Treasure from 1893 Speaks Volumes about Publishing 120 Years Later


Many years ago while visiting Wisconsin, I drove to a rural farm sale outside a small town. It was my last stop after several garage sales. Price tags hung from farming equipment along with assorted household items and antiques. It drew a crowd of curious neighbors as well as treasure hunters. I fell into the latter category.

Drawn to the tables laden with books, I found ancient leather-bound volumes and others in cloth. I sauntered along the stacks of old family Bibles and velvet photo albums. While leafing through Ladies’ World and The Ladies’ Home Journal magazines from the 1800’s, one raindrop plopped down on my head followed by another. I grabbed a box.

After filling it with as many old books and magazines as I could carry, I paid the lady $5.00, and staggered to the car just before the sky opened up and it poured.

I took the magazines home and glanced at the fine drawings and paintings. As an illustrator, I really appreciated the attention to detail. No photographs were included in these early issues. I was amused at the old advertisements, but nothing grabbed my interest, so I put them away and forgot about them.

Today, I read The Ladies’ Home Journal from 1893 with a different perspective. Now that I am a writer, several ideas jumped off the 120 year-old pages.

Long fictional stories and excerpts of books were included in each of the three issues I purchased. All were beautifully illustrated and captioned. Back in the 1800’s, reading was a very popular form of entertainment.

What really smacked me upside the head were the advertisements for one year subscriptions.

Inside the cover of The Ladies’ Home Journal was an advertisement for Mark Twain’s, The Century, FREE to anyone who subscribed to the magazine. This was a leather-bound edition! I believe Twain’s idea to advertise his book by giving it away, reached a wider audience. This compilation of short stories was perfect for the type of reader catered to by the Journal.


At the time of this periodical’s publication, many authors feared short stories and magazines would take over the publishing industry. This point is often made to compare the same fear many have about ebooks replacing real books. It didn’t happen then and many believe it won’t happen now.

The first article by Frank R. Stockton, explains how he garnered a huge audience by frustrating them. In a beautifully illustrated essay, “How I wrote ‘The Lady or the Tiger?’” he defends the history of his controversial short story.  It caused quite a “hoopla” or “hullabaloo” back in the day.


Stockton was invited to a dinner party along with several other literary guests. As part of the evening’s entertainment, he was asked to prepare a story. When he didn’t finish it in time, he demurred. Later, he completed this ultimate cliff-hanger about a young man who falls in love with a princess who becomes his lover. They end up in an arena which has two portals. A tiger paces behind one of them. The princess tells her lover to open one of the doors. He let the reader decide which one.


He received many letters from irate readers left in the lurch. Many offered their own resolution to the ending and begged him to finish it. Most women couldn’t fathom the barbaric nature of a woman who would send her lover through a portal to be eaten by a tiger.

A second book was written with more detail about the lives of the two characters, but still didn’t include an ending. The readers went wild again. At one point, graduates of Vassar College put it to a vote. The tiger received 18 votes and the lady only six.

Ten years later, readers were still talking about it. Not only did The Ladies Home Journal showcase the author, but offered his short story along with eleven others for free along with a one year subscription to Scribner’s Magazine.


The book is offered free with 10 cents postage and $3.00 subscription.

Like so many who have written their first book, I am watching the publishing industry and new authors to see how they approach selling ebooks. I had been concerned after seeing prices drop from $5.99 to $2.99, and then given away for free on Amazon.

In 1893, there were probably those who thought Twain foolish when giving away The Century. I would bet the giveaway put his work in the hands of many who may not have been acquainted with the great writer.

Today, that is the goal as well. The free price is usually a limited time offer and it gets the book out to more people and the writer’s name on the lips of many.

Writing controversial books is still an effective way to get people talking. Just look at Fifty Shades of Grey!

No matter how many people are in a writer’s platform, a book is still sold by word of mouth. The more tongues wagging, the better the sales.

Here I am in 2013, reading this old magazine from 1893 and can still learn something. Now that’s what I call a treasure!

What do you think about giving books away?

Do you think controversy sells?

Related Articles:

The Ladies’ Home Journal

Mark Twain – Wikipedia

Frank R. Stockton – Wikipedia

Scott Turow and His Sinking Ship

The Nutley Hall of Fame

Do You Curse Brightly?

While finishing my paranormal thriller, I have made some major cuts and additions. I think my sex scene is sexier after eliminating the mechanics and expanding the sensual description. I fixed the parts where the chicken went into the oven and came out as roasted rabbit. I deleted overused words like “perfect” even though at one time I thought they were perfect.

Reading best-selling thrillers while writing my first have inspired me, until yesterday. In the middle of an intense scene where agents were kidnapped, the protagonist, “cursed brightly.” (insert sound of needle scratching record here) WHAT??? It pulled me right out of the story. I stopped reading and set the book down.

shouts expletive

The hammer actually smacked my poor thumb, hence the realistic grimace. Continue reading

The Mistresses of Mayhem

As the days grow shorter, I begin to feel autumn’s chill through the drafts in my house which seems to penetrate the floor and slip up my pant legs then settle down deep in my bones. While running upstairs to retrieve wool socks for my cold feet I am reminded of the time of year and begin to long for All Hallow’s Eve and a month of ghostly tales. When I was a teenager, my girlfriends and I would gather around the television at midnight and dare each other to look at the spectacle originally written by Edgar Allen Poe or Mary Shelley. I would peer between my fingers which covered my eyes as my heart quickened and my stomach clenched in the inescapable mix of shock and horror. After a sleepless night of hearing the water trickle through the pipes in our family room thinking one of the undead crept around our scattered sleeping bags, I would rouse myself and smile looking forward to next week’s episode

Wikipedia defines Gothic fiction, sometimes referred to as Gothic horror, as a genre or mode of literature that combines elements of both horror and romance. When I think of authors of gothic horror the first to come to mind is Edgar Allen Poe. The Fall of the House of Usher(1839), The Pit and the Pendulum (1842), and The Telltale Heart (1843) are a few examples.

Many years before Poe was born, some of the early masters of the macabre were actually mavens. Ann Radcliffe first wrote The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne in 1789. This tale of a lonely woman included paranormal conventions interwoven with the very first vivid descriptions of nature. She gave natural explanations for the supernatural occurrences in her book making this genre acceptable for the first time in English society. She ended her chapters with cliff hangers keeping her readers flipping through pages.

1816 was known as “the year without a summer” for many in Europe. Mount Tambora erupted on an Indonesian island obscuring the sun for more for many months and creating a mini-ice age. Mary Shelley spent that summer in a villa on Lake Geneva, Switzerland with her husband Percy and friends including Lord Byron, and John Polidori.  Since the days were cold and nasty they spent many of them indoors reading ghosts stories. One day Lord Byron challenged each of them to write their own. Polidori created the vampire genre with the book, The Vampyre and Mary wrote Frankenstein.

Each author wrote gripping tales of suspense and terror keeping the reader on the edge of their seat. Speculation over their fascination with death and the supernatural in some cases seems obvious and in others not so much. Edgar Allen Poe’s mother was an actress who played Juliet when he was a young child. He found it confusing and upsetting to watch her die on stage every night. Eventually she succumbed to tuberculosis and died back stage. At 25 five years of age Poe married his 13-year-old cousin who died of the disease when she turned 25. Many historians believe that Poe’s tormented mind originated from the dread of contracting this white plague. He died mysteriously –most likely alcohol poisoning- at age 40.

Mary Shelley endured horrible headaches and passed away of a brain tumor at age 40 as well. Maybe that is why she came up with a monster made of bits and pieces from other bodies. She may have felt like getting a brain transplant!

I love that researchers couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary about little Ann Radcliffe.  She lived quietly with her husband and worked as an editor of The English Chronicle. She seems to have created these twisted tales without any documentation of torment, living until age 58. Her husband continued to support her writing by having the last of her work published after her death.

I have my own theory as to what motivated these authors. I began writing my own Gothic Fiction recently and can say that the thrill of writing them comes from being inside the character as I go through the process of typing out the words. No sooner have I set down the first sentence, does my own heart begin to race along with the story. Regardless of the personal fears the author may have had, I think they all enjoyed writing these thrillers just as much as their readers enjoyed reading them.

It is written that Ann Radcliffe passed the lonely cold winters writing her Gothic tales near a warm fireplace most likely feeling the grip of winter through the icy fingers of chilly drafts. My guess is she would have enjoyed our sleep-overs where we peeked out from our sleeping bags and glimpsed old black and white films of Frankenstein and Dracula. I wonder if Ann would enjoy Stephen King and what she would write if she were alive today.

Do you enjoy Gothic Fiction?

Who are your favorite authors today?

Illustration from Google  – Poe’s “The Raven” 

Stolen Regret


The biting wind struck Maeve’s frail body with force so she drew her mother’s thin red shawl around her shoulders tighter. She shivered remembering what she had done. The stunning ring had been lying on Mrs. Carver’s bedside table along with her yellowed false teeth which floated in a glass of water. She moved the tumbler and dusted, then slipped the ruby ring into her pocket.

Trudging home on the icy path through the shadowy forest, the weight of the stone spun the ring around her thin finger. When the vagrant grabbed her from behind, it flew into the gloom.


After a long cold winter, sun-filled days thawed the frozen earth and birds migrated back from their winter respite. A squirrel sprung from his warm leaf-lined den in the trunk of an ancient oak. With pangs of hunger he dove to the forest floor and dug for buried acorns. A bright glint like crimson berries caught the attention of his black beady eyes and he hopped through the decomposing leaves hoping for an edible treasure. Cocking his head to one side he gazed at the ruby ring. An ebony crow swooped down and snatched it up with its hooked beak.


“What are you afraid of Chelsea? Ghosts?” Jack taunted. Mary and Thomas giggled, but the tales about the woman in the woods and the thought of meeting down there at midnight to have a séance made her flesh crawl.

The moon hung like a fingernail clipping over the old Carver house where the remaining shards of glass in the windows seemed like a menacing grin.

The rhythmic crunching of their footsteps on the path into the dense forest kept time with the banging in her chest. Jack found an old oak and the four friends settled underneath its gnarled branches.


Maeve floated through the forest on the wings of the gust’s frosty breath twisting with the wailing wind. Like so many nights before this, she found herself on that muddy path with the ruby ring heavy on her finger like the weight of guilt on her soul. Sometimes she caught glimpses of others completely unaware. Other times they seemed alarmed then faded into the gray snowy night.

Tonight the pull at her core caused a ferocious velocity of writhing. She whipped towards the foursome dislodging something from the old oak which fell between them.

Return it!” Maeve howled with wind.  


Mirrored Vengeance


“Be careful of the woodwork!” Kathryn directed the moving men who lugged the heavily carved dresser up the stairs of her honeymooning daughter Allison and son-in-law Derrick’s house in San Francisco.  Once in place, across from the entry of the newlywed’s bedroom, they fastened the ornate mirror to the top of the dresser. Kathryn looked at her reflection in the diamond dust and brought her hand up to her mouth. “I wonder who sent this. What an usual wedding gift.” She looked at the stains on either side of the top drawer and made a mental note to try to have it repaired. She reached down to graze a manicured finger over the teeth of one of the carved heads which flanked the drawer and yelled, “Ouch! Why, I think it bit me!” Kathryn looked back at the mirrored dresser with a shiver.

The moving men laughed. “Yah, right!”

Two weeks later, Allison and Derrick arrived home in San Francisco. “I am going to check around the house and make sure everything is okay. Why don’t you lie down and I will order Chinese.” The three week honeymoon cruise left Allison empty inside.  What had she done? She wished she could wake up from this nightmare. She kept going over it in her head and felt too terrified to share the memory with anyone.

Her engagement to Derrick had been logical. He was handsome in a very Nordic way and a successful lawyer. He fit all the criteria she had made for the perfect mate except for one thing. He had hardly touched her. Allison thought of his old-fashioned sensibilities as cute, but as time went on, it had become frustrating.

A month before the wedding, Allison’s girlfriends called wanting her to get together with them to catch up. What started out as a simple girl’s night out soon escalated in a full out binge. After several rounds of cosmopolitans, she began to dance. She caught the eye of a dark dangerous looking man. She boldly grabbed him by the hand and the two of them danced. She had never felt this deep sexual attraction before and the dancing soon spiraled into an erotic grind and she could hardly control herself.

It was as if a different person emerged that night and took hold of Allison’s body. At that moment, she wanted and needed him more than anyone and the alcohol removed all inhibitions. Derrick was lost in the dark shadows of her mind, as she ditched her girlfriends and pulled him out of the bar. They barely made it into her nearby apartment before they stripped off their clothes, never making it to the bed.

She awoke on the floor, squinting against the blaring sun that streaked across her clothes scattered about the room. “What did I do?” The impact of regret hit her at the same time as the pounding headache that threatened to split her head in two. She reached over to her blouse and slipped it back on.

“Here. Drink this lovely lady.”

She gasped as she looked at the bare feet of the gorgeous man she had met last night working her way up slowly. In this light he looked older.

“Oh my God! What did I do?”

Tony reached out to help her off the floor and on to the couch.

The horror of what she had done slowly made its way to the cognitive part of her banging head and she began to shake.

He set down the coffee cup and began stoking her hair. “We had a great time. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am engaged to be married next month!”


“Last night was a mistake. You need to go. Now!” She stormed over to the door.

“Hey! You couldn’t keep your hands off me,” Tony said knitting his brow and stepped towards her.

Allison stepped back not sure of what to do if he got violent. Her cell phone was in her purse across the room.

Then his eyes softened and he tried to embrace her.

She pushed him away. “Just go. Please.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

Tony reached over to kiss her and she turned her head. “I’ll call you.” He walked out the door and she locked it behind him.

Allison fell on the couch and sobbed until her girlfriends began calling wanting all the details about the night. She told them she got sick and Tony had walked her home.

This began a nightmare that went on until the wedding. Tony called her non-stop. She felt stalked, but because of the infidelity, she couldn’t tell a soul. She began staying at Derrick’s house in his spare bedroom. She would be moving in with him after the wedding anyway.

Finally, they were married and Allison took the first deep breath in weeks.

It was the first night on the cruise and Allison and Derrick had just finished their lobster dinner in the main dining room. Derrick didn’t feel well so they walked up to the ship’s deck.

“I think I’ll go back to the room. Do you mind?” Derrick asked. They had planned to go dancing afterward.

“No. Go right ahead. I think I might stay out here and enjoy the fresh air.”

As she stared at the moon’s reflection on the water, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Did you miss me?”

Allison gasped and whipped her head around and saw Tony dressed in a black tuxedo. “What are you doing here?”

 “You don’t love him. You love me.” Tony pulled her close and she could smell alcohol on his breath.

“You’re hurting me!” Allison tried to rush past him but he staggered towards her and grabbed her arm.

“Stop!” They struggled and Allison used her leg for leverage. With all her strength she pushed him away. He tripped over her, wheeling around just as the ship hit a swell, lost his balance, and fell over the railing into the black ocean below.

She saw his head bob twice and then disappear with a rolling wave.

“Help! Help me!” Allison screamed, but no one responded. She seemed to turn to stone as she stared out into the ocean. It seemed like hours before Allison staggered back to the room.

For the rest of the honeymoon, Allison’s secrets weighed her down as if Tony still held her tightly in his grip.


After a quiet trip back to San Francisco, Allison felt relieved to be home.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she was struck by her own reflection in the mirrored dresser. Her mother had told her of its mysterious arrival. Unblinking, it drew her into the room. Something about it attracted and repelled her. She stepped into the bedroom and the diamond dust luster began to glow from an unknown source. A cold sweat broke out all over her body and she shuddered with dread.


Allison stared into the mirror and it began replaying the events of the last month in its refection. As the images progressed, they became projected in front of her. She stepped back appalled at what she saw. She gazed at the image of Tony and her dancing at the bar and later having sex at the apartment. “No!” she murmured, shaking her head. Then she saw herself struggle with him, sending him over the edge into the sea. She did nothing to save him. Allison screamed, “No! No! No!” She continued backing up towards the stairway and her heel caught the top step. She tumbled down, breaking her neck in the fall.

“That should do it!”

The moving men tied off the last rope in the van and slammed the door. Under the packing blankets the mirror began to glow. It sifted through all the reflections it had collected over the last 150 years held within the diamonds. The carvings began to writhe. Blood trickled down the front of the bureau out of the mouths of the carved gargoyles.

 All photos by S. Lindau

The photo of the reflection is in an original diamond dust mirror!

Swept Away! – Flash Fiction

As Felicia bit down on the straw of her Camelback and sucked the lukewarm water into her parched throat, her legs pumped with relentless force pushing down as hard as she pulled in the tightly bound toe clips. With gloved hands she gripped the handlebars, engaging her upper torso in contracted energy. She noticed only a couple bikers on the mountain trail today. “Probably, due to the warnings,” she thought.

The first time she had gone out mountain biking with her boyfriend Jacob, Felicia fell in love with the sport. She filled her lungs with pine fragranced air, enjoying the exercise and time spent outdoors.

One morning, Felicia stopped over at Jacob’s to bring him blueberry muffins. She took out the key he had given her months before, slid it into the lock, and turned the knob.

“Jacob! I have a surprise for you.” Felicia strained her eyes in the darkened studio apartment and immediately became confused by the shapes formed under the sheets of her boyfriend’s bed. He wasn’t alone.

“You bastard!” Felicia screamed. She began pelting him with the warm missiles.

Jacob threw up his hands to protect his face as the pretty blond slid down under the covers. “Felicia! What are you doing here? Stop!”

With each word, she fired away. “How – could – you – do – this – to – me!” Felicia stormed out, but then turned and yelled, “Whore!” She threw the key at Jacob and hit him in the nose, slamming the door behind her.


In the weeks that followed, she continued biking to clear her head and mend her broken heart.

The thick evergreens that lined the path and the tender wild flowers which bloomed in the understory in shades of purple, yellow and orange were swallowed up in darkness as the clouds above her gathered. She swerved to avoid the large rocks, but pulled up on the handlebars and hopped over the smaller ones utilizing the shock system of her bicycle and picked up the pace.

The rush of crashing water from the swollen river beside her thundered louder. Felicia felt a cool breeze at her back and the fine golden hair on her arms stood on end. Rain began to pour down on her helmet and she had to stop and take off her sunglasses to navigate the muddy trail. Her heart and mind raced, as the river overflowed its banks and water streamed across the trail. She pedaled to a rocky knoll jutting up from the forest floor, when she heard a man’s voice call out, “Over here!”

She rode to him and he reached out and pulled her by the hand up the steep embankment.

“We don’t have much time. C’mon!” He dragged her up rocky slope. They reached a shelter under an outcropping of rock as the rain pelted overhead as the river roared below.

“I’m Kevin.”

“Felicia.” She locked eyes with the handsome man with gentle brown eyes and curly hair that glistened, realizing she hadn’t let go of his hand.

500 words!

I am dusting off my “Rockhopper” to start mountain biking again. With all the tennis I play, it has been hard to find the time, but recently I learned that one of my knees may have to be replaced in the future if I don’t. My kneecap slid over when I twisted it thirty years ago in a skiing accident. It has been grinding the back of the cap ruining the meniscus. This is very common in women. In order to move it back into position, I need to build my thigh muscles. I will be out on the trails breathing in that pine scent in Colorado once again!

Constant Longing


Constance knew the second she opened the letter, before she even read it, her life would never be the same. She had just returned from the Post Office and had climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She walked over to the paned glass window and drew back the yellow calico curtain with a delicate hand. The ruby ring on her finger caught the slanting afternoon sun’s rays transforming it into a burning coal. Constance scanned the horizon and could see Jack the wrangler riding back to the ranch on his chestnut mare. His faded denim shirt billowed in the breeze. Looking beyond her property, the rolling hills looked like a patchwork in the golden light. With her left hand she rubbed the fastened top button of her white lace blouse. This nervous habit had started many years before.

She turned away and walked back through the French antique laden bedroom. Constance couldn’t bear to read what he had to say just yet. Slipping the letter back into envelope, she set it on her nightstand. She hitched up her long cornflower blue flowing skirt and walked back down the stairs.

“Connie! Are you there?”

Constance recognized the voice of her younger brother Hank and the back screen door slamming shut. She turned a corner on the landing and walked into the kitchen. He had been working with the beef cattle out in the fields and kicked the mud off his boots onto a red braided rug.

“Can’t you do that outside?” asked Constance.

Hank ignored her and stomped into the kitchen where he started working the pump in the sink. Up and down and up and down and all the while squeaking until a thin stream of water spurted forth. He grabbed a tin cup from the table and caught the fresh water.

“That stupid Heifer got stuck in the mud again.”

“It looks like you did too.”

Hank pulled out a red bandana, dunked it in the enamel pan sitting on the wooden side board and wiped his sun burned face. “Did you hear from him?” Hank’s piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through her.

Constance felt her cheeks grow hot. He knew. “Yes I did.”

“What did he say?”

“I, I haven’t read it yet,” Constance replied and played with the top button.

“What? Well where is it? I’ll read it,” Hank replied.

Constance stormed out of the room and paced towards the stairs. With every step she took up the staircase, her heart beat faster. Beads of sweat broke out under her covered arms. She clung to the rail her father had planed and sanded then polished over thirty years ago. As she gripped it her throat closed up. She still couldn’t believe they were gone. Her parents had claimed this fertile land years ago and had worked hard to build a successful cattle ranch. This house was the first two-story in the region and her father had built it himself with her Uncle Robert. It was all she had known and it could be gone. What would she do?

She walked into her bedroom and her hand shook as she picked up the letter she had laid next to her feather bed. Tears welled up in her eyes as she descended from the steep stairway. Her mind raced. Hank would be a college student in Richmond and she would have to move to town. And do what? Laundry? Sewing? Become a maid? A tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away along with a blonde ringlet.

She walked across the pine floor and slid the letter out a second time. This time she unfolded the thick vellum and recognized the neatly quilled penmanship. She took the letter in both hands and read aloud.

“Dear Constance and Henry,

I am happy to inform you that the sale of your parent’s ranch has proceeded much better than expected. You will be relieved to know that not only did it sell and make a profit, but a handsome one at that.”

 Constance was visibly shaking now and a smile appeared on her face as she looked up at Hank and said, “Oh my heavens!” Hank reached over, grabbed her by the forearms, and gasped.

“There has always been some suspicion that oil may exist on the property, so the mineral rights ended up being more fruitful than the 250 head of cattle and the 500 acres of land.”

Constance looked up at her brother who was only 18 months younger but taller by almost a foot.

“And? And? What does he say? How much do we get?” Hank was practically jumping up and down now.

“As part of sole beneficiaries of the estate, you will each receive a check for $65,000. I hope you will find this a sum to your liking. I know your parents would be proud of what they accomplished.

The new owners would like to offer employment to your ranch hands.

Henry will be attending Richmond University in the fall. I have taken the liberty to enroll Constance in Miss Judy’s Finishing School.

More information will be forth coming.

Sincerely yours,

Uncle Robert”

The siblings hooted and hollered and danced around the kitchen.

Hank ran back outside to inform the men and quiet any of their fears. They would be able to stay on if they liked.

Constance walked out onto the veranda and lifted her hand to gaze at the ruby ring which glinted in the sunlight. She knew that her dream could now come true.

Road Trip to Wisconsin – An Appetizing Adventure


There is something about a road trip that conjures up memories of the non-air conditioned family station wagon with windows that could only be cranked halfway down in the back seat, a map the size of the entire dash board, getting lost, and drive-thru restaurants. Last week when our family traveled from Colorado to Wisconsin, we still found ourselves ordering burgers and greasy fries on the road, but it was in a 2009 Toyota Highlander complete with air conditioning and GPS. I have made this trip so many times before that it never occurred to me to use this new map feature. It didn’t seem as though much had changed along the highway since we traveled by car two years ago. Danny had driven the shift across Nebraska and I offered to drive the rest of the way. My son Kelly and I discussed music in the front seat, taking in the Illinois landscape. I had giggled at the turn offs for Waco, Wahoo, and What Cheer, so when I glimpsed the sign for Normal, I laughed as we drove by it. When I saw the road sign for Naperville and the looming downtown Chicago skyline, I realized I had missed the exit and driven 45 miles too far. Some things never change on family road trips! After the 90 mile mistake, we arrived in at my parent’s house in Evansville, a bit later than expected, but very happy.


Both of our families love to cook and eat so I had looked forward to a week of get-togethers where we would indulge in delicious meals, picnics, and a few restaurants. We started our vacation the next day by driving to Madison where we met up with Danny’s brother’s family to water ski. The two car loads of Lindaus, drove to a tree lined dock and slid the motor boat off the trailer into the placid lake. As we loaded it with coolers and towels, rain drops began pattering on the smooth surface. Then the skies opened up and it down-poured. Instead of toughing it out in the rain, we drove to one of my old high school haunts; Schwoegler’s Bowling Alley.  I smiled with relief when I realized the lanes are all computerized now and you don’t have to spend your time concentrating on your mathematical skills. After two competitive games filled with a few strikes, (two in fact which is the most I have ever had in one game!), a couple spares, and more than a few gutter balls, we drove downtown to Paisan’s Restaurant. It had moved to a location just off the Capitol square where it now overlooks Lake Monona. The alluring aroma of Italian sauces wafted out of the glass door to greet us. I thought I would pace myself since it was early in the week, so I ordered a Chicken Caesar salad sprinkled with olives and hard boiled eggs. Everyone else had the classic pizza they are famous for.


Complete with bowling shirts! 

On Memorial Day we enjoyed an afternoon gathering of family and friends. My parents live in a one hundred year old Victorian home. There always seems to be a slight breeze on their classic wrap around porch no matter how hot it gets, so it was the perfect location for the party. While we chatted each of us found a white wicker chair to relax in. We feasted on fragrant Wisconsin cheeses and savory dips then washed our appetizers down with icy cold Leinenkugels beer. After snacking, we sat down to a roasted turkey, my sister-in-law Dawn’s Blue Cheese Cole Slaw, and Grandmama Mary’s Garlic Mashed Potatoes. I gawked at the rolls and said, “Only in Wisconsin!”


Friends and McCartan family on the porch


My brother Joe and his wife Dawn 


Grandmama, Danny, Courtney, and Kelly


Rolls from the bakery 

Boating is a Wisconsin pastime. Waterskiing is considered antiquated now that the popular sport of wakeboarding has taken over. A couple years ago I was delighted to still be able to get up on one ski and slalom through the cold waves. Proudly, I climbed back into the boat, but instead of receiving congratulations from my two children, I was greeted with eye rolls. “Mom. You should try wakeboarding,” Kelly said. When I tried to get up on the wakeboard, I struggled to plane over the water from the perpendicular starting point. It looked so easy when the kids and husbands did it! This year I didn’t even dip my big toe into the 55 degree water. Despite the temperature, my son Kelly and his cousin Eli had no trouble motivating themselves into the icy lake. Kelly’s blue lips and shivering hypothermic body deterred any notions I had about jumping in and trying the new sport once again. After a day of fresh air on the bright blue water, we worked up a hardy appetite. Danny’s brother Jamie and his wife Karen hosted a backyard barbecue complete with succulent steaks grilled by their son Eli who is an engineering student at Boise State University. He used a meat thermometer to check each one so they were cooked to perfection. They were served with fresh fruit, sweet corn, and salad.


Eli, Kyia, Courtney, and Kelly 


Kelly catching some air 


Courtney, Grandma Marilyn and Kyia


The Lindau families 

One night we visited Danny’s sister Lori who lives with her husband Steve in a downtown high rise with stunning views of Lake Monona. We enjoyed their modern condo and deck while visiting with the relatives and eating tasty lasagna and salad. We lingered over her mouth-watering Bailey’s Irish Cream Brownies telling stories of college days. Danny couldn’t believe it had been 25 years already. “Danny. It was 35 years ago, not 25,” I said. Danny’s jaw dropped.


Danny’s sister Lori and Steve host the gang 

On our last day in town I met my best friend Ann, from college days, at a gym where she instructs a body sculpting and tone class. The timing of this anaerobic session couldn’t have been more perfect. It was after a week of eating fabulous dishes and the day before I would sit in a car for 15 hours. I followed the class through the crowded space into the torture chamber rooms to obtain the weights, bar, mat, bench, and balls for the next hour of grueling exercise. Wisconsin people are the friendliest in the world and they made me feel very welcome. One of the ladies said, “I enjoyed working out with you today.” Nice! After her challenging class, we drove to a nearby café. I had no trouble rationalizing the gooey sticky cinnamon roll I would dunk into a cup of steaming black coffee. After I ordered some extra scones, donuts, and rolls for the trip home, Ann and I picked up where we left off many years ago. We laughed about the old boyfriends, parties, and a trip we took to California.


Forever friends! 

After several hours of catching up with my good friend, I gave her a hug with a promise to stay in touch and drove down to the UW Memorial Union. I met my parents, children, and Danny in a crowd of people sitting on the terrace enjoying a live band and the view of Lake Mendota. I pulled up a metal chair to their turquoise table and Danny poured me a cup of beer from his college roommate’s brewery called Ale Asylum. We sat, relaxed, and enjoyed the jazz music being played as several different wedding parties walked by to have their pictures taken on the oversized orange chair in the center of the enormous patio. I gazed at several piers jutting into the lake full of young college students sunning themselves. The brave dove into the cold crystal clear water. I walked through the crowds and poked my head into the Rathskeller which is a gathering place for students. I was relieved it hadn’t changed a bit since my college years. The same murals graced the walls. A line formed at the same bar where I had ordered beer 30 years ago as a student at the UW.


Courtney and me


Grandmama and Granddad 


Kelly and Danny


Kelly and Courtney in the big chair 


The Rathskeller 

We returned to Evansville and packed the car. At 5:30 AM the next morning we hit the road. This time we turned on the GPS to get back on I-85 and didn’t miss the turn!


The last mile 


We made it!

Dawn’s Blue Cheese Cole Slaw

Low fat mayo and reconstituted lemon juice can be substituted for the ingredients below.  

1 16 oz. package of shredded cole slaw mix
1 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup crumbled blue cheese
2 tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. sugar

Place the cole slaw mix in a large bowl and toss to separate.  In a medium bowl mix together the remaining ingredients.  Pour the mayonnaise mixture over the slaw mix.  Toss well to coat completely.  Let rest for 5 minutes and toss again.  Refrigerate at least 2 hours before serving.

Grandmama Mary’s Garlic Mashed Potatoes


8 – 10 medium potatoes

8 oz. cream cheese, softened

1 cup sour cream

1 – 2 T of fresh chives, chopped

2 T butter

Garlic salt and pepper


(Milk to thin, if needed)

Boil potatoes until tender and drain. Peel and dice them, then blend in a large mixer. Set aside. Blend cream cheese and sour cream. Add hot potatoes and beat until light and fluffy. Add milk to thin if needed. Add chives. Add garlic salt and pepper to taste. Transfer mixture into a baking dish. Dot the top of potato mixture with butter and sprinkle with paprika.

Bake at 350 degrees uncovered for 1 hour.

Can be made ahead covered and stored in the refrigerator. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour and 15 minutes.


Lori’s Bailey’s Irish Cream Brownies

Brownie Base

1 box (10.25 oz.) fudge brownie mix

¼ cup vegetable oil

2 T Irish cream liqueur

2 eggs

Irish Cream Topping

1 carton (8 oz.) whipping cream (1 cup)

¼ cup milk

¼ cup instant vanilla pudding and pie filling mix. (1/2 of 3.4 oz. box)

3 T Irish cream liqueur

2 – 3 bars (1.4 oz.) chocolate covered toffee candy, crushed. (Heath bars)

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease bottom only of 8-inch square pan with shortening. (Can use a 9 x 13 pan for a brownie that is less thick.) In large bowl, stir brownie mix, oil, 2 tablespoons liqueur and eggs with spoon about 50 strokes or until blended. Spread batter into pan.

Bake 23 to 26 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool completely, about 1 hour.

In medium bowl, beat whipping cream, milk, pudding mix, and 3 tablespoons liqueur with electric mixer on high speed 4 to 6 minutes or until soft peaks form. Spread mixture over cooled brownies. Sprinkle with crushed candy. Cover, refrigerate at least 2 hours before serving. Cut into squares. Store in refrigerator.

Enjoy your Foodie Tuesday! 

If Looks Could Kill

Felicity snatched her overfilled red leather backpack and flew out of the loft, with silver bangles jangling on her suntanned wrists. She flipped the bolt lock and ran to the stairwell. There was no time for the elevator. She bounced down two steps at a time knowing her embellished ballet flats had been the right choice. When she arrived on the main floor, she emerged out into the bright sunlight which flickered through palm branches onto her long auburn hair setting it ablaze. She filled her lungs with fresh jungle air and ran to her scooter. She revved it up and sprang out on to the narrow road. It would take her at least fifteen minutes to arrive at her destination. She could feel it. This would be her day.

The months of waiting patiently had been hard on Felicity, but the time had finally arrived. She would be taking a huge risk, but she rationalized it knowing there really wasn’t any other way. Her heart pounded with the fantasy of what her future could hold. The fast pace of the scooter rushed by quaint cottages and shacks built along the dilapidated road.

The film crews had already set up on the beach when she arrived. Pal Mais had officially been put on the map. She parked her motorbike alongside the outdoor tiki restaurant. It was still early, but soon it would be filled with hungry tourists and surfers waiting for a bite of their mouth-watering grilled pizza.

Felicity decided to wait for her moment and took cover in the shade of a palm tree to watch and learn. She strained her ears to listen, but couldn’t hear anything over the crashing surf.

Some of the crew had been there earlier in the week and Felicity recognized them. The director Roger Strathond hid behind aviator sunglasses which were propped onto a zinc oxide covered nose. The same Dodgers baseball cap perched over his curly brown hair. He wore a pair of khaki shorts and another plain white t-shirt, she supposed he bought in gross. His plump red-faced male assistant they called Tex, kept within earshot of his carefully chosen words. She didn’t think the humid climate agreed with him despite his loose fitting XXL Tommy Bahama shirt. He already looked strangled by the early morning heat. The cute blonde casting director, Bonnie, tied her hair up in a bun to keep it from sticking to the back of her neck. She was a bundle of energy flitting all over the set.

Today they were joined by camera men, video equipment, dolly’s, and grips. A few pampered actors joined the crowded set. She estimated the crew totaled about twenty five. Onlookers not used to so much commotion on this small surf town beach stood gawking at the spectacle.

Then she recognized Mason’s profile she remembered in dreams and nightmares. She thought moving to Costa Rica would be far enough away. She was wrong. Four months ago she learned through a friend that he would be starring in a mini-series and they were considering Pal Mais. It had been chosen for its amazing waves suitable for any level surfer. Three sets of waves continually hit in a rhythm even a beginner could master. Farther out, fifteen to 20 foot waves could entice the extreme surfer. Felicity could see a few of them catching those glittering waves even though the big breakers had slowed with the rising tide. Like clockwork, they would rush out later in the afternoon for another frolic in these behemoth and towering waves.

Felicity looked at her watch. 10:20. She had a few more minutes. Even though she stood completely still, her heart raced like she had sprinted a marathon. “Calm down!” she thought to herself, “Nine more minutes until show time.” She checked her lipstick in a mirror she kept in a pocket of her backpack. She adjusted her white silk blouse which was cinched up with a silver belt over a short floral skirt.

As she counted down the minutes, the adjacent parking lot filled with carloads of tourists and locals arriving to enjoy the beach and to check out the movie set. “There would be an audience,” she thought and smiled to herself.

“Time to go!” Felicity strode across the sandy beach to the film crew. Bonnie noticed her first.

“Hello Jessica!” said Bonnie.

Felicity drew her chin up in the air and nodded to her in reply.

Tex nearly tripped over a speaker as he turned to greet her. “Hi Jessica! You remember Roger.”

“Oh yes. So nice to see you again.” Felicity turned her cheek to let Roger kiss it.

Out of the corner of her eye she spied him. As he jogged back up from the breaking surf with a yellow surfboard in his hands, Felicity could see his muscles ripple. His thick shoulder length brown hair was tousled and caught the gentle breeze. He stopped and gazed at her with deep set blue eyes glinting in the sun.  His jaw dropped. The curious crew could sense the intensity of the electricity between them.

“Felicity what are you doing here?” Mason asked.

“I’m Jessica Phillips your co-star.”



Into the Wind


I still have the determination I had in high school tennis and unfortunately the same smirk when I serve!

Monday night I played a United States Tennis Association match in the Devil’s Thumb neighborhood in Boulder. Although I had been warned, I was late for warm up since I didn’t anticipate the severity of the clogged rush hour traffic. As I drove down Foothills parkway the 50 mph gusts struck my car in shuddering blows. When I arrived at the courts, the temperature dropped as I stood shivering in my tennis skirt. How would we manage this wind? Some of my team dispersed to other courts down the road. My partner Sherilyn and I drove around a corner to a somewhat more sheltered one at the end of a cul-du-sac.

We met the opposition and started our warm up. The deafening wind thundered down from the foothills and slammed the ball onto the court. I would have to slice my balls higher tonight to get them over the net. I generally like playing in wind because I like to lob into to it. The ball moves around making it an unpredictable target and also keeps it on the court. I slice the ball which keeps the shot low forcing my opponent to hit upward into the current which often carries it off the court. I have played singles matches where the wind played to my advantage. Near the end of the match when it abruptly stopped, I sped up the game knowing my opponent could start playing their game again.  I usually consider myself lucky when the wind starts to blow, but with this velocity, tonight might be a different story.

We were ready to begin the match so Sherilyn and I conferred about which of our opponents might be the weaker and stronger player. Both of them seemed athletic and could cover the court. Their solid ground strokes and volleys at the net would be fierce to defend. One had a slice which intimidated my partner.

The wind whipped between the houses and continued its erratic churning. The surrounding trees cast shadows which moved in fitful patterns across the court. Lobbing would be a risky choice. Just before we started I mentioned to Sherilyn, “Just go for it at the net. I’ll try to set you up.” She is a great player and once she is up there she can put the ball away. I am a singles player at heart and love to play from the back of the court. Unfortunately, at  4.0 tennis, whichever team has someone stuck behind the baseline often loses.

The match began with my service loss. Our opponents hit all the angles with the force of the wind at their backs. We had a glimmer of hope when we won 2 games and the score was 2-3, but those were the last games won by us in the first set which we lost 2-6.

In the second set we quickly found ourselves down 1-3.  I am used to being alone out there in singles so in between games I had a little pep talk with myself. I smiled realizing the wind had died down a bit.  I thought, “Just keep slicing cross court and receive, approach, and volley. Use the wind to your advantage.”

Then I trotted over to my partner and said, “Sherilyn just play your game. You have to run up to the net.”

“They have been hitting the ball at my feet all night,” she said, “I can’t get up there.”

“Let’s just pretend like it’s practice. Don’t look at them. Just play like you usually do.”

Sherilyn reluctantly agreed and walked back to her side.

During the next point she hit the ball cross court, ran to the service line, and then smashed it into their alley. Our point!

“Sherilyn! You’re back!” I screamed. I ran over and high fived her.

We won the next 5 games, winning the set 6-3. In lieu of a third set, we played a 10 point tie-breaker and won 10-6. “Woohoo!” We won the match.

After shaking hands with our competitors, I congratulated Sherilyn for blasting back and going for it by playing her game. She needed to feel confident again which she accomplished by pushing herself. I believe you have to stick with your plan in order to win. Even if we would have lost, at least we would have given it our best shot.

I think this message can be applied in life. We may set goals, but become discouraged when we meet opposition. We find ourselves back on our heels when we lose confidence. Doubt can cause faltering. We all make mistakes, even the pros. Sometimes a little reassurance is all we need to get back in the game. I try to keep the positive comments I have received stored away like precious treasure I can retrieve when I need inspiration. Recalling encouragement helps me to put the focus back on my aspirations. I realize that it takes a lot of resilience, determination, and tenacity. There will always be set backs, but when I feel vulnerable I say to myself, “I can do this.”

I know it will take courage, fortitude, and endurance to achieve my objectives. I plan to log in a lot of hours practicing my skills. I will keep my eye on the ball and hope for a breeze because I can always use a little luck!

The Night that Shattered


“I will see you tomorrow.” Samantha said to her roommate Jack as she grabbed her loaded green frame pack. She bounced towards the door of the small apartment and pulled her blonde ponytail through the back of her pale blue ball cap.

“Have fun and remember safety first,” Jack replied in his good natured way, “Don’t forget to try your cell phone when you get up there so you can get a hold of me if you need anything.” He smiled under a mop of dark brown curls, green eyes twinkling and walked over to give her a hug.

“Don’t worry Jack!” She rolled her eyes and hugged him back, then slid the cell phone into her orange Columbia jacket pocket.

Samantha had a deadline for a column she was writing, but felt a well-deserved break would clear her head. A rigorous hike, then camping out was sure to cure her writer’s block. Growing up in Aspen, she had tremendous experience with survival training and had snow-caved overnight by herself in high school. Camping on her own was not unusual for her.

She threw the pack in the back of her black Toyota 4-Runner and started the hour and a half trip into the snow-capped mountains. As she drove higher in elevation, the road narrowed. After a series of hair pin turns it ended altogether.

Samantha pulled over next to a grove of Aspens. It was just like she remembered. The evergreen forest rose up all around her. The pine fragrance was overwhelming. It had just rained and the trees were still laden with raindrops.

“I love it up here!” she exclaimed. Throwing the bulging pack over her shoulders, she started up the trail.

Overhead a flock of whiskey jacks flew by. She heard the chirping of a squirrel upset that she hiked so close to its territory. It was early evening and the shadows were growing longer.

After hiking on the trail for a while Samantha thought that out of the corner of her eyes something streaked by. She immediately went on the defensive knowing that mountain lions abounded in this forest. For the next 15 minutes she was on edge as she hiked. Without seeing anything else out of the ordinary, she continued up the trail.

Soon the path got brighter indicating that she was close to her destination. The trees thinned out and Samantha found herself on the edge of a beautiful mountain lake. It was fed by the glaciers farther up on the mountain pass. “Perfect.” she said to herself. She took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air and dropped the heavy pack to the ground.

Samantha unstrapped the tent from the pack and assembled it quickly. She knew that it was getting late and she saw thunder clouds gathering in the distance. She scouted around for kindling to start a fire.

There it was again! The golden streak caught her attention. This time it ran out into the open. It was a mutt. Probably some type of Labrador retriever mix. It was really dirty and wasn’t wearing a collar so she assumed it was a stray.

“Here boy!” Samantha coaxed. The mutt came closer but shied away from her outstretched hand.

She gave up with the dog and continued with the search for dry wood. After amassing a pile she lit the leaves and twigs. The fire first sputtered and then roared. Samantha smiled and felt the golden warmth of the fire on her smiling face.

She filtered some water from the icy lake and boiled it over the fire to add to her dehydrated dinner and tea. While she looked up at the impending storm she felt watched. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Here boy!” she called out again. In the darkness, Samantha heard rustling in the underbrush and snapping of twigs but there was no sign of the dog.

Lightning streaked across the sky followed by a low rumble. A few rain drops fell.

She gathered up her pack and entered the tent as the sky opened up. It was quite a storm. Samantha opened up the flap to peak out and saw her fire extinguished and smoldering.

She snuggled down into her sleeping bag and was almost asleep when she heard something outside her tent. Grabbing a flashlight from her backpack, she decided to investigate. Could it be the stray had come back looking for crumbs? She was aware of bears and had cleaned up carefully after eating.

Samantha pulled on her jacket and hiking boots, ducked out of the tent and stood up. It was still lightly raining. As she started walking away from the tent she felt someone grab her from behind.

“Ah!” Samantha gasped.

“Hey pretty girl. Let’s have some fun!” the man whispered roughly in her ear.

“No!” She screamed. Samantha kicked, clawed, and finally twisted away from him, but slipped in the mud and fell. He pounced on top of her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and the stink of someone who hadn’t bathed in a while. He tried to flip her over. She desperately tried to feel around for a weapon and found a rock, turned towards him and smacked him in the head.

“Stay away from me!” she screamed.

“You bitch!!” he cried.

She got up and ran, but had lost her flashlight in the attack. The moonless night made it hard for her to navigate the rough terrain.

Again he caught up to her grabbed her by her hair and threw her to the ground. Samantha fell head first against a boulder. She felt searing pain and the warmth of blood as it trickled out of the wound. Now she felt helpless against him. Trembling, she slowly turned her head and saw him above her laughing.

“No, no, no!” she moaned.

He was a fair skinned, six foot tall man who wore a black hooded sweatshirt over layers of old clothing. His dark oily hair was slicked to his head.

She gave up the fight and started to cry. The attacker bent over, reaching out to touch her face with a grimy finger when out of nowhere the stray jumped through the air and took him down.

Without looking back Samantha forced herself to get up and run. She was woozy and her legs wobbled but she desperately tried to orient herself to find the trail.

She could hear the dog wrestling with the vagrant.

When she could no longer keep running, she slowed her pace. Remembering her cell phone, Samantha pulled it out of the zipper pocket and dialed. No signal. Her head throbbed and when she reached up to wipe the blood out of her eye, she felt the gaping wound. She remembered her wallet was still in the backpack.

She could see her truck just where she left it. Luckily she kept a spare key under the carriage. She bent over and felt around for the metal case. Samantha heard the sound of footsteps running down the path behind her. She found it and frantically pulled the key out dropping the container on the ground.

Her heart banged away in panic as she fumbled with the key. She tried to slide it into the lock, but it was difficult because she was shaking. She finally slid it in and opened the truck door slamming it behind her.

Just as the man got to the truck and tried to open the door, Samantha hit the door locks.

She turned on the engine and threw the truck into reverse. Then she jammed it into drive and careened away, but was careful to keep the truck on the road.

Samantha navigated the first hair pin turn when her attacker ran right out in front of the truck. He had cut through the forest to catch up with her and must have expected her to stop or swerve off into the embankment. She screamed as she hit him head on. He rolled off the hood and she continued down the road. In her rear view mirror she saw him get back on his feet and limp off into the forest.

She was shaking and sobbing as she gripped the steering wheel. Shock had set in and Samantha drove all the way back to her apartment in autopilot. She dragged herself out of the truck and could hear her heart beating in her ears as she slowly climbed the stairs. As she opened the door to the apartment, Jack called out from his bedroom, “Sam? You’re home early. What happened?” When he saw her he gasped and ran towards her.

“I got my story,” she said as she collapsed into his arms and passed out.

Picture by S. Lindau