Lemonade, a Summer Classic by Joan Reeves

When you think about a winter drink, does hot chocolate immediately come to mind?

What about a summer drink? Do you make an instant connection to something?

I do, and the drink is lemonade.

When I was a kid, we didn't drink Coca Cola or other soft drinks very often. We had lemonade made from freshly squeezed lemons.

The citrus drink had just the right amount of tartness and just the right amount of sweetness. Mom would fix a big pitcher of lemonade and toss ice cubes into the pitcher too. She'd crush mint leaves on the rims of the glasses, add ice, and fill the tumblers with the lemonade. If she had a lemon left, she'd slice it and float it on top of the drink. 

Oh, there was nothing better. Just the smell of the lemons would make our mouths water. The drink was more thirst quenching than water or ice tea. (Yes, we in the South always said "ice tea" not iced tea.)

Years ago, when powdered lemonade mixes hit the market, I tried them, but they paled in comparison to the real thing. I wanted lemonade like my mother made. She squeezed fresh lemons—and oranges too—on an old glass juicer like the one shown here. I don't know what happened to the one she had. I guess it got broken at some point in time.

 A few years ago, at a thrift store, I saw one like the one my mom used. Excited, I scooped it up then bought a bag of lemons on the way home.

OLD FASHIONED LEMONADE

I was so excited. I washed the glass juicer, got my ice tea pitcher out of the cabinet, lined up the lemons on the cutting board, and rolled each lemon around to "loosen" the juice.

The tangy scent of the oil in the lemon skin hit my nose and reminded me of being in Mom's kitchen.

I cut each lemon in half then took one of the halves and placed it over the glass juicer, pressed down and rotated the lemon around on the glass cone-shaped middle. Happily, I went to the next half, and the next, and the next...next...next...next until I thought my hand might fall off my arm.

How on earth did women do things like this back in the old days? By the time I'd squeezed out 12 lemon halves, I felt as if I'd been doing bicep curls with a fifty pound dumbbell. I did finish making that pitcher of lemonade, but I never used that beautiful glass juicer again. I bought an electric juicer which does 12 lemon halves in a few minutes. There's definitely something to be said for modern appliances.

WANT TO MAKE REAL LEMONADE?

It's really easy just make sure you use freshly squeezed lemon juice—never that bottled stuff which is really gross.)

3 cups water + 1 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice + 1/2 to 3/4 cup of white sugar. (Half a cup is what Mom used, but most people today think that's too tart so adjust as needed.) Fresh mint leaves if you have them.

Add the water and juice to a tall pitcher. Stir well. Add the sugar and stir until dissolved. Serve over ice with a crushed mint leaf on top. Drink and enjoy.

FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION

Have a glass of real lemonade while you read a summertime book. May I suggest ROMEO AND JUDY ANNE? 

Can good girls ever win? High school principal Judy Anne Palmer doesn't think so. She was always a good girl who never did an impulsive, rebellious thing. Ever. And look where it got her! Stuck in a life she hates. One night in Dallas, she rebels against...everything! That may end up being the biggest scandal that ever hit her little Texas town.  

Reviews: "I can't recommend this story enough. The characterization is deep and the end as satisfying as the reader could hope for." and "I just adored Roman/Romeo. Perfect hero material, hot, rich and a lovely guy."—Loves Reading

ROMEO AND JUDY ANNE is available only on Kindle, but it will be available wide by the end of August. Sign up for my free newsletter below and you'll know when this book can be found at all the other ebook sellers plus you'll receive exclusive content, book news, and other book bargains.

FIND JOAN

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MAY BRINGS FLOWERS -- AND MEMORIES!

By Caroline Clemmons

Besides flowers, May stirs memories. One is of May Day. Did you celebrate May Day on May 1^st?

When I was in kindergarten through the second grade, we lived in Bakersfield, California. I think I was in the first grade when we made construction paper baskets and filled them with paper flowers. I recall putting the blue (my favorite color) basket on the front porch near the door. I knocked and hid, giggling at my stealth and my surprise gift.

Mom opened the door and picked up the basket. At the time, I thought her serious when she pretended to be puzzled.

“My goodness, who could have left this lovely basket of flowers for me?”

She stood on the porch and gazed around the yard, as if failing to notice me peeking around the corner of our house.

“I’ll take them inside and save them.”  

Still giggling, I jumped out. “It was me, I made it for you.”

Mom kept the pretense going. “I had no idea you could make a basket and flowers.”

One more pleasant memory of a loving mom. In addition to May Day, it brings to mind that Mother's Day is only a week from today.

Lena Mae (Phifer) Johnson

As we approach Mother’s Day, I can’t forget many things my mom did for and with me. Although she passed in 2007, I still feel her presence and miss her daily. I’m grateful for the happy memories of her. I hope each of you have a stockpile filled with happy memories of your mom. If she’s still alive and active, you’re fortunate. You still have time to create more stories to store for years to come.

Happy May! Happy Mother’s Day!   

SPRINGTIME MEMORIES ON THE FAMILY FARM

by

Laurean Brooks

As a child growing up in the country, I have many fond memories of the days my siblings and I spent exploring the woods and wading streams. I especially have sweet remembrances of the pets we made out of farm animals. 

When I was seven, I doted on a neighbor's half-grown Guernsey calf and named her Dusty, while my sister made a pet out of their Holstein bull she called Cloud.

In tears, we soon left Dusty and Cloud behind when Daddy bought a farm a few miles down the road. It was there our uncle brought us a half-dozen bantam chicks. I claimed a little red hen, Sandy, which I taught to jump on my shoulder to eat corn from my hand.

Besides two dogs of questionable heritage, we soon had a cow, a pony, chickens, and a pair of goats. My older brother bought two pigs to add to the mix. He named them, Porky and Ham. With each spring, came bursts of new life. While the fruit trees blossomed and the locust trees gave off their sweet fragrance, baby chicks pecked out of their shells to venture out into a new world protected by their clucking mother.

One spring while the baby chicks hopped around their Mama, a new addition to our farm animals made his appearance. “March” was the first goat born on our farm, and by far the cutest little creature I had ever seen. The little white goat and I immediately bonded. I claimed March as my own and named him for the month in which he arrived.

A fallen Catalpa tree in the barnyard became the perfect prop for us to compete for “King Of The Log.” I couldn't wait to come in from school to play our game. March and I spent countless hours winning and losing the crown.

I would climb up on the log and yell, “I'm the new king of the log!” My coronation lasted about five seconds before March butted me off with his surprisingly hard noggin. Before I could pick myself up, he sprang up on top of the log to announce himself as the victor of the coveted title. After a playful struggle, I regained the title. But only for a moment. March nudged me off the log again. So, the game continued.

Those childhood days have drifted farther from me with each subsequent sunrise and sunset, but I would be fibbing if I said I didn't yearn for those simpler times and special moments on the farm. Rural living is a busy life and the chores are never-ending, but greater are the rewards.

***************************************************************************

If you enjoy heartwarming romance with a bit of mystery, check out  my ebook,

OVER THE COALS. 

Jill doesn't know how to take Rob. One minute he's boisterous and outgoing,, the next minute, he's close-mouthed. When she asks him about his childhood, he starts avoiding her.

Rob has a secret. What is he hiding? Will Jill's uncovering of the truth destroy their budding relationship?

AMAZON BUY LINK:

https://www.amazon.com/Over-Coals-Laurean-Brooks-ebook/dp/B075H3WF92/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_img_5?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=TMGZDE402F9KWMGXVXJ6

Hallmark is Waiting for Me

As evident from this family photo of me and my three siblings, I was a big Christmas lover as a kid. ***Note. Hum Somewhere in My Memory from Home Alone as you read this.

From age three until not quite six, I lived in Taiwan with my parents and younger brother, John, where my mom and dad taught English at Tunghai University. Christmas gifts were hand-me-downs from other Missionary families, which John and I were ecstatic to receive. We knew no better than gently used toys, until our family returned to America and we discovered modern toy stores, television, and were bombarded with commercials. The stupendous merchandise wowed us, and we were ardent believers in everything Christmas.

My grandmother, called Mommom, prepared for the big day all year long and was a devotee of the holiday. She made Christmas a mystical blend of the Nativity and Santa Claus, which worked for me. The generous old guy in the red suit was equally devoted to Christmas and a great boon to a family with limited funds. However, I learned Santa could be touchy and kept a naughty list. I hoped he had absentmindedly omitted my name. Fortunately, I also learned the Christ Child forgave sins, and prayed Jesus gave Santa a heads-up on the forgiving Beth thing. A miracle transpired because I never got switches in my stocking as my ancestral Uncle Gus was said to have done. That horrifying tale struck fear into his descendants, and I was super good those last few days before Saint Nick's timely arrival.

Visiting Mommom and my aunt, uncle, and five cousins at the old Virginia homeplace for Christmas was like being part of a Hallmark movie. Nothing could match the wonder I experienced there as a child. My uncle even reported seeing reindeer hoof prints in the snow on the roof, and one year a jovial neighbor dressed up as Santa--I recognized him-- came to the house to delight us kids. I was concerned this facade might offend the REAL guy, and he'd stay away. But we heard the sleigh bells out in the meadow, as we did each Christmas Eve. The warning jingle sent us scrambling to bed before Santa's arrival, and inspired the title of my holiday romance, Somewhere the Bells Ring. The home in this ghostly time slip Christmas romance was also inspired by the homeplace pictured below. Built in 1816, Chapel Hill, as it's called, has been in the family for generations and is where I spent some magical holidays. 

(Virginia Family homeplace in the Shenandoah Valley)

With such fantastic childhood memories, Christmas as a bigger kid/adult was a bit of a letdown. Maybe it is for everyone. Christmas really belongs to children, but I still cherish it in my heart. As Scrooge says after hard lessons learned, "I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year." And so I do.

My mantle is perpetually decorated with angels and lights. Also a Dalek Supreme and the Tardis...a little random, I suppose. Still, it's festive year round. The holidays can be rather overwhelming. I try to keep our celebration simple but fun, especially for the small people in my life. I truly must love Christmas because I've written three romances with the holiday as a central theme and I'm pondering a fourth. Maybe with an angel in the story...I love angels. But not the weeping kind, thanks to the creepy ones in Doctor Who.

Don't blink.

 (My mantle)

(I especially love angels.)

Several years ago, my mother found a number of vintage Christmas cards in an old trunk. This marvelous find took us on a trip down memory lane, back to people who lived before I was born. I'm terrible about remembering to send cards, but these are great. I may have shared some of them before, but here's another look at a few. 

(Vintage Santa and a Norman Rockwell print on cards among Mom's finds.)

Somewhere the Bells Ring (Somewhere in Time)

Blurb: 

December 1968: Caught with pot in her dorm room, Bailey Randolph is exiled to a relative's ancestral home in Virginia to straighten herself out. Banishment to Maple Hill is dismal, until a ghost appears requesting her help. Bailey is frightened but intrigued. Then her girlhood crush, Eric Burke, arrives and suddenly Maple Hill isn't so bad.

To Eric, wounded in Vietnam, his military career shattered, this homecoming feels no less like exile. But when he finds Bailey at Maple Hill, her fairy-like beauty gives him reason to hope--until she tells him about the ghost haunting the house. Then he wonders if her one experiment with pot has made her crazy.

As Bailey and Eric draw closer, he agrees to help her find a long-forgotten Christmas gift the ghost wants. But will the magic of Christmas be enough to make Eric believe--in Bailey and the ghost--before the Christmas bells ring?~

I really think Hallmark is waiting for me with this story.

From Romancing the Book: "Ms. Trissel captivates her reader from the moment you start reading the first page. She has written a compelling love story that spans some fifty plus years and keeps you entertained every step of the way with the story within a story...I fell in love with her characters and look forward to the next delightful story ready with Kleenex box in hand. A must read for every romance fan." ~Reviewed by Robin

Somewhere the Bells Ring is available in eBook from all online booksellers. Plus a smashing new audio version from Audible is out at Amazon. For the kindle and audio visit:  

https://www.amazon.com/Somewhere-Bells-Ring-Time-Book-ebook/dp/B006530S2Q

Follow my Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Beth-Trissel/e/B002BLLAJ6/

(Tag from the earlier 20th century)

The End of the Pier

I know I’m not the first author to say I am madly in love with my book cover. When I first received the print copy of Souls Set Free in the mail I squealed like a school girl being asked to her first dance! All I wanted to do was love on it, pet it, and stare at it for hours on end. 

 Yes, I was that floored. It was really happening. I was a published author with the cover to prove it.

On top of being beautiful and haunting (yes, I’m still enamored with it), the cover for Souls Set Free is near and dear to my heart for another reason. This book was my debut novel. It was a story that had been with me for a long time and needed to be written before I could move on with new projects.

Before I even had the majority of the words down, I knew what I wanted for the cover. It had to be a pier, and not just any one either. It HAD to be the Ventura Pier in California. 

You’ll find mention of it in my book. It was important for me to have it on the cover and no other pier would do. As a child, in the midst of whatever chaos might be taking place in my life, my mom would take me to the pier. We would walk all the way to the end and back. Off to the side in the sand was an old metal playground. I played on that thing for hours!


It wasn’t glamorous. There were a lot of homeless people, litter, and other stuff I was probably too young to know about. But in my life, at that moment with my mother, it couldn’t get any better. When reading Souls Set Free you’ll get a little more insight on that relationship.

As I drew closer to publication I went on the hunt for the perfect picture. I knew I wanted the pier with the water, but I didn’t want a beautiful sunset or blue skies. I didn’t want something that gave the illusion to everything being sunshine and roses, which this book definitely is not.

I was blessed with having the fabulous Author Options find my cover designer (as well as some other much needed assistance) and my jaw dropped when I saw the final product. It was perfect. The pier wrapped completely around the cover, yet faded into the background. The colors gave a sense of tribulation and distress.

It spoke to me in ways I could only hope and pray the words on the pages would for others. 

BUY LINK: Pick up your copy of Souls Set Free here: Souls Set Free on Amazon

If you give it a read, I’d love to hear your thoughts on both the book and the cover. I love to chat with readers!

Happy Reading, 

Kimmie