From Stella May
My family loves breakfast, especially a cook one. Because we all work and are usually in a time crunch the first meal of the day is cereal or a bowl of fruit. But on the weekends the house is filled with wonderful aromas of brunch. This recipe is one of our favorites, especially mine because it’s easy to prepare and delicious.
This recipe makes 7-8 regular waffles, or 5-6 Belgium waffles, depending on your griddle.
Keto Waffles
2 large eggs
½ cup of sour cream
1 tsp. vanilla extract
½ tsp. baking powder
½ cup shredded coconut, unsweetened
1 cup finely ground nuts, I use a mix of walnuts, pecans, and almonds
With a mixer, whisk eggs thoroughly until combined, then add sour cream, vanilla, and baking powder.
Manually, stir in shredded coconut and ground nuts. Let mixture sit for 5-10 minutes.
If the mixture is too thick, add a splash of heavy cream.
Heat up a waffle maker, brush it with the oil of your choice. Use an ice cream scoop (I use the large one) to pour on the batter. Cook per your griddle directions.
Enjoy with cream cheese, double cream, or syrup. It is perfect for breakfast or desert.
Romance author Stella May steps away from her time travel books to share The Rostoff Saga. Here’s the cover and intro for New Dawn, Book 1 of the exciting four book series.
Love wasn’t part of their agreement. Neither was being caught in a brutal web of lies.
International playboy and owner of a jewelry empire that spreads across three continents, Dmitry Rostoff holds a memory close to this heart that not even his best friend Vlad Albrecht knows. When Dmitry learns the Russian ballerina, he had a passionate affair with died in childbirth, bitterness and hate to overrule all other emotions.
Taking the baby out of Russia is an impossible snarl of red tape, but Dmitry gets his way, even if he leaves a trail of chaos in his wake.
Natasha Sokolova planned to turn over the baby to Dmitry then walk away. Instead, she is on a plane to San Francisco with the baby and a cold, emotionless man who makes her heart pound with scorching attraction.
The family matriarch and evil to her core Elizabeth Rostoff plots to gain control of the baby, no matter what it costs or who it hurts, and will do anything to make that happen. She blackmails Marie Dubois, the manager of their elite Paris store, to seduce Dmitry. But Marie reneges on the deal when former Special Forces officer Vlad Albrecht storms into her life.
Once in America, Natasha finds herself entangled in a sticky web of lies created by the brutally calculating family matriarch. A web that forces Natasha to make a heartbreaking deal with the devil to protect the children—and man—she’s come to love.
Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website.
Stella writes fantasy romance as well as time travel romance. She is the author of ‘Till Time Do Us Part, Book 1 in her Upon a Time series, and the stand-alone book Rhapsody in Dreams. Love and family are two cornerstones of her stories and life. Stella’s books are available in e-book and paperback through all major vendors.
Writers: Are You a Tortoise or a Hare
from Sharon Ledwith
We writers tend to fall into two categories. You’re either a tortoise or a hare. What do I mean by that? I guess what I’m trying to get across is that some writers write fast, and can crank out thousands of words in one sitting, while other writers are slower, and write at their own speed and pace to get their books done—even if it takes them years. I’m not talking about whether you’re a plotter or a pantser (writing by the seat of your pants), though you can find out more on that subject in this guest post HERE. I’m talking about whether a writer is prone to being a ‘hare’ (fast writer) or a ‘tortoise’ (slow writer).
So, let’s get real, and be honest. Which one are you? A hare or a tortoise?
I must admit, I’m definitely a proud tortoise. Though I mentally (and emotionally) kick myself at times for being such a slow writer. A good day of writing (3-4 hours) consists of over five hundred words—a great day is over a thousand. I know a lot of my slow-downs happen when I need to do some research in the middle of a scene. It’s been suggested to me by the powers that be (my publisher) that I should just highlight the area where the research is needed, and continue on with my writing. Of course, boss-woman is correct, and what she advises makes a heck of a lot of sense. But…um, no. I want, correction need to KNOW what happens in that scene, and if I’m using the proper terms and things found in the time period I’m writing in to move the story forward. For me, finding the historically correct information is vital to finishing the scene. Sigh. I must be built that way.
At times I envy all you, hares out there, with your nimble fingers flying across the keyboard, and your devil-may-care attitudes. You’re the writers who get more than one book written in a year. I truly applaud you for that accomplishment. You’re also the writers who probably have a messy, mucky first draft, and need to go through many drafts to get your final story. Me? I usually have a clean first draft that’s closer to publication than the hare’s speedy attempt at a novel. My mantra in this crazy writing gig is, ‘Slow and steady progress assures success’. So I plod along like the tortoise, much like the one in Aesop’s fable, who ends up crossing the finish line to win the race against the confident, cocky hare. Perseverance, after all, will keep us writers going and going—like that pink Energizer Bunny. Or is it really a hare? Wink.
Confession time! Are you a tortoise or a hare? How has being either one effected the way you approach writing a novel? Do you love the process? Does writing energize you? Would love to read your input and comments. Thank you for spending time with me by reading my blog! Cheers, and have a great week!
For your reading pleasure, may I suggest a visit to Fairy Falls, or if you’re feeling really adventurous, a trip back in time with The Last Timekeepers? Just remember to pack lightly.
Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/young adult time travel adventure series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the award-winning teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, reading, researching, or revising, she enjoys anything arcane, ancient mysteries, and single malt scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada with her spoiled husband and is happy to spend many hours with her amazing grandson.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her WEBSITE and BLOG. Look up her AMAZON AUTHOR page for a list of current books. Stay connected on FACEBOOK, TWITTER, PINTEREST, LINKEDIN, INSTAGRAM, and GOODREADS.
BONUS: Download the free PDF short story The Terrible, Mighty Crystal HERE
Happy Easter
From Sharon Ledwith
6 Steps to Bolster Your Self-Esteem
Set Big Goals! I’m not kidding. Make plans to carry out how you’re going to achieve your humongous goals. This is so important. Think about it. If you’re going on a trip, you enter all the info in your GPS or purchase a map to mark out your destination. Businesses need business plans or the bank manager will look at you sideways when you come asking for a loan. What’s the difference when it comes to planning out your life goals?
Measure your Successes! This is so important. Define what the standard is for YOU, and no one else. Understand your strengths and weaknesses, and use both to help you accomplish your goals. Form alliances with other like-minded individuals or groups and delegate when necessary.
successes you’ll find that there’s always one person doing better than you. Better sales. Better book covers. Better stories. Better life. STOP IT! Your plans are not their plans. Stick to YOUR plan and keep positive. The best thing you can do for yourself is to develop a positive mental attitude and keep moving forward with purpose.
Recognize your Accomplishments! When someone you admire pats you on the back, don’t shrug it off. Take it. Embrace it. It’s
good for you. People have a habit of fluffing off compliments, especially when they’ve earned it. So my take advice and savor that pat on the back for a job well done. Besides, it’s good for us to stand in the spotlight—it makes us shine all the brighter!
achieved. Signed a book deal? Go out for supper to celebrate or buy those beautiful shoes you keep passing in the store window. Graduated university? Car keys please! You get the idea. When I have a book release, I usually reward myself with an expensive
bottle of cognac and a cigar (and I don’t smoke!). Go figure.
So, how do you bolster your self-esteem? Love to hear your voices…
Depending on the time of day, pour your favorite beverage then head to your comfy reading spot and all a good book to seep into your soul. May I suggest a visit to mysterious Fairy Falls, or if you’re feeling really adventurous, a trip back in time with The Last Timekeepers? Whichever you choose, either series will transport you to another time and place, taking you away from the troubles of the real world.
Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/young adult time travel adventure series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the award-winning teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, reading, researching, or revising, she enjoys anything arcane, ancient mysteries, and single malt scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada with her spoiled husband and is happy to spend many hours with her amazing grandson.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her WEBSITE and BLOG. Look up her AMAZON AUTHOR page for a list of current books. Stay connected on FACEBOOK, TWITTER, PINTEREST, LINKEDIN, INSTAGRAM, and GOODREADS.
BONUS: Download the free PDF short story The Terrible, Mighty Crystal HERE
A FAMILY FAVORITE
From Stella May
This recipe has been in my family since forever. It is a very popular dish for Georgian and Armenian people who absolutely loved their beans. My mother used to make it, but I put a little twist of my own to make it easier. Mom usually soaked dry beans overnight, then cooked them the next day. I use canned beans, and it tastes the same.
The Georgian recipe for mashed beans calls for the finely chopped walnuts. I add them on occasion.
You can eat this dish warm or cold, over bread or crackers like a pate, or just as a side dish.
MASHED BEANS
1 can dark beans
1 can light beans
2 lg. onions, I use plain yellow or Vidalia Oil
Oil of your choice, I use sunflower or avocado oil
1 tsp. khmeli suneli, the traditional Georgian spice, and a MUST*
Salt and pepper to tasteFresh parsley, chopped – optional
Fresh cilantro, chopped – optional½ cup walnuts,chopped fine – optional
Open bean cans, wash the brine off, and soak in cold water for 10-15 min.
Dice onions fine. Pour oil into a medium-sized pot. When the oil shimmers add onion and sauté until they are slightly yellow and tender, but not caramelized.
Stir in beans. Cover the pan with a lid. Cook for 3-5 min on low to medium heat, stir occasionally. When beans are fully cooked, some will crack, remove pan from the heat. Mash beans with a potato or wire masher. The mixture should have some chunks, so be careful not over mash. Let beans cool for a few minutes, then add khmeli suneli, salt, and pepper.
Add parsley, cilantro, and walnuts if you’re using any of them.
*If you can’t find khmeli suneli then use this substitute:
¼ tsp. coriander seeds, ground
¼ tsp. dried basil
¼ tsp. dried marjoram
¼ tsp. dried dill
1 pinch dried red chili pepper
A jaded CEO. A fiercely focused ballerina. A love that defies all society’s rules.
SoHo,
1962
JJ Morris, successful CEO, leads a secret double life, playing saxophone to his heart’s
content in his hole-in-the-wall dive bar. Yet he can’t escape the feeling he’s slowly petrifying into just another jaded millionaire.
Then a gorgeous blonde steps into his bar and shakes up his world. Certain this fierce
little swan of a woman is exactly what’s missing in his life, he maps out a plan to wed her by Christmas. With or without his snobby mother’s approval.
Most women would be thrilled to learn that the tall, handsome bar musician is, in fact, a wealthy prince charming. Verochka Osipoff is less than impressed. She’s focused on becoming a prima ballerina, and everything hinges on her next audition. She can’t afford distractions, especially a rich playboy slumming it in SoHo.
Yet the heat of their attraction melts Verochka’s heart like warm chocolate. But JJ’s world is a cold, glittering nest of vipers. And their venom could destroy their love song before the first movement ends.
EXCERPT
The sound of a saxophone halted her steps. That deep, velvety voice grabbed her by her throat, and refused to let go. Holding her breath, mesmerized, Verochka stopped, then pivoted. Where did it come from? Straining her ears, she looked around, searching the almost empty street. Guided by her hearing, she glanced at the closed doors on her right. The Broome Street Bar.
Inside, the sax murmured its enchanting tale, sad, and touching, and heartbreaking.
Mon Dieu! What must one feel to play like that?
Verochka closed her eyes and swayed to the music. Her arms by their own volition lifted and moved in a lazy,
unhurried wave. She visualized the dance in her mind, something slow and sensual. Strange, but she never paid attention to jazz before. Then again, she was never partial to any music except classical.
To her there was nothing and no one compared to Tchaikovsky. But the soulful notes of that sax fascinated her as
much as the famous opening theme from Swan Lake. When the sound trailed off, she felt almost bereft. She craved to hear more. Will the musician play again? Oh, she hopped so. She’d wait for it.
Outside? On the sidewalk at almost ten at night?
Unwise, not to mention quite dangerous. Granted, this spot in SoHo was not prone to crime. But still. A young woman alone was bound to attract some attention. Verochka looked at the closed door of the bar, biting her lip.
To go inside, or continue on her way? The wisest thing to do, of course, was to turn around, and go home, to her tiny apartment. It was late. She must rest before her wake-up call at 5:30 AM. All morning classes of Madame Valeska started at precisely 6 AM, and God forbid if any of the dancers were late even by a minute. The wrath of her teacher definitely equaled to her worldwide fame as a former principal dancer of The Royal Ballet.
Tired after the long day of classes and rehearsals, then cleaning the premises, Verochka barely kept upright. She hated her after- hours janitorial obligations, but promise was a promise. And Verochka Osipoff never broke her word.
No matter how spent she was, each and every evening, after all the dancers went home, and the school was closed, she headed to the closet for a broom and a bucket. At first, she didn’t mind it at all. It was an arrangement made in heaven. An eighteen-year-old orphan from France, determined to reach her dream, Verochka arrived at the doors of the famous New York ballet school with nothing but fifty dollars to her name and a small satchel that belonged to her father.
After her initial shock faded, the formidable Madame Valeska, the owner of the school, ordered Verochka to change into her leotards, and dance.
Her final verdict delivered in a grumbling voice was like a heavenly music to Verochka’s ears.
“You have a potential, Miss Osipoff. I’ll take a chance on you, and let you stay for a probationary period of three months. After that, we’ll see.”
Verochka’s elation was huge, but temporary. The school was obscenely expensive. No way she was able to afford the tuition. There was a stipend, but applying for it took only God knew how long, with no guarantee that it will be granted in the end.
On top of it, she was a foreigner, all alone in the strange country, and barely able to speak English.
Madame Valeska, quickly assessing the situation— more accurately, feeling sorry for her— offered Verochka a deal: the education in exchange for cleaning services. A tiny room in the attic as a temporary place to live was added to that offer. To Verochka, it was like a Christmas gift she could never have dreamt about.
Overwhelmed, moved to tears, Verochka grabbed the opportunity with both hands. After a while, she got her stipend for the gifted and unprivileged students, thanks to Madame Valeska’s help, and was able to cover most of her tuition.
The convenience of living on the premises saved her the expense of a rent, and occasional participation in corps de ballet’s performances made everything else manageable. She didn’t need a lot of food, as her extremely strict diet fell mostly into yogurt and fruit category. As to clothes— she learned at her dancing parents knee the skill to mend tears and repair pointe shoes.
Two years later, Verochka was still living in the attic, and still mopped the floors, and cleaned the premises. But it didn’t matter. Her main goal to become a prima ballerina of The Royal Ballet took the precedence over everything else.
Ambitious? Maybe. But, as her father always said, you must dream big. Otherwise, what was the point? So, she dreamed big, and worked like a woman possessed in order to reach that dream. She was content, and happy, and along the way, fell in love with New York, her new home. Her only home. She learned English, and became quite fluent in it, even though her accent stubbornly refused to be erased.
Of course, she missed
France, and Paris, and small street cafes, and long strolls along the Seine. Oh,
the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sprinkled with powdered sugar beignets!
Sometimes, she could smell them in her dreams.
But most of all, she missed her parents. She was sure they were looking at her from heaven, smiling, proud of her accomplishments.
Her occasional nostalgia was usually sweet, and short, like a children’s lullaby.
But not tonight.
After finishing her duties, Verochka was ambushed by a sadness so huge, she almost doubled down with it. Suffocated in the large empty building that housed the ballet school, she was lonely, isolated, until she couldn’t bear another minute longer locked inside. Hence, her impromptu evening walk that brought her in the middle of SoHo, to the Broome Street Bar.
The plaintive sounds of sax reached her ears again.
Oh, yes, please.
Listening to those seductive low rumbles, she wondered about the player.
Who was he? Or was it a she? Why was that melody so sad, so sorrowful?
Available at BOOKStoREAD, AMAZON, and GOOGLE PLAY BOOKS.
Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website.
Stella writes fantasy romance as well as time travel romance. She is the author of ‘Till Time Do Us Part, Book 1 in her Upon a Time series, and the stand-alone book Rhapsody in Dreams. Love and family are two cornerstones of her stories and life. Stella’s books are available in e-book and paperback through all major vendors.
NO INTERNET! WHAT’S A GIRL TO DO?
from Anne Montgomery
Several months ago, my internet was finicky. It went on and off several times each day. I considered that, since it’s summertime, perhaps lots of people were home sucking up those internet resources.
But then the internet went out completely. After a few hours, I called my provider. I always get a tickle out of the recorded message telling me that, if I’m having problems, I should go online and check the company’s website.
“But I have no internet!” I wanted to scream at the robotic voice that kept steering me away from contact with a real human.
After being disconnected for no apparent reason—maybe I said something to offend the AI operator—I tried again.
“Our wait times are currently very long,” the voice explained.
I didn’t hang up.
“Just a reminder, you can go to our website…”
I wanted to throw the phone but held my ground. After a about ten seconds of silence, the voice said, “You’re still there.”
I jumped! It sounded like an accusation.
“Let me get someone to assist you.”
I let out a breath. After a conversation with a real person, I learned that, indeed, the service was down all over my neighborhood. They hoped all would be well at about 6:00 PM that evening.
But twenty-four hours later, I still had no access to the Web. After standing around with my hands in my pockets wondering what to do, I tried to remember what life was like before we all became addicted to e-mail and social media and instant messaging. And I considered the number of times each day I would run to check if I’d missed something vital.
Ah…good old snail mail. Remember how exciting it was to get something with your name on it?
You know…like some huge publisher wants my newest book.
Or Netflix is interested in producing an eight-part series on my fabulous life.
Or some impressive university wants to bestow upon me an honorary doctorate for my literary brilliance.
Then, I had to admit that generally I find nothing horribly important in my daily correspondences. And yet, I can’t help myself. I remember a similar feeling each day when I was a kid anticipating the mail, the kind with paper and ink and stamps. (For you youngsters, Google it.) But back then we understood the mailman only arrived once a day, a vast difference from our current 24-hour model, that has many of us desperately seeking…I don’t know…some kind of validation, maybe.
I checked the mail on my phone—not so easy since I have four accounts—and confirmed just how unimportant I am. I tried to deal with my social media accounts, but dislike working on the tiny screen, so I put the phone down.
It was in the evening that the horrible reality hit. No streaming! There we were in Season 6 of Peaky Blinders with no access. We were forced to try TV from the antennae, compelled to sit through endless commercials. I wanted to weep.
Okay! I feel better now.
Yep, I’m a spoiled brat.
Later, I considered what I might do instead of “working” online. I closed my eyes and considered the things I do for joy: bake brownies, read a book, call a friend, play my guitar, plan a nice meal, see what’s still eatable in the garden, go for a swim.
When I opened my eyes, I was embarrassed, because I realized what I needed to do: Be grateful for what I do have.
Still, right now, the brownies are winning. So, pardon me while I go mix up a batch.
Here is a brief peek at Anne’s latest release.
Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to the Graves Registration Service where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?
Praise for Your Forgotten Sons
“Although a defty crafted work of original fiction, “Your Forgotten Sons” by Anne Montgomery is inspired by a true story. An original and inherently interesting read from start to finish, “Your Forgotten Sons” will prove to be an immediate and enduringly appreciated pick.” Midwest Book Review
“This was a quick, riveting read that really challenged me to think differently about our servicemen and women, especially those who take on the jobs that don’t get heroically depicted in the media or news…I really highly recommend this book to anyone that is looking for a different take on American history. I left it with a newfound appreciation for the unsung heroes.” Bekah C NetGalley
“This is the truth. It’s gritty and painful and bittersweet – and true. When you think you’ve read every perspective of WWII, along comes Bud to break your heart.” Bridgett Siter Former Military Reporter
“Anne Montgomery writes a strong story and I was hooked from the first page. It had a great concept and I enjoyed that this was inspired by a true story…It was written perfectly and I was invested in the story. Anne Montgomery has a great writing style and left me wanting to read more.” – Kathryn McLeer NetGalley
Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo
Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.
When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.
Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
“May your troubles be less, your blessings be more, and nothing but happiness come through your door.”
from Sloane Taylor
Presenting the traditional St. Patrick’s Day meal most North Americans will enjoy with a cold Harp Lager, Guinness Stout, Killian’s Irish Red Lager, or Smithwicks Ale. But here’s a newsflash, Boyo, except for the beer you’ll never find corned beef served anyway on the Old Sod. That’s right. Our Irish brethren look at us in amazement, but that’s never stopped us Yanks from creating traditions. So pour another wee dram and let’s get cooking.
Corned Beef
Cabbage
Carrots
Potatoes
Bakery Rye Bread
Horseradish Sauce
Mustard
Irish Beer and plenty of it
Corned Beef
1 5lb. corned beef brisket*
2 med. onions, peeled and quartered
4 peppercorns
1 bay leaf
3 bottles of beer
water to cover
Preheat oven to 300 F°.
Place beef in a Dutch oven. Add remaining ingredients, including spice packet that comes with the beef.
Bring to a boil on stovetop. Place in oven and roast for 3 hours or until meat is fork tender.
*Don’t stint on the beef. It cooks down to approximately half. I learned this lesson the hard way.
Here’s a tip from my butcher Raoul. Always buy corned beef flat cut. It has less fat than the point. Therefore you get more meat for your money.
Vegetables
6 med. red potatoes, peeled and quartered
6 carrots, scraped and cut into 2″ pieces
1 celery stalk, cut into 2″ pieces
1 med. green cabbage, cut into 8 wedges
1 cup corned beef cooking liquid
water
You can prep all the veggies and store in a large container covered by cold water until you’re ready to cook them. Refrigerate so vegetables remain crisp.
Place veggies in a large pot. Stir in corned beef cooking liquid. Add water to cover vegetables by 2 inches. Cover pot. Set cooking temp at medium. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat so the pot doesn’t cook over, but maintain a soft boil. Cook about 30 minutes or until veggies are fork tender.
Horseradish Sauce
1 cup sour cream
2 tbsp. prepared horseradish
1 tsp. fresh chives, snipped short
Combine all ingredients in a medium bowl. Stir well.
Transfer to a serving dish, cover, and refrigerate until ready to serve.
May you enjoy all the days of your life filled with good friends, laughter, and seated around a well-laden table!
Sloane
Sloane Taylor is an Award-Winning romance author with a passion that consumes her day and night. She is an avid cook and posts new recipes on her blog every Wednesday. The recipes are user friendly, meaning easy.
To learn more about Taylor go to her website. Stay in touch on Blogger, Twitter, and LinkedIn.
Taylor’s cookbooks, Hot Men Wear Aprons, Date Night Dinners, Date Night Dinners Italian Style, Sizzling Summer, and Recipes to Create Holidays Extraordinaire are released by Toque & Dagger Publishing and available on Amazon.
Happy International Women’s Day
International Women’s Day is a global holiday celebrated annually on March 8 to commemorate the cultural, political, and socioeconomic achievements of women.
DID YOU HEAR THAT?
from Catherine Castle
The other morning while having breakfast my husband said, “Listen. Do you hear that?”
“What?” I asked.
“That whoosha whoosha sound.”
I listened intently. “Nope. All I hear is the ticka ticka ticka of the refrigerator in its thaw cycle.”
“No,” he replied. “It’s definitely a whoosha whoosha.”
I cocked my head toward the fridge. “No it’s ticka ticka.”
“Wait,” he said. “It’s changed. It’s now zzz zzz zzz, like the vibrating sound my toy
football players used to make on their metal field.
“That’s more of a rooma rooma rooma noise.” I replied.
“No. It’s zzz zzz zzz,” he insisted.
Breakfast was on hold and the cereal got soggy in our bowls as we argued back and forth while the sounds of the thawing cycle of the fridge changed every few minutes. Neither of us heard what the other heard. Finally, the debate ended with a ka-thunk at the end of the defrost cycle. Silence filled the kitchen.
“I don’t hear anything now.” I spooned up a serving of mushy bran cereal, anxious to get back to my breakfast before it dissolved any more.
“Tick tock tick tock,” hubby said as the Mickey Mouse clock second hand rounded the clock face.
“I hear that,” I said. It was the only sound we agreed on, and it’s one that is universally known to represent a clock.
Now, I know men are from Mars and women are from Venus, and we are different in sooooo many ways. But I always thought hearing was hearing. After all, our ears, male or female, are built the same way. We have the same little ear canals connected to the same parts of the brain. I knew, even when I couldn’t hear the sounds, what the writers meant when Batman and Robin fought the bad guys and cartoon balloons appeared on the television screen screaming BAM! POW! SOCKO!
But that morning in the kitchen I had a revelation: I wasn’t to blame when I couldn’t get a mechanic to understand me! All those years I failed to fully communicate with male mechanics wasn’t because I lacked something.
When my husband describes a funny sound in our car, the mechanics all nod their heads knowingly. But when I describe the odd sounds, the male mechanics look at me like I have two heads. I always wondered why I could never get my point across to them, no matter how many times I repeated the explanation of the sounds.
Now, I know why. Apparently, men lack the finite hearing of a woman. They don’t hear things right. A rattle rattle, clatter clatter, boom boom boom probably sounds like chicka chicka, sissa sissa, thunk thunk thunk to them. And
anyone with a pair of ears can hear that there’s a world of difference between the two sounds.
Hummm. Maybe I need a female mechanic. She’ll get it. Unlike a guy.
What about you? Does your man hear the same things you do? And I don’t mean
when someone speaks to you. But that’s a whole ’nother blog post.
All my best,
Catherine
Multi-award-winning author Catherine Castle has been writing all her life. A former freelance writer, she has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit (under her real name) in the Christian and secular market. Now she writes sweet and inspirational romance. Her debut inspirational romantic suspense, The Nun and the Narc, from Soul Mate Publishing, has garnered multiple contests finals and wins.
Catherine loves writing, reading, traveling, singing, watching movies, and the theatre. In the winter she loves to quilt and has a lot of UFOs (unfinished objects) in her sewing case. In the summer her favorite place to be is in her garden. She’s passionate about gardening and even won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club.
Learn more about Catherine Castle on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to check out Catherine’s Amazon author page and her Goodreads page. You can also find Catherine on Stitches Thru Time and the SMP authors blog site.
Seek the Magic in Every Story 