It isn’t possible for me to answer this question with just one book, so I’m going to list them all. There may be a few that I have forgotten, but these are the ones I have in my bookcase.
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. This is my favorite novel. Ever. It was required reading in American literature class, and I’m so pleased to have been introduced to this amazing wordsmith Ms. Hurston.
The Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon.
Any and all titles by Bill Bryson.
The Buenos Aires Broken Hearts Club by Jessica Morrison. This is a fantastic novel. I’m not sure if it’s still in print, and I don’t believe the author ever published another novel, which upsets me to this day.
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.
I, Elizabeth by Rosalind Miles.
The General’s Mistress by Jo Graham.
The next three novels are a series by author Diana Norman. Sadly, she has passed away and there will be no more novels in the series. The first book is A Catch of Consequence, followed by Taking Liberties, and last but not least is The Sparks Fly Upward. This author also wrote under the pen name Ariana Franklin. I was today years old when I found that out, so I am excited and will try to get my hands on the novels she wrote under that name.
The next one is the first book in the “Undead” series by Mary Janice Davidson. I thought the first book was the best: “Undead and Unwed.”
Next up is author Katie McAllister (a pen name), with Men in Kilts and Improper English being my favorite titles from her.
Jane Austen – the whole catalogue.
Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy.
Villette by Charlotte Brontë.
Sons and Lovers by DH Lawrence.
Mary Queen of Scotland and the Isles by Margaret George.
Forever Amber, by Kathleen Winsor (this is a particular favorite of mine, though it is rather sordid, especially for the time period in which it was written.)
And the last one is Absalom! Absalom! by William Faulkner. Just kidding. I despise this book. I had to write a paper on it and I hated every second of it. I don’t particularly like Faulkner nor his writing style, and that’s being polite. Faulkner perfected the run-on sentence, and that’s being polite.
That’s my list. What are some novels that you can’t get enough of and read over and over again? Let me know in the comments!
A young deer collided with my mom’s car this morning. We were driving back from the grocery store, trunk full of food, discussing something mundane about the week; something I can’t recall now. We saw one deer dart across the left lane of traffic and we gasped. My mom applied her brakes. We momentarily believed we had escaped what could have been a horrific situation, and then, just as suddenly, two more young deer darted from the brush.
My mom did what she could to slow down, but there was no way to avoid what was to come. The third deer ran head first into the driver’s side of the car. A loud thunk was felt and we pulled over. Already I was sobbing. I did not look back. I COULD NOT look back. My mom was shaking and sobbing. People began to pull over, maybe wondering if they could help us, maybe wondering if we were ok. Some did come up to the car and talk to us, making sure we were all right.
Physically, we were fine. The car was not damaged. Emotionally we were not fine. I am still not fine. That young deer didn’t die right away, it lingered for maybe 10 minutes before dying. Someone – I don’t know who – came and took the deer away. I don’t know if it was the County or a person who was planning on utilizing the meat. I don’t care. A deer died a traumatic death in the middle of the road because of a man-made vehicle that could not stop in time. The people inside that car do not agree with killing of animals for sport, and one of them (me) is adamant against such activities. So, to accidentally kill a deer – or any animal – is, for me, excruciating.
To unintentionally kill a beautiful animal that has every right to live is a horrible, horrible feeling. I took my mother’s hand and held it. And we cried. I cried not only for that young deer in the road, but for all the other deer who meet similar fates, and for others who are cruelly killed for sport.
Finally, the police arrived and said they do not file police reports for deer collisions, and since there was no damage to the car, my mom would not have to fix anything, so need to contact the insurance company.
Deer hair lingers on the driver’s side window, though, and I can’t bear to go over to that side to see the small dent I have been told is there now.
So that’s it. Nothing can be done. We just go on about our day? What about the two other deer? Where did they go? Do they wonder what happened to the young doe?
Are they waiting for her on the other side of the road, off in the distance?
Sorry, I just can’t finish this. I can’t stop crying.
Please, whatever you do today, hug your dogs, your cats, your ferrets, whatever pet you know and love. And hug your people, too. We are all fragile in this life.
I’m not sure why, other than the name of the song, but when I was composing this poem, and looking at this photo of my wooden cross, I thought of the song Take Me To Church by Hozier. The title is a metaphor, which you can probably glean from the lyrics. This is a great song. The official video is worth a watch, but I’m not posting it here, as it tells a story within itself. I posted below a video that displays the lyrics.
Take Me to Church
Song by Hozier
My lover’s got humor She’s the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody’s disapproval I should’ve worshiped her sooner If the Heavens ever did speak She’s the last true mouthpiece Every Sunday’s getting more bleak A fresh poison each week “We were born sick”, you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, “Worship in the bedroom” The only Heaven I’ll be sent to Is when I’m alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well A-, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
If I’m a pagan of the good times My lover’s the sunlight To keep the Goddess on my side She demands a sacrifice Drain the whole sea Get something shiny Something meaty for the main course That’s a fine looking high horse What you got in the stable? We’ve a lot of starving faithful That looks tasty That looks plenty This is hungry work
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
No masters or kings when the ritual begins There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene Only then I am human Only then I am clean Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
Mama Kitty: she was already an adult when she arrived but the vet guessed her age to be around one. So not a very distinguished adult, but an adult. Mama Kitty enjoyed watching her kids grow up. Susie was her constant companion and this annoyed Mama Kitty, but she never let on – except for a warning bite on Susie’s neck. Then she would go back to grooming her. She enjoyed life inside playing games with her kids, and hiding when anyone entered the house. “They’re gone, Mama Kitty, you can come out now,” was something we said often. She enjoyed spending time with me and my mom. She wasn’t a lap cat, but she was lap adjacent. She was sweet and pretty and a good girl. She came to us in 2008 as you remember, and she did well until the fall of 2016. Over the course of a few weeks, she regressed to a state of anxiety and wouldn’t come out of the guestroom. We weren’t sure what was going on, but we put the litter box in there with some food. Bubba brought toys to the doorway in case his mother wanted to play. But she didn’t. She recognized me and my mom, and Susie. But she didn’t remember her boys. We’re not sure what happened to her, the guess was that she was suffering from thyroid problems, possibly cancer. In November 2016 my mom took Mama Kitty to the vet to be euthanized. I could not go. I have never been able to handle watching my pets euthanized and I have had many pets. My mother always took care of it. It was a tremendous loss for all of us. Susie missed her terribly, and we thought she would die. She was bonded to her mother, and that bond was very strong. The weeks were hard for all of us. The dynamic among the cats changed. Susie became more reclusive. She hid from her brothers. But Bubba was her protector from Rafa, just as much as he was an annoyance to Susie. As time went on, the new normal became just that, but with a hole where Mama Kitty used to fit.
Mama Kitty, Fall 2016Nana Kitty and Susie, BFFsMama Kitty watching over us
Bubba:
If a person can have a soulmate in an animal, my soulmate is/was Bubba. The big headed kitten who caused his mother hours of labor stole my heart. I still haven’t gotten it back. He grew from a tiny bean into a fat gray cat. His belly fur was a soft as velvet. Bubba’s hobbies included: teasing his sister, playing with his brother, trying to nurse off his mother for nine years 🙄, watching TV (wildlife shows and tennis matches were his favorite), getting belly rubs, being a pain in the ass in general terms, assisting repairman as if he were a tiny apprentice. Bubba was afraid of no one, and everyone was his friend. When he grew up, he wanted to be a trashman, a UPS man, or any other type of truck driver. The problem with him wanting to succeed in an industry is that he was too lazy to work. There was a dichotomy there, and it was not going to be traversed. Bubba started losing weight gradually. In 2019 we had some tests done and it showed a thyroid condition. Hyperthyroidism is common in cats. There is a medication given to cats as well as humans for this condition. Unfortunately, Bubba was allergic to it. There was nothing else we could do except a total thyroidectomy. The surgeons warned us that cats with hyperthyroidism often have cancer of the thyroid and it could’ve already spread. So we didn’t go through with the surgery. I was devastated, but my holistic nutrition training had me studying for ways to treat his thyroid naturally. I found an online veterinary supply site that sold L-Carnitine. It was a liquid and we mixed it in his food. It wasn’t a miraculous cure. It was biting time. On December 4, 2019 in the early morning. My mom woke me very upset. “Bubba is in the bathroom and he’s dizzy and he doesn’t know what’s going on and we need to take him to the vet right now.” It was 2 AM, I think it was a Wednesday. We got him in the car. He was wailing; terrified. Bubba has sat with me often when I had vertigo spells. He would be right by my side the whole time. And I felt like I was failing him because I couldn’t fix it. He was too young to die. We walked in and they assessed him. His heart rate was well above what it should be. They said he would have a heart attack if they didn’t get his heart rate under control. There was nothing they could do. They came in and gave him some sedatives and the euthanasia dose. I pet, cried, and told him I loved him until he died. Then my world fell apart. It was not the first loss, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was so hard. And as I write this, I’m crying. I love that cat, and I always will.
BubbaUnder thereBest buds.You may hold up my head. 🩶Bubbie.
Rafa:
Rafa was all black. We had a black cat before, a long time ago. Almost in another life. Rafa was gentle, clumsy, and he was a lap cat. Next to Susie, he was my mom’s favorite cat. He was easy-going and played with his brother. He did not like Susie. When they were little they got along fine, but as they got older, their relationship became strained. When Mama Kitty became ill, Rafa wanted to attack her. After she died, Bubba became Susie’s protector. He would sleep at the top of the stairs just outside of the guest room where Susie would be sleeping and he would guard her. He would stop Rafa from being able to come up the stairs to get Susie. The boys got along fine otherwise. After my mom died, it was just me, Rafa and Suz. You can imagine the situation I was put in. I was in the middle of two fighting siblings. They never did warm up to each other. In early 2021, I noticed Rafa was losing weight. I kept an eye on him for a few months. He started to develop bumps under his skin. I suspected he had lymphoma, but I wasn’t sure. I just knew that he was 13 years old and was declining in health. I was not going to put him through what Bubba went through, so I found a vet practice who would come out to the home and euthanize in a place of comfort for the cat. By September I realized his time was soon. So on September 11, 2021, I held Rafa as they administered a sedative. I told him I loved him and that he was a good boy and that he would go see his brother and his mommy and his Grammy (my mom). I cried so much. And I left the room before they could euthanize him because I didn’t want to see him that way. And so it went.
Silly vampurrPrecious guy The purrfect portrait
Now it is me and Susie. For now. She will turn 16 in April. I cherish each day that I have with her. I could not have imagined back in 2008 when they were born how much things would have changed by now. Everyone gone. When it is her time, she will go be reunited with her Mama Kitty. And they all will wait for me there.
To celebrate Valentine’s Day, this entire post will be devoted to the color pink. Pink is my second favorite color, although from this post, you probably would assume it is my first or only favorite color. Anyway, back to pink. Maybe also the artist, Pink. And there’s a song I’m thinking of that may be pertinent to this post – where are my Aerosmith fans? Happy Valentine’s Day, friends. I hope this day is all that you wish for. And if you don’t like this day, I feel you. Guess what tomorrow is? A new day. It won’t be Valentine’s Day. Plus, ✨candy✨ is 75% off tomorrow. Win!
Hi, it’s me. I thought I’d introduce myself. Not gonna lie, I’m in love with this pink wig. Pink heart lights adorn a plant Up close and personal with a peony bloomRead it againBleeding hearts Have you ever seen the inside of a hibiscus?African violet blooms with flower petals in the shape of hearts? Are you kidding me?Pink zinniaIt’s the 16th anniversary of this fine holiday😉 – yes, this was a real print ad Butterfly on Weeping Cherry tree blossomsActual photo of an mini lavender rose – it is not a painting, I promiseHappy Valentine’s Day friends. Thanks for being here.
The following “spicy” story is my response to Kevin’s No Theme Thursday 2/8/24 challenge . Thanks for the amazing, inspirational art, Kevin!
Art by Kevin
Ibiza, Spain.
I walked out to the sea’s edge, dressed in my borrowed costume, the frilly hem wet from the small waves crashing along the shore. The light was perfect. I could hear the party revelers behind me, enjoying the return of their famous son, if only for a few weeks. I knew he was back there, waiting, probably watching me as I danced, and my heart filled with joy and contentment. I closed my eyes and continued to twirl, enveloped by the scent of the sensual, beckoning night-blooming flowers, the sounds of faint music and twinkling laughter, the whispers of lovers floating on a zephyr, and the assurance of an equally sublime day to follow this. They were all palpably present, and they were magical.
✨
The next evening…
We dance in the Square, under the twinkling strands of coiled lights that run from the store fronts across the way to our old world, charming hotel behind us, crisscrossing back again, forming a cozy, shimmering roof over our heads. The tiny white lights cast a warm glow onto the bright white sidewalk beneath our feet, the latter of which have no agenda other than to move with each other, and to the live music being performed in the distance. Older people stroll by, glance and smile at us, knowing him, of course, and wondering about me, the curvy, auburn-haired vixen with an American accent. He’s not a very good slow dancer, nor am I, and our height difference is appallingly noticeable, but when we dance, we laugh, and when we laugh, well…we love. And so it is: I love to dance with him.
We sway with the music as I feel him take my hand and turn my palm face up, anticipation showing itself as shivers up my spine. His head down, hair falling into his face, his smoldering eyes holding mine as he lands his sensual mouth in the center of my palm. His lips linger there for several seconds, so I feel the full effect of his kiss; I draw in a quick breath of surprise. Every nerve ending I have a screaming out to him, “Me! Me! Me! Kiss me next!” He must hear them, for his lips then travel to my wrist, where he opens his mouth slightly, and I feel the tiniest tip of his tongue dart onto my pulse point. “Oh, my,” I mutter as I breathe in another rush of air. He smiles against my flesh, I can feel his teeth on my arm as he does. He nips the skin on the inside of my arm so gently, it feels like a child’s tentative touch. By the time he reaches the inside of my elbow, I have had three shivers cascade up and down my back and have weak legs that threaten to give way. “Max…” I breathe as I stare, dumbfounded, at the top of his shiny mink-colored head, darker still in the night. His hair smells like that wonderfully fragrant shampoo I bought yesterday, and it makes me want to bury my face in it. “Shh…” he orders me and continues on his determined way. “You are trying to make me turn into a puddle of piddle, aren’t you?” He smiles again, this time against my neck, before attempting to produce what feels as if it would be the biggest love mark in the world (we’re talking Guinness Book of World Records). “Don’t make semi-permanent marks on me, Maximillian,” I warn him sternly. Then I whimper.
My voice fails me, but my thoughts rail against my skull rapidly. “You’re funny,” I manage to giggle, before he cups his broad hands around my face, and landed a decisive, almost possessive kiss on my mouth. It is rare that he kisses me this way; usually it’s not unless he hasn’t seen me in a while, or if he’s about to leave me for a while. My mind reels. I don’t know where he learned any of this, but I definitely approve. I think.
I notice now that he’s got full, dark lips in the muted light, swollen from kissing me so hard, shining with the remnants of my lip gloss. His eyes are expectant, and maybe a bit satisfied with himself, no doubt because he can see the look at my eyes.
“You like?”
I nod slightly, but nothing more
“Do you want me to do it again?”
I nod again, weakly.
He reaches for my other arm, but I stop him.
“No. You can do whatever it is you’ve just done, and yes, please, but not here. Surely you must realize the effect your mouth has on me. “
He smugly grins. “Maybe I do.”
I lean up on my tippy toes and run my hand through his hair to move it away from his ear. “Let’s go into the hotel now, Max. I really want to go now, don’t you?” I whisper in the nape of his neck. He nods and laughs once, suddenly going quiet.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he replies.
We make the short journey to the hotel then climb the stairs rather than take the elevator up to our floor. I feel a warm hand sweep under my dress to my calf. I continue to climb the stairs quickly, almost tripping.
“Wait.”
“What?” I turn, alarmed by the severe tone of his voice. When I look at him, his eyes are blue, and piercing into mine. “Oh, Maximillian, please don’t look at me like that – not here.”
“Go to the roof,” he says and moves closer, staring into me with those eyes.
“Go to the roof,” he repeats, this time with more authority.
“But I thought we were going inside.”
“First, let’s go to the roof,” he says gently, and I glance at his full lips and messy hair, and I walk myself right on up to the roof. I’m such a sucker.
“So now what?” I ask gently as I cross my arms over my chest to shield myself from the chilliness. It’s windy on the roof and I don’t want to be here. I throw a glance to the twinkling lights below, and to the stars above, and despite a 1000 watt desire to be snuggled in 600 thread count sheets with a 200 pound man, the view really is quite lovely. Alongside me is my own modern pirate, dark and brooding, and for the love of God (who/what/where), if He’s in attendance, is directly across the street shaking his head at us. And why can’t Max control the amount of testosterone he’s sending out?
Max moves closer and reaches out to touch my face; his hand is shaking, which I find peculiar. Just beyond him, I see the cathedral, illuminated by a spotlight aimed at the blue lead glass.
“Max, no.”
“Why?” He mumbles into my neck as I shut my eyes tightly to block out the church, as much as to savor his mouth on my skin.
“God is watching.” I feel silly as soon as I say it, and I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything for several seconds, he just keeps tracing the side of my face with his finger.
“God watches us always, whatever we do,” he tells me, like I need schooling.
“Yes, I realize that, but – maybe He doesn’t want to see us out here, on the roof, getting our freak on,” I attempt to explain.
“Why not?” he asks, now tracing my lips with his finger.
“Do you love me?” he asks bluntly.
“Yes. Like I love summertime and sleeping and books and dark chocolate.”
He snickers. “And I love you like I love ice cream, PlayStation, and tennis.” I have to smile at his childlike simplicity; to be ranked among those items must mean good things for my standing.
He leans against the stone wall and takes a deep breath. “Do you want to know what I think?” He asks me casually.
“Yes, I do.” I’m still studying him closely, wondering what he will say next. I never know.
“Well, I think love is God and God is love. That building is only one symbol for God; there are many others,” he says softly as he nods in the direction of the church. “The sea is God, the sky – when I am with you like this, or when you are in my arms, I feel God in these moments also, because my heart is full of love for you. Is that wrong or bad?” He asks it, but he is sure of his beliefs, so it is really only for my sake.
I understand now. My limbs feel weak, I need to lie down and my heart wants to dart out of my chest, but I get it. “You brought me here, to make love on the roof, to show the universe what our love is like; to share what we have, because you’re sure love cannot be wrong, even though there are obstacles we must overcome, yes?”
“Yes, in a way, that is part of it.” I guess I still don’t have it precisely right, and it seems like he wants to keep his reasons to himself. That’s all right; I think I understand enough. He reaches for me; I nestle into him, feeling like a child learning a lesson I should’ve already known.
“And also to share with my family who have died and my ancestors who came to this island long ago.”
“Pirates?” I ask as I rest my cheek against his chest, feeling the smooth, heated cotton scented with love. (Love is also the blazing heat of a man and his scent, and the effect of it on a woman who is under his spell.)
“Maybe” he teases. “And maybe your ancestral people are here too, or they come to visit you sometimes.” I feel his hand brush my hair and hear his voice vibrating in his chest as he talks; it transports me back to times long ago, leaning on my father’s chest, listening to his voice rumble, feeling the gradual pull of sleep tug at my tiny eyelids. It happens even now as I’m associating that memory with the present.
“Max, do you want them all to see? I mean, some things are private.”
“But it is love between us, and all the people who have come before have done what we do. It is nothing new. Besides, they see us anyway, if we are on this roof, in bed, or sitting at dinner with everyone else.”
“I kind of hope they shut their eyes at certain times.” He laughs quietly and squeezes me tighter.
“Maybe they do, but God does not.” He turns my face to his. “Are you ready to go to bed now, or do you want to talk more?” He searches my eyes and I want to get lost in his. Well, his everything.
“Yes, I want to go now.” As he takes my hand and leads me to the stairwell, I steal a glance at the blue lead window, some 50 feet away. At that moment, the spotlights flicker out and jolt back on almost immediately.
“Max. God just winked at me.” He gave me one of my own looks of exasperation executed very well, and we giggled all the way to the bed.
✨
This was a scene that came to me as an inkling of a sequel to my first novel, Love Match, tweaked a bit for this challenge. The second book has not yet come to fruition, but I hope you enjoyed this snippet.
Can you share a positive example of where you’ve felt loved?
Text me when you get there. Do you want some food? Do you need anything? Hurry, come in, it’s cold outside. Are you hungry? Do you need a hug? I saw this and thought of you. I knew that would make you laugh. Be careful, people drive like maniacs.
“It's Amy,” I said. 