Blue Paradise Release Today!

Yay! It's release day for Blue Paradise~~Number Five of the Mystic Valley series! This is Mali, Jonson and Poussé's story.

Blurb:

When ex-soldier Poussé receives an unexpected job offer from the mysterious Waterloo Group, she doesn’t question the providential timing. Twelve hours later she wishes she had when she’s captured by two sexy blue-skinned warriors—Jonson and Mali of Mystic Valley.

Mali and Jonson make her an offer she can’t refuse—become their bond mate. Positive she can use the new relationship to escape, Poussé accepts, but she doesn’t count on the physical changes the bonding creates or her constant desire for Jonson and Mali. Their tender touches, hot kisses and even hotter sex get under her skin—which is turning blue! As they pursue other escaped team members, she learns real love and desire have no color barriers and carnal games are best indulged in with two hot bond mates.

Excerpt:

“Place your hands on the ground above your head,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. A rash of goose bumps pebbled her neck when his warm breath washed over her cold skin.

Poussé mentally shuffled through several options as she muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute here. You’re squashing me.” The man was too heavy for her to dislodge and his position, sitting squarely on the center of her spine, left her with no leverage to work with.

He knocked her snug cap to the side. With one hand twisted in her shocking blue Mohawk and the other one still pressing the knife tip to her neck, he scooted down until he was seated on her butt.

“Move. Toss the weapon away too.”

Just for a second she considered trying to turn beneath him, but decided the risk of a slit throat was more than she was willing to bargain. Pissed off at the way he had captured her, she shoved her rifle away and stretched out her arms above her head.

With swift, blurred movements, he yanked her hands down and cuffed her wrists, winding some furry material around them and knotting it. When she lifted her head up, trying to look over her shoulder at her captor, he shoved her head back down, shifting so his body was stretched over hers from head to toe.

Her cheek was ground into the dead leaves and dirt and the scent of decaying plants tickled her nose. She clenched her teeth, desperately fighting the urge to sneeze. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Protecting you, woman.”

“Protecting me? Are you crazy? Get off me and give me back my rifle! Achoo!” The sneeze exploded with such violence her face slammed into the ground, with her nose taking the brunt.

“Quiet.”

Her eyes watered as searing pain spread across her cheeks but before she had time to complain, she was distracted by the unmistakable pressure of his hard cock pressing against her ass. “Listen, buddy. I’m not interested in that kind of action,” she protested, suddenly wriggling fiercely as she tried to throw him off.

A spicy unfamiliar scent drifted past her nose when he nipped her ear with his teeth. “Then be still or I might get the idea that you are interested. I find your ass very attractive.”

She froze, barely breathing, snuffling softly through the trickle of blood that dribbled from her nose.

He leaned forward, his cock pressing harder in the crevice between her legs as his heavy muscled chest flattened her on the ground. With a low grunt, he reached for the rifle.

Her heart stopped and stuttered before racing into a pounding gallop. The hand that touched the rifle was blue. Not tattooed. Not blue-tinged, but blue. Slowly her gaze moved up the muscular arm attached to the strange hand. Blue. Unmistakably blue. What kind of alien had captured her?

“What is this place?” She whimpered breathlessly.

A shrill whistle came from the right and he leaped to his feet, easily hauling her up by one arm to face him. “Welcome to Mystic Valley.”

Want more? Check it out at www.jasminejade.com

anny

Wedding Day

It was 1967, forty-three years ago. A virulent influenza was sweeping the Midwest, though that didn't seem to impinge much on my life. I was caught up in preparing for a wedding. My wedding.

I was young--just eighteen--and truly, the entire world centered around my plans. It was a small wedding, but it was my wedding, held in a small brick church in Albany Park, Chicago, Illinois. The church has long since burned down but on that day it seemed a sturdy, forever kind of place to get married.

Less than fifty people attended the wedding. Two of my brothers were sick with the flu and most of my extended family were also. But my father and mother were there and my dad performed most of the ceremony. We made our vows. And lit candles. And exchanged rings. And kissed to seal the promises we made.

The rings are long gone, lost when various hospitals made me remove them when I went in to have our four babies. And we've lit more than a few candles since then, too. But the vows held sturdy through richer and poorer, sickness and health. And here we are forty-three years later, still together.

The children are grown and off living on their own. A couple have even presented us with grandchildren. The hunk is retired and we're settling into a life that echoes the place we started on that snowy day in December all those years ago.

Just the two of us.

anny

Surprise Christmas

The end of 1964 was an incredibly turbulent time. In November on my fourteenth birthday, President Kennedy was assassinated. It was in the beginning years of the Vietnam War. The Cuban Missile crisis was not long before that. Uncertainty was everywhere. So herewith, the story of Christmas 1964.

Christmas 1964. That was the year that Christmas wasn’t going to bring even one gift…we thought. It was a poor financial year. I didn’t exactly know that we were poor. We had plenty to eat. We had clean, warm clothes. We had a warm, sheltering apartment in Chicago that my stepmother, Maxine, worked hard to make a haven for us.

As a parent now, I realize how difficult it must have been then for her to sit us down a few weeks before Christmas and explain that there wasn’t any money for gifts. If all the money she had managed to save was pooled, we could have a special Christmas dinner.

Solemnly, we considered the dilemma, and then one by one, we agreed that a special dinner was the best use for the money we had. Once that was settled, we put it behind us and life went on.

One day, a couple of weeks before Christmas, Mum told all of us to hurry home immediately after school, as there would be a surprise. Friends of the family planned to bring each of us a gift and wished to be present when we opened ours. So on this day, I slung my books into my locker at school and rushed home. Pounding up the stairs to our second floor apartment, I eagerly flung open the door—and froze in my tracks.

Every level surface in both the dining and living rooms was covered with gifts. Beautifully, lovingly decorated gifts. A tree twinkled merrily in the corner. The melodies of familiar Christmas carols filled the air. Unexpectedly, Christmas had come to our home.

I could not imagine what had happened. Certainly, we hadn’t gotten rich overnight. I walked around the room gently touching the lovely boxes. Mum, more excited than I had ever seen her, urged me to look in the kitchen. Two boxes of groceries, a ten-pound ham, fifty pounds of potatoes, and a five pound box of chocolates. A special Christmas dinner indeed!

A little later we opened the gifts. Of all the Christmases in my life, this is the one I can remember every single thing I received. Not because I was a greedy kid, but because they were all gifts of sacrifice from strangers. Our family friends were a minister and his wife with a church in Indiana. One of their church families approached them, seeking a family that wasn’t going to have any gifts for Christmas. The parents and children of this church family voted to give up their Christmas gifts so that a family, unknown to them, would have a special Christmas.

The minister and his wife undertook the responsibility of obtaining clothing sizes and special needs, plus transportation and delivery of the gifts. And they delivered our heartfelt thank you letter to the anonymous family.

As Christmas grows closer, whether we are rich or poor, I look back on that Christmas and know that we are blessed because we are together. Every year I remember the blessing of being loved unconditionally by strangers.

A miracle.

Anny

Food Pantry Feast

Frannie surveyed the pantry shelves in dismay. There wasn't much left after she assembled the last of the Christmas baskets for the record number of needy families this year. Jonas, their volunteer who had already picked up the baskets for delivery, was long gone.

Now, Mrs. McCandless, her neighbor lady, had reluctantly called the pantry for help. Her pension check was late and she had no food for the next week. Actually, she had shyly shared the disturbing news that Mrs. Hubicki and Mr. Sanchez, who had retired from the same company, were also in similar dire straits.

Frannie would have gladly spent her own money to provide for them, but she had already emptied her wallet to put together the Christmas baskets for the other families. Somehow, the cans of beans, beets, and asparagus other people had donated, just didn't quite fit her idea of a Christmas dinner.

Abruptly angry with the people who took the opportunity to empty their own pantries of things better not bought, Frannie found a sturdy box and carefully packed the few odd items left on the shelves. It was food, after all, even if it wasn't what was normally prepared for Christmas.

Five cans of beans--pinto, navy, black, red, northern--not even two cans the same! A small bag of rice, two cans of beets (yuck!), one can of asparagus tips (oh, gross), one can of salmon, a small box of cornbread muffin mix, another little box of biscuit mix, three cans of evaporated milk and a lone, tiny box of animal crackers.

She stared down at the box contents and wondered once again what possessed people to donate only what they didn't want. Why did they think that a poor family would be happy to eat what they had already rejected?

She carried the box over to the refrigerator, set it on a chair next to the door, and slowly swung the door wide. It was nearly empty. A small container of dill cream cheese, a quart of skim milk, and two cartons of eggs with several cracked eggs in each. Resignedly, she packed them on top and closed the door.

She carted the box to her car, returned and locked up, and then with a deep sigh, slid behind the wheel. When she carried the box up to Mrs. McCandless' apartment, she was almost ashamed of the things she was delivering. Mrs. McCandless opened the door and greeted her with a wide smile.

"I knew you would help us!" she exclaimed happily. "Come in, come in." She stepped back to allow Frannie to squeeze past her. "Just carry that out to the kitchen. Mrs. Hubicki and Mr. Sanchez are already there."

Delivering the meager supplies to Mrs. McCandless was embarrassing enough, but Frannie hadn't counted on her other two neighbors' presence. She shrank back.

Mrs. McCandless urged her on with a firm hand planted in the middle of her back. "Come on, now. You know where the kitchen is. You'll join us for a cup of tea."

Frannie set the box on the table and silently sat in the only empty chair. Mrs. McCandless plunked down a cup of tea in front of her and then began to empty the box. Mrs. Hubicki and Mr. Sanchez exclaimed over each item as it appeared as though Frannie had delivered something priceless. She just didn't understand how they could be so happy with such a poor selection. They swiftly divided the contents between them and contentedly settled down to planning their Christmas dinner.

"You'll come, too," Mrs. Hubicki said firmly. "I know you have no one to spend Christmas with. No one should be alone on Christmas Day."

"I can't horn in on your dinner," Frannie protested, while thinking they had little enough to eat already!

"You will be here," Mr. Sanchez pronounced softly. "We are all family here."

Frannie shook her head in amazement and silently abandoned her quiet, solitary plans.
"What shall I bring?"

They looked at her with shocked expressions. "Oh, no," Mrs. Hubicki replied quickly. "You've already brought us a feast!"

"That? That's not a feast!" Frannie said disdainfully. "There's no turkey or ham, no sweet potatoes or dressing, no pie…"

Mr. Sanchez shook one finger at her in admonishment. "Frannie! God blesses all food! You will come day after tomorrow and see!"

It snowed Christmas Eve with huge fluffy flakes falling softly just as Frannie returned home from the joyful, candlelit church service. But Christmas Day was vary cold and bright, sunlight glittering back from the new snow. As time drew near for Frannie to go upstairs to Mrs. McCandless' apartment, she removed the two pies she had prepared from the oven and slid in a pan of fresh yeast rolls. When they were done, she slipped on her shoes and carried the pies upstairs.

Mr. Sanchez answered the door with a wide smile on his face. "Frannie! Welcome! And Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Sanchez. Please ask Mrs. McCandless where I should put the pies. I have to run back down and get the rolls."

Mrs. Hubicki appeared in the door to the kitchen. "Pies? And rolls? Frannie!" She shuffled slowly over to Frannie and took a pie, while Mr. Sanchez relieved her of the second one. "Hurry back! Dinner is almost ready!"

Frannie rushed downstairs, grabbed the rolls and bounded back up the stairs to Mrs. McCandless'. Mr. Sanchez had left the door ajar for her, so she carefully nudged it open and slipped inside. Out in the kitchen, she could hear the cheerful chatter of her elderly neighbors and suddenly, she was glad that they had invited her to their dinner.

In a very short while, they sat down to a beautifully arranged feast and much to Frannie's amazement, it was a feast. Mrs. Hubicki's old soup tureen held a delicious pink beet soup. Mr. Sanchez had prepared a spicy, tasty cornbread and bean pie. Mrs. McCandless presented a light and fluffy salmon asparagus puff.

Mr. Sanchez watched her as she tried each new dish. "Frannie, God gives us the tools and supplies," he said quietly. "What we do with them is up to us. We chose to honor the food you brought to us by using the creative talents God gave us. It would have been just as nourishing if we had just eaten the food out of the can. But this tastes better!" He sat back from the table, patted his flat belly and declared, "Now! It's time for pie!"

Copyright 2008 Anny Cook

Anny

Reminder: Tuesday, December 14th is my monthly chat at Love Romances Cafe. Please check the info box in the upper right corner for the url and information! I hope you'll all join us for an evening of excerpts and conversation!

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

Christmas 1959. I was ten years old. Our family lived in Globe, Arizona, but we had traveled by automobile to Gary, Indiana. It was before the days of interstate highways and my parents drove many hours, late into the nights, to arrive by Christmas. My younger brothers and I occupied ourselves by discussing and boasting about the snowmen we were going to build when we arrived “up North.”

We arrived safely (our first miracle) in the cold pre-dawn hours. It was a cold, damp, windy morning with nary a snowflake in sight. Dad stopped at a gas station so that we could freshen up. The restrooms were unheated, providing us with an excellent reason to speed through our clean-up. With our faces washed and our hair combed, so that we were presentable, we piled back into the car and traveled the few blocks to my Aunt Betty and Uncle John’s house.

There, as we shivered under a barely lightened sky, my Dad was struck by an inspiration. He gathered us in a tight group on the small front stoop—and at 6:00 AM—we began bellowing out the strains of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

Now it stand to reason that SOMEBODY would want to shut us up, but nobody came. Dad led us into a second verse, urging us to sing louder.

Still no reaction.

The wind whipped up, cutting through our light coats. Lips turned blue and strands of hair blew across our eyes as he led us through a third teeth-chattering verse.

Nobody came. Mom rang the doorbell as he launched into the first verse again. Uncle John flung the door open and demanded, “Who is it!” before he recognized us and invited us in.

Later there were a few chuckles when he described his mad dash from room to room searching for the radio that someone had left on.

During our visit, my brothers and I waited in vain for snow, knowing we only had a few days to spend there. At last, our hopes for snow dashed, we headed home. Oh, we had a great time milling around with our cousins, roaming in small packs from room to room, but in some small secret place within, a little snow would have been perfect.

After a long boring trip, suffering from holiday letdown, we arrived home safely (another miracle). Dad parked in front of our small house. We sat in the car staring out the foggy windows in amazement at our snow-covered yard. The cactus plants in the corners had spiky snow beards. There wasn’t enough snow to build a snowman, but we had a great snowball fight before we unpacked the car.

A miracle.

anny

PS: Tomorrow is my monthly chat at Love Romances Cafe. See the info in the upper left hand corner!

And a new excerpt is posted on the Weekly Excerpt Page to the right!

Navy Christmas

Christmas 1992. My second son's graduation from Navy basic training at Great Lakes Naval Base was scheduled for December 23rd. Not the best time, was it? It had been a very rough year. Our youngest daughter’s behavior had finally reached the point where we knew that we could no longer parent her effectively. Heartbroken beyond hurt, we placed her in a boarding school for kids with behavior problems. Our son left for the Navy on October 7th. Our daughter was taken to the Family School on October 29th. In a few short weeks, our family shrunk by half. Despite the problems, I bitterly missed both of them.
Christmas was upon us. It was too soon for our daughter to be permitted to come home for Christmas. We had to make the impossible decision. Would we attend our son’s graduation? Or would we spend Christmas at The Family with our daughter? After discussing it with the staff at The Family and with our daughter, we decided to go to our son’s graduation.
I made arrangements for us to stay with my brother and his family in Chicago. They graciously included us in their Christmas plans. J and D our two remaining children at home traveled with us as we drove to Chicago, providing company and distraction. My plan was to spend whatever time we could with our younger son.
The ceremony was solemn and impressive. My son wasn’t my son anymore. It was so strange. He sort of looked like my son, but he didn’t have enough hair. The beard was gone. He sort of sounded like my son, but the “Yes, sirs” and “Yes, ma’ams” were a bit odd. The ramrod straight bearing was amazing.

We were allowed to take him back to Chicago for a few hours, so we went to an Italian restaurant to celebrate his birthday, which passed in early December. His uncle and aunt bought him a balloon bouquet as a surprise. I can still see him stalking down the street afterward in his dress blues, straight backed, head held high, with the colorful balloon bouquet blowing all around him. It’s one of my favorite memories.

At his request we went to Gary for the family Christmas dinner. It was good. I needed the love and support of my extended family. There were many tears, pouring out at the oddest times, because our daughter wasn’t there. Carol singing was impossible for me, but I listened, inexplicably comforted by the old familiar words as I sat with J’s arm around me. The crying made me feel silly, but I couldn’t seem to stop. Then Aunt Mary gently reminded me that all of them understood grief and tears.
Time was too short. The days flew past and soon we had to give our son back to the Navy. We came home, marveling over the changes, touched by his abrupt maturity. It was a Christmas of extreme highs and lows, happiness and sadness, laughter and tears. It reminded me that Christmas isn’t about money and gifts. It isn’t about getting or giving. It’s about togetherness and love… the most precious thing we can have.
A miracle.
anny

Herald, the Christmas Mouse

It was two days before Christmas and Herald, the Christmas Mouse was too tired to move. When humans started the Christmas Shopping Season, they didn't think about how hazardous all those busy shoppers were for the mice. Why, a mouse could barely scurry across the wide hallways in the mall without someone stepping on his tail--or worse! It was up to Herald to take care of all the tiny mouselets while their harried parents shopped.

Some of the mouse children didn't want to stay in the nursery. Some pulled on Herald's tail because they wanted to shop with their Mamas. There were fifteen children from the Snow family and they all wanted something to eat! Little Angela Tree sucked her paws and bawled for her Mama.

Herald ran from child to child, wiping whiskers, offering cheese crumbs and toys, and refereeing arguments between the two oldest boys in the Star family, Twinkle and Shiny. Herald desperately wanted a few minutes of quiet.

Then he heard a beautiful sound drift through the nursery door. It was the sound of someone singing. One by one the mouse children grew silent. As the singing grew louder, the mouselets all gathered on the rug in the center of the room and they sat down in small groups, listening carefully to the music. Soon Herald realized that some of them were humming the melody.

In the still, quiet nursery, Herald crept to the door and peeked out into the corridor. A young human woman sat on a bench in the center of the mall, singing all alone. People were smiling and stopping to listen. Cranky children who had been crying, grew quiet and leaned against their weary parents as the young woman continued to sing. Slowly, peace fell over the mall to the strains of a Christmas song. Then Herald recognized the music. She was singing the Christmas Lullaby--Silent Night.

Herald turned to look at the mouse children and saw that they were all asleep. Twinkle Star was even snoring!

Softly, Herald crept out to the young woman and stood near her foot with his whiskers twitching and his beady little eyes shining, listening to the beautiful song. And then, wonder of wonders, she bent and offered him a perch on her fingers. It seemed to him that she even perhaps invited him to sing with her.

Suddenly, Herald wasn't so tired. He opened his tiny mouth and began to sing. And as he sang with all his heart, the Christmas Spirit swelled within him so much that when the song was finished, he roared out, "Merry Christmas Everybody!"

Copyright Anny Cook 2007

anny

Decorating the Tree

Of all the decorating at Christmas, perhaps the tree is the most personal item we decorate. It reflects who we are and where we've been more accurately than anything else.

Our first Christmas we had a Charlie Brown tree. Oddly enough, the cartoon that phrase is from wasn't even around back then. Our tree was a "real" tree, on the spindly side. We had about sixteen hand-me-down ornaments from my in-laws as they'd opted to go with a silver aluminum tree. And we had the old-fashioned big lights on it--only they weren't old-fashioned then. That was simply what was available. Except for a couple big floor cushions, the tree was the only thing in our living room as we were newly, newly married.

Over the years, as our lives changed, so did the tree. The year our first child was born, we even inherited the aluminum tree when my in-laws decided putting up a tree was too much bother.

The next year, with another new baby in the house, my friend Dorian started a tradition that held through the years. We added a new ornament for each child every Christmas. The idea was to accumulate some memories for them to take with them when they left home--and give them a base to begin their own traditions. As they grew older, they helped decorate the tree, each one sharing their memories as they rediscovered old ornaments and exclaimed over new ones.

There were other ornaments on the tree, of course. Every year in school or scouts, at least one child made an ornament for mom and dad. Those certainly became treasured additions. Some years we purchased one or two new ones that had particular meaning for us. And through the years, I accumulated quite a few from friends and family.

When the grandchildren came along, I started the ornament tradition with them, mailing off the ornaments in time for Christmas. And in some cases, my children have also continued the tradition.

One year I discovered bubble lights and snapped up several strings. In my childhood, I was fascinated by bubble lights, but they were quite dangerous back then. If you combine hot lights (the heat provided the bubbling mechanism) and a dry pine tree, you have a true recipe for disaster. The modern lights rely on chemistry to bubble and of course, we don't have a "real" tree as pine totally messes with my asthma.

In the early years of our marriage, we added silvery icicles to the tree. Everyone had their own technique for placing them on the tree. Some people tossed them at the tree in handfuls. Whatever stuck, stayed. Others placed them one at a time on the tree in some complicated arrangement only they could see in their mind's eye. After trying to remove them our first year with an artificial tree, we decided to fore go the icicles in the future.

The tree-topper is another deeply personal item. Some people have stars. Some have angels. We've had stars, angels, bows, and even one year a ball of lights. Its been a while since we decorated our tree so I'm not even sure what is in the closet for this year. I'm sure I'll come up with something, though.

What about you? Do you decorate a tree? If so, what are some of your traditions?

anny

First Christmas

Christmas 1967. We were married nine days. It was our big family Christmas that year in Gary, Indiana (as opposed to the family Thanksgiving which was on opposite years). My new husband and I traveled down there with my parents and brothers.

Dad had a Volkswagon van that the heat never worked in. My feet froze the entire way--coming and going--even though we sat in the very back of the van right on top of the heater. It was a typical Chicago Christmas. Cold, windy, and white.

By the time we reached my aunt and uncle's house, I was more than ready to warm up!

In our family, until you "officially" left home--either by marriage or military service or some such means--you ate dinner at the kids' table. So that was the first year I sat at the adult table and I was very conscious of the fact at eighteen I was now considered a grown woman. It was a lot of changes in a short time.

The hunk had no idea what he was getting into. His family consisted of him, his parents and his sister. My family gathering usually averaged around thirty to thirty-five people. Suddenly he was surrounded by a bewildering array of people who all peppered him with questions in their quest to make him feel at home.

Actually, we were neither fish nor fowl that first Christmas. Newly married (and very young), we certainly weren't part of the older generation. On the other hand, as the first one of my generation that was married, clearly we weren't quite part of the cousins' generation either. It was an odd, uncomfortable gulf.

He had no experience with the type of Christmas we celebrated in our family. His family watched television and had a cold-cut platter for dinner after they opened their presents.

My family served a sit-down feast in the basement, then gathered around the tree to sing Christmas carols and listen to my grandmother read the Christmas story from the Bible. Then Uncle John handed out presents from under the tree. Regardless of the number of family members attending, there was always at least one present for every single person.

I never figured out how they managed that.

By the next family Christmas, other cousins had married and we had a new baby. It was never again quite like that first awkward, grown-up Christmas where I felt a curious kinship to Mary and Joseph, launching into the unknown seas of married life.

This year, for the first time in quite a while, we will be alone--something new and different for us.

anny

The IOU

1983. Through the years there have been many "skimpy" Christmases in our family. Many. For some reason, we always seemed to be in our worst financial shape in December.

I am well aware that many families survive this situation by using that little plastic rectangle. But we didn't have any of those. None.

This particular Christmas, we lived in Houston. The kids had a long wish list. And we had an empty bank account. Empty. I couldn't think what to do.

On Christmas Eve my friend Joyce drove me down to the local drugstore because there were some stuffed animals advertised on sale. Well. We found the animals and actually, they were quite delightful because they were different. Lions, tigers, giraffes...safari animals. And they were a decent size. And they were within my budget means.

I chose four, but really wanted some ribbon for bows. There was no more money, though. Absolutely none left. Joyce assured me she would handle the ribbon. We went back home, tied jaunty bows around each toy's neck along with a name tag and set them beneath the tree.

It was pretty bare down there.

Though our children were aware of the situation, my heart still grieved that I could provide so little. If only it was just a couple months later when Income Tax time had rolled around. We always received a hefty income tax return because--hey! Four kids!

Then an idea of dazzling brilliance dawned. Why not set aside some of that money for the kids Christmas? But how to let them know I was doing that?

Then I thought--a gift certificate!

We had an old dot matrix printer. I printed out my gift certificates, carefully wrote in a name on each with an amount and frowned down at the flimsy sheets of paper. They weren't very festive.

After a moment, I dug out the kids crayons and added drawings of holly and bells and colored them in. That was better. Then with a sigh of reluctant acceptance I tucked them in beneath the bows on the stuffed animals and went to bed.

It was the best I could do.

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear. The kids woke us up, bubbling and giggling out in the living room. Curiosity got the better of me so I padded out there to see what all the merriment was about. There on the living room floor, each kid had sheets of paper, making out lists of all they ways they were going to spend their Christmas IOUs. The stuffed animals were overseeing the project.

The next year when we asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas, they all promptly answered, "Christmas gift certificates!"

So you might say I invented the Christmas gift card. I was always a bit before my time...

anny

Notes from the road...

You know you're in the country when...

The most exciting thing that happened in your day was when your hens laid their first eggs.

The primary industry is selling crystals from a table in your front yard.

Having a tire blowout is a normal part of your week.

The RV in the front yard is in better shape than the house behind it.

The yard decor is a collection of farm equipment.

You can drive seventy miles on back roads without ever seeing a stop sign.

When you have more weapons than books... and some of them are older than your grandparents... both weapons AND books!

Signs along the way:

The Cross-eyed Cricket Campground

Christmas~~Population 128 (I figure 80% of the population was cows or sheep...)

Frozen Head State Park (Bet that one has an interesting story.)

Mousetail Landing

Restaurants we sampled: McDonald's, Taco Bell, Long John Silver's, Biscuit World, A&W Rootbeer, Perkins, Sonic, Cracker Barrel, Dave's Catfish Kitchen, Starbucks, Panera's, Ryan's Buffet, Branding Iron Steakhouse, Chinese Buffet, North Forty Buffet, Outback Steakhouse (We like to sample the local cuisine... funny how it's pretty much the same all over...)

Speaking of sampling... we visited Wal-Marts in Longview, TX; Mena, AR; Texarkana, AR; Lexington, KY... and found different stuff at every one of them.

Had an extensive gun lesson--rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers, derringers, plus ammo and knives. Observation #1--guns weigh a lot. Observation #2--the TV shows have it all wrong. Observation #3--if I ever decide to shoot someone, I think I'll have to be really, really close to the target.

That's it for today!

anny

The Bride Doll

Over the years I've written several short vignettes about different Christmas' in my life. Beginning today and going through Christmas, I'll periodically post them in no particular order. Today's vignette takes place in 1957.

Christmas 1957. I was eight years old. That was the year of the Bride Doll and also the year I discovered the truth about Santa Claus. I lived in a very small town called Hayden, Arizona. At that time, there was a general store in the center of town near the elementary school. Each afternoon on the way home from school, I would rush inside and check out The Bride Doll.

The Bride Doll was the most important dream of my young life. She was two feet tall dressed in a bride dress composed of layer upon layer of white lace. She had short curly blonde hair and a veil. The display box was high up on a shelf so that you could see her the minute you entered the store.

Every afternoon, I rushed inside to check that she was still there. At the time, I don’t think I realized that the store would naturally have more than one in stock. I was sure that as long as The Bride Doll was in the store on Christmas Eve, then Santa would bring me my dearest wish…The Bride Doll.

One afternoon as I trotted down the sidewalk after school, I saw my mother standing by our car in front of the store. Now in those days, kids did not ride in the front seat. The front seat was reserved for grown ups. So when my mother asked if I wanted a ride home, I naturally yanked open the back door even as my mother yelled, “No!”

And lo and behold, there was The Bride Doll on the back seat.

I was dumbfounded. What was The Bride Doll doing in my car? It says much about innocence of that era that it never even occurred to me that my mother had bought it. All I could think was, “Why did Santa bring my doll when it wasn’t even Christmas?”

Well, we rode home in silence. Then, my mother took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen where we proceeded to have milk and cookies while she explained how Moms and Dads were Santa’s helpers. It was vague enough that it took me two more years to finally get it. She explained that my brothers didn’t know about how Moms and Dads helped Santa so I would have to pretend to be surprised.

Pretending and having secrets was almost as exciting as knowing that The Bride Doll would be mine on Christmas Day. I dragged that poor doll around for years. As a matter of fact, fifty years later, she’s still stashed in my spare room. I’m afraid that she’s a bit worse for the wear, but my granddaughters still love her anyway. Her bride dress is long gone. At the moment she has a sailor dress. I keep thinking that I’ll find time to make her a new dress but I haven’t done it yet.

A little over two years later, my mother died. I wonder what she’s thinking now as she peeks down from Heaven? Is she shaking her head over that bedraggled dolly? Probably so.

The picture is my mom and grandpa, now gone many years. Oh, and that's me clutching my Bride Doll.

anny