The Reindeer Keeper

I hardly ever mention my being a writer on this blog but with the release of my new book, "Velvet Snowflakes." I thought you might enjoy learning how it came to be. I often have people asking me where my ideas come from for storylines. My reply is always the same. Storylines are all around you. The trick is to recognize them. Acknowledge them and take the time to develop them. Besides time, it takes patience. Writing is akin to putting a puzzle together. Sometimes the pieces don't fit. Sometimes a character or a scene or a conversation need reworking. That's when you have to go back and redo those pieces until you, as the writer, feel they fit. The idea for my heartwarming story, "Velvet Snowflakes" developed during the dark days of Covid when we were on lockdown. I began thinking about the meaning of home and the places I'd called home. Most of my attention turned to the first place I called home. It sat along a lane. I lived in that clapboard home pain...

 The photo shows my grandparents' farmhouse of long ago. The house was sold after my grandfather stopped farming the fields and the barn, that once housed chickens and cows and horses with kids running around playing, became silent and empty. That's when my grandparents built a smaller home on land that was part of the farm, big enough to house my grandparents and one of my aunts. But way before that farmhouse was sold I had so much fun with my cousins playing inside and outside that home. There was no TV. No internet. There were no video games. No cell phones. If there had been such things, there would have been no time to bother with them. Playing and pretending were top priority.  It never took much to amuse us. I remember one summer it just took a few pairs of scissors, some straight pins and used magazines and we were good to go for days, playing on the screened-in porch of that farmhouse.  I can't remember if it was an officially declared 'Club' we created. It...

  I must have been twelve or thirteen when I first looked through a New York Times’ Sunday edition that my father brought home from work. I was instantly intrigued by such an extensive newspaper with so many sections and the smell of all that ink on all of that newsprint. I remember standing at the kitchen table with the paper wide open. There was just so much to see and read. But I never made it through all of those pages. I never got beyond the first section. I was stopped in my tracks by a logo. You have to realize this was way before computers and instant everything. There were only three news networks on the TV. Cable was nonexistent. Magazines ran cigarette ads. It was a whole different world. So when I turned a page of that newspaper and saw for the first time a pen and ink logo that swirled off the page in creativity, I was hooked.  The logo was the Lord & Taylor logo. The ad said the item advertised was available at all Lord & Taylor stores. I wasn’t intereste...

Call it what you want-a porch or a veranda. The term doesn't matter as much as the value it holds in the early morning or at the end of a day. It doesn't matter if it's one person sitting there enjoying that first cup of coffee or several sitting around after a long day discussing whatever they choose to discuss. It doesn't matter if it's used for a celebration of a special moment or for the rocking of a little one to sleep as a gentle breeze passes by. Whatever the reason-there is no place like that place called whatever we chose to call it. What does matter are the values of friendship-of family-of conversation and companionship such a place nurtures and develops from one moment to the next. In this era of electronic devices taking over real human interaction where that conversation is turned from people to people face-to-face to cold, hard devices with fingers moving at lightning speed and heads down and where words spoken are nil-that place called whatever...