Easter in Thessaloniki, Greece

As Easter approaches, I'm entertaining nice thoughts about past holidays:  the smiles . . . a little something that stuck in the mind's eye -- a panoply of tulips near the front steps to my mother's house and when I opened the door the aroma of good things cooking in the kitchen flooded my senses. Yes, that's what happy memories do. They flood the senses and wrap the soul in warm fuzzies.

Such is the feeling now. Even though it's cold outside and spring's a no-show, I feel warmed and blessed by so much. So many good things. From the Hallmark angel my niece gave me to family trips and gatherings to an Easter in another country that was also very, very nice.

Thessaloniki, Greece.

In 2004, my husband and I spent Easter in Thessaloniki. It's a traveler's story for a lazy afternoon as to how this came to be, but, suffice it to say, we were delighted it did. Even if we aren't Greek Orthodox and even if Easter's dates float among the Christian faiths, it didn't matter. Oh, but life's roller coaster can take some magical turns. I'd like to share one of those turns. Come on. Don't be shy. Put on your virtual Nike's. We've got some hoofing to do before we get to what infused the senses . . .

With about a million residents, Thessaloniki sprawls from the Aegean Sea to the mountains. (Mount Olympus is in the background.) Alongside the sea is a corniche where one can walk and browse shops, stop at one of the many outdoor coffee shops or restaurants or get an ice cream cone and just walk and walk. (Wikipedia)

The port is huge, one of the largest in Europe.  (Wikipedia)

Our hotel was in Aristotelous Square (formerly known as Alexander the Great Square), in the hotel to the left. (Wikipedia) Prior to Easter, people packed the square, in a hurry to complete pre-Easter errands. Others fortified themselves with cups of coffee or something to eat in coffee houses and seafood restaurants on either side of the Square prior to entering the melee.

Not far from the Square were more coffee houses and restaurants along the corniche. In one direction, the corniche led to the White Tower . . . 

The White Tower is the city's signature landmark. It is one of 15 UNESCO World Heritage sites in Thessaloniki, also considered Greece's cultural center by many. Love that corniche! (Wikipedia)

A cup of coffee and an ice cream later and we circle back. This ruin (forum and baths) isn't far from the city center and was discovered by accident in the 1960s. Whether in Thessaloniki or elsewhere, it seems like everywhere one goes in Greece there are the most fantastic archeological treasures.

Also nearby: the Old City (Ano Polis) and narrow, cobblestone streets and tucked away shops. The Old City was a beehive of pre-holiday activity, especially the flower market. oh but the arrangements and bouquets were amazing. Floral scents and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and the displays in confectioners' windows stirred the senses beyond words. (Wikipedia) 

But regardless of where we went, from the moment we stepped into our hotel lobby, Red Easter Eggs were on counters in every shop everywhere one went. No one I saw took an egg, but everyone was careful not to bump the bowl of eggs at the counter. It was amazing to stop for coffee and see the bowl of red eggs or go into shop after shop and there they were, magnificent, absolutely glorious in their simplicity. I would later spend another Easter in a Christian Orthodox country with the same custom of displaying red eggs, but this display wasn't on the magnitude found in Thessaloniki. I later learned that Greece is known for its Easter celebrations, and many Greek-Americans trek to Greece in order to be there for the holiest day on the Orthodox calendar. (Note: Commercial dyes exist to color the eggs, but many prefer to boil the eggs in a bit of vinegar added to water that includes the skins of yellow (Spanish) onions.) (Food Network)

Within easy walking distance of our hotel was the Panagia Chalkeon Church. When we went inside, our eyes popped. Strewn on the floor, as if a carpet, were bay leaves. Hundreds and hundreds of bay leaves that rustled beneath our feet, each crunch releasing more of its fragrant aroma. The bay leaves came from gnarled trees outside the church, to the left, that were said to be from the time of St. Paul's ministry. Scholars say he wrote his first letter to the Apostles from Thessaloniki.

I'll never forget the red Easter eggs, Orthodoxy's symbol of the blood of Christ and the re-birth, in a simple bowl in an old church with bay leaves on the floor.

Tick Tock; Tick Tock

My grandmother kept her Longines wristwatch in its original box in her top dresser drawer. When we kids saw the watch on her slim wrist, we figured she was either going to the doctor or to visit a certain cousin. She complained doctors didn't see patients when they said they would and this cousin ran at the mouth so much she was going to talk her way out of heaven. Although I don't know about the heaven part, my grandmother was right about the chatty cousin and doctors who overbooked patients (even Back Then).

My mother kept the Longines wristwatch she rarely wore in a glass case on top of her dresser. We kids knew not to touch it, that something awful would happen--perhaps our hands would fall off or some such. Since my mother didn't raise her voice or threaten dire consequences, just said 'Don't touch,' I never quite figured out how it worked that we didn't touch her watch. But we didn't.

My grandmother called her Longines with the diamond chips around the crystal a wristwatch. My mother called her Longeines with slightly bigger diamonds a watch. We kids picked up on the generational nuance and knew when to use each word, not that we did so very often.

None of us kids had a watch. There was little reason to monitor time. School ended when it did, and regardless of the homework, books usually closed at the same time each school night. We'd watched a bit of television, take our baths, and off we'd go to bed. Weekends opened up--Friday night football, water skiing, perhaps a trip to Baton Rouge or the house filled with family and friends (hopefully with kids our ages). But Sunday night meant back to the books to make sure the homework was just right before going to bed.

My grandfather wore his watch when he left the farm for various meetings and the like; my father wore his watch to work during the week but not on weekends. Their watches had big round faces and were the polar opposite of dainty. Neither man had a habit of constantly checking his watch.

I like watches and can't pass a display window without stopping. Not that I want to purchase these watches. There's just something about how jewelers decorate a basic timepiece that appeals. More on the intangible level, I admit to pushing the clock to accomplish goals, something I've given thought to lately.

Actually, a sepia-tone photograph of my grandparents I came across in a box (while looking for something else) triggered these thoughts. My grandparents are sitting on a bench in El Paso, Texas, very nicely dressed in the 1920s fashion of the day, but neither's wearing a watch.

My grandmother used to fuss at me when I got too busy. "What are you rushing to?" she'd ask with a chuckle.

I had no answer for her then and would have no answer now, except to say that this afternoon I heard a bird chirping its heart out and stepped outside to find this feathered Adele. One chirp led to another until I finally spotted a Cardinal at the very top of a still-bare oak tree. I don't know how long I listened to its serenade. I didn't have my watch on. But the memory is forever.

Southern Writers Magazine

When Susan Reichert, the editor of Southern Writers Magazine, asked if she could include "Rings of Trust" in the Magnolia Corner of the magazine's March/April issue, I was over the moon!

I hitched a Tinker Bell ride on the stars when she added that "Remy Broussard's Christmas" and "Rings of Trust" would be included in the magazine's online bookstore. And, I'm going to be a contributor to the magazine's blog, Suite T. (I'd previously contributed a post last July). You know I'm excited!

Celebration Time: 99 cents on Amazon! Click HERE

Southern Writers Magazine is the gold standard for us grits-loving Southerners. However, the magazine not only has a solid following in the South but a national reach.

With so many people on the move these days, one can always touch 'home' or see what 'home' is like if you've got a WIP with a Southern setting. If you'd like to check out the magazine's site, go HERE. From blogs to magazine submissions to writing contests to seminars, there's a lot going on.

Now, none of this would have happened if it weren't for your support. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. Without a doubt, some of the nicest, most caring people in the world are in Blogville. XOXOXO

Celebration Time: 99cents on Amazon! Click HERE

Heart to Heart

Hub and I have been walking around with little smiles on our faces. Our trip to Pinehurst, North Carolina, was as perfect as it gets on this earth. The sun brushed away that wintery cold and grey and stood tall in a gorgeous Carolina blue sky. Family members from Charlotte and Duke University brought  their special sunshine.

Pinehurst did the rest--oh, what a beautiful, historic place with a lineage going back to 1895. Even a non-golfer like me recognized the national and international golfing greats whose autographed photos lined corridors. And, as it turned out, Course Number 2 was the PGA (Professional Golfers Association) course the pros played in tournaments. In 2014, the Men's U. S. Open and the Women's U. S. Open will be at Pinehurst. Yep, Course Number 2 will be at center stage. This is the first time both tournaments will be at the same location.

(I drove the cart on Course Number 3, the one the pros warm up on prior to tournaments. But carts aren't permitted on Course Number 2, so hub and his nephew had a choice: carry their clubs and ponder over which one to use or enjoy the services of a caddy. They chose the latter and off they went, happy as could be.)

While others golfed, I found a comfy chair in a seating area near the verandah and opened my laptop, once again focused on un-doing the mess I'd made with my header. As it turned out, a personal assistant to a Baptist minister at Pinehurst for a golfing weekend took pity on me. Forty-five minutes later, he'd discovered the problem (I'd clicked something I shouldn't have) and, wheeee, my header returned. The photo above is one I took at Audubon House in St. Francisville, Louisiana. If you've ever stopped to listen to a bird chirp, you have a link to James Audubon. When spring gets a bit nearer, I'll post about him.

Then, more good news: Rachel Morgan (Morgan Media) made the candle flicker on the cover (which she'd also designed last year) for Remy Broussard's Christmas, on my sidebar. Wow! Isn't it great? I'm in total awe as to how Rachel does this stuff. But she makes the computer sing! She truly does. Thank you, Rachel, for hearting Remy!

So, on this Valentine's Day, there are so many hearts, but not because they beat only today, but because there are so many hearts that are good every day. Yes, there are problems in the world--always have been, always will be--but, in reality, there is more goodness in the world. We just need to pause now and then to hear the heartbeat.

(Photo source: Wikipedia)

"Rings of Trust" Launches Today!

Today is the official launch of "Rings of Trust." Wheeee!

During the formatting process, I joined Publishers' Marketplace and had somewhat of a mini-launch. Blog hits skyrocketed.

Word spread. I sold some books, even got some five-star reviews. *blushes*

However, this remains an unconventional launch. (Previous posts!) I'd appreciate any help you can lend spreading the word. From the heart, thank you!

In "Rings of Trust," fear reigns along a sleepy bayou road in rural South Louisiana in 1953. The Civil Rights Movement has taken root in the consolidated South. Not everyone wants to return to the shadowed past the Ku Klux Klan espouses.

And so it is with David Broussard, a decorated U. S. Marine who's returned home from Iwo Jima to learn he's in combat with the Klan. David Broussard believes he fought for certain principles during World War II and digs in. What follows is a series of twists and turns that takes the reader into a South the tourist rarely, if ever, saw.

"Rings of Trust" is a novella with a hard edge and a redemptive heart. The ending will bring a smile to your face. No, the Klan's not obliterated. But the redemptive heart beats louder and stronger.

"Rings of Trust" is available on Amazon (Kindle Edition) and Smashwords. The word count is 32,080. The price is $2.99. Through January 15, royalties will go to the Wounded Warrior Foundation. Last year, we donated $500.00. "Remy Broussard's Christmas" (see sidebar) didn't sell quite that many books, so we added a bit. This year, we hope to donate more. It's a cause near and dear to my Marine husband's heart and mine.

Note: Rings of Trust contains profanity and violence (but not gory violence). Parental discretion is advised.

Cover Reveal: "Rings of Trust"

The day that seemed so far in the future is here, as in, Right Now. I'm very excited to share with you the cover for Rings of Trust, my second novella in the Remy's Bayou Road series. Rachel Morgan (Morgan Media) designed the cover. Rachel does gorgeous work. I'm beyond thrilled!

You may have met Remy Broussard last year in the first novella, Remy Broussard's Christmas. Since this holiday story is on Amazon, Smashwords, and Nook, I don't want to spoil the good cheer, except to say that Remy is also in Rings of Trust, but not as the main character this time. His South Louisiana world along the bayou road has expanded.

Remy's parents, David and Arlette, have a problem: one of the leaders in the Ku Klux Klan doesn't want the Broussard family living across the road from him. Why? David Broussard, a decorated Marine Corps veteran who fought on Iwo Jima, has a mechanic's business he operates out of a shed in his back yard. Some of his customers are black sharecroppers. It's 1953. The Klan doesn't want black people coming to white people's houses except to clean the house or work in the fields. David Broussard doesn't give a damn what the Klan wants. It's not what he fought for on Iwo Jima.

When the story opens, the Klan's lynched Moses Dubois. Rumors spread the Klan's coming after David Broussard next. Since the Klan operates in secrecy, no one knows quite sure whom to trust. But something has to be done to reign in the Klan and stop the violence. The challenge tests David Broussard's idealism and ignites Arlette's sense of self in a rural community where Southern Aristocracy butts heads with noblesse oblige.

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In a nod to the reader, the dialogue in Rings of Trust has a modified Cajun accent, but utilizes the fractured English representative of the era when appropriate to the character. Prior to the story, background information is in the "Da Lingua Franka" section, followed by a glossary of Cajun French words used to flavor the story. The "Historical References" section provides very condensed information about historical events referenced in the story.

* * * * *
Rings of Trust contains profanity and violence (but not gory violence). Parental discretion is advised.

* * * * *

Rings of Trust launches next week, probably on Monday. At that time, I will put a button on my sidebar to link to. I'm most appreciative for any help in spreading the word as this is not the usual launch, unfortunately.  Formatting is just about complete. Rachel Morgan, who is getting married on the 16th, has been most gracious as circumstances on my end have held up the process. Rachel, I can't thank you enough. You are truly an angel!

A Little Bit of Dis; A Little bit of Dat

I have a friend from New England who insists she doesn't have an accent. She complains about what's left of the southern drawl in Northern Virginia. A few years ago, we took a chick trip to visit a mutual friend in North Carolina. Traffic was heavy on the Interstate. We decided to meander side rides around the congestion. It was a good call. Beautiful scenery, lots of Americana that warms the heart.

We stopped at a mom and pop diner for lunch. A lovely young lady asked my friend what she'd like to order (from the menu). My friend turned to me. "What did she say?" she asked.

I translated English into English. My friend told the young lady what she'd like. The young lady turned to me, a question mark in her eyes. I translated English into English. Ah, yes, the military's nomadic life hub and I had led had enabled me to become multi-lingual. Of course I still have my southern accent. It's just not as pronounced as it used to be.

When I go home to South Louisiana, I hear the same thing happening there. By 'hear,' I mean the Cajun French accent that was once as thick as drip-ground coffee. The accent's mellower now, sometimes a mere hint of what it used to be--to my ears. Tourists still have a blank look at times before the translation kicks in. As do Louisianians from, say, Shreveport in the state's northwest corner. We're one state divided by a common language, to paraphrase Mr. Winston Churchill.

When French-speaking, Catholic Acadians got booted out of Canada's Maritime provinces in the 1700s for political and religious reasons, about 4,000 settled in 22 of Louisiana's 64 parishes (counties). These 22 parishes are in South Louisiana and comprise the heart of what is commonly referred to as 'Cajun Country.'

Cajun Country is said to encompass the three B's: from Beaumont, Texas, to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. The best shrimp po'boy I've ever had in my life was a couple of years ago in Bay St. Louis. Can taste it now, yum!

But back to when the Cajuns set up shop in South Louisiana. Spain had gained control of the rather large area from France (most of which later turned into the Louisiana Purchase, back again to France). The Cajuns didn't seem to mind, though, as French was the dominant language.

However, as the United States expanded and the Port of New Orleans grew, more and more English speakers moved into the region. Out of economic necessity, Cajuns learned English. Since French lacked the plosive /th/ sound, 'this' turned into 'dat' and so on. Because of translation problems and a literacy problem common to the region in general, a fractured English emerged that many linguists consider a dialect: "I's goin' ta buy dat" or "Taday's hot, hot." Modifiers often repeated.

Although Louisiana has some of the lowest education statistics in the U.S., great strides have been made. I blogged about some of these achievements in the A-Z Challenge.

However, many linguists don't understand why this dialect remains. What with cable TV, people traveling more, the influx of job-seekers to Louisiana, Cajun English remains. Make no mistake about it, a South Louisianan can drop textbook English and slip into the dialect with ease. I do. Why? I honestly don't know, save that it gives a conversation a deeper bond; perhaps it's part of my comfort zone, the culture I grew up in. Cajun English does not have a Southern drawl. Cajun English is spoken very fast. Your ear's gotta keep up or huh?

The setting for "Rings of Trust,"my upcoming second novella, is near Baton Rouge, in Cajun Country, but influenced by Southern drawl creep from North Louisiana and nearby Mississippi.

Yep, I took the plunge and wrote the dialogue as my ear heard it, with a nod to the reader. Too much of this stuff is too difficult to read.

In a couple of weeks, "Rings of Trust" will launch. I hope to share my linguistic comfort zone with you.