My favorite quote by Lynn Lovegreen

 There are so many great quotes out there. You can find inspiring quotes about love, life, books, writing, you name it! It was hard to pick my all-time favorite, but one kept coming back to me:

I saw it first in a “cryptoquote” puzzle in the newspaper years ago, and it hit a nerve with me. I cut it out and stuck it on a window frame where I could see it often. A couple moves later, it’s on a shelf in my current guest room/study.

 

It’s one of those quotes that has different interpretations depending how you look at it. At first, I was thinking of sweet, simple things like wildflowers and sunsets. Later, I included acts like reading a good book and sipping a cup of tea. As I get older, those sweet, simple things also include time with loved ones.

 

Especially after the last few years, I value everyday moments with my husband. A cup of tea with a friend is special. Sharing a meal with my daughter and her family are precious. No huge expense or effort is needed. Laura was right. It really is the “sweet, simple things in life which are the real ones….”

 

What are the real things in your life?

 

Lynn Lovegreen has lived in Alaska for most of her life. After twenty years in the classroom, she retired to make more time for writing. She enjoys her friends and family, reading, and volunteering for her local library. Her young adult historical romance is set in Alaska, a great place for drama, romance, and independent characters. See her website at www.lynnlovegreen.com. 

 

Little Heroines

by Courtney Pierce

One special book defined my early childhood. Back in 1961, my paternal grandmother gave me a ten-story collection titled The Golden Treasury of Caroline and Her Friends by Pierre Probst. For as long as I can remember, my grandmother appeared old to me. In her later years, she worked as a translator for a children’s book publisher in Washington, D.C. Grandma was a stern and demanding European immigrant, having fled the oppression of Nazi Germany in WWll. It seemed like such a contradiction for her to have magically turned children’s books into treasures for kids who spoke German and Danish. Still waters ran deeper than I ever knew.

I vividly remember sitting on my father’s lap as he rocked his stuffed lounge chair, the springy beige one with scratchy wool upholstery. I was only three or four when he would read aloud to me the stories of Caroline and her Friends before handing me off to Mom for a teeth brushing and tuck into bed. To the accompaniment of Dad's animated interpretation of the dialogue, my imagination went wild as I got lost in the illustrations. 

Dad wasn't great at reciting Caroline's parts in a girly voice, but he was really good with the animals: two rambunctious kittens named Puff and Inky, two naughty puppies named Bobby and Rusty, and a wise bear cub named Bruno. A velvety panther and a brave lion cub stopped by to join a few of the stories too. I would skip ahead to recite the dialogue before my father could lick his giant finger to turn the thick paper. I couldn't wait that long, so I made up some of my own.

"No, no, Rusty...don't you do that," I'd say, trying to sound bossy and poking my short forefinger on Dad's stomach. "Caroline's going to be so mad at you!"

Dad would chuckle and pat my chubby leg. "Gotta wait. Don't hijack the story."

I silenced my made-up words, but my excitement came out in the twisting of my toes on Dad's sweatshirt.

Caroline had rescued all of her animal friends from trouble in nearly every story. She was a heroine of the highest order. I had her assurance that all would be okay at the end of each tale. Trust was a given.

Sporting blond pigtails, seven-year-old Caroline, explored the world with her animal friends, a big world unknown to me at the time. Together, they got into all kinds tangles while traveling to India, tackling the chores of spring cleaning, hiking and camping in the mountains, and throwing a big party. In other books, Caroline takes her friends to the beach and even packs them into a rocket ship for a trip to the moon. 

Caroline could do anything, and I wanted to be just like her.

Little did I know that the seeds of my adult values were rooted in this book: my love for animals, my ability to learn from my mistakes, my courage to push myself beyond my comfort zone, my conviction to treat others with respect, and my love of travel. Most of all, it showed me that little girls could be leaders and have a sense of humor. Caroline inspired me to be passionate about everything, no matter how seemingly trivial the task. Now as an adult, I often wonder how many other kids’ lives were shaped by this author.

Pierre Probst first created Caroline in 1953, but this little character became a giant by the early 1960s with over 38 Million books sold across the world. Pierre was born in Mulhouse, France, in 1913. As a gifted painter and cartoonist, he studied Art at the prestigious École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Prior to creating the Caroline series, Pierre fought in WWII, was captured, and made a heroic escape back to his home country. He passed away in 2007 at the ripe old age of 93 at his home in Suresnes, France. 

Over the years, I lost track of my tattered copy of Caroline and Her Friends. I thought it was gone forever after I searched my parents’ attic, pawed through boxes in the garage and rummaged through the closets. I mourned the book's loss for years.

In last month's May post, I shared with this group the numerous conversations I had with my older sister as I wrote my first book, Stitches. One of those discussions was about books that shaped our lives. I had no idea that Debbie loved Caroline too. Behind our shared childhood reminiscences, something about this book resonated with her as it did with me.

A year later, on Christmas Day in 2013, Debbie presented me with an elaborately wrapped box. She had a misty glisten in her eyes as I ripped off the foiled paper. When I lifted the top and pulled back the tissue, there sat The Golden Treasury of Caroline and Her Friends. Half a century had separated the spine, releasing the book's illustrated pages. Holy cow! Caroline's animal friends were attempting an escape from their confinement in the box. I broke into tears and hugged my sister so tight that I couldn’t let go.

After five decades, Debbie became the heroine who rescued Caroline.

In the course of writing this post, just for grins, I researched the current value of this treasury of stories. To my shock, the book is apparently quite a sought-after rare find among us baby boomers. It’s worth a whopping $3,000 - $4,500 on the antique book market. This must be due to fact that we adolescent retirees drag around the freight of our childhood and are unwilling to let it go.

Regardless of its value and condition, the book is priceless. And I'll always be grateful for the gift my mean 'ole grandmother had presented to my sister and me. She's long gone now, but I suspect that my grandmother gave us the book because she wanted us to be free, free of the past war demons that she, herself, had lived with for so long. Just a guess.

Maybe in our retirement, Debbie and I will make our copy of Caroline an annual gift to each other, sharing it back and forth, year after year. After all, Caroline and her friends will remain forever young, forever hopeful, and forever in our hearts. 

Photo: Micah Brooks

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Kalispell, Montana with her husband, stepdaughter, and their brainiac cat, Princeton. Courtney writes for the baby boomer audience. She spent 28 years as an executive in the entertainment industry and used her time in a theater seat to create stories that are filled with heart, humor, and mystery. She studied craft and storytelling at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. Active in the writing community, Courtney is a board member of the Northwest Independent Writers Association and on the Advisory Council of the Independent Publishing Resource Center. She is a member of Willamette Writers, Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and She Writes. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal.

Print and E-books are available through most major online retailers, including Amazon.com.

Check out all of Courtney's books: 

courtney-pierce.com and windtreepress.com 

New York Times best-selling author Karen Karbo says, "Courtney Pierce spins a madcap tale of family grudges, sisterly love, unexpected romance, mysterious mobsters and dog love. Reading Indigo Lake is like drinking champagne with a chaser of Mountain Dew. Pure Delight."

Coming in 2020!

When Aubrey Cenderon moves to Montana after the death of her father, the peace and quiet of Big Sky Country becomes complicated with a knock on the door from the sheriff. An injured grizzly bear is on the loose and it must be eliminated before it kills again. The sheriff's insistence that she buy a gun for protection will present Aubrey with some serious soul-searching, because the grizzly-on-the-run is hunting for her too . . . for a different reason.

Celebrating Ourselves by Lynn Lovegreen

This month, we’re celebrating the Romancing the Genres anniversary and also celebrating ourselves. I took a long time to come around to the idea of celebrating myself. But I’m glad I did.

In many cultures, women aren’t encouraged to celebrate themselves. Often we aren’t encouraged to think of ourselves at all. Many of us fall into the habit of putting others first to the extent that we consider anything but ourselves. I know I did that for much of my life. But as I grew older, it was easier for me to begin making a change.

When I got to middle age, I found I didn’t care what others thought in the same way I had before. I still care about people, especially my loved ones. I help others as often as I can. But it doesn’t bother me if someone dislikes the way I dress or disagrees with something I say. I am not concerned with making everyone happy. And that’s freeing. I can now decide what I want to do without tying myself in knots trying to please everyone. That’s how I celebrate myself.

People in old age are often more like themselves, in that their personalities and activities expand on the tendencies they had all along. For example, if they loved being with people before, they’re even more extroverted in their old age. As I grow older, I indulge my hobbies and interests more often, including my writing. I live more the way I want to, and with the people I care about. Life’s too short to spend time on unimportant things. I focus on the things that matter to me. And in the process, I celebrate myself.

That’s my story. Now it’s your turn. How do you celebrate yourself nowadays?

Lynn Lovegreen has lived in Alaska for over fifty years. After twenty years in the classroom, she retired to make more time for writing. She enjoys her friends and family, reading, and volunteering at her local library. Her young adult historical fiction is set in Alaska, a great place for drama, romance, and independent characters. See her website at www.lynnlovegreen.com. You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

Everyday things are special by Lynn Lovegreen

Note: This blog was first posted on lynnlovegreen.com.

As an Alaskan, I’m used to visitors oohing and aahing over our mountains, moose, and the other things that stand out about my home. Now I’m traveling Outside, and it’s my turn to be the visitor noticing all the things that make the Lower 48 different. Here’s a short list of things that are novelties or interesting to me:

toll roads

corn fields

truck stops

red dirt

cowboys

deserts.

As they say, it’s all in what you’re used to. What may seem normal to you can be odd to someone else. Each place has its landscape or people (or both) that make it special. We all live in distinctive environments.

Take a good look around your area, and think about what makes it unique. Then it’s easy to remember that what’s ordinary to you is extraordinary to someone else. There’s much to value wherever we are. What do you enjoy that’s special about the place where you live?

Lynn Lovegreen has lived in Alaska for fifty years. After twenty years in the classroom, she retired to make more time for writing. She enjoys her friends and family, reading, and volunteering at her local library. Her young adult historical fiction is set in Alaska, a great place for drama, romance, and independent characters. See her website at www.lynnlovegreen.com. You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

If there was one thing in your life you'd change, what is it and why? by Lynn Lovegreen

I am lucky to have a pretty good life so far. There aren’t many things I would change, although I wish I were kinder at certain times. (My apologies to those out there that I hurt or treated badly.) Even the bad stuff in my life taught me lessons and helped me grow and become a better person. But if I had to change one thing, it would be the deaths of people I loved.

I’ve lost grandparents, a sister, mother, and several friends. Some of them died many years ago, and some recently. Each death left holes in my heart, especially the deaths of my sister and mother. Grief hit me pretty hard, and while I was able to move on after a few years, there are still moments when a song, movie, or even a certain scent will bring tears to my eyes.

There are times when I’d give anything to have them here again. I’d love to see them again, and to have them here to watch my daughter, her cousins, and my son-in-law grow up into the amazing adults they are today. But we can’t have everything. My consolations are sweet memories of my lost ones, and the thought that they’d be proud of the woman I’ve become. 

What we can do is to take care of each other the best we can, and savor all the moments we have together. Thank goodness I still have the love of my husband and other family members. I show them my love as often as I can. 

I hope you can do the same with yours. Wishing you lots of time with the people you love!

Lynn Lovegreen has lived in Alaska for fifty years. After twenty years in the classroom, she retired to make more time for writing. She enjoys her friends and family, reading, and volunteering at her local library. Her young adult historical fiction is set in Alaska, a great place for drama, romance, and independent characters. See her website at www.lynnlovegreen.com. You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram.

My Broken Shoulder by Lynn Lovegreen

Something you may not know--About five years ago, I fell on the ice and broke my right shoulder (the top of my humerus). Because of the location of the fracture, they didn’t do surgery or put a cast on it. Instead, I had to wear a sling strapped to my torso to keep my arm still, and let the bone heal itself. For three months.

Thank goodness my prince of a husband did the cooking, fetching and carrying, even helped me dress and bathe until I got the hang of using only one hand. And friends and other family members pitched in. But still, it was not fun.

I was in a a lot of pain at the beginning, so sitting or lying on the couch was fine with me. But after a week or so, as the pain eased down to a dull throb, I got bored. And stir crazy, not being able to move around very much. I could read, but it was hard to prop up a book with one hand for long, so I devoured magazines and read books when I could. And there was TV and such, but what I really wanted to do was write.

Of course, I’m right-handed, and I only had my left hand free for most of those three months. I taught myself how to type one-handed, which is fine for typing letters, but awkward when using the shift and special keys. I managed to write comments online and short emails, etc. But I couldn’t manage long forms of writing. The draft I was going to revise had to wait.

Life goes on. The shoulder healed. I did PT exercises faithfully, and gained full use of my right shoulder. I finished that draft, then wrote another. It all turned out well in the end. I did learn a few things from that experience:

• Always wear ice grippers in the wintertime.
• It’s okay to ask for help.
• My husband is wonderful. (Okay, I knew that already, but it was reinforced during that time.)

May you never break your shoulder, or have any other malady that lays you flat for months at a time. But if you do, I hope your experience turns out as well as mine did.

P.S. Happy anniversary, Romancing the Genres! I'm honored to be a Genreista!

Lynn Lovegreen has lived in Alaska for almost fifty years. She taught for twenty years before retiring to make more time for writing. She enjoys her friends and family, reading, and volunteering at her local library. Her young adult/new adult historical romances are set in Alaska, a great place for drama, romance, and independent characters. See her website at www.lynnlovegreen.com. You can also find her on Facebook, Goodreads, and Pinterest.

How's the Weather?

By Courtney Pierce

The late-great David Bowie had the best advice for weathering tough times: Turn and face the strain. I’ve sung that line from Changes a hundred—maybe even a thousand—times in my fifty-nine years. Like many other baby boomers, I’ve lost a job or two, lost family members, and lost a husband (not by death, but a loss nonetheless). Any one of those derailments of life is particularly tough on the psyche.

But as is the way with Mother Nature, traumas are balanced with great joys. I’ve excelled in a career or two, won the hearts of two parents and two sisters, and gained an amazing husband and a stepdaughter from the ashes of devastation.

I owe it all to checklists. Don’t laugh. I’m completely serious.

I make lists about everything: complicated things, mundane things, and lists of lists I should make. Emotions are difficult for me to process, so when they’re part of a list, I can keep those tears and fears at arm’s length. We writers banish these big things to the page, not on our sleeve.

Rationalize, monetize, organize. Salute!

But then I think about the stupid things that many people deem to be traumas, like losing keys or trying to squeeze into those favorite jeans that don't fit anymore. Sometimes there’s no trauma at all, only an endurance test of the daily assaults of life. How much time do I spend deleting spam or interrupt a game of Scrabble to check my work email? I need to make sure someone else’s trauma doesn’t become mine. I’m never prepared for the Wi-fi router going out or my laptop inching like a slug from Internet slow-downs. And what about when the Bluetooth on the Bose has ceased to pair with the music library on my phone?

What the heck? Stop the presses! Is this fake trauma like fake news?

But nobody dies from these things. No one’s kids are maimed. Let’s put the challenges in prospective in our instant-gratification, now-means-now world. All anyone really needs to re-calibrate is to lose electricity for a week or two.

The absence of a 60-cycle hum of appliances makes me take notice. Ahhhh… After a day or two, I get used to the lack of rush from the heater or air conditioner. The still atmosphere makes my skin soft and supple. No ambient light from neglecting to turn off the switches ceases my huff and puff about the electric bill. No phone, either, without cable or satellite. We learned our haste from a pattern of waste.

I say a silent “thank you” when the power goes out. My urge to reconnect with my neighbors is powerful, and I reach out to friends for a long overdue lunch to become grounded again. If you’ve been through a hurricane, tornado, flood, or any natural disaster, then you know what I mean. The pull to walk away from technology is overwhelming after a couple of days without it. Then I dread that power coming on again. The respite is over. Back to normal life.

But what about emotional disasters? Relationship-changing disasters are quick to slice and slow to heal, űber-sore like an infected paper cut. I won’t lie, they carry a sting that’s hard to let go. Long after the clean-up of carnage is done, the invisible arrow still protrudes from the chest. Try as I might, I can’t yank it out on my own. Only those close to me, with a commitment of mutual love, know how to twist  and inch out that spear. 

My two sisters are quite colorful, Siblings can be wonderful at alleviating relationship stress. 

We subscribe to the “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” rule for weathering the traumas of life. It's up there with the 7-second rule for food items dropped on the floor and headed to the mouth. Here's our recipe:

Shut off the T.V. . . .

Shut off the radio . . .

Close the browser . . .

Pour a big glass of wine and make a bowl of popcorn . . .

Then take stock.

Photo: Loma Smith

Courtney Pierce is a fiction writer living in Milwaukie, Oregon, with her new family. She writes for baby boomers. By day, Courtney is an executive in the entertainment industry and uses her time in a theater seat to create stories that are filled with heart, humor and mystery. She has studied craft and storytelling at the Attic Institute and has completed the Hawthorne Fellows Program for writing and publishing. Active in the writing community, she is a board member of the Northwest Independent Writers Association and on the Advisory Council of the Independent Publishing Resource Center. She is a member of Willamette Writers Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and She Writes. The Executrix received the Library Journal Self-E recommendation seal. 

Check out all of Courtney's books at:

courtney-pierce.com and windtreepress.com. Both print and E-books are available through most major online retailers, including Amazon.com

COMING SOON!

The Dushane Sisters Trilogy concludes with Indigo Legacy, due out in early summer, 2018. There's love in the air for Olivia and Woody, but will their family history get in the way? Ride along for the wild trip that starts in a New York auction house and ends in a mansion on Boston's Beacon Hill.  And the sisters finally get the answers they've been seeking about their mother.

New York Times best-selling author Karen Karbo says, "Courtney Pierce spins a madcap tale of family grudges, sisterly love, unexpected romance, mysterious mobsters and dog love. Reading Indigo Lake is like drinking champagne with a chaser of Mountain Dew. Pure Delight."

Reinventing Myself by Lynn Lovegreen

I have been reinventing myself over the past year, as I am at an in-between stage professionally and personally. My Gold Rush books are out of print, and I’m looking for an agent for my World War II series. Plus, I’m in the process of moving to a new house. And outside of that, I’ve discovered a new role for myself, as an activist in my community. It seems like the right time to stand up for what I believe in, especially if it gives a voice to people who don’t have a strong voice in our current system.

So, what have I learned from this?

1. Change is scary.

Many of the problems I’ve experienced in the last year have to do with reactions to change. Sometimes I’m the one who is having trouble adjusting, and sometimes it’s other people, but change is hard, and sometimes downright scary. Most of us are challenged by new circumstances. It’s good to acknowledge that and roll with it.

2. We are stronger than we think.

I’ve done a lot of things I didn’t know I could. Whether it’s physical or mental, I’ve found I can do more and deal with more than I realized. And I’ve been in groups where collectively we’ve helped each other grow in strength. That is powerful!

3. It’s easier to be fearless when it’s about something bigger than ourselves.

I can barge into a state senator’s office to start a conversation about a bill without worrying about what she’ll think of me—because it’s not about me. It’s about our kids and our state, and that’s more important than silly old me. It’s worth a few rejections, if it helps the cause. 

4. People will either applaud new roles and growth, or not. 

I’m blessed to have loved ones who encourage me, but I can’t expect everyone to do so. It goes back to #1—some people are threatened by change. They won’t like the new me, and I can’t do much about that except try not to get too caught up in others’ opinions.

5. Balance is important.

I’ve learned I can’t do anyone else any good if I don’t take care of myself first. I need to find a balance between saving the world and saving myself. 

I hope these things will help you in your own reinvention. Carry on and become the best person you can be! :-) 

Lynn Lovegreen grew up in Alaska, and still lives there. She taught for twenty years before retiring to make more time for writing. She enjoys her friends and family, reading, and volunteering at her local library. Her young adult/new adult historical romances are set in Alaska, a great place for drama, romance, and independent characters. See her website at www.lynnlovegreen.com. You can also find her on Facebook, Goodreads, and Pinterest.

The Mad Cow

By Robin Weaver

A long time before Mad-Cow-Disease was a common term, there was a mad cow. Her name was Bitsie and the huge Guernsey hated me.

Enduring the endless feudal system known as farm life was dreary enough for a ten-year-old, but Bitsie asserted her strange moo-joe to make life even more hellish. Whenever I entered her domain (which was daily since I had to feed the bitch), she’d charge, full throttle, forcing me under a fence or up the nearest scrub pine. She’d wait at the bottom of the tree, daring me to come down as she idly chewed her cud.

Bitsie would conveniently depart just before my parents came home, thus forcing me to face the juvenile version of a firing squad—a.k.a. my mother—with no evidence. My attempts to explain the reason for unfinished chores fell on deaf ears. No one believed Bitsie actually harassed me, thus I become the “story teller” and the term “cowgirl” was applied in a less than flattering way.

“But I never lie,” I protested. And I didn’t.

Now because I was a paragon of virtue, but because when I was three-years-old, my grandmother told me, “If you fib one more time, the devil will come out of the ground and get you with his pitchfork.” That kind of thing stays with a person.

Ironically, Bitsie had no beef with anyone except me. Around other people, she personified the perfect cow, gentle and unassuming, as she switched her long tail at the flies circling her brown and white hide.

Things changed the minute we were alone. The Bovine charged with demonic energy, forcing my short legs into a long sprint to avoid her devilish hooves.

One day, everything changed. I’d been ordered to clear the brush in the lower field—a task I actually liked; the brush wasn’t heavy so while I piled it, I could daydream about fairy princesses and drinking milk from a store-bought carton. The catch-22: I had to venture into Bitsie’s domain, the dreaded pasture.

When I approached the gate, Bitsie came running. I froze. What a choice—get in trouble or get trampled?

Suddenly, the voice of doom sounded. “Get down there and clear that brush. Now!” Mom’s command was followed by the more dreaded, “Don’t make me come out there.”

She’d walked to the edge of the yard and had a clear view of the gate. I knew from experience, Bitsie wouldn’t attack with an audience, so I seized the opportunity to avoid both menaces and ran as fast as I could.

I hadn’t covered much ground (short legs, remember?) when I heard the door screen slam.

Uh-oh. Out of time.

 I looked over my shoulder and horror of horrors, Bitsie charged. With no tree in sight. I’m not Catholic but I made the sign of the cross.

Just when the thunder threatened to reduce me to manure. Whack!

I kept running, finally reaching a tree and shimming up the trunk. I didn’t look until I’d planted both feet on the second branch, about eight feet above the ground. I couldn’t imagine what magic had saved me.

My grandfather, armed with a two-by-four, circled around the grand dame of milk. Bitsie shook her head and stomped her front hooves. Gramps held firm, forcing the devil-cow into submission, as much with his will as with the big stick he so softly carried. I watched with a strange combination of fear and wonder. The beast-of-horror turned from my grandfather’s stare and trotted away.

Gramps had always been my favorite person. Now he loomed larger than livestock. Still, I didn’t come down from my lofty perch until Bitsie was far, far away. Gramps took my hand and together we walked back to confront my second demon—mother.

My grandfather had been helping mom with some repairs in the barn. He’d said he knew I wouldn’t lie, so he’d stayed out of sight to see what Bitsie would do.

At that young age, I learned one of life’s greatest lessons. When someone believes in you, neither demons nor mad cows can touch you.



Robin Weaver
Author of:
BLUE RIDGE FEAR
ARTIFACT OF DEATH
THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF LEAH SINCLAIR