Leslie Gould’ newest book, “Becoming Bea” is a winner!
Bea Zook has been leading a sheltered life, she’s a happy homebody. When faced with leaving her beloved Lancaster County home for Montana, she takes a wild step, getting a job as a mother’s helper to a family with triplets!
The only problem, she will have be around Ben Rupp, the one man who can really set her on edge with his teasing and attentions.
Will they be able to work it out?
I loved this story! Gould’s “Bea” reminds me a lot of myself, as I watch her gain self-confidence and independence.
The story is well paced and keeps the reader wanting to know ‘what next’.
‘Black holes’ do not exist only in the cosmos. They can exist inside you, sucking away your hope, light and energy.
It is called DEPRESSION and it is very real.
I know, I fight this battle. I’m far from alone, although when DEPRESSION rears it’s ugly head, I feel that way. Then, no one is there, no one can fathom the awfulness, the aloneness, the fears.
In my effort to continue to exist, I try to look for the good in things, find beauty in what is around me. On really bad days, even this is a hard task.
On those days, when I want to crawl back into bed and ide under the covers, I must remind myself that I am not invisible.
What I do does matter, and who I am matters more. The emptiness is inside me, attacking, pulling me in.
The battle rages, reality and all that is good, or this lie of despair and defeat.
It was a chilly morning, we could see our breath steam out as we traveled in the fields and forest.
Thistles still raise their heads, pink blossoms bright against the fading vegetation.
A solitary heron breaks the blue above the creek.
The maples begin to show their colors at an old deserted house place. Well kept by the hunters who inhabit it twice a year.
Red, gold, orange sentinels line the highway.
Ripples sing a chorus at the beaver pond.
Once, I was 12 years old.
It’s 5 AM. Dad knocks on the door of my brothers’ room, then the one I share with my sister. Trying not to wake the younger one’s is a challenge, for him and us as we get up to start the day.
It’s time to dress and get the Sunday paper route done. It’s almost triple the daily route, so both of us have to hustle.
Dad drops us off at our pick up point and drives away. We gather our newsprint bundles and start the task of separating and sorting.
Brother and I spend thirty or so minutes, rolling and sorting papers into our bags for delivery, then off we go. One of us takes the ‘even’ side of the street the other the ‘odd’. Quietly we work our way past the still sleeping homes down our three blocks and back up the other three.
Within an hour we are back in the door.
Dad has been busy, a trip to Klein’s’ bakery, boxes of fresh donuts wait in the station wagon. Mother marshalls the five of us to the waiting car.
Our destination, Pioneer Park in Lincoln Nebraska. Breakfast of doughnuts and milk, a chance to play on the playground uninterrupted or look at the buffalo and elk in large fenced fields. wonder if they are still there, these many years later?
Home by 10 to change and prepare for church. That is a must!
And there I was! I’d read about Clara Barton, Dorothea Dix and other women, making a difference for our men in battle.
I knew I had to help. My brothers, Johnny, Clint and Lucas were out there somewhere. Their infrequent letters filled with tales of things so horrifying. Lives were daily lost for want of nursing skill on the field and in the ragged tent hospitals.
Maw cried, but helped me make my dress, the red trim marking me as a nursing volunteer.Now, here I am following the unit into a skirmish. A bag of bandages and a bottle of white likker in a bag at my hip. Not much to do with, but more than many had.
The drummer boys, no more than 10 or 12 have been shooed away into the woods or back to the earth berm fort behind us.
I can hear the crack of rifles, smoke from the cannons hangs heavy over the field in front.
As I watch, a man out front falls! Those around him carry him back to where I now lay upon the ground. Rifle balls sing over my head like a swarm of mosquitoes. It is all up to me, to help this man.
More are being dragged this way… Where are the ambulances? Blood, blood, blood! Can I do enough to save even one?
Hannah Reed’s new series is off to a fine start with Off-Kilter.
Scotland has its lochs, heather, sheep and beautiful landscapes. It is also home to the small town of Glenkillen.
Aspiring romance author, Eden Elliot, arrives for a research and writing trip and finds herself wrapped tightly in the tartan of a murder mystery.
A fellow American she met on the plane, Vicki MacBride, seems to be the focus of the investigation. It seems her father has left everything in her name, even though her younger half siblings have kept the farm and family business going. Hard feelings accusations and mysterious happenings point inspector Jamison and his assistant back to Vicki at every crossroad.
Eden is convinced Vicki is innocent, but can she prove it?
Well worth reading, I give it 4+ stars.
Saturday, Hubby, Daughter, grandson and I went to the reenactment of the Battle of Pilot Knob. 150 years have passed since soldiers from the Grand Army of the Republic faced their counterparts from the Confederate States on this small piece of ground.
We have been there several times before, each time learning something new.
Part of this years program was a presentation by Angela Da Silva. Her program “Lila: A Missouri Slave’s Story” was fascinating to me. I knew Missouri ha slave holders, but this brought a more personal note than textbooks ever could.
I was talking to my daughter in California about it and we discovered a link to the presentation on youtube.com. http://youtu.be/4x8qMoDUL7I will take you to part one, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4x8qMoDUL7I part two http://youtu.be/4x8qMoDUL7I and part three https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BykXtQpyCYoare
This morning, it’s chilly here on Sunrise Ridge.
Searching for today’s entree, I found the freezer held some nice chicken parts; that suggested a big pot of chicken noodle soup.
The kitchen is steamy with the scent of simmering chicken, carrots, onion and peas are ready to go in after while. A few ‘secret family ingredients’ will be added as things cook.
Gramma always made her noodles, using fresh eggs, flour, baking powder, a little salt and water… rolling them out thin on the counter and letting them dry for a couple of hours before adding to the soup.
Art Ritis is clamoring for attention today, so mine will not be home made. The taste and texture will not be quite the same. I will miss that, but the warm comfort of hot soup on a chilly day will make up for it. At least, I hope so!
Hubby decided to take advantage of some cooler weather this afternoon. The recent rains have certainly convinced the grass to grow in the yard.
When he lifted the riding mower hood to check the oil, he was surprised by this eastern garter snake, resting quietly atop the motor.
We were glad it was not a copperhead or rattler.
As soon as I snapped the photo, Hubby got the snake off the mower and it rapidly slithered away to parts unknown.
Garter snakes eat bugs and small rodents for the most part, so we consider them partners in the life of Sunrise Ridge.