If you haven’t had the chance to read “His Heart’s Long Journey,” this is the perfect time to grab a copy of “Forsaken by Love,” which is the first book in the three-book series. May 7th thru May 11th, you can get a free eBook copy on Amazon! And don’t worry…book one doesn’t end with a cliffhanger like I do in several of my other series. You’ll be happy to find a satisfying ending. However, I hope it will inspire you to move on to book two and three for the continued story of Vern Harpole. He has some incredible adventures!
This series is based on the true story of my friend, Ann Wood’s, ancestor. Annie told me the story when we met for lunch one day, and she kindly gave me permission to write about Vern’s life and helped me with as many details as she could remember from things passed down through the family.
Vern Harpole was only eight years old when his mother left him on the porch of a bakery in Kansas City. She abandoned him and disappeared. Though Vern was taken in and raised by the kind baker and his wife, Vern still struggled with his abandonment. Once he became a grown man, he felt compelled to go West.
This story tells how he found his true love–who had her own troubled past–and how they supported each other and found a way to move forward together.
Isn’t it amazing how a simple smell or taste can take you back to your childhood? Of course, some of those reminders might be bad, like the flavor of nasty-tasting medicine, or the odor that lingered when you accidentally stepped in a pile of doggy doo while out trick-or-treating. Yep, that happened to me!
However, I want to talk about a good memory!
When I was a child, my parents would take me to one of those home-town carnivals that came through town every year around the Fourth of July. The carnival was part of a community festival called Frontier Days. In addition to the carnival rides and games, there was also a parade. I’ve seen photos of me and my siblings dressed up as pioneers in a make-shift covered wagon. I was very young then, but it was memorable enough that I recall thinking we were pretty awesome.
Now, back to the whole smell and taste thing. The simple thought of that particular event immediately sparks memories of an assortment of smells: Popcorn, the sawdust spread on the ground beneath some of the stomach-churning rides, mud from the rain that always seemed to dampen the celebration every year, beer, and cotton candy.
Cotton candy.
My first memory of popping some of that fluffy confection into my mouth comes from one of those Frontier Day’s celebrations. I clearly remember my aunt, Judy, telling me the proper way to eat cotton candy. She said that in order to avoid getting completely sticky, you needed to pull off a small amount and literally pop it into your mouth, doing all you could to avoid touching your fingers to your lips and getting them wet. Putting your mouth directly on the spool of fluff was a no-no. Especially if you planned to share your treat!
I didn’t do such a good job instructing my grandson.
The photo is a little blurry, but you get the idea! I tried to teach him to ‘pop,’ but he dove right in!
Now that I’m older, I like getting sticky even less, but I still love cotton candy. Recently, I discovered a new kind of ice cream that has rocked my world! Kroger brand has cotton candy flavored ice cream called Mermaid Sparkle. It’s to die for. Best of all, you can eat it with a spoon and you won’t get sticky.
Sure, there are many foods I enjoy, but I can’t think of any others that produce so many wonderful memories. Our lives are a patchwork of memories, and I feel it’s important to cherish all of them. I’ve learned a lot from my past. Not only how to properly eat cotton candy, but after my other experience, I know to watch where I walk on Halloween.
Life is a journey, and I want to thank you for sharing these memories with me!
I’m sure you’ve seen the great commercials on TV about people who are becoming their parents. I laugh at the ads because I can completely relate to them.
I don’t know when the transition takes place, but it definitely happens. Not only in the things we do, but for me, I see the transformation in the mirror. So often, my mom smiles back at me. I have many of her mannerisms, and when we talk on the phone, we frequently sound alike. We have the same vocal tones, and we oftentimes sigh or laugh at the same time and sound identical.
So, there’s the physical transformation, but what about the mental transformation? When do we start behaving like “old fogies.” Even that dated term validates what I’m saying. When I was young, I felt so up-to-date and “in-the-now.” When my parents did something silly or forgetful, I’d just chalk it up to their age. Now I’m the one doing ridiculous things and forgetting what day of the week it is.
I suppose it has everything to do with the brain. As we age, we process things differently. And, we considerably slow down. We wake with aches in our bodies that we can’t explain and groan with that first step we take out of bed.
I guess what surprises me the most is my change in attitude. Things I used to think were funny or entertaining on TV, I see now as dumb. I get frustrated when I drive down the road and have to listen to the loud thumping of the music coming from the car next to me. As a youth, I likely would’ve thought it was cool. So, yes, I’m becoming an old person. Sigh . . .
On the bright side, I have so many stories to tell. With all the years I’ve lived, (boy, I’m really sounding ancient!), I’ve accumulated massive amounts of life experiences. I feel I’m capable of giving my children and grand-children advice from all that life-lived knowledge. The same kind of advice my parents gave me. I may have thought some of the things they told me were foolish, but I’ve come to realize that they were usually right. (And if you’re reading this now, Mom and Dad, don’t gloat!)
I’m blessed that my parents are still living. I can go to them when I need to talk, and I continue to listen to their advice. They’ve inspired me time and again! I pray that I can do the same for my children, and that they’ll always turn to this “old person” whenever they need me. Besides, I count on them to help me manage all the difficulties I face with every new-fangled gadget that’s released. I’m still learning new ways to fully use my phone. It took me until about three years ago to part with my flip-phone. (Should I be hiding my head in embarrassment?)
The photo above is me and my dad at the zoo in 2019, and the one to the right is my Mom at her 80th birthday celebration in 2018. Unfortunately, they live a great distance from me, but in that respect, I’m grateful for my new-fangled phone. We can talk as long as we want and we don’t have to incur hefty long-distance charges! If you’re as old as I am, you’ll remember the days when it was cheaper to call after 7:00 p.m. It’s nice not to have to worry about the time of day when making a call.
Going back even farther in time, do you recall the days of party lines? No, they had nothing to do with politics! Households had shared telephone lines, and you could pick up your phone and hear your neighbor talking to someone. Of course, if they knew you were on the line interrupting their call, you’d get fussed at. Rightfully so!
I appreciate the advancement in technology, but I often miss the good ol’ days. The new phones have great benefits, but it makes me sad to see so many people with their faces glued to their phones. They’re missing out on the real world before them. So, please, take it from this old fogey. Put your phone down and look at what’s around you, and if you’re in a restaurant, talk to the person you’re there with, not the one on your screen.
From someone who loves to write historical fiction, take the time to enjoy the simplicities in life. A walk in the woods, a picnic by a lake, watching the sun set (or rise), or enjoying a board game with your family. (The old-fashioned, non-electronic type).
We’ve seen our share of frustrating times this past year, but never lose hope! Life is good!
During this ‘stay-at-home’ time, it’s nice to be able to virtually travel to another time and place.
I’m happy to say that today thru Wednesday, you can download “Forsaken by Love” for FREE from Amazon! I hope you’ll enjoy Vern’s journey. The book is based on a true story that one of my friends graciously shared with me. When she told it, I knew I had to write it! I’m thrilled she allowed me to tell it.
One of my favorite treats for as long as I can remember has always been popcorn. When I really think about it, popcorn and I have quite the history.
I can still envision the silver popcorn popper Dad used to use. It made the best popcorn! Of course, my grandpa had something to do with that. He farmed popcorn in Illinois. To this day, I don’t know enough about farming to understand how corn can be specially grown for popping. But Grandpa had it down to a science. His corn kernels would pop up huge and rarely left behind un-popped kernels.
On cold Idaho winter nights, Dad would pop up some corn and dump it into a large rectangular baking pan that we’d all scoop bowlfuls from. I can close my eyes and see the flickering fire in the fireplace. But it was the popcorn that made the night special.
I even remember the first time I saw one of the newfangled see-through poppers. Their plastic dome was tinted an orange-yellow color. Probably for effect. And when I grew up and got married, I owned one. I’d learned the skill of putting three kernels into the heating oil. When those three popped, it was time to add the rest. I also mastered the recipe from my mom for caramel corn. After popping several batches of corn and filling up a large bowl, I’d pour on the caramel made from butter, brown sugar, and corn syrup. Sticky and yummy!
Popcorn isn’t nearly as fun anymore. Microwaved popcorn eventually replaced my popper. But now that I’m getting old and sentimental, guess what I asked for for Christmas? You got it. An old-fashioned popper. One that I can watch and wait for my tasty treat. I think I’ll try mixing up a batch of caramel again, too. And if Santa doesn’t bring me one, I’ll buy one. My grandson needs to experience the same joy I had. Wonderful memories in a simple snack.
I’ve had many jobs over the years. The one thing that stands out in every one of them is the people I’ve worked with. I can honestly say that I’ve adored 99% of them. We won’t talk about that 1%. Some of the jobs weren’t exactly what I wanted to do at the time, but I made the best of them. The people around me certainly helped!
Now that I’m a stay-at-home writer, I have little interaction with other people. I relate to the characters I’m writing and talk to them. It’s enjoyable, but it’s not the same. So I make a point of getting out and having real conversations with genuine people. If I spend more than two days at home locked away with my laptop, I get cranky. Unfortunately, my poor husband pays the price of my grumpiness when he comes home from work in the evening.
What I’ve determined from all this is that we need each other. That should be a given, but trust me on this…it slaps you in the face when you’re alone for hours on end. I love my career, but I’m a people person and need to have that interaction. Besides, if I stayed locked away forever, how would I get inspired for my stories?
I often have people joke with me and ask if I’m going to write about them. If I do, they’ll never know. I pick up traits and add them to my characters. What’s really fun is that if I have something that happens to me that really upsets me, I can write about it. Plot it into a story. It’s self-therapy!
I hope you enjoy what you do for a living. I read a statistic once that indicated a very small percentage of people actually like what they do. They only do it because they have to. They need the income. (Of course, we all need that!) It’s sad that people spend the majority of their day doing what they don’t want to do. It reminds me of something I was told as a child, “Sometimes you have to do things you don’t like.”
I’ve been in that position. But even when I was, I put a smile on my face and made the best of it. AND I kept striving to reach my ultimate goal and follow my dream. Achieving what I set out to do wouldn’t be so fulfilling if I didn’t have someone to share it with. On a typical day my dear husband gets bombarded with chatter when he comes home. Most of the time ‘un’ cranky chatter. I LOVE to write, but I’ve learned to break up my days with time out in the real world and time at home with my laptop. It’s made a tremendous difference!
With Father’s Day just around the corner, I started thinking hard about my dad and the role he’s played in my life.
As an adult, I can look back at his life with a different eye than when I was a child. As a child, I knew I was special to him. He called me “Green Jeans” and to this day, the memory of his nickname makes me smile. From the time I was in the sixth grade until I graduated from high school, I had a bedroom in the basement of the house. We lived in northern Idaho at the time and my room was always very cold. He would frequently go to my room before it was time for me to go to bed, and lay on my bed to warm it. So by the time I went to bed, I was able to crawl beneath warm covers.
I was never aware of the difficulties he’d had to deal with. Sure I knew that there had been a bad thing that happened, but what child can fully understand a disaster that took away many of his friends and co-workers? In 1972, a fire took the lives of 91 men in the Sunshine silver mine in Kellogg, Idaho. My dad was a safety director at the mine at the time. He’d just returned to work there after several years away. Just writing about it wrenches my heart. I know that the memories still haunt him, but he’s devoted his life to training others in hopes that this will never happen again.
I’m fortunate that he’s still living. He’s 82, but I swear he doesn’t look a day over 60. We live far away from each other, but he’s in my heart every day of the year. He’s always been a bit troubled by the fact that I chose to pursue the creative arts instead of going to college. He’s the practical one in the family and wanted to be sure I could support myself. So, he wasn’t quite so enthusiastic when I wanted to move to Nashville to pursue music. Still, he helped me drive across the country in a U-Haul and didn’t complain.
Yes, Dad is practical, and smart as a whip. But bottom line, I believe more than anything, he wants me to be happy. Isn’t that what all parents really want for their children? Moms worry in different ways than dads. But I know dads worry, too.
I’ve read that more flowers are delivered on Mother’s Day than any other day of the year. Dad’s usually don’t get flowers, (more like ties and after shave), but please be sure to give your dad a hug. That level-headed man needs it!
And if your dad has passed, cherish his memory. For those of you who are dads, don’t forget to hug your kids. And if you live in a cold house, maybe you can warm their beds for them. Most importantly, love them and teach them how to fly.
Jeanne Hardt 