Happy October! I know I’ve mentioned it before, but between our anniversary, my birthday, and Halloween, I LOVE October!
For the first October song, I’m choosing Superstition by the amazing Stevie Wonder. That funky bass line just draws you in every time.
And it’s perfect for the countdown to Halloween. I mean, check out the lyrics. And may I be the first to admit that I’ve been singing it wrong for all these years.
Very superstitious, writings on the wall,
Very superstitious, ladders bout’ to fall,
Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin’ glass
Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your pastWhen you believe in things that you don’t understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain’t the wayVery superstitious, wash your face and hands,
Rid me of the problem, do all that you can,
Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin’ strong,
You don’t wanna save me, sad is my song
When you believe in things that you don’t understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain’t the way, yeh, yeh
Very superstitious, nothin’ more to say,
Very superstitious, the devil’s on his way,
Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin’ glass,
Seven years of bad luck, good things in your past
When you believe in things that you don’t understand,
Then you suffer, Superstition ain’t the way, no, no, no
It made me wonder…
Are you superstitious? I don’t consider myself to be.
Once I visited San Antonio with my mother and we went to this glorious Mexican restaurant down by El Mercado. We were seated outside at a table covered in tile mosaic. There was a hole in the center of the table where an umbrella might go. My mother salted her dinner and when she set down the salt shaker, she accidentally dropped it through the hole. The glass shaker shattered once it hit the ground and salt spilled everywhere.
A Hispanic lady at the next table saw what happened and brought us her salt shaker, miming tossing salt over her shoulder. When my mother reached for the salt, the woman shook her head vigorously then set it on the table rather than passing it directly. To appease the woman, my mother went ahead and tossed some salt over her shoulder and life went on. But I’ve always thought that was a strange experience.
Are there any things you do for good luck?
I just want to be grateful for the good things in my life.
I hope you’re enjoying this fall evening. Be sure to hug those you love.
Happy Saturday night!
P.S. I couldn’t resist this version by another Stevie, the legendary Stevie Ray Vaughan.
I grew up in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and I traveled through Nashville countless times on my way to visit relatives in Kentucky. But it wasn’t until I was an adult that I first stayed there for a couple of nights.
Nashville is a cool town, with lots to see and do. We stayed downtown, and walked all over the place. We got a little rowdy in a huge bar called the Wildhorse Saloon, and we didn’t miss the opportunity to stop by the Ryman Auditorium, the sacred cathedral of country music.
The Grand Ole Opry started out as a live radio show in 1925, and was housed in the Ryman starting in 1943 and remained there until 1974, when it moved to its current, larger location. In the center of the new stage, there’s a six-foot circle of oak that came from the Ryman stage, symbolically and literally the heart of the theatre.
Even if you’re not a country music fan, the Grand Ole Opry is a sight to behold. It’s still a live radio show, every Saturday night. It also airs on television. But to be there is an experience.
Because unbeknownst to listeners, the Opry stage is like a three-ring circus, with something always happening. While someone is performing, someone who just finished is still out there breaking down, and the next act up is busy getting set up. Groups of tourists enter and leave the stage, snapping photos and getting autographs if they’re lucky.
In addition to being a show and a venue, the Opry is something of a Hall of Fame as well. Performers who are deemed worthy are invited to join, and it’s a huge honor. It’s also a commitment–Opry members are required to perform there a certain number of times per year.
There is a set schedule every week, so when you purchase your tickets, you know who you’ll be seeing. BUT… Performers who have a little time available often pop in unannounced, the better to get some of their annual obligation out of the way.
And so it happened that the night we went to the Grand Ole Opry, we were treated to a performance we didn’t expect. As one act was finishing up, we noticed an increased level of excitement at the side of the stage.
As soon as that performer left the stage, Clint Black and his co-writer Skip Ewing walked out, each carrying an acoustic guitar and a stool. Sitting on the apron of the stage, they began to play Something That We Do. The entire place went dark, with only a spotlight on the pair, and for the first time all night, a hush fell over the room, all of us spellbound by this beautiful song.
I remember well the day we wed
I can see that picture in my head
I still believe the words we said
Forever will ring true
Love is certain, love is kind
Love is yours and love is mine
But it isn’t something that we find
It’s something that we do
It’s holding tight, lettin’ go
It’s flying high and laying low
Let your strongest feelings show
And your weakness, too
It’s a little and a lot to ask
An endless and a welcome task
Love isn’t something that we have
It’s something that we do
We help to make each other all that we can be
Though we can find our strength and inspiration independently
The way we work together is what sets our love apart
So closely that you can’t tell where I end and where you start
It gives me heart remembering how
We started with a simple vow
There’s so much to look back on now
Still it feels brand-new
We’re on a road that has no end
And each day we begin again
Love’s not just something that we’re in
It’s something that we do
We help to make each other all that we can be
Though we can find our strength and inspiration independently
The way we work together is what sets our love apart
So closely that you can’t tell where I end and where you start
Love is wide, love is long
Love is deep and love is strong
Love is why I love this song
And I hope you love it too
I remember well the day we wed
I can see that picture in my head
Love isn’t just those words we said
It’s something that we do
There’s no request too big or small
We give ourselves, we give our all
Love isn’t someplace that we fall
It’s something that we do
It’s a moment I’ll never forget. And I can’t shake the message of the song, that love isn’t somewhere we fall, or something we find, it’s something we do. Every day. Every moment.
I hope this evening finds you well, and surrounded by those you love. Be sure to give them a hug.
Happy Saturday night!
PS–I’m adding another beautiful Clint Black song, this one a duet with his wife, Lisa. ❤
Happy November! Can it be possible that the holidays are right around the corner? Oh, it CAN be–judging by the sudden onslaught of Christmas displays in the stores and the commercials on television.
Last weekend was cool here in south Florida. A/C was turned off, windows were opened, a fresh breeze whisked away all the stale air from the house. We even had a fire in the fireplace a couple of nights. This weekend is more or less back to normal for this time of year–bright sunshine and low humidity with high temps around 80.
But last weekend put me in a mood. I want to escape to a pub in Galway, and sip a pint of Guinness while listening to a local band.
I love this song by Ed Sheeran, and I adore this video even more. Join me for a pint, and celebrate this beautiful fall evening. Be sure to hug those you love. Happy Saturday night!
This article is copied and pasted from a post I wrote a couple of years ago. WordPress being what it is, I can’t schedule a reblog, so it’s got to be like this. Thanks, WordPress.
Anyway, this is a true story, and the photos from my Samsung Galaxy are completely unretouched. You’re seeing what I saw. Enjoy…
I took the folks down to Key Largo for a couple of days this past summer. Before heading home, we drove south just to sightsee a little. You can’t get that close and not cross the Seven Mile Bridge, right? Mr. R. missed the trip because of work, but he recommended that we stop and check out an outdoor store in Islamorada called World Wide Sportsman (which is actually operated by Bass Pro Shops, but that’s neither here nor there).
Aside from being a cool place to look around, as are most Bass Pro Shops, this particular store had something that interested me. According to Mr. R. the store had a fishing boat that is the twin of the one used in the Keys by Ernest Hemingway. Okay, it’s not his boat, but it’s one just like it.
And so it is that we stopped in at World Wide Sportsman. We found the large shop fairly uncrowded and sure enough, the Pilar was sitting smack-dab in the center of the place. Again, the Pilar is not Hemingway’s boat. It just happened to be built at the same Brooklyn shipyard and is a twin of the more famous one that is supposed to be in Cuba these days. But I was curious all the same.
Some years ago, I read an interesting novel by Michael Palin (yes, that Michael Palin, the one from Monty Python) called Hemingway’s Chair. In the story, a mousy postal worker with a fascination for all things Hemingway learns that Papa’s fishing chair is about to be sold at auction and he schemes for ways to make the chair his own.
And so, having left the others browsing for souvenirs and trinkets, it was with curious interest that I climbed aboard the Pilar with hopes of snapping a photo of Hemingway’s chair. And there it was. Right on the stern of the boat. But it was unlike any fishing chair I’d ever seen. It was made of highly polished wood and sat low with a beam that jutted forward from the seat parallel to the deck with a footrest at the end, so that if you were in the chair, your legs would stick straight out in front of you. As I puzzled over the unexpected style and how best to capture it with my trusty phone, a couple boarded the boat and the wife plunked herself down into the chair and began mugging for her husband’s camera. Seriously?!
Annoyed, I took myself below deck, if only to escape the rampant dumb-assitude. There, in the dimly lit cabin, I found something I liked even better than the fishing chair. There was a vintage desk complete with typewriter and chair. I know. It’s not Hemingway’s typewriter. But it was cool. Plus, I thought it was the perfect illustration for one of my favorite Hemingway quotes: Write drunk. Edit sober.
So I snapped four pictures in fairly rapid succession. I hurried, figuring Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum would undoubtedly be down any second. I had to use a flash in the murkiness of the room and I couldn’t actually see what I was getting, but I hoped that at least one photo would be good enough to post with the quote.
It was not until later when I wanted to choose the best shot that I saw something interesting. I’ve arranged the photos in the exact order in which I took them. In the first and second frames nothing seems out of the ordinary. In the third you begin to see a hazy little anomaly to the left of the typewriter. The anomaly is clearer in the fourth photo.
What is it? I don’t know. Like I said before, I’m not really a huge believer in the whole ghostie thing. But I’ve lived long enough to know that there are some things you simply can’t explain.
Before October is over, I’ve got another couple of weird stories for you. Stay tuned…
Summer road trip, anyone? Mr. R and I headed over to Tampa last weekend for an Indie author book convention. The event featured Indie authors from all over the world, and was held at a party space called Chic Venue.
It was pretty inside (okay, Mr. R called it gaudy) and as soon as we arrived, we set about putting our half of the table in order.
I shared the table with a lovely author named Harmony Stalter. She was super nice, and displayed two books, one of which she called a ‘second-chance romance’, and the other a murder mystery. Which probably explains the jar with the (fake) heart and the other one filled with eyeballs.
She later apologized for the gruesome display, but I replied that her jars probably accounted for most of the people who stopped by our table. The event ran from noon to 6:00, and traffic was slow. Even so, I had a wonderful time and met a lot of great writers. I’m even making plans to return next year.
As Mr. R and I headed home, we stopped in Ybor City, my favorite part of Tampa. It’s the historic Cuban district, and probably where we should have had the author event. I’ll push for that for next year.
Anyway, we found street parking and strolled toward the loud live music coming from down the street. It emanated from Gaspar’s Grotto, a place we know well. It’s where you go when you want the absolute best Cuban sandwich you’ll find anywhere. So with cocktails on the table and sandwiches ordered, we relaxed to live music and reflected on our day.
It was our summer road trip. Which brings me to tonight’s serenade, Love Shack, the ultimate road trip song. And it makes me wonder… We told you about our trip. Where have you traveled this summer? I’d love to hear all about it.
In the meantime, hug those you love. Happy Saturday night!
Isn’t July sublime? I haven’t always felt that way. Before I walked away from education, around this time of year I’d be getting that little tummy thing, that deep-seated dread signalling that the end of summer was near.
But since early June, I’ve transitioned into writing full-time. Mr. R is working on building his real estate business and he currently has his first listing under contract. We’ve also had to do a lot of wrangling with the school district over my retirement payments. No surprise there, really. They can’t ever do anything the easy way.
This morning, we were thrilled to find that the payment for the 619 unused sick hours I’ve been hoarding for years was FINALLY deposited into our bank account. It’s a huge relief, providing a bit of a cushion until real estate kicks into high gear. And I start selling a buncha-lotta books.
After checking the bank account this morning, Mr. R turned to me. “We need a vacation. Let’s go on a (little) cruise.” Which is why I’ve spent some time this morning checking into a short Bahamas cruise, hopefully in September.
That brings me to tonight’s serenade, Cruisin’. I love Huey Lewis. I believe that 1983’s album Sports was one of the greatest albums of all time. Not such a fan of Gwyneth Paltrow–she’s annoying. But I LOVE this song, and it’s been flitting through my head since I started thinking about a cruise.
I hope you’re having a fabulous summer evening. Hug those you love. Happy Saturday night!
Looking for your next great read? Love to have fun in the sun? Join me this Sunday, July 16, in Tampa for the Tampa Indie Author Book Convention!
I understand that about 40 Indie authors will be there, chatting with readers and signing books. I’ll have copies of RESISTING RISK, LUKE & BELLA, and LOST & BOUND. I’ll also have some free swag.
Admission to the event is FREE, and you can buy tickets to the VIP after party where there will be food and an OPEN BAR. Just imagine, sipping cocktails and chatting with your favorite Indie authors. Sounds amazing, right?
Welcome to the unofficial start of summer! It’s a three-day weekend, and I’m only two work days away from retiring. Starting June 1, I’m a full-time writer. Hopefully that means that this neglected little blog will get a bit more attention.
We’re taking a big chance, Mr. R and I. His fledgling real estate career is just beginning to bear fruit. By retiring early, I’m walking away from a sure paycheck every two weeks. But life is short, getting shorter every day. So we’re seizing the day, taking the opportunity to try something new.
For now, that means he’s selling houses in Palm Beach County. And I’m working from home, writing and promoting steamy romance. On the other hand, we may consider selling everything and taking to the road. Recently Mr. R showed me a video of the island of Mauritius. “Here. Let’s move here,” he said.
I can write from Mauritius, y’all. And I imagine someone has to sell houses there. Or work in television news. Or whatever he decides he wants to do. It’s thrilling to know that we don’t have to settle for the status quo.
Confession: I’m hedging my bets. I’m packing into the garage everything I’d need to start a first grade classroom again. Worst case scenario, I end up going back to teaching at some point.
But it’s a beautiful day today, I’m in love with the love of my life, and dammit, you know what? I’m happy. Hence tonight’s serenade.
I wish for you all the happiness in the world. Hug those you love and enjoy your weekend. Happy Saturday night!
The original title of this post was I Just Wanted To See Hemingway’s Chair. This story is from over a year ago in July of last summer while, on a little jaunt down to the Keys, we stopped in at a sporting goods store. Ghostie business was the absolute last thing on my mind. I wanted a photo to go along with a Hemingway quote. That’s all I was looking for. The four photos were snapped in rapid succession in a dimly-lit boat cabin. The light you see is from my flash. See what you think.
I took the folks down to Key Largo for a couple of days this past summer. Before heading home, we drove south just to sight see a little. You can’t get that close and not cross the Seven Mile Bridge, right? Mr. R. missed the trip because of work, but he recommended that we stop and check out an outdoor store on Islamorada called World Wide Sportsman (which is actually operated by Bass Pro Shops, but that’s neither here nor there).
Aside from being a cool place to look around, as are most Bass Pro Shops, this particular store had something that interested me. According to Mr. R. the store had a fishing boat that is the twin of the one used in the Keys by Ernest Hemingway. Okay, it’s not his boat, but it’s one just like it.
And so it is that we stopped in at World Wide Sportsman. We found the large shop fairly uncrowded and sure enough, the Pilar was sitting smack-dab in the center of the place. Again, the Pilar is not Hemingway’s boat. It just happened to be built at the same Brooklyn shipyard and is a twin of the more famous one that is supposed to be in Cuba these days. But I was curious all the same.
Some years ago, I read an interesting novel by Michael Palin (yes, that Michael Palin, the one from Monty Python) called Hemingway’s Chair. In the story, a mousy postal worker with a fascination for all things Hemingway learns that Papa’s fishing chair is about to be sold at auction and he schemes for ways to make the chair his own.
And so, having left the others browsing for souvenirs and trinkets, it was with curious interest that I climbed aboard the Pilar with hopes of snapping a photo of Hemingway’s chair. And there it was. Right on the stern of the boat. But it was unlike any fishing chair I’d ever seen. It was made of highly polished wood and sat low with a beam that jutted forward from the seat parallel to the deck with a footrest at the end, so that if you were sitting in the chair, your legs would stick straight out in front of you. As I puzzled over the unexpected style and how best to capture it with my trusty phone, a couple boarded the boat and the wife plunked herself down into the chair and began mugging for her husband’s camera. Seriously?!
Annoyed, I took myself below deck, if only to escape the rampant dumb-assitude. There, in the dimly lit cabin, I found something I liked even better than the fishing chair. There was a vintage desk complete with typewriter and chair. I know. It’s not Hemingway’s typewriter. But it was cool. Plus, I thought it was the perfect illustration for one of my favorite Hemingway quotes: Write drunk. Edit sober.
So I snapped four pictures in fairly rapid succession. I hurried, figuring Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum would undoubtedly be down any second. I had to use a flash in the murkiness of the room and I couldn’t actually see what I was getting, but I hoped that at least one photo would be good enough to post with the quote.
It was not until later when I wanted to choose the best shot that I saw something interesting. I’ve arranged the photos in the exact order in which I took them. In the first and second frames nothing seems out of the ordinary. In the third you begin to see a hazy little anomaly to the left of the typewriter. The anomaly is clearer in the fourth photo.
What is it? I don’t know. Like I said before, I’m not really a huge believer in the whole ghostie thing. But I’ve lived long enough to know that there are some things you simply can’t explain.
Adventures in Date Night 
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