The nearly three decades that lay between Bev and me made no difference in our friendship, they just didn’t exist except as a number some might look at from the outside. The difference in ages wasn’t there from the moment we met or the ensuing fourteen years. We were two women, and we were friends.
She accepted the quirky side of me, and I, the pragmatic side of her. We were friends and neighbors for most of those years but in the old sense of the word. An acceptance of each other and a finding of common ground. We talked, joked, joy and found comfort in each other. We helped each other where we could, sometimes it was only listening, and sometimes it was watching out for each other and caring.
There were no expectations between us, but there was an abundant joy in having that cup of tea, glass of wine, dinner together, and conversation. I have a love of history and knew a lot about the world that she was born into, it was a world that I found comfortable to listen to stories of, or to share my own that I had learned from my mother and reading. We shared as two women will stories of loss, adventure, love, and we talked about children. Though I didn’t have any, I enjoyed learning of hers and of her youth, her meeting her husband Red, their adventures in Africa and the mischief her children got into in their youth.
You see a woman has many roles, she is a daughter, a child, a young girl, a young woman, a wife, a mother, and as she ages and loses many of those she knew in her youth, few remember her as a woman and a person. Her husband sees her as his wife, her children as their mother, and many as an old woman, even before she has aged enough to be considered old.
Bev and I never expected anything from each other, we only enjoyed what was given freely. She had her passions, and they showed in her paintings, the thesis she wrote and shared with me, in her love of people, life, animals, and her children.
And she loved her children deeply, she was so very proud of each and every one of them and bragged about their accomplishments, and talked of them often. There was never anything hurtful or wrong in what she said. She accepted people for who they were and understood that they were people too.
She was my friend, and I was honored to know her. I was honored to be there for her when she needed me, and I was blessed to call her friend. As I grow older, I understand better how much she gave me of herself and how precious it was and always will be to me. And I know how difficult it can be to lose those that remember you as the young woman that you will forever remain, no matter how old or frail you get.
Her one wish was that her children would love each other and find acceptance of each other after she was gone. I am blessed to have met the Mentzer family, I am blessed she was my friend.
The night Bev passed she came to me in a dream, we were at a pier, her children were a ways off, with many people in between us, and she was wearing a faded floral dress that was too big. It kept falling off her shoulders, and she said to me “The dress doesn’t fit anymore.” And I said “It always happens as we grow doesn’t it?”
Bev said, “my boat is here, I don’t know my new address yet, but I will get it to you.” And I woke up. I knew she was gone, I knew she had given me a final blessing in coming to say goodbye, and I knew that Bev wanted me to tell her children how much she loved them and how proud she had always been of them.
The honeymoon of Laura and Gerry Fitz is off to a fast-paced yet deadly start when they arrive in Florida. There is a maniac behind the wheel who needs to win at all costs. When he wins, life is great but when he loses he is DRIVEN TO KILL!
The first victim off the starting line is Laura's ex-husband Lou, and she is taking it personally. Mix in a creepy cop and some unexpected surprises and you have a race for your life. Who will win and who will wipe out?...
Karen Vaughan spins this entertaining yarn about a honeymoon couple, a psychotic race car driver and crooked cops with wit and humor. The characters are likeable and her attention to the details of police protocol lend plausibility to the plot. There's never a dull moment in Daytona for Laura and Gerry, which is what makes this such a page-turner. Thoroughly enjoyed it.
By Joan P. Ashley
Grandfather fought for his freedom, not unlike the slaves who fought for their in the south around the time of the civil war. Grandfather escaped from a communist regime in Russia and Poland to make a better life for himself and his family. The things this man had to endure during his escape from what sounds like a living hell makes me realize the pursuit of happiness of the human race. A place to live in peace, freedom, liberty, and justice. The author of this book is his granddaughter a lovely person who carries on her grandfather’s legacy in a beautiful and endearing way. Read this short excerpt of Grandfather's life. It is humbling, to say the least. A feel-good read.
In 1913, Lucjan Czepirski was a man trapped in Russian occupied Poland. This short story concentrates on his escape and is suspenseful until the very end. Viv Drewa paints a story about a desperate man determined to have a better life. Five Stars.
Natalie Fisher committed suicide after an author stole her work and published it as her own.
Two years later, her best friend Terri is found dead in her hotel room.
Are the two deaths connected?
Laura Fitz and Detective Gibbons are on the case to trap a ruthless author trying to get away with murder!
Laura Fritz is back along with the characters I have come to love from this author's other books in the series. This time, Laura meets a couple of authors.Natalie, Silvie and Terri were close friends and struggling to be authors. When tow of the women die mysteriously, Laura gets involved and the adventure to solve a mystery begins. Karen Vaughan writes no-frills stories with amazing and believable characters. Grabbing a book by this author is like sitting down with an old friend and having a chat. Here novels are twisted mysteries with a cozy appeal and not to be missed. P.S. Winn
https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Writes-Laura-Gerry-Mystery-ebook/dp/B07CJNG5P4/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dead-to-writes-karen-vaughan/1128533370?ean=9781717244826 http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Dead-Writes/Karen-Vaughan/9781717244826?id=6960723244637 https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dead-to-writes-3
“Why do you call her the Ghost?” Tom asked Sam, as they sat in the cab of the truck.
“She is white now and has been extraordinarily meek and mild-mannered since her second foal. You hardly remember she is there most of the time.” He replied.
There was a sly lazy air about Tom. A bit slovenly, his long hair hanging greasy, on his shoulders, with a few strands combed across his prematurely balding head. Sam could hardly bear the smell of him, a combination of greasy hair and a pungent smell of stale beer clinging to him. “Will you open the window a bit, Tom?” Sam asked. He wore his blue jeans in what humans commonly referred to as a plumber’s crack; I don’t see how he can walk properly, I will have to get the boss to discuss his clothes it won’t do working with horses.
The red truck backed up to the gate of Sadie’s paddock, “Tom would you please go open the gate for me?” Sam asked.
“I’ll take a look-see, Sadie; be right back,” Nellie said as she walked back out to her paddock. Poking her head back in Nellie said, “One of them is old Samuel, but the shorter man looks like a real greenhorn Sadie I never saw him before.” He is a little man, a bit sly looking, with a mean look in his eye and the smell of cruelty.” Both mares’ ears perked up to hear the two men outside the small barn.
“Tom here’s the rope, go get the Ghost. You can bring her out through the paddock. I’ll be waiting at the trailer for you. She will be a bit cranky, but education is what you are here for. Besides I am here to show, not do the work.”
“Sam, which one of them is the Ghost, and if she is cranky, what’s the best way to get the rope around her?” Tom asked cunningly.
“As I already said, she is the white one. How long have you been around horses Tom? Surely long enough to know what a freaking halter is. Just go up to her, talk soothingly, and put the lead rope on the ring. It is the ring on the chin strap, at the base of the halter.” Sam shook his head in disgust. What the hell did the boss think when he sent this useless piece of shit to him for training? I bet this jerk can’t even tell the difference between a forelock and a frog. Maybe the guy was just lazy, though he might be like some people who acted stupid so they can get out of doing chores. Sam thought.
“I hear Nurse Mares have become a big business?” Tom said, to delay going into the barn. His voice full of bravado, but the mares could smell his nerves even with the barn doors closed. Sadie, could hear it in his voice. It worried her.
Throughout history, people have enslaved others, regardless of their race or religion. They fought to own more, considered the land, water, animals, and yes at many times women and children to be the property of man. There have been exceptions to this rule. The societies that were a monarchy, not patriarchy, might have felt they owned men, who are to know I don’t. The Native American’s thought highly of their women, but also considered them tradeable as were animals. They didn’t consider the earth itself ownable.
This country was settled on a white supremacist attitude, and that bothers me a lot. It bothers me that even today, so many have these same issues of supremacy and ownership.
I do not own my animals or my land in this way of thinking. I am the steward of this piece of land. I am the caregiver and companion of my animals. I adopted them; they are incapable of caring for themselves as they were not raised to know how and therefore I owe them care. We give and exchange companionship. I would, however, fight to protect my home, animals, the land we live on to continue to protect it and them.
I do not understand the attitude that many have of superiority and ownership of anything that is living, be it animal, plant, air, water or anything else. If this makes me odd, so be it.
WHEN I WAS NOT MYSELF
Whether I am reading, or writing I am taken out of myself and will return more enlightened. From the magic of the places I have been, the people I have met, and the story that captured me for a while.