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Bits and pieces along the way…

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

While I won’t post two or three times a week in the future, I’m keeping my fingers in the writing pool while I take a few days off from novel writing. (I had a minor fall a couple of days ago that has left me in enough discomfort to be distracting but not seriously hurt.) However, since I need to write in some capacity to salve the guilt of not doing what I should be doing, I’m writing a couple of random blogs like this one.

Several weeks ago, I discovered a writing contest sponsored by reedsy. One prompt caught my eye, so I decided to enter which was simple. All entries must be between 1000 and 3000 words, the entry fee was $5, and the prize was $250. While I never expected to win, this contest was a good place to test my Regency writing chops so I did. First, I was pleasantly surprised my excerpt from an upcoming novel was accepted. Then I was pleasantly surprised several people “liked” my entry. I’d passed my self-test which wasn’t about winning the contest or how many “likes” I received. It was about seeing if my entry was read at all.

Since my blog is about writing, I thought I’d share my entry for fun. I used two prompts of the five or six prompts given. The first prompt involved an unexpected event occurring and the second prompt involved a character saying, “I didn’t see that one coming.” Now, on with the story:

1811 A.D.  London, England

Tossing the calling card in his hand on his desk Barrington Monck made a face. After giving his butler permission to show their guest to the library, he murmured “I didn’t see that one coming.” to an otherwise empty room. Rising to his feet, he heard the faint whisper of kid slippers gliding across marble as he awaited his uninvited guest. Not just uninvited, but unexpected, if not exactly unknown. He had been formally introduced to Lady Clarisse during her first season. He’d even danced with her several times. However, all of that was before The Incident when she was still a diamond of the first water.

While something of an acquaintance in the past, he felt he knew her far better now that she laughed in the face of propriety. Many in Town felt that way. It was rare they found a bona fide Adventuress in their midst, and even rarer that one survived the poisoned tongues of the ton’s self-appointed purveyors of virtue. However, the Tipping chit had. Survived. She was incorrigible and she wore her disrepute like a badge of honor. While annoyed to have his work rudely interrupted, he would confess to a mild curiosity where this fast woman was concerned. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a respectable miss taking the marriage market by storm. However, that was before P.W. Nance published her first tawdry gothic romance.

Not that the ton knew one of their ranks was Nance, even one fallen so far. Most didn’t. If they did, the scandal would be complete. The only reason he was thus informed was his silent partnership in her publishing firm. Thanks to her editor, he knew she’d quickly produced three smoldering bestsellers no decent woman would admit to reading. However, that didn’t mean those novels weren’t hidden between mattresses or within secret drawers in writing desks. Nor did it mean that her fourth novel soon going to print wouldn’t break previous sales records. It likely would. Laughing softly, Monck decided that was reason enough to meet the woman without the rest of the story.

***

Gathering her thoughts, Clarisse ignored the faint slap of her olive slippers on the pristine marble flooring. Awed at the luxury surrounding her, she wasn’t surprised the townhouse was as opulent as she’d heard. Watching the butler silently open the doors to announce her, she stepped into the magnificent library much larger than Uncle Horace’s before starting at the faint click of the doors closing behind her. Stepping forward, Clarisse watched Aloysius Barrington Monck sign a document before setting the paper aside.  

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” The Duke rose from his desk. “And the risk of destroying both our standings?”

“Desperation.” Clarisse stared him down with more confidence than she felt. “And the need to  collect on a note of hand.”

“Note of hand?” She ignored the disbelief on his face. “I owe you no note of hand.”

Removing her Parma violet capote bonnet to expose riotous Titian curls, Clarisse motioned to one of the two claw & ball oak framed tub armchairs.  

“By all means.” While his first instinct was to toss the comely want-to-be-extortionist out on her ear, something urged Barrington Monck to hear her out instead. “Make yourself comfortable while you tell all.”

Watching the giant of a man settle back against the edge of his desk, Clarisse lightly caressed the royal blue leather. Carefully draping her olive shawl over the arm of the second chair, she sat on the edge of her seat and took a deep breath. Nodding, she reminded herself that Emma would be ruined if the Duke refused to fall in line. More importantly, their three younger sisters’ prospects would end before they ever began.

“Do you remember Lady Cecilia Northrup’s house party on the twelfth of October two years ago?” Clarisse spoke calmly as though making idle pleasantries. “If you don’t, I can refresh your memory.”

“I remember it well.” He agreed. “I tried to make Horace divulge his Claret supplier and failed miserably.”

Northrup served the finest Claret in Town.

“I may be able to help with that.” Whether she would divulge such a closely held family secret depended on the outcome of their conversation. “In the meantime, we have more important things to discuss.”

“This mysterious note of hand.” The Duke nodded. “I fail to see how such a thing can exist since we danced have but three or four single sets after our introduction.”

 “Oh, we’ve done more than that.” Clarisse snorted lightly. “We had amorous congress in Aunt Cecelia’s library on her new ponceau silk sofa that October night according to the Tête-à-Tête.”

“We did no such thing.” Deep in thought, the Duke walked around his desk to sit in his leather armchair. “Dear God, you were the mysterious auburn-haired Lady C. seen leaving the library in the sumptuous, torn pea-green gown?”

He tended to ignore on dits, but he’d listened to that one. Once he’d confirmed the woman in question wasn’t his ladybird, Augusta’s locks were more gold than red, he never thought about the matter again. It was so much taradiddle. He would have known if another woman were present in the library with them.

“You jest?” Her raised eyebrow spoke volumes. “You didn’t know?”

“I do not.” The Duke shook his head. “And I did not.”

“That isn’t possible.” It couldn’t be.

“It most certainly is.” The Duke sniffed haughtily. “I thought the whole matter a Banbury tale spread by Cochran’s brat for giving her the direct cut for sniffing about my heels.” He answered honestly. “I never believed she saw a woman leave the library.”

Augusta departed another way.

“But she did.” Clarisse’s laugh was ugly. “One who fled the library a few minutes before you did, and one who’d torn the sleeve of her gown in her haste to escape before she was seen by its other occupants.”

“You?” None of this made sense. “How is that possible?”

“Easy.” Clarisse shook her head. “I fled to the library to escape Sir Harry and witnessed an unholy event from the ladder while getting a novel from the fourth shelf.”

“Again, how is that possible?” His tone was puzzled. “The door was locked.”

“I have a key.” Clarisse shrugged. “Uncle Horace allows me to use his wonderful library whenever we’re in Town.” Much to her parents’ despair, her maternal uncle had nurtured her bluestocking tendencies for many years. “Since we both know the library is always locked, the bigger question is how did you get in there?”

“The secret passage.” The Duke reluctantly admitted. “The one I assume only family knows about.”

“The secret passage?” Clarisse was the only person outside her Aunt and Uncle who knew there were secret passages connecting the library and the bedrooms to a hidden external exit. “How do you know about that?”

“I spotted a familiar inconsistency in Northrup’s floor plan.” Unlike most of Horace’s guests, the framed drawing proudly displayed over the study fireplace had caught his interest. “Great-grandfather had a similar passage added to Amberly when the townhouse was built. I should think the Great Fire was still fresh on both of their minds when the construction was done.”

“Probably.” Clarisse nodded. “I hadn’t thought about the drawing.”

She should probably suggest that her uncle move the revealing plan to a more private location. Surely Albemarle wasn’t the only guest capable of making such a deduction. It wouldn’t do to have family secrets fall into the wrong hands.

“Now, let’s get back to this note of hand.” The Duke absently tapped his fingers on his desk. “You wish to lay your fall from grace at my door simply because you stumbled upon my tryst with Lady Jermyn?”

“Yes.” Clarisse nodded not sure she liked her situation being likened to forgetting to leave one’s card after a morning visit. While a serious faux pas, that could be rectified. Being ruined, not so much. “I believe Jemima Cochran wished to settle the score for cutting her by hurting your lover. Unfortunately, she maligned the wrong woman.”

While not what she’d originally believed, she believed that now. The fact he didn’t know it was her in the on dit from that dreadful night changed everything.

“Or perhaps it wasn’t a mistake and she meant to better her odds of making a suitable match by destroying a diamond of the first water.” The Duke rejoined. “Cochran’s brat is an unpleasant, hatch-faced chit with the wit of a bumble bee.”

“Yes, she is.” Clarisse shook her head thinking the situation was worse than she’d thought. “If you are right, what happened to me was worse than innocent scandal-mongering.”

“Is scandal-mongering ever innocent?” The Duke stared her down. “As for the note of hand, I can do nothing to restore your reputation.”

She’d been branded an adventuress, a Cyprian, and worse, years ago. If those sins weren’t bad enough, her forays into gothic romance weren’t necessarily as much of a secret as she thought. She wouldn’t be so successful if they were. While they smacked of the tawdry, from what his cousins said, she spun a delightfully wicked tale.

“No, there isn’t.” Clarisse leaned forward. “It’s too late for me; but not for my sisters.”

“Lady Emma?”

“Lizzy,” Clarisse shook her head. “and my younger sisters. Emma is already in trouble.”

“Eason?” So even the most detached rake at Court noticed her sister’s folly. “He’s a disreputable buck.”

“Howard.” Clarisse corrected. “Before the banns were read.”

“He’s been a busy man.” The Duke snorted softly. “The latest on dit is that his bride is in a delicate condition as well.”

And seemingly far enough along to raise eyebrows.

“Has the fop been told?” The Duke’s tone was derogatory. “If he has, it didn’t go over well or you wouldn’t be here.”

“He doesn’t believe her.” Clarisse ignored the nasty words tripping through her head. “He denies their encounter happened. I suspect he called her a few rude names though Emma denies any such a thing.”

“Do you believe her?” The dirty look was expected. “It was a masquerade.”

“Emma was heavily pursued by several young men that night including Howard.” Clarisse’s voice was soft as she realized Howard must have resumed Eason’s pursuit of her sister when the other man moved on to easier prey. “I saw him flirting with her and told her there was talk of a secret betrothal. It seems she did not listen.”

“I see.” He had yet to see how her sister’s pickle had anything to do with him. “As for this imaginary note of hand, what do you expect me to do about your sister’s dilemma?”

Surely she wasn’t cork-brained enough to think he would wed the girl? Then again, it wouldn’t surprise him. He was clod-pated to listen to her in the first place.

“Find Emma a worthy husband.” Clarisse forced the words past her lips. “She is truly a diamond of the first water and her dowry is generous.”

At least in looks, if not behavior. 

“I see.” The Duke walked around his desk to stand in front of her. “You wish me to find a suitable match willing to overlook your sister’s intimate faux pas and accept her by-blow as his own?”

She sounded beyond addle-pated when the Duke put it that way.

“Yes.” Clarisse nodded. “You can’t save my reputation, but you can save Emma’s.”

“All you ask is that I find the one saint among the sinners,” Clarisse bristled at his mocking tone. “And you will consider this note of hand satisfied?”

“Yes.” Clarisse nodded again.

“I see.” The Duke laughed. “I should send you packing and ensure this scandalous visit by the unchaperoned Lady C. of the Parma violet pelisse becomes the latest on dit, but I won’t. I like your sister. I will help you instead. There is a gentleman who was quite smitten with Lady Emma at the beginning of the season. He left Town for the countryside soon after he realized his affections weren’t reciprocated.”

“What of this gentleman?” Clarisse couldn’t bear the thought of her niece or nephew being mistreated. “Will he accept the child?”

“As he already has an heir and a couple of spares, Emma’s child will be just another chick in the brood.” The Duke snorted at the thought that Lord Roderick was more of a mother hen than any woman he knew. “The child will be fine one way or another.”

Clarisse nodded not sure his answer was acceptable.

“Stop.” The Duke decided to put her out of her misery. “Roddy is a widower and a devoted family man who prefers long walks through the village with his beloved to rubbing shoulders with the beau monde.”

He would adore Emma’s child and raise it as his own.

 “A country gentleman?” Her family spent as much time in Town as they did at the Hall. “I’m not sure Emma will take to living in the country.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” The Duke walked back around his desk. “We are done for now. I will send Roddy a letter and share his response at Lady Haversham’s ball. If he agrees, an introduction will be arranged.”

“I’m not invited to Lady Haversham’s ball.” Clarisse shrugged knowing she wasn’t admitting anything he didn’t know. “I only attend Aunt Cecilia’s balls because no one recognizes me beneath my domino.”

“You only attend your aunt’s balls because no one will risk getting cut by a leading hostess for backbiting her beloved niece if they do.” The Duke said what she wouldn’t.  “Besides, we both know your reputation wasn’t destroyed that night.”

Her character was slowly assassinated over the following days and weeks until all possibilities of making a suitable match on the marriage market were shattered. That’s when she’d decided to mail her first novel to the bestselling Lilly White’s publisher with a letter of introduction from the retired author. Fortunately, she had already met the elderly bluestocking over one of Aunt CeCe’s intimately casual afternoon teas. Lilly graciously offered to read her novel. She’d taken her under her wing soon after.

By the time she fell from grace, her novel was ready. Thanks to Uncle Horace’s tutelage, her offering was well received and royalties favorably negotiated. The publication of her third gothic romance last month along with her Uncle’s wise investments on her behalf ensured she was a woman of independent means. To this day, few knew she was P.W. Nance, and hopefully, no one ever would.

“You’re right.” Clarisse agreed. “I learned of my shame when I was turned away at Almack’s and discovered my voucher revoked three days after Aunt Cecelia’s ball.”

While Aunt Cecilia had attended the ball determined to get to the bottom of the situation, she’d returned home to scour the newspapers. It hadn’t taken long to locate the toxic insinuations in Tête-à-Tête or to realize who was behind it. While Aunt Cecilia’s favor had ushered her mother to her place within the ton, many in their ranks still referred to her as that vulgar lady Joscelyn behind her back.

However, their feelings for the mother didn’t extend to the daughters. It wasn’t wise. Her father was an exceedingly wealthy, popular man and his daughters held great promise of being comely breeding stock, especially the eldest. Clarisse snorted. It hadn’t taken much to take her from diamond of the first water to social pariah. Just an unfounded rumor whispered by a sneaky whey-faced poltroon hiding behind her cackling mama’s skirts.

“If you want my help, meet me at Lady Haversham’s ball.” The Duke’s gaze conveyed that was non-negotiable. “If I were you, I’d wear a sumptuous Pomona green gown.”

Nodding, Clarisse felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as she rose to her feet. Barrington Monck was up to something, she knew it. But her suspicions were neither here nor there. All that mattered was getting Emma’s delicate situation resolved. She would agree to almost anything to see that done including gatecrashing Lady Haversham’s ball to discover what the Duke of Albemarle had up his sleeve. While her appearance was unlikely to affect his standing, it was social suicide for her. Oh, that’s right, she was already dead to the ton so she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Hopefully, that included the priceless introduction between the mysterious Lord Roddy and her sweet Emma that would change both of their lives forever.

Placing her bonnet on her head, she smirked daringly, “Then, until we meet again at Lady Haversham’s ball.”

Thank you for reading. Until next time,

Tori

Food For Thought · Opinions · Uncategorized

It’s been a long time…

Tori Lennox1 Comment

Just a brief update. I hope to start blogging on a regular basis soon. There’s so much going on in my personal life and in our world that I don’t even know where to begin. Writing from the perspective of a young, pushing 60, I see things with a maturity and a clarity I didn’t have in my 20’s or 30’s. I think part of that is because, while I always wanted to belong, I was always hyper aware I was too different. I still am. The difference between now and my younger days is I’m finally comfortable in my own skin. I like who I am instead of wishing I was someone else.

As difficult as it’s made my life in a lot of respects over the years, I’m grateful I was raised with a very definite sense of right and wrong. One that hasn’t changed as culture has. No, I wasn’t raised in a Christian home. We believed in God, and we went to church sometimes, but any real relationship with our Creator was lacking. However, my parents were honest people with clearly defined values they taught me which included personal responsibility and an awareness that right and wrong didn’t change with culture or the fact I wanted them too.

I don’t mind telling you that I made a lot of wrong choices in my life, and I did a lot of things that went against my values. I paid for every one of them in emotional blood. However, as painful as that reality became, I accepted the fact I created the situation, and I had to live with the consequences. I couldn’t blame anyone else or shirk my personal responsibility.

Obviously, there’s no “fluidity” in my world. I’m grateful for that. The “rigidity” of the values my parents taught me saved my life. If I hadn’t had these beliefs so strongly ingrained in me, I wouldn’t have survived the years of pain, depression, and misery. I’m so grateful I was grounded in something real. Grounded enough that I knew what taking my own life would do to the people who loved me. Grounded enough that I knew suicide was wrong on so many levels. Grounded enough to know if I ended my own life, I was letting my demons win. That idea didn’t sit well with me. I’m a fighter to my core.

I am so grateful I chose to live. So grateful I’ve worked through the things I’ve done, the things that were done to me, the people who hurt me – all the baggage that destroyed my self-worth. The past few years have been worth all the mess that came before. I’m pursuing my dreams and I’m content.

This blog isn’t what I meant to write. Nope, I just wanted to share our new dog had back surgery the week after we got her and taking care of Mir and Mom has taken most of my time the past few months. Added to that, I’ve been editing and submitting novels for publication. Oh, and this year we have two baby cardinals instead of one – a boy and a girl. You know, the good stuff. Didn’t happen, did it? The old muse took over instead.

Honestly, I think this blog poured out because I see so many young people who should be happy in their success and in their opportunities and in the excitement of living their day-to-day lives who aren’t. I see a bunch of so-called “influencers” trying on this and that and discarding it in favor of the next fad in a frantic search for self-awareness, identity, and satisfaction. On the surface this “fluidity” sounds good. In reality it means you aren’t grounded in anything. You have no real identity because you haven’t defined your borders.

Humans aren’t emotionally made that way. We need to know who we are. We need to love who we are. We need to take responsibility for ourselves and our choices. We need to know where we draw the line on what we will and will not do. I personally learned to forgive myself, love myself, and appreciate my talents through my faith. No, I don’t go to church; but I do have an intimate relationship with Jesus. Yes, I know that doesn’t work for everyone and I’m not trying to convert anyone. You have to go on your own journey of self-discovery. I’m just saying for me, the depression and suicidal thoughts left when I finally accepted God doesn’t create any mistakes so I wasn’t one and if my Creator can forgive me all the things I’ve done and overlook the things that were done to me, I can do the same.

I guess my bottom line is, in a world where this is immensely unpopular to say, I thank my parents I’m a 58-year-old woman who is proud to be unapologetically female who would have proudly called herself a mother if she’d been privileged enough to bear children. Honestly, to use pronouns and words that take my gender away from me is to rob me of my identity and my sexuality. No, it doesn’t give me more options. I wouldn’t have a clue who I was if I started playing that game. No, I’m not narrow minded, I understand who I am. I love the fact I’m an attractive female approaching 60 who’s finally confident in being a woman. I wouldn’t trade her for the young woman who didn’t think she was pretty enough, or smart enough, or worth anything but being abused and taken advantage of.

Yes, that girl was prettier than I am because she was young; but she was oh-so-lost in so many ways. I can confidently say the woman I am now is far more attractive in the ways that matter.

In closing, everyone’s path is theirs to choose. However, speaking as someone who has lived a much harder life than she should have, life shouldn’t be as difficult as it is and we’re making it more difficult with every passing day. It’s time to simplify our lives, decide who and what we are, and stick with it. Don’t make decisions you’re not willing to live with for the rest of your life. You may do something you’ll regret the rest of your life if you do. I know I did.

Until next time,

Calla

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Reflections and Introspection

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

You probably already know I’m critter crazy and I love my nature walks. That’s when I do my praying and just bask in the sunshine and wildlife – squirrels, turtles, birds, egrets, ducks, herons and cranes. Citified wildlife, not the foxes, possums, deer, etc., I grew up with in the country in SC; but wildlife all the same. Anyways, my walks aren’t quite the same right now because of the recent death of my best friend. Mentally, I’m in that strange place you wallow in when you’ve lost someone you care about. Not a parent or a child or a spouse; but a close friend you always hoped would be here.

I say hoped because my best friend had serious diabetes related health issues from childhood, so I knew in that way you “know” that he likely wouldn’t live to old age. However, I didn’t really think about his demise unless he brought it up. My friend’s pessimistic world view and negative attitude about his health didn’t help him. In all the years we knew each other, I never impacted his outlook to the degree I would have liked. I don’t believe that would have changed if I’d in the same town with him as I used to be. If we’d seen each other face-to-face often as we used to do. More likely my more positive attitude would have become more negative thanks to his influence. However, that doesn’t mean I loved him any less. We always accepted each other for what we were unconditionally the way you do with heart friends.

Bad experiences with doctors and a brittle disease led him to poor choices like not consulting his doctor when he should have and not embracing some treatment options that might have helped. I believe those things contributed to his early death. The thought he might still be here finishing his novel if he’d been a little less stubborn makes me sad. However, it was his life and his choices to make. Robert lived his life his way. I’ll always love and respect him for that. His was an honorable life well lived and I can’t be upset about that.

However, that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling in other more selfish ways that aren’t tied to missing my friend. In a world where you can be surrounded by people and still be alone, I’m struggling with the reality I basically am alone. All of my real family and my oldest friends are gone. My home is now no longer home. I don’t mean my home here in Florida with my “mom.” I mean South Carolina, my home state and my hometown. With Robert’s death, I no longer have any tangible, emotional connection to my home state beyond being born there. It’s no longer my emotional safety net because my friend is there. He isn’t.

As a result, I’m in the midst of mentally accepting the reality Florida is no longer my home just because I happen to live here; but Florida is home-home. I don’t see myself ever leaving now. It’s where I have family and friends. Where I’ve started over and built a new life that I’m happy with.

I know this is a weird post; but my headspace is weird right now. At least a little weirder than usual. On the one hand, I’m happy because I’m making progress with getting my books ready to publish. On the other, I’m dealing with the reality you can’t count on all those Plan B scenarios we all work out in our head. It’s better to just live your life prepared to roll with the punches and land on your feet as best you can. I can tell you from experience that when you hit rock bottom, you honestly don’t have anywhere to go but up as long as you don’t quit. Not that I’m at rock bottom. I’m not. I’m actually in a good place overall. Just thinking a bit too much. What else is new?

Anyways, things aren’t all gloom and moodiness. I saw the sweetest sight on mom’s swing yesterday – Daddy Cardinal feeding Mommy Cardinal sunflower seeds. As precious as that sounds, it was more like, “Here, Darling, let me ram this big seed in your mouth like the good mate I am.” They’re so funny to watch because that’s exactly what they did to the baby last year – cram seeds in his mouth and stand over him until he ate his meal like a good little automaton. I love my Cardinals. They’re a beautiful pair although they both get a little scruffy when they have a baby in the nest!

See you next time,

Calla

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This one will be short and sweet, …

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

Since I really need to get my mind wrapped around editing that romantic suspense that I’m avoiding. Like most writers, I’m not fond of the whole editing process; but I do appreciate the necessity. Anyways, I hope you had a wonderful thanksgiving if you celebrate and a lovely day if you don’t.

I’m still in full on thanks mode today and I hope you are, too. A package I just received kind of drove that home. In my quest to find recipes for the holidays, I stumbled across something I never thought I’d find. When my mom died back in 1996, I couldn’t take her set of Better Homes and Gardens cookbooks. They belonged to my dad. However, a handful of those books had a few recipes that captured all my childhood holiday memories and I wanted them. I’ve been searching for those recipes since with no luck. While I found similar recipes along the way, I never found the recipes. Not the ones we always used for family gatherings when all my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents came to my house for Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas desserts.

A couple of weeks ago I was on the search for the coconut cream pie recipe we made every Thanksgiving and Christmas – the one our guests liked to steal even when we hid them. While I didn’t find the recipe; I did find a private seller on ebay selling a collection of five BH & G cookbooks from the ’50’s and ’60’s. Three of my mom’s cookbooks were in that set. The fourth cookbook popped up in a recommendation from another site. Since they weren’t expensive, I bought both sets. As silly as it might sound, those gently battered books came today and I don’t think I could receive a better gift if I tried.

You see, I now have the coconut cream pie recipe I used when I was allowed to prepare the home-made vanilla custard base for the first time when I was in elementary school. I was so proud I finally got to make the most coveted dessert for the family Thanksgiving gathering. I felt like a “big girl.” That vanilla custard base and meringue recipe for what is one of the best coconut cream pies in the world was also a big part of the recipe for our southern banana pudding recipe. As silly as all this sounds, all recipes are not created equally and these are the best, probably because they were ours. Not only ours; but part of the best memories of my life. The one’s involving family.

A different book has the apple spice cake recipe with the burnt caramel frosting my mom made for my birthday back in the day when I still called her “Mommy”. It was so delicious I still remember that cake as one of the best cakes I’ve ever tasted in my life a half century later. The recipe was written in the back of the cook book in my mom’s handwriting where she’d converted the cupcake recipe from the book into a cake recipe to bake that special cake for me. In another life, my birthday cakes would have been chocolate since my mom was a chocoholic, but I can’t eat chocolate. I’ve been intolerant since I was five. While I don’t have her exact recipe, I have the means to recreate it and that’s priceless to me.

I also now have the fresh strawberry cake recipe with the fresh strawberry icing she made for a different birthday party. If I remember correctly, I was probably in third or fourth grade and the kids at that party were in heaven. I’m not sure there was anything left when they finished. They knew a good thing when they tasted it. As happy as I was to have that yummy cake, I think I was happier that she loved me enough to work so hard to create something special just for me.

While I haven’t done anything more than glance through those books for about five minutes, I’m sure I’ll find more priceless memories between those well-worn covers when I have the time to look. A part of me can’t wait to look while the other part needs some time to process. As silly as it might sound, finding a seemingly meaningless part of your past can have a far more meaningful impact than expected. I’m finding that to be very true.

Thank you for letting me share and I apologize my short isn’t really short but the sweet is kind of sweet.

Until next time,

Calla

emotional healing · Food For Thought · Opinions · Religious · Supernatural · Uncategorized

I’ve struggled with this one…Part II

Tori LennoxLeave a comment

In more ways than I expected. No, not with what you’ll think of me if I write some of this. I burned that bridge a long time ago with prior posts. The most trying aspect of this piece is finding the right words to say what needs to be said with integrity. To bear my soul. It’s humbling to admit I was desperate for the acceptance I could never have. Not because there was anything wrong with me. There wasn’t. Nothing beyond my perception I was “damaged goods.” Not because others weren’t willing to accept me. They were. But I never saw that because of my self-perception.

Sharing my experiences as honestly as possible entails revisiting traumatic memories and ripping old wounds open. It’s a necessary evil. Otherwise, I’m just another born-again telling people occult practices are evil because the Bible says so. Nope, not me. While that’s true, that’s not my angle. Knowing that reality didn’t deter me, so why should I expect it to deter you. Most of us are attracted to things we shouldn’t be. I was.

So, if you’ll stick with me through the opinions and backstory, I’ll get to the personal experiences that taught me the error of my ways. They aren’t pretty; but they are real. I have a sneaky suspicion a lot of you are experiencing or have experienced the same kind of things. While I don’t post trigger warnings, I will warn you that I may be fairly graphic in my recollections. Not vulgar, but real. The time for relying on allusion has long passed. We’re so desensitized as a culture that alluding to anything doesn’t get the point across. Sometimes it’s necessary to cozy up to vivid memories that aren’t remotely comfortable. Unfortunately, I can’t “show” you how my involvement with astrology and a so-called “Christian” psychic led me to make decisions that catapulted me into the worst period of my life any other way.

That being said, let’s get back to the story I’ve already started. In this day it’s not usual to have a kid in the fifth or sixth grade (or much younger) reading and comprehending on a college level. Back in my day, it was rare and it wasn’t nurtured. I was one of only two kids in my whole school who were significantly accelerated in every subject and Jonathan’s scores were higher than mine. The funny thing, you’d never know it by our grades. We weren’t the straight A students largely, I think, because we were bored and we didn’t have guidance. Nobody really knew what to do with us, so they did nothing. Why am I telling you this? Merely to illustrate intelligence and comprehension aren’t good indicators of maturity. I was a baby when I started grazing through New Age topics. Ten or eleven years old if that. I had no clue what I was messing with. I couldn’t begin to understand how any of that fit in the real world. I just thought what I was learning was interesting and I was a sponge soaking up everything I was exposed to.

More important than my fascination with dipping my toe in murky waters was my belief anything my Mom read was a must read and, around this time, she was reading astrology books. She read them and shrugged them off as entertainment as most people did in the ’70’s. She bought into the “characteristics” aspect of astrology more than the “prophetic” aspect and took it all with a big grain of salt. Over time, I bought it all. Astrology was more than a passing interest. It was my crutch.

While my Mom knew I was more interested than she was, I don’t think she realized how deep my involvement went. She should have because I didn’t hide what I was doing. But, she didn’t for a lot of reasons. For one thing, by the time she pushed through her busy day, she wasn’t interested in micromanaging my life. For another, she didn’t know my Dad had molested so she thought the reason her once popular, self-confident kid became withdrawn was because Junior High was hard. I’d gone from an Elementary School where we were taught to be respectful and well-mannered to a Junior High filled with mean-spirited, disrespectful hyenas. Not being into sex, drugs, profanity, and mouthing off to teachers made me a moving target for all the kids who were. Yep, bullying existed in the dark ages. I experienced more than my share of it.

While none of that was pleasant, I was tough enough to have navigated the teen-aged angst just fine if I’d still been that same bright-eyed, innocent little girl I was just a year before. Instead, I was a tormented kid looking for something to take the guilt, fear, and shame away. Something that could give me some degree of control over my life was what I was looking for. By the time I was in High School and into college, I’d taught myself to cast astrology charts. I could look at someone and predict their Sun Sign with a fair degree of accuracy based on physical characteristics. My little hobby had become obsessive and I loved it. I felt powerful.

When I was in ninth grade, I ordered a detailed Astrology chart that predicted the rest of my life. With hindsight, ordering that forecast was the worst thing I’ve ever done. My life became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I became addicted to reading every horoscope I could get my hands on in an effort to keep all the bad stuff that chart predicted from happening to me. While my “planetary alignments” were overall negative, that chart promised I still had the power to change these things and it told me a lot of specifics I clung to for most of my life. Concrete specifics like my perfect husband would be five years older than me. I’ve put that one to the test a couple of times and it’s crap like everything in that chart with the exception of the projected pain and misery. While I can’t say my life would have been any different if I’d never bought that chart – it wouldn’t if I’d made the same choices – I can say expecting my life to be unhappy pretty much ensured it was until 2008 when I finally found my way back to Church and healing.

At this point, I wish I could say this was the end of the matter. It was just the beginning. I was like the person who’s first drink initiates their dive into the bottle. My grazing in the “New Age” section of the library vault opened doors I’d never really thought about before. My next big interest was ghosts, hauntings, poltergeists, cryptids, preternaturals, E.T.’s, and eventually Tarot Cards. Actually, all of those were parallel interests going on at the same time I was mired in astrology.

As I’ve already said, this piece has several parts. I’m guessing there will be two more posts in this vein. Definitely one. I apologize for so much backstory; but the experience part of the blog doesn’t make sense without the set up.

Until Part IIl ~ Experiences,

Calla

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My World Keeps Getting Turned Upside Down….

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It’s been a while since I’ve written with good cause. My Mom had another stroke the first week in November. Fortunately, I recognized the signs in time to get her to the hospital in time to prevent any serious damage. Actually, I give that credit to God and the wonderful medical professionals she had this time around. In spite of how well she was doing, it took a few days to get my Mom stable. After that, she was sent upstairs to Rehab where she proceeded to have an issue they feared was another stroke not an hour later. My Mom was sent back downstairs to the hospital where they finally determined it was a seizure instead. After wading through another few days of blood pressure issues, she finally responded favorably to a new combination of medications. My Mom finally went back to Rehab somewhere around the middle of November where she did very well. Eventually, she was released on November 28, 2020, thanks to her wonderful doctors, nurses, and therapists.

While I worked full time throughout her hospitalization, my whole world changed when my Mom was discharged. I’d been struggling with the feeling I should be doing more with my life for a long time. Don’t get me wrong. I was where I was for a season and a reason. I’ve prayed for a lot of people who’ve crossed my path at work over the years. I’ve encouraged a lot of people along the way as well. However, I’ve known it was time to move on for a while. I just haven’t felt compelled to find a new job. To leave the financial security my job afforded me especially with a pandemic ravaging the world. My Mom’s illness changed my perspective on a lot things.

To make a long story short, we were confronted with the reality my Mom can no longer live alone without constant supervision due to her condition and her medications. Her mind is great and she’s mobile with her rollater. In fact, she’s doing great to be almost 92. There’s just a lot of things she can’t do for herself like prepare her meals. Forget the special diet she’s on. There’s also the risk of falls which could be deadly due to her medications and her age. You might wonder what all of that has to do with me. The answer is a lot. She made it very clear she wanted me to become her caretaker since I’ve lived with her fourteen years and I’m familiar with those almost imperceptible signs something is wrong. After a lot of soul searching and prayer, I’ve honored her wish. I worked my two week notice and came home permanently ten days ago. Just long enough for the reality of what I’ve done to sink in.

Contrary to what you might think, I’m at peace with my decision. I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. More than that, it’s what I want to do. I know it won’t be easy, but I’m grateful God has made a way for us to tighten our belts and make it. I’m also grateful to have the opportunity to do something so worthwhile with my life. To repay some of the love my “Mom” gave a hurt, angry woman all those years ago. The love she still gives every day.

I don’t really have a lot to say in this post. It’s just an update, and I hope, a little encouragement that no matter what happens, you can get through it. You have to believe that and persevere. I’m at the point where I’ve literally had to let go and let God. But that doesn’t mean I’m at the mercy of this season of change. I still have to be responsible. I also to be a good steward of everything coming into my hands in ways I haven’t been in the past. That’s a lesson I’ve been gradually learning over the last few years. As up in the air as things are in my life at the moment, I’m sleeping better than I have in a while.

I think that’s because my life finally feels like it’s falling into place. I’m enjoying being with my Mom, getting a lot done around the house, and I’m wrapping up a novel I plan to submit in a couple of months. The writing has flowed easier, with more clarity, than it has in years. I think that might be because I’m where I’m supposed to be doing what I’m supposed to be doing so I’m finally at peace. There’s something to be said about abandoning my preconceived ideas of success and just operating in love. As counter intuitive as this sounds, there will be plenty of time for me when my Mom no longer needs me,

I’ll post again soon. As I said, I just wanted to let everyone know I haven’t abandoned my blog. I’ve just had my hands full with real life. To be honest, I’ve been struggling a little with staying in that good place. It’s been a year filled with ups and downs of every kind. There have been so many times when I’ve looked up from the challenges only to realize I’d drifted farther away from God than I wanted to be. Even at this time of year. I had to correct my course several times. Several times I’ve had to remind myself as bad as it seems, it could be so much worse. That I still have so much to be grateful for. You see, there’s one thing I learned the hard way, and that’s while I might (briefly) take my hand off of God, He never takes His hand off of me.

He won’t take His hand off of you either.

Calla

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I’m dancing on a shaky limb…

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But I’m fed up with this world around me. Not only that; I’m tired of political correctness. I’m tired of the lies and cruelties perpetrated in the name of not being offensive to anyone. I’m tired of people blindly following causes that look good on social media without investigating the true motivations of the people behind the cause. Today, so much that masquerades as good is unadulterated evil. Not just in my country; but, all over the world. There is a spirit of oppression and fear everywhere. While that’s sad, it’s even sadder that people like me who see what’s really going on aren’t lifting our voices to speak against the insanity around us. We don’t want to rock the boat.

Well, the boat needs rocking.

First, let me say, I’m all for very real social injustices being righted. There’s a lot of that all over the world. However, these injustices have to be righted in an orderly fashion. Not through organized bedlam orchestrated by avowed Marxists. As history has proven time and again, anarchy never ends well. Living in a world void of God and absolute right and wrong never ends well either. I’ve lived long enough to know that.

If you don’t believe me, read a truthful, historically accurate account of the French Revolution. Not a revisionist account that paints a ten year nightmare as a glorious revolution. Choose an account that tells the full story of both the event and the aftermath, warts and all including the nearly year long Reign of Terror. The whole uprising was a blood bath that didn’t just slaughter the Royal family, the aristocracy, and Catholic priests. Many innocents and moderates were guillotined for being voices of reason in an uprising gone mad. Even the leaders couldn’t agree on the path to take. Yes, I’ve oversimplified things greatly; but, this isn’t a history lesson. Revolutions that overthrow governments are complex subjects with more layers than I can address in a blog. Also, I didn’t pick the French Revolution for any reason other than some aspects of the mob mentality so prevalent then is being echoed today in my own country of America.

Moving on, it seems to me that we’re edging ever closer to a very dangerous precipice with worldwide movements that seek to remove statues and anything deemed personally offensive to whomever for whatever reason. That whole mindset is foolish to me because I’ve lived enough to know when you eradicate every memory of what should never have happened, you’re doomed to repeat those same sins again. Sorry kids, if you think slavery only happened in America, you need to study history. It’s been around since the beginning of time in every culture.

It’s still going on today all over the world to the tune of over 40 million people worldwide. It might shock you to discover where most of that slavery is. Again, do your research from reliable sources that have nothing to gain beyond letting the world know people of every race and color are still being trafficked into slavery of every kind including sexual. These people are suffering everywhere and little is being done about it. We’re too busy using anarchy for political and personal gain.

In closing, here’s the point of my whole post. We live in a world where people want no God, no sense of right and wrong, no rules, and no absolutes. People who hold such beliefs tell me I can’t hold my Christian opinions because my values and my absolutes offend them. Those same people would spit on me because I don’t agree with how they live their lives. Don’t deny it, I’ve seen it happen. But, the truth is, I don’t have to agree with how you live your life.

Your values are between you and God.

However, I do have to respect your humanity. To treat you with respect in spite of any difference of opinion. However, that respect doesn’t mean you get to disrespect or try to silence me. More important to me as a Christian, not just a “religious” person, is if I see you’re in need and I don’t help you because of the color of your skin or your sexual orientation or any other real discrimination, I’m in blatant disobedience to Jesus’s command to love everyone. That isn’t acceptable behavior.

However, joyfully helping out of love doesn’t mean I have a politically correct toleration of things that are blatantly wrong. What I “tolerate” I tolerate in the sense of the word as defined by the Oxford Dictionary: to allow the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one does not necessarily like or agree with) without interference. I wish I was allowed the same courtesy.

Moving on, from my perspective, it’s time to do some deep soul searching and see where we’ve gone wrong as human beings. It’s time to reevaluate what really matters. It’s time to stop being pawns to people who use political office to enrich themselves. It’s time to stop being victimized by the Radical Leftists, Marxists, Socialist, and Communists trying to take over the US and destroy a freedom loving way of life. It’s time to get rid of our Senators and Representatives of both parties who care more about self-enrichment and/or political power than they do about their constituents and this country. I don’t want anything these people have to offer. Bluntly, I don’t want my government taking most of my income to pay for universal healthcare, free college, free vacation, and the like for “everyone”.

Again, I’m not saying we don’t help people in need or that we shouldn’t help them. We do and we should. Just in a sane manner. I’m reasonably sure, middle class American’s won’t continue to work when the government takes fifty percent or more of their income to pay for universal college, healthcare, and so on. I can also tell you by the time that happens the upper class and the truly wealthy will be long gone. They will have moved themselves and their wealth to some country that’s more asset friendly than we are.

You need to understand something else, a hundred million dollar donation to some charity is nothing to a person worth ten billion dollars. It’s like me thinking a $50 dollar gift to some charity is generous when I just received a check for ten thousand dollars. While the wealthy are willing to give what they want when they want and how they want even if it’s most of their declared income, I’m reasonably sure most of these people aren’t willing to transfer 75% of their worth to the federal government to take care of the indigent, pay for universal college, pay for universal healthcare, pay for two weeks of paid vacation for everyone and so on. If they are, they’re either unnaturally generous or there’s something we don’t know. The bottom line is someone has to pay for every government sponsored program and that “someone” is the taxpayer. That someone is me and you. Nothing is ever free. Just food for thought.

Until next time,

Calla

Been There, Done That · Uncategorized

Moving On…

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Today is the day I “officially” started writing Book Two of Been There, Done That. I won’t be calling the book by that name; but, it’s the working title in my mind. While I don’t have the story fully outlined yet, I do know most of the concepts I want to explore. These ideas have been roughed out since I realized there were a lot of “that’s a subject for another book” moments in my story long before the first book was done. As this second manuscript becomes a probability, the idea of writing another nonfiction is both exciting and daunting at the same time.

Nonfiction isn’t a genre I ever considered writing. In fact, it’s so not in my wheelhouse if you’d asked me to write something true a year ago, I would have said I couldn’t do it. I so don’t do nonfiction. Not my thing. I’d have believed it, too. I’m a romance/mystery kind of girl. My writing portfolio consists of historical romances, contemporary romances, romantic suspense, and a whole lot of fanfic for The Mentalist tv show. There isn’t a whisper of nonfic in my past endeavors. However, old dogs can learn new tricks and, what I though I couldn’t write, I actually did.

Right now, I’m in the earliest stages of creation. It’s that strange period where I freeform write excerpts from my life as my outline gradually defines itself. I know my style breaks every rule of writing; but, I have to relive these periods to be able to write them. Forget the brainstorming and the planning. It’s much too early. There has to be a raw, conversational element to my story that comes from the heart. I can only get that by reliving the events and walking them out in my mind with brutal honesty.

What I do know is, this book is about all the years I spent dabbling in the “Occult” although I didn’t see it that way at the time. I made up all kinds of excuses to convince myself what I was doing wasn’t wrong even though I knew it was in the back of my mind. I needed some manner of control in a life where I believed I had none. I craved some manner of protection from the molesters and the bullies inhabiting my life. Some part of me thought I could have that if I could discern my future before it happened. That was a bad move on my part. A very bad move. It was also a move that negatively impacted my life for years to come. While I knew life didn’t work that way, I wanted it to and I tried to make it happen. I really did.

I followed my own rules which meant I’d do this; but, I wouldn’t do that. For example, I’d read Tarot Cards; but, I wouldn’t touch a Ouija Board. I’d read about witchcraft; but, I wouldn’t read the spells. I wouldn’t put the words in my head. Even though I wasn’t a Charismatic at the time, I knew words had power. I didn’t know how I knew it. I just did. I believe now that the Holy Spirit only let me flirt around the edges of paganism. As much as different aspects of different religions caught my interest, I could never shake my grounding belief in my Biblical God and Jesus. Added to that, I believed in demonic influences and Spiritual Warfare. I still do. So, while I’d edge my big toe right up to outright paganism, I just couldn’t cross the line.

Looking back, my reasoning was flawed and sad. I wasn’t looking for Spiritual fulfillment. I was looking for control. Those are two very different things. I believed strongly in God and, in my mind, I was a Christian. With hindsight, I was wrong. I was simply a Spiritual Seeker who believed the Christian God existed instead. I wasn’t a Christian by any means. I wasn’t an outright Pagan either. I was something in between which meant I was truly nothing because I lacked the conviction of either cause. My God was the harsh judge of the Old Testament. Not the Jesus who was willing to die for me. There’s so much more I could say here; but, this isn’t a post about my personal religious beliefs so I won’t.

I won’t write this second book from the perspective occult practices are evil although I feel that way based on my personal experiences. I know the insatiable hunger that grew in me to Tarot cards for anyone interested. I felt it several times over the years I read the cards. I had to shove my decks in a drawer and walk away for a few months to break the hunger. It was very unsettling at the time. If my friend who taught me to read Tarots hadn’t told me I could feel that way and how to break it, I would have been terrified when I started feeling so out of control. More importantly, I may have missed what was happening and gotten trapped even deeper in darkness than I already was. However, while a real experience, that’s not really what my book is about either.

My story is more about the patterns and practices I fell into trying to control my environment to keep from getting molested and/or hurt again. The sad part of the story is that, instead of preventing more destruction in my life, the very things I did only made me more vulnerable to making the bad choices that took me further into the nightmare my life eventually became. That connection is what I believe I’ll be exploring more than the actual occult practices.

As this post draws to a close, I’m off to work on developing the actual manuscript. This should have been up days ago; but, my 90 year old mother took a very bad fall a couple of weeks ago. She’s been in the hospital two hours away since. Her health was very precarious until a couple of days ago so I haven’t felt much like writing although I’ve tinkered with this page here and there. She’s now in Rehab and well on her way to her full recovery. She started turning that corner on Thursday night. By yesterday the Mom I know was back filled with her usual strong, unshakeable faith and fire. God gave her a sudden miracle healing almost overnight. She still has a way to go before she comes home; but, she’s a totally different person than she was two short days ago. Once that happened, I was able to return to my writing assignment with a clear head and a grateful heart.

Have a wonderful weekend. I’ll have another post or two over the next week or so. I’m on vacation so I’ll have the time to write and I’m looking forward to seeing what comes next. Thank you for reading and liking my posts. This is all a learning experience for me so any feedback is greatly appreciated.

Calla

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Publishing Update

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I ran into a three week nightmare of issues trying to get Been There up on Amazon. That’s why I haven’t posted anything here in a few weeks. All of my time outside of work has been occupied with fixing the issues. Also, I pulled the ebook a while ago so I could launch both formats at the same time. I finally received my breakthrough two days ago on Friday and both books went live last night.

I’m working on a new post I should have up in a day or two. I noticed my posts are starting to get read and I wanted to say thank you to everyone who’s reading. All of this is new to me. Baring my soul is new. Deciding to put a photo to the name is a recent decision as well. I finally decided, I’m not ashamed of my life, I didn’t lie or embellish anything, and I don’t owe anyone in that book the protection of remaining anonymous.

In fact, in this world where everyone wants to know everything, not putting a face to the story might stop someone who needs to hear what I have to say from reading my book. I don’t want that. Anyways, this is just a quick post to update the status of the book and let anyone who’s interested know I haven’t abandoned my blog. I’ve just been side-tracked by real life.

Calla