Baby, It's Cold Outside by Joan Reeves

Of course it's cold outside—it's January. But that's not really what I'm talking about. 

I'm defending the song of the same name because it's rarely heard in today's world. Once, you'd hear it during the holidays until some people interpreted the song as a date-rape warning. That's all it took for radio stations to ban it.

The song, written by Frank Loesser and his wife, Lynn Garland, was first sung at their New York City home in 1944. They performed it as a humorous way to tell their guests that it was time to go home.

In 1949, the song was featured in the MGM movie "Neptune's Daughter" which starred Esther Williams and Ricardo Montalbán. Then in 1950, it won the Academy Award for Best Original Song.

Recorded by many artists from Dean Martin to Lady Gaga, the song was placed on some kind of "hit list" but not the kind that celebrates popular music but the kind that seeks to have music banned.

I never saw it neither as a rape anthem nor a as a man coercing a woman into having sex. Too me it was funny and about a man pleading with a woman for her affection. Maybe I'm a naive, but the song was written back in the day when courtship still meant courting—not forcing. I grew up in a couple of decades beyond the song's creation, but I still didn't think it was offensive.

I do think we live in an era when people seem to be looking for offense where none is intended. I think Mr. Loesser and his wife would be shocked that the song they wrote is now banned from the airwaves.

WHAT DO YOU THINK

I'd be interested in hearing what you think about this topic. If you leave a comment, please leave your approximate age because perhaps age has something to do with what is found offensive.

If you'd rather read a romantic comedy than discuss this topic, may I recommend JUST ONE LOOK? 

Seduction can be pretty funny—especially when both sides play dirty!

What would you do if the gynecologist subbing for your regular doctor turned out to be your old high school crush? Psychologist Dr. Jennifer Monroe does what any normal, well-adjusted woman would do. She makes an excuse, sends the doctor and the nurse from the room, dives into her clothes, and flees—hoping she'll never run into him again.

Unfortunately, her running away makes conscientious Dr. Matt Penrose conclude she has a problem and wants to refer her to another doctor for her exam, but she refuses to take his calls. Dallas is a big city. What are the odds these two will ever meet again? 

Even money, when Fate lends a hand.

JUST ONE LOOK is a Kindle Unlimited free read for subscribers. 

Wishing you a warmer January than probably seems possible at this point!

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You Kids Get off My Lawn! by Bea Tifton

I am in middle age. I’ve had to come to the realization that I’ve more years behind me than before me. But that’s okay. I have a good life and I plan to live for many more years and to treasure each year in the future. The other day I saw a meme asking what surprised people about getting older. I started thinking about that.

One thing about which I didn’t think when I was young is losing places that were a part of my growing up years. A few months ago I blogged about an antique mall that meant a great deal to me being torn down for eminent domain. But I’ve also seen many stores I grew up frequenting going bust. My grandmother spent her whole career as a Sears associate and my mother worked there when she was in school. We were a loyal Sears family. But we watched it go from a good, solid middle class department store to something rather sad. And we lost TG&Y dime stores, where Mom let us look at all the fabulous junk and even buy something with our allowance or get a piece of candy from her as a treat. Furr’s Cafeteria. Gone. We went to one after church every week for years because the manager was a friend of my father’s. I loved it because we got to choose our own food and even got dessert. That was a way of life that’s just--gone.

And cultural norms have changed. I’m not standing in my yard yelling, “You kids get off of my lawn!”  What I actually mean is, I’m just getting used to the two generations below me who, as a norm, don't have the same social conventions. Many don’t use please and thank you, don’t smile and say hello, etc. And now older people who were raised that way don’t do it, either. That’s the opposite of how that should be going. My neighbors don’t wave back. People don’t make eye contact. No one answers their doors. I found a lost dog the other day and the neighbors, who were just coming out when I was about to ring, directed me to the dog's home next door to them, but I couldn’t get his darn owners to answer. I could see them running past the window. Frustrating.

Now we have new grammar rules. Language is constantly evolving.

Words like “tacky” or “jerk” don’t seem to be used anymore. My students honestly didn’t know what I meant when I said something about the current news was tacky. And the loss of idioms with which I grew up. Or using imagery in writing. We’re losing a beauty to language. Luckily, there are exceptions, like the gifted young poet Amanda Gorman. I try to keep up with slang so I'll understand, but honestly some of it really annoys me. And don’t get me started about the lowering of standards with news reporters and grammatical errors.

I’m at the age where I can go two ways. I can be a person I call a dinosaur who doesn’t keep up with technology or social media, who grumbles constantly about “The Good Old Days” (whenever they were), and those annoying young people, or I can evolve. Change with the times. I choose to change. But I’ll still give a moment to remembering and I’m sure I’ll still shake my head occasionally or grieve in some small way. I’m only human, and I’m planning to be one of those old ladies who’s a force of nature. One must adapt as one ages, after all.

 

Photo Credits: Pexels.com
SHVETS Productions "An Elderly Woman in Pink Long Sleeve"
Wikimedia Commons: RodTV65
Pexels.com
Werner Pfennig "Television Reporter in Front of a Conference Room" 
RDNE Stock project "Woman in Black Hat Holding White Disposable Cup" 
 

Mistress of DOOM~ Sherri Easley

 

I am the mistress of DOOM. There I said it. No, it has nothing to do with horror stories, per se. It honestly has to do with the many piles of stuff all over my house.

Fabric, yarn, boxes (nothing like a good box), purses cut out, purses I want to cut out, new notebooks I started, new notebooks I haven’t started, mail, clean clothes, clothes to mend… get the picture?

I recently learned that all those piles that we with ADHD make have a name. They are called DOOM piles.

"Didn’t Organize, Only Moved". 

I am going to use that pile. I am going to finish what was started. It is organized- at least for me. Leave it alone- I know where it is.

If you google search the term, there’s a lot of advice on how to master your DOOM piles, but I will get to mine… eventually. I really don't need an intervention. 

Anyone else guilty of creating DOOM (piles)?

Winter Wonderland by Bea Tifton

 Filling in for the lovely and talented Caroline Clemmons.

Winter is finally upon us in North Texas. We are still going back and forth from mild to cold temperatures, and we have yet to have a hard freeze. We have small dogs in our family, and a couple of the cuties were sporting light Christmas sweaters during the holidays. When it’s cold enough again, I’ll put on some winter ones instead.

Now that our climate is getting warmer, Christmas sweaters for people are usually out of the question. Christmas shirts are the norm now, long sleeved if we’re lucky. And forget white Christmases.

We seldom have snow in North Texas. It’s more usual to have ice once or twice a year. So the much awaited snow days are really ice days. But sometimes, we do have snowy weather. It usually melts within a day. One year when I was a librarian, our students who were native to Mexico were so excited because the forecast said there was a remote chance of snow. The other teachers and I were gently trying to explain that it just didn’t snow much here because we didn’t want them to be disappointed. That night it dumped several inches, the most I ever remember. School had to be cancelled for a week. The kids were in heaven. And the teachers didn’t mind missing a few days, either. That was before schools had to meet remotely even during bad weather days.

When it’s going to ice or snow in North Texas, people panic. They run to the grocery store as though it was the Apocalypse. All milk, bread, and bottled water disappear as people hurry to get to the last remaining groceries in the free world.  We don’t have fleets of snow plows so things pretty much come to a halt.

Because I don’t get to experience it, I love to look at photos of snowy winters. I don’t have to do any winterizing or experience the inconvenience of trying to travel  during extreme weather. Sometimes I think I’d like to live in a part of the country that gets a little cooler in the winter, but I don’t want to live anywhere where I’m required to plug in my car to keep the battery from freezing or anything. Living in Texas, there’s no danger of that.

 

Do you have snowy winters where you live? Leave a comment below.

Photo Credits: Pexels.com
Ricardo Perez-Saravia "A Hairy Dog Wearing a Christmas Costume"
Hunt on Photo Studio "Girl Wearing Winter Clothes Having Fun Playing on Snow Fall"
Jonathan Peterson "Photo of Forest With Snow"

 

 

The Plots and Perils of Penning a Blog Post by Laura Hunsaker

 What do you call a writer without a computer? 

A doctor, call her a doctor because her hand has cramped from writing longhand for the past few weeks.

A couple of weeks ago, I had finished my writing for the night and was putting my laptop on the charger... When my charger popped, caught fire, and smoldered out before I could even fall out of bed to grab the fire extinguisher (married to a firefighter, we do have one in my bathroom). So, that whole thing was very scary. My room smelled like smoke for a while, the dog was not happy, it was a whole thing.

That being said, my poor old 10 year old Chromebook was held together with a binder clip, and hadn't accepted updates in at least 3 years, and now the charger had caught fire...I figured it was time for a new one. Do you know how hard it is to be a writer when your laptop is dead and you don't have a charger? It's awkward to write on your phone, to say the least. In the meantime, I did order a new charger, but I was looking for a new computer off and on. I have to say, it's overwhelming when you really love a Chromebook but all of your writer friends are telling you to get a grown up computer.

Binder clip literally holding the computer together.

I think I found some great deals, but nothing really fit what I wanted. I do eventually want a different set-up, but I don't have the luxury of writing full time so I need something fast and that fits my needs now. So I kind of stalled. Besides, the new charger came and I was back in business...sort of. It was still slow and out of date. Even Google Docs would remind me of that with a big banner telling me every time I opened up my manuscripts.

And I was surprised with a beautiful, slim, streamlined, brand new Chromebook! 

New, slim, pretty Chromebook with Smart Girls up, because of course ;)

My husband and children picked one out for me, and can I tell you, as I type on it, this baby is the nicest thing ever! It's exactly what I like, so I'll probably still look for something else, but in I'm not in any hurry to do so, and in the meantime I have what I love, and the coolest thing is that I can use the other one when editing so I can have two screens up! I mean it's not perfect, but it's what I like, so I'm happy.

And there's one really cool thing I get to do, and that's order new stickers since this one doesn't have any! Woohoo!

And since I've got a week off work,  and a new Chromebook, I'm going to finish edits for Dreams of the Future for you all, and if you sign up for my newsletter, you'll get it for free! 

Newsletter sign up link

Kate Landry is soon to be Kate Donovan, if only the groom would show up.

Maid of honor Cara Nguyen wants everything to go smoothly for her best friend's wedding, yet almost immediately, the wedding turns into a fiasco. Kate and Kyle deserve to have the wedding of their dreams, and Cara wants to make it happen. It’s hard to do when the flowers are delivered to the wrong location, the groom is missing, and the lovely sunny day has become a sweltering hot mess. She definitely doesn’t have time to get distracted by a sexy groomsman in a kilt.

Kyle Donovan is ready to marry the love of his life, but first he has to help some stranded guests…

Dash Helms is in the small town of Chester, California for his friend Kyle’s wedding, when he is immediately tasked to help. A caravan of wedding guests break down on their way to the venue, one of the groomsmen misses his flight, and the beautiful maid of honor is the only thing he can concentrate on. When Dash is asked to step in at the last minute as a replacement groomsman, of course he says yes. But the striking brunette he’s walking down the aisle wants nothing to do with him. 

With everything seeming to go wrong, what can go right?

In this wedding short story written for Kate and Kyle from Dark Past, the cast of the Fatal Instincts series comes together to celebrate their friends. With everyone in the same place at once, and romance in the air, can this small town handle them?

BRINGING HOME THE CHRISTMAS TREE

 by Judy Ann Davis

“Who we are is where we’ve been, who are parents are, where we lived, who are friends were and are. All these influence what we see and how we see it, how we talk and what we say, how we think and what we think about, what we believe and what we value. We are our histories.”  
                                  ~ Jerry Apps, Renowned storyteller, author, educator and historian
                                                                                               ~ from Living a Country Year

As December rolls around, often into a snowy wonderland for northern states’ residents like myself, we look forward to holidays and the simple joys of country living. When I was growing up, it was an exciting time for farm kids to get the family Christmas tree. Never was there any discussion about visiting a Christmas tree farm or buying one. Bundled up and with boots on, we trudged through the white stuff, searching our own woodlands for an evergreen tree to fit in its rightful place in the corner of our dining room. Even a less-than-stellar, often lopsided, Charlie-Brown-like pine or spruce tree would do. After all, we were going to position it with its best side looking outward, weren’t we?

Our ornaments were glass, shiny, and old—and in all the colors of the rainbow along with silver, white, pink and other variations. We also had small plastic Rudolph reindeer ornaments to add to the seasonal vibe. Mother usually let us decorate without any interference, except with the warning not to throw the icicles on the tree, as we were apt to do as we tired of the final step. The plug for the light was one set into the floor. We were also sternly reminded not to drop anything into it—like tiny metal hangers used to fasten the bulbs on the branches. 

The tinsel on the tree was silver and thinner those fluffy ones of today and served to help hide the holes between the branches. Our colored light bulbs each had a reflector with mirrors on each point of the star to send up a dazzling display. Beneath the tree was a white skirt with a manger scene and a score of cardboard houses where a bulb from a string of lights could be inserted in the back of each to illuminate the vivid paper windows. On top, a lighted angel sat looking out and guarding our cozy farmhouse. When we finished, our tree was sometimes gaudy, but always a lovable one. The lights were a merry sight to behold when lit in the evening. The fresh pine scented the air with a pleasing, clean smell. 

Now, with the multitude of new and various holiday decorations for trees and our homes, I wonder whether we’ve lost the true delight and excitement of digging out all the boxes with old treasured ornaments and re-engaging in the fun of discovering familiar things that were so much part of our past and traditions. The humble tree reflected a multitude of joys in many Christmas celebrations of long ago.  

It truly was a part of who were, where we’ve been, how and where we lived, what we believed, and what we valued. It was our histories.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!

Award-winning novella, ADELENE ~THE VIOLINIST, 

is Book 2, in the “Musical Christmas Series,” and took first place in the
2023 Oklahoma Romance Writers’ of America Contemporary Short Awards. 

Just $1.99

Will Adelene Almanza discover the long-forgotten secrets of the old schoolhouse 

hidden away in its boarded-up attic? And will the sparks of love 

ignite a second time for her and a long ago love?

 

 

Red and Green by Liz Flaherty

Mom at 12. 

I was thinking of my mom this morning. She's been gone since 1982, but I still think of her every day. Most of us do that, don't we, even if the relationships weren't ideal. I think of my mother-in-law, too, who left us in 2016. I miss them both. 

But, this morning it was my mom who settled into my thoughts. I was thinking that here it was December 20th and we've only received a few Christmas cards. And I haven't sent any. Not one. 

Mom, who lived through the Great Depression and World War II and a few other wars, was not a lover of Christmas. She and Dad lost a child, 3-year-old Christine Ann, on December 21, 1941, and the season was never the same for either of them again. 

We were poor, and Mom was astonishingly frugal. Except that she had a long Christmas card list. Well, long to me. I imagine it was around 50 people. She would buy the bargain boxes of cards, probably after Christmas, and I'm not sure when she'd start filling out the envelopes, but it was likely Thanksgiving weekend, although the cards didn't go out until at least the 10th of December. 

Because she wrote a note in every one. Every single card. In either green or red ink. I don't know what she wrote, but it usually took up at least a full page of the lined paper she used for letters. She probably wrote on the back, too, because, you know...waste. I don't know how often she bought stamps through the year to make sure she had enough. She also put Boys Town Seals and Red Cross Christmas Seals on each envelope. She sent them each a $1.00 donation. At Easter, she sent Red Cross another $1.00 for Easter Seals. 

I still have a soft spot for the Red Cross. 

She got cards from almost everyone she sent to. If she got one from someone she hadn't sent to, she hurried to send one out to them the next day. She would sit in her chair with the mail in her lap and open each and every one with a letter opener. She'd read the note and laugh, shake her head in disappointment when there was no note included, and go through the stack that sat beside her. I think she looked at all of them every day. She loved the pretty ones, the expensive ones, but she never bought them. Ever.

I'll get mine sent soon--nowhere near as many as I used to send. I'm not doing a letter this year, because I don't have the heart for it, but I have a Christmassy notepad I'll write notes on. Thinking of the people I'm writing to, praying for some of them. Thinking of Mom and the red and green ink.

It's been a year, hasn't it? Not for everyone, and I'm glad for the ones for whom it has landed gently, but for some of us...for me...it's been hard. 

But here I am. I have a beautiful granddaughter getting married this weekend to the man she loves. Most of my kids and grandkids are here or will soon be in the same place. Noisy and funny and...well, noisy. The guy in the other recliner and I have full hearts. 

My mom's life wasn't easy--I'm sure I couldn't face her losses and challenges with as much grace as she did--but she still sent her cards and wrote her notes of cheer and affection in red and green ink. Whether she felt like it or not.

Because of her, because of these blessed memories, and this weekend's full heart, I can do no less. 

Merry Christmas!