baby cicadas hatch, fall from the trees, and burrow into the earth to wait for the next 17-year mating party.

In the meantime, medical professionals are issuing warnings that people who are allergic to shellfish shouldn’t eat the little buggers, which certainly wouldn’t be the first thing coming to my mind when it’s time for dinner. 

Even stranger, a Princeton High School insect-eating club (INSECT EATING CLUB??? Seriously? I thought Princeton produced unusually intelligent people!) is planning a taste-testing event to decide which cicada recipe is yummiest. 

To top it off, cicadas are vulnerable to a fungus which (I am not making this up) causes their butts to fall off to be replaced with a blob of fungus the size of a pencil eraser, but more importantly does something to their brains which scientists, in a very professional way, say makes them unusually horny. (Yes, you read that right.) This causes the cicada to mate with even more partners, resulting in the spread of a cicada-STD.

How appropriate that this all takes place in June, a month dedicated to weddings.  Is Mother Nature a hopeless romantic who planned it that way?

And aren’t you glad human courtship is not quite so gruesome?

Romance Gems celebrate June brides this month! 

Please take time to add some of our brides to your summer reading list!

On the Road Again by Hannah Rowan #RomanceGems

 My sister once told me she knew it was time to move when her oven got dirty or it was time to wash the curtains.

We lived in the same house for almost 40 years before renting the place where we live now, rented mainly because we sold the house but couldn’t figure out where we wanted to go next.

Selling a house you’ve lived in that long means leaving so many things behind. I wonder if the new owners will decide to dig deep into the garden and find the pet cemetery. I wonder if they’ll know the spots where the irises come up in the spring or know not to trim back the gigantic aster bush because it will bloom in the fall. I knew all the plants in the yard and all the strange spots in the house where you had to turn the doorknob just so and to pull the door a little toward me in order to get the key to work. I knew the stain where my mother in law spilled grape juice on my brand new light gray carpet the first time we had a family dinner after we bought it.

More importantly, I had my people and my places. The convenience store where I went for coffee, the dry cleaner where I felt I’d won a victory when the owner finally said hello after grunting at me for several years, the ladies in the library who asked if I was okay after seeing that I checked out several books on depression for writing research, and who admitted they’d been discussing the issue with surprise because I always seemed so cheerful. I knew that the cashier, George, in the grocery store was writing a book and that clerk Janice was studying to be a medical assistant.

Our daughter was horrified at the thought of us selling “her” house even though she said she had no intention of ever moving back to New Jersey. Our son wondered what took us so long.

But now, after a few years in our rented place, I have new people and new places and a landlord who surprised us by telling us he was selling the place and it’s time for us to go.

This move should be easier because we’ve already sold, given away, or tossed huge piles of things. And we have lots of things…um…already packed.  (Never unpacked!)

Moving is an adventure, I tell myself.  Moving is also one of the most stressful things a person can do.

At least we didn’t stay here long enough for me to have to clean the oven or wash the curtains.

  ~  Happy Mother's Day!  ~

 

BREAKIN' UP IS HARD TO DO!

 By Caroline Clemmons

No, not a romantic breakup. I’m talking about favorite clothing.

One thing I’ve noticed recently is that no matter how overstuffed our tiny closets, I usually choose what I wear from the same few pieces. I favor maxi-skirts and knit tops with three-quarter sleeves. Which brings me to my point: 

How long do we continue to wear an item of clothing before we have to “break up” and send it to the ragbag or trash?

You know what I mean, right? Soft, often-washed fabric relaxes to fit your movement. Tops and skirts/pants that are your friends. Never mind that the skirt’s hem may be frayed (it is) or the top’s elbows are wearing thin (they are). These clothes pamper us in ways a new set can’t.

Recently, I gave in to my eldest daughter’s urging and tossed a pair of slacks into the trash. Letting go hurt, but she was right. They were disgraceful with their almost bare knees and frayed hem. Still, I had to hold the slacks a few minutes for a last goodbye before I could release them into the bin. They were part of the ensemble to the skirt I’m wearing now—the one with the frayed hem. I bought this so long ago I’m not sure of the age. Other than old. I know that soon I’ll have to relinquish the skirt.

The same is true for my favorite top, which is so romantic it’s perfect for a romance writer. It’s soft pink with the words “romance” and cabbage roses and other romantic graphics, all in soft hues. I’ve searched for a duplicate or suitable replacement without success. I do remember where and when I bought this top. I found it at a tent on the Granbury, Texas square during a celebration which drew vendors from across the area. I checked for choices using the label, but nothing happened to help me.

In the meantime, please get my latest release, MAIL ORDER BLAZE, Secret Baby Dilemma Series, at https://www.amzn.com/B08T6C5FKD   This is a short, sweet but fast-paced read I believe you'll enjoy. I love the cover model's dark red hair very like I've always wished I had. Sigh. Are we ever happy with out own hair?

Blaze arrives by train to meet her groom.

She is desperate to save a boy…

He questions his mail-order bride’s past…

An evil man threatens their survival.

 

Bernadette “Blaze” Cook rescues her nephew after her brother-in-law murders her sister in a drunken rage. While the killer is in jail, Blaze takes her nephew with her when she answers an ad in the Grooms Gazette. As further precaution, she doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going. She hopes to disappear and keep her nephew safe.

Andrew “Drew” Wagner didn’t expect his bride to have a toddler but he’s willing to accept the boy. He is suspicious of her story. If the child is hers, why not admit it? As his fondness for her grows, the question becomes less and less important, but won’t rest. Is his wife here to stay or is she planning to take off with some of his cash?

When the nephew’s father breaks out of prison, he’s able to trace Blaze. She and Drew will need all their resources to overcome the killer’s try for revenge. Will their new found love survive as well?

 

A couple of cows bawled. More moved forward until they were near the wagon.

Kenny pointed at the closest steers. “Moo, moo. Mik, mik.”

“This isn’t the kind of cow we milk, dear, but you’re right. We get milk from cows and they go moo. You’re being a good boy.”

“Ma’am, pardon me for saying so, but you’d better put him back in his play area. If Drew fires at something, the horses might jerk the wagon. Sure don’t want the boy to fall out.”

The thought sent her stomach sinking to her knees. “Oh, thank you, Henry. You know I’m new to being in charge of a child and even newer to ranch life. I’ll appreciate your pointers.”

She set Kenny in the triangle formed by the trunks. “If you’ll look the other way, Henry, I’ll climb over the seat and keep him busy.”

“I’m looking for Drew, but feel free to use my arm or shoulder for support. Don’t see him. Sure wish he hadn’t told me to wait here.”

She managed the transfer from the seat to the center trunk without tearing her stockings or her skirt. “I understand, but if he fires the rifle and the blast frightens the horses or the cattle, then I’d be lost at what to do. A runaway team would be disastrous.”

“Oh, I see the point of me staying here, I just wish I didn’t. I worry about Drew. He’s a good man and kind, but sometimes takes risks he shouldn’t.”

“Like now? But he has to protect his herd. That’s his livelihood.”

“We could send the others to look for what’s causing the ruckus and hope nothing happened until they got here.”

A screech like a woman screaming for help prefaced the blast of a rifle. What had happened to cause that horrifying shriek?

“Bwaze!” Kenny cried and grabbed her legs.

Frightened herself, she laid a hand on her nephew’s back. “Henry, did Drew scream?”

The ranch hand stood and appeared to search the direction from which the sounds had come. “That wasn’t a who, that was a what—a panther. Sounds like a woman in agony, don’t it? Fact is, first time I heard one, I figured a cat had attacked a woman. Reckon Drew will be along any minute now.”

Drew appeared trudging toward them. When he reached the wagon, he leaned on the side. “Biggest panther I’ve ever seen. I’d like the pelt for a rug. Henry, you mind staying here to keep the birds away until I can send the others to help?”

Before Henry could answer, Blaze asked, “What if you loaded it behind the trunks?”

Relief shot across Drew’s face when he looked at her. “I hated to ask you, but that would sure help. I don’t want ants and other bugs to get to it.”

“Then, let’s load it now.” She was eager to get to her new home, but apparently this meant a lot to her husband. She simply wouldn’t look at the dead animal on the way to the ranch house.

Drew climbed onto the wagon and released the brake. “It isn’t far. In fact, he was so close it gave me cold chills. We drove within ten yards of him.”

The news set her shaking. The cat could have attacked them—Kenny might have been injured. If she were killed what would happen to her nephew?   

From the wagon seat, Drew snapped the reins. “I can almost hear your thoughts churning, Blaze. We always keep a rifle in the wagon for this reason. You and Kenny were never in danger.”

“Thank you for telling me, but I have a vivid imagination. I don’t understand how having a rifle in the wagon equates to no danger if the panther had leapt at us. Surely someone would have been severely injured before you could fire the rifle.”

“He wouldn’t have attacked the wagon. He was looking for a weak animal to pull down, like a calf or a birthing mama or an old deer. We lost a calf last week and knew a panther had killed it. Lost the tracks across rocky ground on a ridge. Reckon this was the one responsible. Mt men were keeping an eye out for signs.”

The wagon stopped beside the carcass of a huge cat. She had never seen one except in pictures and hadn’t realized how large they could grow. Stretched out, it was longer than a man was tall. How horrid it would be to have such a creature leap at her.

Kenny climbed onto her lap to watch the men. Henry let down the tailgate, then helped Drew lug the cat onto the wagon bed. When they had it loaded, they closed the tailgate and climbed onto the wagon seat.

Kenny pointed at the panther. “Kitty cat says meow.”

The men laughed.

 Our theme this month is April Showers. Our area has had lovely showers and I look forward to May's flowers. Already, the roses planted on two sides of our patio are a riot of red. How can I fail to be optimistic with such color greeting me each morning?

Keep Reading!

A Little Bit of Luck by Hannah Rowan #RomanceGems

 “You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from,” according to novelist Cormac McCarthy.  While the Dalai Lama says that “sometimes not getting what we want is a wonderful stroke of luck.”

I’m not sure I agree with either of them.

I can’t say I wanted anything except to get home for dinner after a day of college classes when a tractor trailer popped into the driver’s side door of my VW Beetle, picked me up, and carried me down the interstate highway. It was one of those moments when time slowed to a crawl. Hmm…there’s a truck in my window.  I climbed over the gear shift and into the passenger seat, inexplicably still holding the steering wheel as though I thought it would help the situation. Eventually my car bounced off the truck’s grill, spun across a few lanes, and landed in the median facing the opposite direction.

I was surely lucky that day, although I was really annoyed that I’d just spent several hundred dollars putting a new motor in the car and now it was totaled. I didn’t have any injury except mild hysteria. And the insurance money financed my first trip to Disney.

Sometimes I wonder how I made it to the age where I was old enough to drive a car.

As a curious child, I inserted a metal wire into an electrical outlet just to see what would happen. What happened? A jolt that felt like the pins and needles you get when a limb goes to sleep magnified a few thousand times as I was catapulted across the room. But no permanent damage that I’m aware of. I guess I was lucky.

Undeterred, I was playing by an empty warehouse that had a slanted driveway leading to the underground garage door. The driveway was filled with water, and I’m still not sure what happened except that when I touched a pipe, I felt that now-familiar jolt of electrical energy. Lucky again.

There were so many things I did growing up that, looking back, I marvel that I survived. Racing my brother across a railroad bridge to get to the other side before the train came. Riding a dinky little rubber raft down a river into a reservoir with no lifeguard, not to mention lots of rocks and dangerous currents. Bringing home what I thought was a sweet little lost dog who turned out to have rabies or distemper or whatever it is that causes a dog to foam at the mouth and try to bite a person’s arm off.

I could go on, but the pertinent fact is that I survived all of it, which I probably shouldn’t say because it might be unlucky.

Maybe Mr. McCarthy and the Dalai Lama have a point after all.

Going Back in Time by Hannah Rowan #RomanceGems

 On one of our almost-daily hikes, the man of the house and I returned to the scene of the crime, or more accurately, to Greystone Park Psychiatric Hospital, the place where we met.

No, we weren’t patients, though our children love to shock their friends by saying that’s where we met.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/mclib/2222739491/
Main Building on a sunny day

He had just come home from the army and spent his first summer home there working in recreation before transferring to the children’s unit in the fall so he could attend college.

I worked in recreation for three long years, my first full time, not-a-summer-job job. Then I went back to school part time and worked in personnel. Finally, when I was in grad school and ready to do my psychology internship, where did they assign me? Of course, Greystone. I couldn’t seem to escape the place.

Working there was…well…insane. We met people from outer space and many, many versions of the Messiah. We made life-long friends and had so many experiences that wouldn’t have made sense to people who didn’t work there.

No idea what this is!

  The grounds were gorgeous and we had our own farm with pigs        and chickens. The building we called Main Building was a historic      Kirkbride building with the second largest footprint in the country,        after the Pentagon. We had a bowling alley, a movie theater,              baseball fields, basketball courts, and a bandshell.  We had a big      auditorium/gym where we held dances or played bingo.

  The place could get pretty spooky. Dark, damp, and scary tunnels    ran from building to building with an atmosphere that would have      felt at home in a horror movie. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was just a routine day at work for us.

The State of New Jersey gradually removed most of the patients and let the buildings fall into disrepair. And due to various political machinations, the beautiful Main Building that had been the centerpiece of the hospital eventually was knocked down in spite of the efforts of a “Preserve Greystone” group.

Maybe it’s natural to grow nostalgic as the year draws to a close, but as we walked the paths we once followed many years ago, we’d point out landmarks that used to be part of our daily lives. The grounds are still beautiful, but now they’re home to a huge county park with soccer and baseball fields, a dog park, a hockey rink, and a handicap-accessible playground.

All that's left of the Main Building

On a gray day in December the grounds didn’t seem so beautiful and I felt as though the sadness of former patients had soaked into the very soil.

But pretty soon the days will start to get longer and the sun will shine and the grounds will be beautiful again.  And this year will finally be behind us.

AN ATTITUDE OF GRATITUDE, JERSEY STYLE by Hannah Rowan #RomanceGems

Here comes Thanksgiving, somehow, already. The end of November. Almost the end of the year. On Thanksgiving we're supposed to count our blessings and be grateful and all that.

Counting blessings is always difficult for me because I always seem to come up with a "but."

Yesterday as I climbed a mountain little hill near my house, gasping for air and "glowing" profusely (someone once told me ladies don't sweat) I marveled at how fortunate I am to live in Jersey where, contrary to the popular perception of outsiders, we have miles and miles of woods available for hiking, very pretty scenery, and lots of lakes, rivers, and beaches available for swimming.

But really, someone needs to do something about the leaves. Someone needs to get out there with a rake or a leaf blower to clear away the layer of leaves littering the paths, hiding the rocks and the tree roots and the holes that make hiking a slippery slope for a person who doesn't have spikes on the bottom of her shoes.

Alternately, by the time I crested the second hill I considered the feasibility of installing escalators in the woods. We'd still have the benefit of being out in nature, right? I pondered the possibility of just sitting on a rock to wait for some nice forest ranger to come along with a stretcher. Or maybe I could just flag down a helicopter. There are no Ubers in the woods.

We have wonderful views in New Jersey. In so many places we can climb to the top of a mountain and be rewarded with the sight of the New York City skyline. This is a feature often mentioned in hiking guides.

But you know, you can ride down Route 3 and gaze at the New York City skyline from the comfort of your own car or your seat on a bus without having to go home to ice your knees.

In the other direction you can enjoy vast vistas that allow you to see bordering states.

But the only sight you'll see are treetops with nary a boundary line in sight.

With my usual swimming pools closed for most of the year, I was thankful to be able to join a local lake, and I was so happy to be able to swim! I'm also lucky to be within an hour's ride down the shore.

But those little fish nipping at my ankles! That never happens in the pool. I also never worry about sharks in the pool.

People who foolishly move away bemoan the lack of good bagels, Italian bread, pizza and Taylor Ham/pork roll elsewhere. I've heard ugly rumors about the scarcity of goodies like Devil Dogs and HoHo's and the like in other parts of the country. In Jersey I can get the best of all of those things.

But they do have a certain unpleasant effect on my waistline.

Of course I'm grateful for a happy and healthy husband, and children, and grandchildren, and all the other members of my tribe: friends, family, co-workers, and fellow writers.

And most grateful of all, that Thanksgiving means it's almost the end of the year, and there's never been a year I'd be so happy to see end.  No buts about that!\\

Falling into Fall Down South!

 

By:  Marcia King-Gamble

www.lovemarcia.com

Most people  think there's only one  season down south,  Summer! Summer! and more Summer! But that's so not true.

We have a wet season, dry season, and eternal summer. All three tend to go on forever. But if  you live here long enough, you realize that the seasons may be defined by what the locals wear.

Right now, it's mid-October, considered almost the dry season,but reality says differently. It's been pouring nonstop  for days, and it is still hot! hot! hot! My air conditioning is on full blast, and because of the heat factor (high eighties), I am still wearing shorts (a no-no for locals after September). For you folk up north, think of it in the same manner as wearing white after labor day.

Let me tell you a secret. As the cooler, drier season approaches, we can usually spot tourists because they are the only ones in shorts.   The same goes for picking out tourists/snowbirds  in  nice restaurants and bars. Rarely will you see a local out in shorts at night, unless they are heading for a Tiki bar, and even then. Enough said. Google snowbird.

The holidays, though, are an entirely different matter. Down south,  we use any excuse to get in the mood and  party. I have seen more snowmen on lawns in a place that  never snows,  than  I have ever seen up north. Yes, we like snow and cold weather from a distance, and in December we've even brought snow making machines in so  young kids can play.

When October comes around, we 're thinking holidays. The pinks, reds and teals get exchanged for  oranges, yellows and browns. The lemons, pineapples and sunflowers are put away,( I still rock em until I can't find em),  Then again, I dance to a different beat, and always have. I am a sucker for the holidays and my cluttered garage is testimony to that.

Come any change of season, the frustrated decorator in me emerges. The key is to bargain shop for those decorations.  If they don't work, toss them out. Here's what I did with my table, and it's super easy to do. Use wine glasses if you don't have candle holders. These are easily picked up at stores like Marshalls, or Old Time Pottery. Fill the bowl up with leaves or fake veggies bought at the Dollar Store. The other option is turning over the candle holders, keeping the fruit, potpourri  or whatever you've  added in the bowls. The flat parts, or feet now become your candle holders. Add candles or tea lights and you are rockin' n rollin'.

Your table can adjust to the seasons by simply changing what you've placed in the bowls. You can circle the base with festive  wreaths, or have Mardi Gras beads hang from those bowls.  Here's  what I did for Easter and Christmas.

Now I have Halloween on the brain, and I'm thinking about what I'll be wearing to the party. Virtual this year, of course.  I am a fan of  the homemade costume.  Check your closets, add a couple of accessories from Walmart or the Dollar Store, and you are set. This is my Alice White Rabbit costume, consisting of one white jumpsuit, and a Dollar Store boa and bunny ears.

And since we're talking about partying, don't miss the Last Call for Last Chance Beach: Summer's End. You can still pick up these short  stories at the bargain price of 99 cents until October 31st. 

Here's the link. https://www.amazon.com/Last-Chance-Beach-Summers-End-ebook/dp/B08CV3GN3R

Have a Happy Halloween one and all!

About Marcia King-Gamble:

Originally from a sunny Caribbean island where the sky and ocean are the same mesmerizing shade of blue, this travel industry executive has spent most of life in the United States. A National Bestselling author, Marcia has penned over 34 books and 8 novellas. Her free time is spent at the gym, traveling to exotic locales, and caring for an animal family that keep her sane. Well almost.

Visit Marcia at www.lovemarcia.com or “friend” her on Facebook: http://bit.ly/1MlnrIS

Be sure to email her to join her mailing list. 

Instagram * Amazon * Website * Facebook * Twitter

Once Upon a Cowboy @MaddieJames #RomanceGems

Once upon a time there was a teacher, and one hot August summer, she and her teacher friend went off to a conference in the cool Colorado mountains. The conference was great--what they saw of it, anyway. The trail ride they skipped the afternoon sessions for was a lot more exciting.

You see, there were cowboys.

And this teacher, even though she'd not ridden a horse since she was a kid, made the commitment for a four-hour trail ride into the Colorado mountains--two hours up and two hours back. All was well heading up the mountainside, the scenery was great, the horse was a dream, the cowboys were... well, cowboys.

Coming down the mountain, however, was a different story. The teacher had a difficult time handling her horse on the downward slopes, crossing a little stream, and keeping up with the other horses. She mixed up her signals to her mount. When she thought she was telling the horse to slow down, she was really telling the horse to back up. Consequently, they lost their space in the horse line. So, the horse galloped. And the teacher held on for dear life. And when the teacher was finally finished with this nightmare, she could only think of one thing--

At least there were cowboys.

Now, this story does have a happily-ever-after ending. You see, the teacher turned her adventure into a book. The opening scene--probably elaborated upon a bit--mimicked the teacher's chaotic ride down the mountain. She sold that book--her first published novel--and then the teacher wasn't a teacher any longer. She was a romance author who wrote about cowboys (and other things).

True story. I swear. I have the book covers to prove it! The original book is on the left, the revised/rebranded and re-authored book, is on the right!

Now, twenty-some years later, the sequel to this first cowboy book, is finally written. 

Readers have been asking for Mack and Jillie's story for years. Years! But other stories and different cowboys got in the way. Until now. 

The Cowboy's Secret Baby releases August 25, and I (Maddie James / the teacher) am ready to share it with the world! Here's the blurb: 

She’s the maid of honor. He’s the best man. 

Both are keeping secrets from the other.

The long-requested sequel to Maddie James’ first published novel, Roses & Rawhide is now available!

Readers wanted to know...
What happened to Jillie and Mack’s relationship at the end of Roses & Rawhide?
Why did Jillie go back to Kentucky?
Will they get back together?
What’s their story?

While Kim Martin and Thad Winchester find their happily-ever-after in Roses & Rawhide, their best friends, Jillie Abernathy and Mack Montgomery, end their sleeping-bag-sharing relationship during the rugged, two-week pack trip into the Colorado San Juan mountains.

But when Kim and Thad host their wedding at Thad’s Colorado ranch a few months later, Mack and Jillie must come face-to-face with reality—and with each other. She’s the maid of honor. He’s the best man. Both are harboring secrets—secrets that could break a potential future relationship if they both avoid telling the truth.

Can they reveal those secrets to each other? And if so, can they get past the withheld truths to plan a future together?

PREORDER TODAY!

DON'T FORGET! A NEW BOX SET AND A FREE COCKTAILS BOOK!

Some of the Romance Gems have teamed together to release a new box set with all-new summer beach stories, and their favorite summer cocktail recipe in a free book! See the details below!

GET THE $0.99 BOX SET! | GRAB YOUR FREE COCKTAILS BOOK!  

And last, I'd love it if you would comment below to win our monthly giveaway prize. Details are here.

COMMENT & WIN QUESTION: My chaotic ride down the mountain on the trail horse was not my most glamorous moment of all time. In fact, it was quite embarrassing. What's your most embarrassing moment? Comment below & (maybe) win!

****

Maddie James writes romance – but don’t try to pin her down to one genre. From edgy suspense to flirty contemporary romance to darker erotic titles, she writes to silence the people in her head. Affaire de Coeur says, “James shows a special talent for traditional romance,” and RT Book Reviews claims, “James deftly combines romance and suspense.” Learn more at www.maddiejames.com.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Hannah Rowan #RomanceGems

Remember this essay topic greeting you when you returned to class after a summer hiatus?

No?

I don’t!

But I’ve seen it often enough in comic strips and on TV shows.  And if I were still a student, I’d have a very peculiar essay to hand in.

Generally around this time of year my husband and I are getting ready to set out on a great adventure.  We wouldn’t take a beach vacation when we have nice, hot sun right at home.  We save that for the cold winter months. We’ll do day trips to the Jersey shore, but our standard getaways usually involve visiting another state to continue my quest to go to all fifty.  (At this point I’m up to 42.)  Sometimes we’re fortunate enough to travel to another country.

In the year 2020, it sometimes seems we’ve traveled to another universe entirely.

This year’s shelter-in-place directives have introduced my husband to the wonders of grocery stores.  Where before he might have made a quick trip to pick up milk and bananas, he found himself accompanying me on more extensive excursions as a way to get out of the house.  After the initial excitement wore off, he found he was just as bored as I usually am with the task. In fact, he could get downright impatient while I stood pondering which tomatoes were ripest or which loaf of bread had the most fiber and the least sugar. I finally realized that buying him a Kit Kat or a bag of pretzels made the trip more palatable to him.

Our horizons expanded beyond groceries when I discovered websites listing all the local, county, and state parks in our area.  We found parks right near our house that we never knew existed.  Some featured nice, gentle strolls on paved paths.  Others required the dexterity of a mountain goat but we were forced to keep going only because it would have been more difficult to go back the way we came.

We discovered that New Jersey has many ponds, lakes, and rivers hidden in the woods in state and county parks. Several times we were rewarded with a view of the Manhattan skyline after scrambling up a rocky path.  We found the remains on many a colonial stone foundation deep in the woods.  And I can’t even remember how many spots where we learned colonial soldiers rested or hid to prepare for the next battle.  The forest also hides the rusted out parts of old cars and appliances, leading us to wonder why someone would take the trouble to lug something so far into the woods that it takes an hour to get to it.

On the first mild day we decided to go down the shore just to walk on the beach and the boardwalk.  The fog obscured the ocean and it was chilly and cloudy, but it was also delightful to be out of the house and near the water.

When outdoor dining first opened up we rushed to a favorite restaurant with tables spread out on the sidewalk.  Just as our food arrived, the skies opened up and we might as well have been eating in the shower.  We grabbed our dishes and ran to a nearby empty table that had an umbrella.  Yes, our backs were soaked, but our fronts were deliriously happy eating at a restaurant for the first time in many months.

We’ve been swimming in a nearby pond because the pool in our complex won’t open this year.

We’ve been sitting in the dark watching a hurricane blow trees past our window.

We’ve seen enough wildlife to assemble our own private zoo.  The chipmunks are running rampant, but we’ve also seen a man rescuing a frog from the jaws of a snake on a forest path, a red-shouldered hawk, a very fat groundhog, a blue heron, a white heron, lots of bunnies and deer, and the occasional coyote.

All in all I guess you could say that though it hasn’t been the most pleasant summer on record, at least it’s been interesting.

You may have noticed that I’m somewhat fond of water.  Lakes, rivers, ponds, swimming pools, and the ocean.  The beach is my happy place!  So when I was given the opportunity to join 13 other authors in the Last Chance Beach box set, it seemed like the natural place to be.

Click Last Chance Beach on the menu bar above to follow me to Last Chance Beach, and pick up a copy of our free companion e-book featuring recipes for delicious beach-side drinks in Cocktails on Last Chance Beach.  And be sure to enter this month's giveaway!

 

Steamy Summer Days with @MaddieJames #LastChanceBeach

I've been a water girl since I was a kid. I remember learning how to navigate a boat dock in my very early years--you know, how to balance getting into the boat without slipping between dock and boat and into the water. My sister and I would fish for bluegill, laying on our bellies on the dock to pull them up, look at their pretty scales, and then release them. We also learned to fish off the banks and "creek fish" if that is such a term. This was all stuff we did with my dad.

Family fishing - Depositphotos_223819174

When I turned fifteen, dad asked if I intended to keep fishing with him now that I was older. I hadn't thought that I wouldn't--but I think he saw the signs of boys taking up more of my time, and wondered if fishing would go by the wayside. He said, "Well, I'm going to have to buy a license for you when you turn 16." Turns out he didn't have to buy that license and our fishing days pretty much ended.

Sometimes I regret that--but when you're fifteen, life is different.

My mom was the beach bunny. She'd pack us up, haul us to a nearby beach where she'd meet her friends, and we kids would all play in the lake and sand all day, under the watchful eyes of the moms. Sand in our swimsuit bottoms. Water up our noses. Sunburns on our shoulders.

We loved it.

When I was in the eighth grade, the Army Corp of Engineers built a dam about five miles from where we lived, which created a huge lake and recreational area. The beach went in the next year and back then, we all boasted that it was the largest inland beach in the state of Ohio. It still could be, I don't know. That was over 40 years ago.

But throughout high school in the summer, we were there. Every day. So was my mom, most days, but no longer were we under her watchful eye--my sister and I were somewhere else trying to catch the eyes of the lifeguards. Those were steamy, fun-filled, lazy, and unforgettable summer days. I treasure the memories. Mostly I wish that I could still fit in my bikini--sort of. 

College came and went. So did marriages and divorces. And babies, and later on grandbabies. Beaches, however, were a constant. As I shared in this post on Gems, I passed the love of water--and the beach--on to my progeny. While my kids and I spent our share of time at the lake--my parents had bought a lake house by then--I also introduced them to the ocean. After 20+ years of ocean beach vacations, when any of us say we are "heading to the beach" we know exactly the one we are talking about.

So, all that said, how could I say no to the opportunity to contribute to a box set called Last Chance Beach: Summer's End? Well, I couldn't. I'm super excited to share that my story, That One Summer, will be included in the #romancegems Last Chance Beach box set releasing in early August. Here's the blurb for the story and officially, my cover reveal! 

THAT ONE SUMMER

Twenty years ago, Lia Langston left Last Chance Beach, leaving behind friends, a really good job offer, and the young man she’d fallen in love with that summer. The breakup hurt them both—but she was expected back home in Chicago where a job was waiting. From there, she meandered through life—marriage, a child, divorce, career—yet, there was one constant. She never missed the annual week at Last Chance Beach with her college girlfriends.

Same week, same beach house, same beach town. The routine was safe and predictable. By the time beach week rolled around every year, she was more than ready.

Except for this year.

When Zach Allen—the young man she left behind—steps back into her life, she must face the twenty-year-old consequences of her leaving. Will Last Chance Beach allow her a second chance at love?

WON'T YOU JOIN US AT LAST CHANCE BEACH?

NOW AVAILABLE TO PRE-ORDER AT AMAZON!!!

Read about the legend of Last Chance Beach written by Joan Reeves here, and get a full description of the box set by visiting Jan Scarbrough's post last week. 

*****

And...while I have you, I'll also share that I have a Sweet to Heat Summer Romance Reads box set on sale right now at all ebook retailers. Grab your set for 99cents by the end of August. Don't let the steamy summer days go by without binge reading this set! 

CLICK HERE FOR UNIVERSAL BUY LINKS!

*****

And don't forget our July Rafflecopter! You don't want to pass up a chance to win an Amazon gift card, right?

CLICK TO ENTER THE ROMANCE GEMS RAFFLECOPTER!

*****

Visit me at www.maddiejames.net.

CHICKENS ON MY SIDE OF THE ROAD by Hannah Rowan #RomanceGems

The topic of city girl vs. country girl seems to be popping up frequently in my life lately. I was reminiscing with my daughter-in-law about a brief, unfortunate time when I left New Jersey as a child and moved to Michigan for a few months that felt like a century.

Why?

Chickens!

Imagine the culture shock of a kid moving from very urban Newark, NJ, to a farm in Michigan that included not just an outhouse, but chickens. Chickens who pecked at my skinny little nine-year-old legs every time I walked through the yard on the way to said outhouse. It was terrifying.

Chickens seem to be the current must-have item for many people I know. A friend in northern New Jersey built a palace for her new brood. Another acquaintance ordered 50 baby chicks through the mail. At the assisted living where I work, we joined a farm project where we borrowed an incubator and hatched 12 baby chickens. We had to turn the eggs every 90 minutes. Do mother chickens do this? When do they sleep

I recently read a book called HOW TO SEDUCE A TEXAN by Karen Kelley about an out-of-her element city girl reporter who goes undercover to a dude ranch to do an exposé on the hero, who is on to her and puts her in the most primitive accommodations imaginable. And that included not only chickens but a psychotic rooster. I felt her pain.

Now I’m not only reading about chickens but I’ve acquired four grand-chickens with the names Checkers, Siren-head, Cupcake, and another one I can never remember because who names their chickens? At least these chickens are safely confined in a lovely chicken coop—isn’t that what you call the houses chickens live in? Because this isn’t really my area of expertise. But I don’t want to think about the possibility of eating a creature I’ve been introduced to by name.

My grand-chickens aren’t about to become anyone’s dinner anytime soon, as far as I know. Their function seems to be wandering around making strange little sounds and laying multicolored eggs at an alarming rate.

I’ve been sent home with many, many eggs every time I visit. So although I don’t want to make a meal of a creature I know on a first name basis, it seems I have no compunction about munching on my…potential great-grand-chickens. Is that a thing?

In self defense I learned how to make something called a frittata, in a big old iron frying pan, which again reminds me                                                  of country living, but what could
I do?  My world has gone so chicken-crazy that my husband started talking about whether we could have a few chickens on the little balcony of our tiny two bedroom condo. If that ever happens, I’m flying the coop.

Don't forget to enter our monthly Rafflecopter drawing for some great prizes in Amazon gift cards! You can find the complete details and full entry form on our Monthly Giveaway page. Or, you can enter via the Short Entry Form.