Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .

Tuesday, September 28, 2021

Troubled by Bubbles

My brother and me.
I'm the criminal on the right.
Okay. I confess. I stole something. 
I have no defense. I did it. I'm guilty.
I was four. Is that an excuse . . .?
Mom and I were doing the weekly grocery shopping. A very exciting time for both of us. 
Well, for me, at any rate. 
We had driven in from the ranch in the family's late-model Chrysler (Dad always drove a Chrysler), which was an adventure in itself.There were no seatbelts. They hadn't been invented yet. Apparently no one had yet seen the wisdom in fastening small, easily-launched bodies into a safe place while hurtling down sketchy gravel roads at 60 miles per hour in a two ton vehicle.
My mom used to hold out her arm when she applied the brakes.
I was safe.
We pulled up to the curb across the street from the grocery store and proceeded inside.
The check-out desk, usually manned by a woman, stood in the center of the store, surrounded by the magical world of the grocery.
Directly behind the desk was a bank of cubicles, in which one could find the most amazing things of all . . . the penny candies.
It was there that I would park myself, after the cart got too full to hold me.
I admit it was difficult to leave the treasures that my mom had been adding to the cart. Treasures like canned peas. Baked beans. Tinned salmon.
The all-important Spam.
But I found comfort in just looking at the myriad possibilities behind that main desk.
A whole family of chocolate. Straws of sweet, flavoured powder. Licorice and JuJubes formed into the most amazing shapes. Wax figures which could be nipped and sucked dry of their wonderful, sweet juices. Lick-M-Aid. Lollipops. Suckers. Bubble gum in two sizes of colourful balls. The choices were truly endless to a four-year-old.
And my mom's purse offered the gateway to this bounty.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I ran to her. "Mom? Can I have a bubblegum?"
"Not today, dear."
What? What had she said? Had she really used those three words? I stared at her, aghast. Did she realize that her small utterance had shattered my hopes and dreams. Had barred me forever from the bliss that all of that candy represented?
My life was officially over.
At four years old.
It couldn't be.
"But Moooom!"
"Not today, dear. I don't want you to be eating any candy before dinner."
What kind of excuse was that?
"Just one?" I turned. My eye was caught by the bin full of bright orange bubble gums. The big ones with the little, rough bumps on the surface.
And the total deliciousness inside.
I pointed. "Just a bubble gum? I'll eat my dinner. I promise."
A smile from my long-suffering parent. "No, dear. Not today."
Huh. I pouted for a moment. Then smiled. Well, we'll just see about that.
Mom brought her purchases to the desk and she and the woman behind it were distracted as they added and bagged.
I would just take one gum. No one would ever know. My hand crept into the bin of orange bubble gums, wrapped itself around one tempting morsel and popped it into my mouth.
Ha. Mission accomplished.
I began the wonderfully arduous task of breaking down the hard, candy shell.
Mom finished paying for her groceries and was following the young boy carrying them to our car.
I fell in happily behind her.
The boy set the bags in the trunk, smiled at my mom and me and left.
Mom opened the door for me and I jumped inside. Still chewing.
She got in. And took a deep breath.
Then her head whipped around and she skewered me with a gimlet gaze. "Diane! Is that gum?!"
I froze. How did she know? The gum was in my mouth, completely hidden. I decided then. Moms were definitely magic.
Clever prevarication was in order.
"Ummm. No?"
"Diane, did you steal a bubblegum?"
I stared at her. Moms could see through cheeks!
My head drooped. "Yes."
She sighed. "Diane, you know that stealing is wrong, don't you."
I lifted my head. Tears were already starting to pool. "Yes."
"What should we do about it?"
Tears started to slide down my cheeks. "I don't know."
Mom opened her purse and reached inside. Then she handed me a penny. "You will have to go back inside and pay for it."
I stared at her in horror. Go inside? Face my victim? Confess my guilt?
"I - I don't want to."
"But you have to."
I sat there, my four-year-old brain working frantically to find another solution.
Any other solution.
Finally, I sighed. Mom was right. I would have to go inside and pay for my ill-gotten bubblegum. I opened the door and got out.
For a moment, I stood there on the curb, wiping my cheeks and staring across the street at the grocery store. Which, incidentally, had assumed the proportions of the Mississippi (whatever that was) since Mom and I had left.
Suddenly the orange deliciousness in my mouth didn't taste very good. I spit it out into the gutter and looked down at it. It still had bits of the hard candy shell embedded in the softer gum. I hadn't even broken it in.
I sighed and looked at Mom through the window of the car.
She nodded towards the store.
I started across the widest street ever known to man, feet dragging.
At long last, I reached the store and went up the steps.
The door jingled happily. The woman behind the desk turned and looked at me. I approached slowly and tried twice to produce a voice. Finally, "I forgot to pay for a bubblegum," I said, sliding the penny across the counter towards her.
She nodded and looked at me gravely.
"Thank you, dear," she said. "You know it's not right to steal, don't you?"
I nodded.
"Don't do it again."
I shook my head.
"Thank-you for being honest."
Another nod and I was free. I ran back to the car.
Mom didn't lecture. She knew I had learned my lesson.
I still love gum balls. Especially the orange ones with the little rough bumps. But every time I chew one, I remember being four years old.
And gently—but effectively—learning about being honest.

Monday, September 27, 2021

Saying Something Stupid


Could not think what to write and so I Googled: Questions: Dumb,

A list of them came up. Just stick with me, I’ll tell you some,


1.     If an ambulance is on its way to help when help is due,

And it knocks someone else down, does it stop to help them too?


2.     If e-lec-tric-it-y is caused by small e-lec-t-rons,

does it follow that morality is caused by small morons?


3.     They believe you when you say: Four billion stars. (I bet!)

but check with doubting fingers when you say: This paint is wet?


4.     Why is it when you drive—and looking for place unknown,

you turn down the volume on the blameless radio?


5.     If you have to “put your two cents in”. (This bothers me a bit.)

but it’s just a “penny for your thoughts”? Where’s that last cent fit?

If your cabbie drives you backward—to get from A to B.

does that mean when you get there that it’s he who owes mo-ney?

Why do people say they “slept just like a babe”? (It’s true!)

when babes are known wake up nearly every hour or two?


8.     If an orange is orange, then I think that this should follow,

That a lime be called a green or a lemon called a yellow?


9.     If, in a published dictionary, a word’s somehow misspelled

For those of us then reading it . . . how would we ever tell?

 If veggie oil’s from veggies and all corn oil’s made from corn. 

Where does baby oil come from, friends? And should someone be warned?

Why, when your remote control is dead as dead can be . . .

you push harder on the buttons. When you know, could you tell me?

When women don mascara (and most do it round their eyes . . .)

why do their mouths hang open? The result is a surprise?

And Donald Duck. He wears a towel when from a bath he steps

But’s never seen in pants. Is it to hide his ducktraceps?

While on the topic of bath towels, we use them once we’re clean,

so why the frequent washing? (‘Cause we don’t know where they’ve been?)

When most of us, on waking, look exactly like a troll?

why on earth would it be called our ‘Beauty Sleep? How droll.

Why is it that the gentle rays of sun lighten our hair,

but darken exposed skin? (Okay, I’ll stop and leave you there.)

Photo Credit: Karen of
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So KarenCharlotteMimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

I think I'll struggle just a bit
It's something I don't get...
But we'll tackle 'GOLF' next week,
Don't miss our Tête-à-tête

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...
Ask a Stupid Question (September 27) TODAY!
Golf (October 4)
Throw a Party (October 11) (Also Canadian Thanksgiving!)
Meatloaf Appreciation (October 18)
Opera (October 25)
New Lease (November 1)
Puns (November 8) 
Clean Out Your Refrigerator (November 15) 
Your favorite record (or) best stereo or record player ever (November 22)
Chia Pets (November 29)

Sunday, September 26, 2021

Second BEST

It's that wonderful day of the month when I get to gather and share the Best of Boomer Bloggers!
I still have to pinch myself that I am included with these amazing writers!

First up is Carol Cassara:

Another easy but oh-so-scrumptious recipe from Carol Cassara at Carol A. Cassara, Writer, this week, suitable for company or a night in. Find it right here!

*  *  *

Next is Laurie Stone:

Fall’s here in New England and Laurie Stone at Laurie Stone Writes couldn’t be happier. Yes, spring is lovely and summer’s fun. Even old man winter has his icy grandeur. But nothing compares to autumn’s beauty and majesty. And though this season comes at a price, she still loves it for these five reasons….

*  *  *
And Rebecca Olkowski:

Has the pandemic or another reason made you feel socially isolated? It’s a problem many people are having especially older people. Rebecca Olkowski, with, talks about social isolation and how, if you are not careful, it can turn into loneliness or lack of confidence.

*  *  *

Then Meryl Baer:

Some of us want to experience endless summers. Meryl Baer of Beach Boomer Bulletin is not one of them. She lives in a land with four seasons. The transformation from summer to fall has begun, as she describes in this week’s post, Concert in the park…noting seasonal change.

*  *  *

And Tom Sightings:

Tom from Sightings Over Sixty got a phone call last week from an old neighbor. The woman asked how they were doing, wished his wife a happy belated birthday. And then the woman blurted out: "We just sold our house!" Check out What Do They Do Now? to see the rest of the story. 

*  *  *

 With Rita Robison:

Consumers spend about $47 a month on four streaming platforms such as Netflix, AppleTV+, and Hulu, reports Rita R. Robison, consumer and personal finance journalist, in her article “Did You Enjoy the Emmys Sunday?” Check out Robison’s article to see what she recommends consumers do with all those subscriptions.

*  *  *

And ME, Diane Stringam Tolley!

By this point in Diane's life, getting older has become less a surprise and more a fact. But adjusting to the constant inconsistencies takes concentration.
And a sense of humour! 
During one of her sleepless episodes following what was only a quick trip to the...erm...lavatory, she penned this.
With apologies to Lewis Carroll...

*  *  *

And that's a wrap!
I hope you enjoy this as much as I did!
See you next month, my beloved bloggers!

Friday, September 24, 2021


I need pencils, here I go!

I’m off to Staples, Tally-Ho!

They’ve lots of things I’d like to try,

I’ve got my Debit—watch me buy!


There’s office snacks, so let’s start there,

With mints and chocolate to spare,

Then paper clips and staples, too,

And magnets, push pins—not a few.


Oooh! Organizers, binders, books,

Note pads. Sheet protectors. Look!

 Copy paper, sketchbooks, whee!

And glue sticks, markers. All for me!


And why stop there, there’s so much more,

With scissors, tape for every drawer,

And how ‘bout some expensive pens,

A calculator, camera, lens.


A new computer would be nice,

A printer, too. This one’s half price!

A desk a chair, some shelving, yow!

My office is the Cat’s Meow!


I guess I’m done, my cart is full,

It’s getting hard to push or pull.

A second cart is what I need!

Then I won’t have to stop. Agreed?

Okay, I’m at the checkout now,

They’re adding up my treasures. Wow.


To get them all, I’d need a loan…

I guess I’ll just take pencils home.


Today's post was a challenge from the inimitable and totally awesome Karen at Baking in a Tornado

Visit her and see what she’s done with the theme!

Thursday, September 23, 2021


With apologies to Lewis Carroll...

Twasn’t brilliant, and the nighttime coves
  Did show no sparkle in the waves:
Still shady were the darkening groves,
  And the footpaths the same.

"Beware the Bladderwalk, my son!
  Its fullness wakes, makes your breath catch!
Beware the gritted teeth, and shun
  That nightytime Slumbersnatch!"

He took his blankets, warm, in hand:
  Long time the prodigious urge he fought --
Still resting, he with bladder full,
  He laid awhile in thought.

And, as in gloomy thought he lay,
  The Bladderwalk did force-ly claim,
To come whiffling through the dark causeway,
  And burble as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The blankets, warm, went snicker-snack!
He sprightly fled, into the ‘head’
  Then went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Bladderwalk?
  Then back to bed, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brilliant, and the daytime coves
  Did sparkle brightly in the waves;
NOT misty were the brightening groves...
  And he never got to sleep again.

Wednesday, September 22, 2021

Fifty Day Wednesday #7

 My son and I stared at the empty field.
Not again!” I groaned. “Pease tell your soccer coach this is the second week we were the only ones at practice!”
He shrugged. “He’ll just say what he said last week.”
“And what is that?”
He sighed. “Practice is Tuesdays. Not Wednesdays.”

Today is Fifty Day!

And that means another challenge to tell a story using ONLY fifty words.

Thank you so much, Adela, for opening this new world to me . . .

This is an uber-fun, uber-challenging exercise.
Join us!

Leave your contribution in the comments...

Tuesday, September 21, 2021

Really Hard Lessons

Kids and food and . . . the Table
In 1979, to facilitate my Husby completing his Master's degree, we moved to Winnipeg, Manitoba.
We brought everything we owned in one of my Dad's cattle trailers.
He cleaned it first.
Moving on . . .
But there were one or two things that we didn't bring.
One of them was a decent kitchen table and chairs.
We had to dip into our savings and buy something.
I should point out here that Kijiji didn't exist in 1979.
Or personal home computers.
At least in our home.
So we were stuck with the local paper and the classifieds.
But the tables we found listed were worse than the one we had left behind.
We finally decided we needed to go to a furniture store . . .
We had done this once before. Gone to a furniture store, I mean.
It was fun.
And expensive.
But exciting.
We pulled up outside in our little wheezy van and sauntered inside where we were met by a young man with a big grin.
A really big grin.
Looking back, we should have suspected something.
We didn't.
We told him what we were looking for and he led us to the 'kitchen' section of the store.
Okay, we weren't expecting that much of a selection.
We divided our options into two categories. 'Those we could afford'. And 'those which were really nice'.
The choices suddenly became easy.
We were down to two.
The one we finally decided on was a faux-wood topped, tubular-chrome-legged marvel.
With four chairs of genuine fake-leather.
We had hit the big time.
The only problem was that we were already a family of four. And family member number five was definitely on the way.
More chairs were indicated.
No problem, the young man said. The company who made the chairs was right here in Winnipeg. They could easily be ordered and at a very special price.
We handed him our savings and he filled out the paperwork, promising to send in the order for our four extra chairs as soon as we left the store. Then he helped us tote our new table and existing chairs out to our little van.
We were kings!
Happily, we set up our new acquisitions (good word) in our little kitchen.
Then we waited for our four extra chairs.
And waited.
Finally, we tried to phone.
Huh. Line out of service. Strange.
We drove over to the store.
And found it closed. Weird. For a Tuesday.
A large piece of yellow paper, fastened to the front door, fluttered in the slight breeze. We got out of the van and moved closer.
It was a notice from the police. Something about signing the paper if we were owed anything by the young men who had absconded (Great word, eh?) with all available cash and left the country.
We stared at the paper. Then at each other.
Did this mean what we thought it meant?
Had we just been ripped off?
I suddenly wanted my chairs!
We had paid for them!
Husby signed the paper and we were duly contacted by the police and able to place our claim.
The problem was that we were owed a mere $200.00 and that put us far down the list of claimants. The likelihood of recouping our losses was slim to nil.
I should mention here that the people at the top of the list were a newlywed couple, furnishing a new apartment. They had paid for their furniture, but were having it delivered.
I guess $10,000.00 (a boatload of money in 1979) was just too much for the store owners to resist. They had taken the money and anything else not fastened down and left the city.
The young couple's furniture had not left the store.
They were furniture-less and out their $10,000.00.
Suddenly our little $200.00 seemed very paltry.
But I still needed my chairs.
We went to the furniture manufacturer and explained the situation. They were very nice and gave us our chairs at their cost.
So, when we worked it out, taking into account the money we had paid Crooked Smiler Guy and what the manufacturer charged, we had actually gotten the chairs for the normal retail price.
We really hadn't lost anything.
And we finally had our chairs.
Oh, they were a slightly different colour from the first four, but why quibble over details?

That table and chairs lasted us through six children and twenty five years.
As it was nearing the end of its life, my husband decided to realize a dream and build a new one.
He did it.
A large, round, solid oak table, capable of seating 12 comfortably and 14 if you were really good friends.
He finished it just in time.
I tried to set a casserole on our old table and the poor thing collapsed, casserole and all.
And no, that isn't a statement on my cooking . . .
It was given an undignified farewell at the city dump.
And Grant moved in his great oak wonder. With twelve chairs that matched.
And that we didn't have to chase down and beg for.
Lessons learned.
More people. More food. And . . . the replacement.

Monday, September 20, 2021



My parents had the radio,

Or records to make music flow.

We took those records, made them twirl,

Dance parties for the boys and girls.


Things morphed as good things always do,

And new devices gave us tunes,

At first, the reel-to-reel was king,

And then we started cassette-ing.


A little bend to 8-track land,

A little tricky, but so grand,

From there the CD was so nice,

But only if you paid the price.


Then flash-drives, light and Wow! the size,

Small without, with big insides,

We’d moved from music in a case,

To music taking little space.


Our music now is 1, 2, 3,

“Alexa, play this song for me!”

And streaming service by the score,

With iTunes, Spotify and more.


Imagine it and there you are,

With show tunes blaring from the car,

Or streamed from phones right to your ear,

The songs you love from far. To near.

Convenience is what we love,

Subscribe and get some tunes thereof,

But something I’d just love to see...?

You sort an 8-track out for me.

Photo Credit: Karen of
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So KarenCharlotteMimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

A topic we await all year,
We'll 'Ask a Stupid Question' here!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...
Remembering 8-Tracks (September 20) Another Mimi - Today!
Ask a Stupid Question (September 27)
Golf (October 4)
Throw a Party (October 11) (Also Canadian Thanksgiving!)
Meatloaf Appreciation (October 18)
Opera (October 25)
New Lease (November 1)
Puns (November 8) 
Clean Out Your Refrigerator (November 15) 
Your favorite record (or) best stereo or record player ever (November 22)
Chia Pets (November 29)

Friday, September 17, 2021

A Valuable Asset

Stewart Cameron
Another valuable cow pony
Big Enough was a good cow horse. A valuable asset in a large ranching operation. This story is almost about him.
One day, my Uncle Stein was riding Big Enough when he checked the herd. The two of them came upon a large, young bull in considerable pain. The bull had caught his navel on some rose bushes (Yes, they are pretty, but sometimes beauty has it draw-backs) and it had become badly infected.
They were about three miles from the ranch buildings, but Uncle Stein decided his best choice was to bring the bull in.
Now you should probably know that he was dealing with an animal who weighed roughly a ton, was sick and sore, and who wasn’t happy about the 100 degree (F) heat.
They made it about a half mile before the bull protested.
He tried four times to get away, but that reliable little cow pony, Big Enough, just wouldn’t allow it.
Finally, winded, and so furious he was foaming at the mouth, the bull turned.
And charged.
Big Enough froze. He’d never seen anything like this!
Closer and closer the bull came and still the horse didn’t move.
Finally, just as the bull made contact, Big Enough reared.
Fortunately, the bull had no horns, but the combination of one-bull-power and one-horse-power succeeded in tipping Big Enough and his rider right over backwards.
Uncle Stein jumped off just in time. And he hit the ground running.
Fortunately for the man in the picture, the bull still had his attention on the horse, who had rolled over and was back on his feet in a flash. Away across the pasture, the two went. The horse running flat out and the furious bull butting him in the hind quarters.
Finally, the horse pulled ahead. The last Uncle Stein saw of him was the flick of a dark tail as he disappeared over the furthest hill, well on his way to the barn and safety. Leaving Uncle Stein stranded in the middle of two miles of prairie with no mount, no trees, no fences, no cover . . .
And one mad bull.
The bull stopped.
Then turned.
And it was Uncle Stein’s turn to freeze. Not from fear, but because he knew if he moved a muscle, or made the tiniest flinch, it would be the signal for the steaming, pawing bull facing him to charge.
For a full ten minutes the two faced each other.
Finally, the bull lost interest and sauntered off.
Uncle Stein, sweat dripping from his face, began the long trek home.
Yep. A good cow pony. Such a valuable asset.
Except perhaps when they’re being butted in said . . . assets.
Ahem . . .

Thursday, September 16, 2021

Now It Can be Told

My little brother Blair, now an Engineering Professor in New Mexico, also lived on the ranch with me. His memories are almost as good . . .
Or something similar...
I can only write this story because the Statute of Limitations has expired.
Growing up on the ranch provided many opportunities to drive the tractor around the field. And around and around and around and around and . . . 
You get the picture.
This can be very boring.
However, if one is on the right tractor . . .
One hot day, I was given the opportunity to drive our big Case.
At the time I was about 16 years old and I liked driving it because it made a very big vroom sound.
I don't remember the horse power. Let’s just say it had lots of ponies in its motor.
I also liked it because it had a comfortable seat that moved up and down as you drove across the bumpy field, air conditioning, and a radio.
Things not found on other tractors on the ranch.
On a nice hot day, the air conditioning was greatly appreciated and I always liked having a radio. It helped relieve the monotony/boredom.
Now here is where the statute of limitations comes in.
I was instructed by Mom to keep the air conditioning at a reasonable level. She told me that if I had the air conditioning at its maximum level, it was unhealthy. I would say “Sure, Mom” then wait for her to leave and turn the air conditioning as cold as I could get it.
The second thing I was told to do was keep the radio at a moderate level. Then I could hear mechanical noises in a timely manner and shut down and repair equipment. If one didn’t detect these things early there was the potential of having a catastrophic failure.  In other words fix/replace a small part or fix/replace lots of parts. Again my reply was “Sure, Dad” then wait for Dad to leave the field and turn up the radio.  
I was operating the big Case tractor on a beautiful hot summer day.
The birds were singing.
Well I guess they were singing.
Who can hear birds over the roar of the tractor and the ‘moderate’ radio.
The air was fresh and clear.
I think.
It was definitely cold in the cab of the tractor.
I was pulling a big cultivator around the field.
Then it happened.
The cultivator snagged a rock that was just under the soil surface.
In a few short seconds I was staring in horror at an expensive cultivator rolled into a ball around a rock the size of a cow.
I should mention here that I was not concerned about the cultivator. But about the explanation that I was going to give Dad.
My mind immediately started putting my account of the situation together.
Phrases like:
“I was regularly looking at the gages of the tractor and all was fine.”
“I was constantly surveying the soil surface for rocks and other nasty potentially machine-breaking items.”  
“Oh, no! The radio was not blasting loudly, I don’t think I could hardly hear it.” 
Then a miracle happened.
The big ball of metal, rock, and soil disentangled themselves and the cultivator popped back into its original shape.
The entire episode lasted a few short seconds.
I breathed a sigh of relief and stopped the tractor. I felt that I had better look the cultivator over and make sure everything was in place before I continued my trek around the field.
It was then I learned why Mom told me to keep the air conditioning at a moderate level.  
I threw open the tractor cab door and was immediately hit with a blast of hot outside air.
I felt a little dizzy but continued down the ladder to the ground.
As I was moving down, a massive amount of hot air from the very powerful motor hit me. My ears started to ring and my head started to spin. My legs turned to spaghetti and I stumbled to the ground.
Luckily, this moved me away from the hot air spewing from the motor.
My head cleared and I was able to move/stumble away from the tractor.  
I looked at the cultivator and determined that it was all right.
I breathed another sigh of relief.
The engineer that designed said cultivator had foreseen my encounter and put in the trip mechanisms to protect it.
I was suddenly grateful for engineers.
Once I had finished with the cultivator, I carefully avoided the blast of hot air as I climbed back on the tractor.
Then I turned down the radio and air conditioning.
And vowed to listen more to Mom and Dad.

Blessed by a Curse

Blessed by a Curse
My very first Medieval Romance!

God's Tree

God's Tree
For the Children

Third in the series

Third in the series
Deborah. Fugitive of Faith

The Long-Awaited Sequel to Daughter of Ishmael

The Long-Awaited Sequel to Daughter of Ishmael
A House Divided is now available at all fine bookstores and on and .ca!

Daughter of Ishmael

Daughter of Ishmael
Now available at and .ca and and other fine bookstores.

Romance still wins!

Romance still wins!
First romance in a decade!

Hosts: Your Room's Ready

Hosts: Your Room's Ready
A fun romp through the world's most haunted hotel!

Hugs, Delivered.

Compass Book Ratings

Compass Book Ratings

Ghost of the Overlook

Ghost of the Overlook
Need a fright?

My Granddaughter is Carrying on the Legacy!

My Granddaughter is Carrying on the Legacy!
New Tween Novel!

Gnome for Christmas

Gnome for Christmas
The newest in my Christmas Series


A heart warming story of love and sacrifice.


My novel, Carving Angels

My novel, Carving Angels
Read it! You know you want to!

My Second Novel: Kris Kringle's Magic

My Second Novel: Kris Kringle's Magic
What could be better than a second Christmas story?!

Join me on Maven

Connect with me on Maven


A scientist and his son struggle to keep their earth-shattering discovery out of the wrong hands.

Essence: A Second Dose

Essence: A Second Dose
Captured and imprisoned, a scientist and his son use their amazing discovery to foil evil plans.

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The Babysitter

The Babysitter
A baby-kidnapping ring has its eye on J'Aime and her tiny niece.


Haunted by her past, Melissa must carve a future. Without Cain.


Following tragedy, Devon retreats to the solitude of the prairie. Until a girl is dropped in his lap.

Pearl, Why You Little...

Pearl, Why You Little...
Everyone should spend a little time with Pearl!

The Marketing Mentress

The Marketing Mentress
Building solid relationships with podcast and LinkedIn marketing

Coffee Row

Coffee Row
My Big Brother's Stories

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Semper Fidelis

Semper Fidelis
I've been given an award!!!

The Liebster Award

The Liebster Award
My good friend and Amazing Blogger, Marcia of Menopausal Mother awarded me . . .

Irresistibly Sweet Award

Irresistibly Sweet Award
Delores, my good friend from The Feathered Nest, has nominated me!

Sunshine Award!!!

Sunshine Award!!!
My good friend Red from Oz has nominated me!!!

My very own Humorous Blogger Award From Delores at The Feathered Nest!

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Ghost of the Overlook

Ghost of the Overlook
Need a fright?