Eli's First Rig

Eli and his Ford Explorer February 17, 2013

We’ve reached another milestone, here at The F.A.R.M.

Our youngest son Eli has just bought his first vehicle.  His very own ‘rig’.

It’s a Ford Explorer.  Ancient, by most standards… but it has 55,000 less miles than the truck his mother (that’s me!) drives… so I’m a bit envious.  Eli’s Explorer has an all-leather interior, electric ‘everything’, a sun (or ‘moon’) roof and – for all intents and purposes – no rust.  In my book, that makes it a ‘keeper’.

The dramatics leading up to the purchase were worthy of a smile or two from this woman who has negotiated sales since Time Immemorial.  I knew in advance what the Explorer’s seller was asking for the vehicle, but I didn’t tell Eli.  I thought it was important that he learn the fine art of ‘negotiation’. He needed to ask what the seller hoped to get for the vehicle and then decide whether or not the Explorer was worth its asking price.  And even whether or not he should ‘negotiate’.

Oh, how Eli fretted over those negotiations!  He was worried about spending too much… but he was also equally concerned about ‘insulting’ the seller with a bid that would be too low. 

“What should I offer, Mum?” he asked.

“What do you think?” I asked, knowing that my techno-savvy teen had been doing his homework…checking out forums and on-line sites about Ford Explorers in advance of any negotiating.  Eli is cautious, careful and level-headed.  All he lacks is confidence in the grown-up world that is comprised of buying and selling ‘big ticket’ items.  To my way of thinking, there was no better time to begin his education than…NOW.

“I have no idea what it’s worth, Eli (and that was the truth).  This will be your vehicle so I think it’s important that you find out what its value is.”

Of course, my words were of no help to him, whatsoever.  He was desperately fearful of making a decision.  He didn’t want to spend all his money but at the same time, he was afraid he’d lose the opportunity to buy a vehicle which had caught his fancy.

In the end, it all worked out.  The price was within his comfort zone and his budget.  In addition, his Uncle Scott – a ‘mechanic extraordinaire’ – kicked the Explorer’s tires and proclaimed that Eli would be getting a good deal.  So now… the Explorer is sitting in our driveway.  Unregistered and with its current inspection sticker soon-to-expire. Still, it’s HERE.  And it’s HIS.

This vehicle has been the focal point of all Pease Family conversations for the last week or two.  Before the purchase, the talk was all about the negotiation process.  Now… it’s about all that Eli hopes to do to the Explorer to make it last for many years… and be ‘cool’ while it’s ‘lasting’.  A paint job.  A new radio.  A new dash? (I’ll talk him out of that one.)  A custom-made hanger to hold a garbage bag, so that his truck doesn’t resemble mine.  Yes, it’s true.  Some sort of garbage container for the Explorer is high on Eli’s list of improvements.  He has vowed that when someone opens the passenger-side door on HIS truck, not a single Diet Mt. Dew bottle will roll out onto the ground.  (Pfffftt!  Big deal!)

Speaking of opening doors, Eli has already managed to lock himself in the back seat of his SUV.  Heaven only knows why he was sitting there all alone in the first place… maybe he was checking out the legroom? Once inside, the doors wouldn’t open. Heh…I wish I could have seen my six-foot-four-inch-tall son squeezing between the front seats and climbing over the console to free himself.  Grinning, I explained the concept of childproof safety locks and assured him that in a year and a half, once he turns 18, they will magically open at his touch.  That, combined with becoming ‘of age’ and gaining a vote should make for a stellar day.

Although several decades have passed since I got my own ‘first rig’, I definitely remember the excitement I felt.  All at once I no longer had to rely upon my parents’ ‘largesse’ to get myself from Point A to Point B.  It was a big deal.  And now, Eli is experiencing that same ‘big deal’.  It’s a rite of passage.  An important part of growing up and learning to be (and being) independent.  It’s pretty cool.

While I’m not the owner of an SUV that only has 156,000 miles on it, I can definitely appreciate the excitement of owning one.  Bravo, Eli.  Stay safe.  And…good luck raising the money to insure your new truck.  I’m sure you’re looking forward to driving it instead of just sitting in it while parked in the driveway. And figure out those locks, huh?  While I’ve always hoped that my children would inherit some of my traits and tendencies, having that type of Bonehead Moment isn’t one of them.   

Bee Dazzled by Packages

First 'Proof' Copy of Bee Dazzle...sitting on my laptop

When I emerged from the New Portland Post Office on Tuesday morning, I was smiling.  I’d stopped by on my way to work because I was hoping to receive in the mail a ‘proof’ copy of Bee Dazzle, a novella originally written as a game of Writers’ Tag by my friend Saint and me.

Saint... and Me

To my delight the proof copy had arrived – and so had two additional packages; both from Australia.  One was sent from Grahame and KK, my friends in New South Wales.  It was a Christmas gift and I’d known it was en route – and that it had been…for six weeks.  Lord only knows what Aussie Customs agents found ‘interesting’ about a calendar made from photos of Grahame and KK’s luxury resort in Australia’s wine country, but I’ve come to depend on those hard-working and diligent agents to find something – anything – to focus on which will delay shipping packages to and from Maine and Oz.

Varykino Mudgee in glorious Autumn colors

 The second package was a mystery and even though I was pressed for time, I opened it while sitting in the Post Office parking lot.  The return address told me it was from my friend Larry of Russell Island in Brisbane Harbor.  The package was comprised of a very large padded envelope and there was a big tear along the back.  The bag was squishy.  Like there was something made of cloth inside.  Was Lal sending me clothing?  After all, when he left Maine after his visit in 2010, he gave me his calf-length Australian leather coat, called a “Driza-bone”.  Perhaps he hadn’t had room for the coat in his carry-on luggage… or maybe he’d recognized the covetous looks I’d cast in the coat’s direction during the four weeks he was here.  Whatever the reason, it wasn’t unheard of for Lal to gift me with something to wear.

Kaz...in Larry's "Driza-bone" after  shooting his cell phone with a 9mm  WWI Luger

My frozen hands worked at tearing through the glue and staples which held down the envelope’s flap.  Successful at last, I peered into the gloomy interior of the bag.  Whatever it was, it smelled slightly…musty.  For all I knew, the package had been subjected to inclement weather for weeks on end –perhaps riding topside on a slow boat to China, via the ‘scenic route’ along the east coast of America. 

I reached inside and pulled forth…a kangaroo skin.  A kangaroo pelt.  A kangaroo rug?  I held in my hands the furry hide of an Eastern Gray Kangaroo….long tail, included.

I laughed.  In surprise.  In dismay.  And more than anything else, I laughed because I knew that the gift was sent in an effort to let me share part of Larry’s Australian life and culture.  I immediately looked at the tote bag sitting beside me on the truck seat, which sports gifts from Jack in Queensland.  A ‘roo scrote pouch’ in the back interior pocket and a desiccated ‘cane toad purse’ (both of which Jack says no self-respecting Aussie kid would be without) attached to the exterior key ring holder.

Yep, I’ve been the recipient of a plethora of Aussie ‘culture’.

Lal is (when sober—which of course is almost always!) a man of few words.  The brief note accompanying the gift was short and succinct.

Ornamental pelt on my upstairs bannster...

“An eastern gray kangaroo.  Don’t add water or it might hop away.”  No signature… just those few words penned in his unique scrawl upon a scrap of paper.  It was enough. Enough to make me laugh.  Enough to make the start of my day one filled with humor and good feeling.  I chuckled as I backed my truck out of its parking space and headed west on Route 16 towards Kingfield.

So…I am the owner of a kangaroo pelt.  The question remains – what will I do with it? As I’ve shown it to my co-workers and my kids, suggestions have been plentiful.  The most popular notion has been to make it into a full-sized apron by attaching a ribbon to the upper ‘neck’ part and tying the front legs around my back.  The long tail presented a bit of a dilemma, but again…the majority ruled.  If ‘tail’ored properly, that long appendage could contribute to the making of a one-of-a-kind ‘thong’ apron.

Oh, Lord.

At the present time, the pelt is draped over the banister at the top of our stairs.  The first night it was folded up atop the table…and our three cats took turns curling up on it.  But hides of any kind don’t belong on a kitchen table (nor do cats of any kind) so over the banister it was draped.

What to do with it?  I have two full-sized Aussie flags that haven’t been hung or displayed – for this isn’t Oz and I’m not sure of proper flag ‘protocol’.  I have photos of much of the eastern half of Australia… and videos of pythons eating possums or slithering along the tops of pagodas… and books on local Australian history and (often-deadly) flora and fauna…and local maps of specific regions Down Under (so I can find these friends if I ever travel to the South Pacific).  I carry Australian money in my bag --bills AND coins -- just in case I ever need it or want to show others what Oz currency looks like.  I have autographed novels from best-selling Aussie authors...and Aussie calendars which threaten to confuse me because their weeks begin with Monday on the far left and Sunday on the far right.  I have all this and more…but I’ve never agonized (much) about what to do with these treasures.    

But a roo rug? Hah!  I have no idea what to do with that.  If you’ve any suggestions (which don’t include a scenario in which I’m wearing it) I’d love to hear them

You know where to find me.  Not Down Under but ‘Up Above’… in Lexington Township, Maine.

Home....in Lexington Township...Maine

Coming Soon.....

Okay... the published cover will feature Saint's name in the primary position... but this copy is all I've got!

Within the next few weeks I’ll be the proud author of another published novel.  Bee Dazzle is its name and it’s a ‘collaborative effort’ between two writers.  I’m one of them.  My friend Eugene Saint is the other.

Saint is from Tennessee.  Although he and I have been friends for three years, we’ve never met in person.  I owe our association to my pal Jack; that Scotsman now living in Australia who has been the springboard for many wonderful long-distance friendships.  Jack and Saint ‘met’ on an online authors’ site and after the two men corresponded for awhile, Saint decided to send Jack an autographed copy of his ‘Coming of Age’ novel, The Eggless Club.  That was almost four years ago and I didn’t know anything about Saint at that time – but I remember when Jack wrote to me one Saturday to tell me that he spent a good part of his day lazing in the hammock while reading an ‘excellent little book’ sent to him by an American author named Eugene Saint. 

Fast-forward a few months to January, 2010.  Jack – who always looks out for his pal ‘Kaz’ – emailed, telling me of a website where authors read and critiqued each others’ work.  I checked it out and – always doing what Jack advises [except when he’s DEAD WRONG] – I enrolled as a member.  Within hours, I got a message from an old guy named ‘Saint’.

“Hi, Karen.  Welcome to the site!  Hey, some of us have a game of ‘writers’ tag’ going and we’re looking for people to participate.  Hope you’ll check it out!”  

Well, I checked it out…and then signed up to play.

The rules were simple: There were no rules!  One writer composed an opening ‘post’ in the style and genre of their choosing and then ‘tagged’ another player – who would then have to continue the story without any collaboration with the previous writer and without any idea of their intent or vision or plot.  I was told that the scheme was to try to write the other players ‘into a corner’ so that they would have to use their skill and imagination to get themselves back out.

That first game –which included 5 other writers – was fun (but rather weird).  I quickly realized that Saint was talented, intelligent – and the most wicked sort of troublemaker!  He had the ability to make me laugh out loud – even while he aggravated and insulted me.  How could I resist such charm?

Saint and I, along with various other writers, participated in several games of Tag but a busy home life and work schedule kept me from ‘playing’ as often as I wanted.  Eventually someone suggested a variation to the game: a contest where several teams consisting of only two writers created short stories and let readers choose their favorite ‘Tag’. 

Saint and I teamed-up…and Bee Dazzle was born.

We authors all agreed that our own work product in each Tag would remain our personal ‘intellectual’ property.  For example: everything I wrote in each collaborative work belonged to me, only – and could be used/re-worked/published by me; exclusive of the others’ contributions.

Eugene Saint (and Wibby...)

By the time the site folded, Saint and I were firm (if somewhat adversarial) friends.  We decided to use our own bits and pieces of the individual Tags to create original novels.  Bee Dazzle – being a short story – seemed like the best choice for a ‘trial run’ at co-writing.

In truth, it’s been a hellish experience.  Saint is opinionated, sarcastic…and he thinks he’s ALWAYS RIGHT.  On the other hand, I AM always right… but have had to cede him some small concessions due to my desire to keep his blood pressure within life-sustaining range.  He has yet to acknowledge the fact that co-authoring with me is good for his image – but I expect that that humble and appropriate homage will be paid to me in due time (i.e., when hell freezes over.)

Bee Dazzle is the result of a light-hearted game in which two authors battled it out in a public forum.  I wrote the first ‘post’ but had no idea where it would go from there.  I STILL don’t know where it went – but I do know that every time I read this collaborative story…I smile.  Sometimes I even laugh out loud.

But I’ll never admit that to Saint. It’s bad enough that he thinks he’s God’s gift to the literary world.  It simply wouldn’t do for him to know that he’s been an amazing gift to me, as well.   

Bee Dazzle has been type-cast in the “Chick Lit” genre –which tickles ME…but which must irritate poor old Saint!  A ‘google’ search defines Chick Lit as “smart, fun fiction for and/or about women of all ages…revolv(ing) around jobs, children, motherhood, romance, fame…friendship…and much more, usually with a touch of humor thrown in.”

Our novel was an ‘off the cuff’ endeavor but it surely fits within the confines of the ‘Chick Lit’ definition. I can live with that.  As ornery as Saint is, I suspect that he can, too.

We hope you’ll agree…because we surely can’t!

Free-Falling at Fifty

Single-shot of Earth taken from 22,369 miles away by Russian weather satellite Elektro-L No.1.

So… here we are. We’ve survived the infamous and much-anticipated Mayan “End Date”, which coincided with our winter solstice. Despite the alignment of our sun between earth and the center of the Milky Way, we haven’t experienced a reversal of our magnetic poles. No drifting asteroid or off-kilter planet has collided with the earth. We’re not experiencing a nuclear winter. We don’t even have much snow on the ground. It seems the “Apocalypse of 2012” had more ‘woof’ than ‘poof!’

A friend asked me last month what I was going to be doing on December 21^st. I looked at the calendar, saw the date came on a Friday and said “I’ll be at work.”

“Seriously?” he asked. “You’re going to spend what could be your last day on earth… working?”

Ever patient and practical, I explained.

“Ah, but you see – if December 21^st isn’t my last day on earth, I want to have a job to go to on Monday morning. The End of the World is merely a supposition. If I ditch work based solely on frenzied conjecture, becoming unemployed is a certainty!”

I’m not much of a gambler, it seems. (And I really don’t talk like that, either. ‘Frenzied conjecture’? Forgive me, please…)

Of course, there have been grumblings about all sorts of man-made disasters that might signal the End Times – or at least, very Rough Times. I’ve heard predictions that the stock market is going to crash… and that the banking industry will follow. That the current Middle East conflicts will evolve into world war. That America will soon become a police state, a socialist state, a fascist state. The catastrophes envisioned by some people are endless.

All of these scenarios are possible. Some may even be probable. There is no guarantee that our lives will move forward with predictability or that they will improve as time goes by. That’s what we hope for, of course…but history has shown that we humans and the earth which sustains us have a tendency for going through periods of great upheaval. Sustained boredom is not an option, here on Planet Earth.

But what is the benefit of worrying constantly about all things ‘doom’ and ‘gloom’? I believe an individual’s quality of life suffers immensely when he concentrates too much on ‘what ifs’, especially when they are pessimistic or depressing.

So I’ve decided to look to the future and approach 2013 with a positive attitude. The year will have several milestones in it and I’d rather look forward to those than dread possible calamities.

Guy, Josie-Earl and Eli, Thanksgiving 2012

Our son Guy will turn thirty. Daughter Josie-Earl will be graduating from Carrabec High School. Our boy Eli will (we hope) get his driver’s license. Steven and I are going to celebrate our 20^th anniversary. And I will turn fifty. That’s right; in 2013 I will turn fifty. Years old. The ‘Big Five-Oh’. Yay….

I’m trying to look at my September birthday with optimism rather than dread. For just as no one knows if there is imminent disaster on the earth’s horizon, so I don’t know if turning fifty will be the big ‘downer’ I expect it will be. The great thing about it is that I have some power over how I approach this landmark birthday. I can be bummed out and discouraged and act like I’m ‘middle-aged’ – or I can do things to make my 50^th year one to be remembered with happiness and a sense of accomplishment.

I’ve decided to go skydiving to celebrate my half-century mark. By writing this publicly I’m setting the plan in stone…which is exactly how I imagine I’ll drop – like a stone. I’m not particularly scared of heights but I am petrified of falling. When I cross the Onawa Trestle, the center of which rises 157 feet above the stream bed below, I practically have to crawl on my hands and knees. Even standing several feet away from the edge I can convince myself that I’m going to fall and I get dizzy with vertigo. It’s rather silly but I can’t help it. I’m terrified of falling.

So I’ll jump, instead. From a few thousand feet above the earth. Am I afraid to? Absolutely! I’m petrified! But it’s kind of funny… I’m not nearly as worried about skydiving as I am about chickening out. I have this awful dread that I’ll get to the open door of that airplane and I’ll change my mind. Vehemently. Maybe even violently. That I’ll plant my feet, embed my nails in the fuselage and refuse to budge. Yep, I’m far more fearful of acting cowardly about the whole ‘step out into nothing’ scenario than I am of plummeting to earth with nothing but a swatch of wispy silk to break my fall.

To protect me from myself, I’ve asked several friends if they’d like to go skydiving with me. I’ve even asked them if they’d volunteer to push me out. I’ve accepted their ready agreements with delight and relief – sure that they only wish to save me from myself and will receive no pleasure from the pushing.

What else will I do to celebrate my 50^th? I haven’t decided yet. I’m still coming to grips with the fact that I’ve decided to jump out of an airplane while it’s in the air. But one thing that will make the year special is that I think I’ll be able to enjoy another visit from Larry, one of my good friends in Australia. When I asked Larry if he’d like to go skydiving with me he said, “Nah.” There was no hesitation whatsoever in his response. But he did volunteer his girlfriend Deb for the excursion. He even promised to talk her into giving me a little push if I needed it. What a pal.

We made it through the year 2012. Some of it was good; parts of it were not-so-good. Since life is unpredictable, 2013 will likely be the same but I’m determined to make the most of it. I’ll challenge myself to overcome one of my life-long fears. And when I land back on terra firma I’ll be exuberant. Proud of myself. Full of exhilaration at my accomplishment. And with luck, those friends I grab in panic on my way out of the plane will land safely beside me.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Poo--Part Deux

Just one of the delightful 'poo' themed gifts I've received from Dozy.  

Well, she did it again.  My amazing friend Dozy-- that intrepid shopper from Down Under-- managed to find me the perfect souvenirs while on her most recent African safari. 

You might remember that Dozy is the gal pal who has sent me oodles of exotic… um… ‘manure’.  Yes, there’s a story, there.  After all, no one would gift a friend with defecation without good reason, right?  If you don’t know the history behind Dozy’s sh**ty gift-giving habits, I invite you to read “Sisterhood of the Traveling Poo” at the link below.  Trust me-- it will all make perfect sense! 

http://karenbesseypease.blogspot.com/2012/06/young-bull-moose-in-moose-nook-you-must.html

The phone rang this evening and I answered it in the bedroom, where I was working at my computer.  Since the TV was on and my husband and daughter were also chatting behind me, I took the phone downstairs to the kitchen so that I could hear.  I spied a package on the counter and I grinned.  A carton with Dozy’s unique handwriting on it!  It had to be a box of poop!

Yep.  And not just a little bit, either.

I couldn’t wait to open the box so I put the phone down, grabbed a knife and sliced through the packing tape.  There were four individually wrapped parcels in the box.  The first contained a soft and beautiful scarf from South Africa.  There was nothing crappy about that gift—it was lovely.

Josie models scarf from South Africa

 But then, oh, then!  From inside pink tissue paper I pulled a pretty little notebook… made of pressed elephant dung.  Amazing!  I believe the inside sheets are called ‘pooper’ instead of ‘paper’, but don’t quote me on that until I’ve researched the matter further.

Ele-poo notebook

blank pooper just waiting for pen and ink

The next item was wrapped in a sheet of foam.  It was chunky.  Heavy.  I cackled nervously—wondering what large African animal Dozy had followed behind with her pooper-scooper in hand.  I was still chatting with my friend, trying to hold the phone between shoulder and ear while I hefted the package and unrolled the wrapper.     

Dung beetle rolling dung ball-made in Zimbabwe

 And there in the palm of my hand was… a dung beetle.  A BIG one!  And not just the bug, mind you!  My beetle came with its very own massive ball of dung clutched between its hind legs.  What a load of crap!

And what a WOMAN!  Dozy’d found the perfect African gift.  And THIS TIME I knew better than to try to eat the dung beetle, too.  (Yes, that’s a story for another day…)

But there was one more tissue-wrapped bundle.  I couldn’t imagine what it was.  The delivery slip on her box listed three items (and please note Dozy’s expert word-smithing): “Scarf, ornament…stationery”.  Check, check…and check. 

I tore off the wrapping paper-- and there it was, in all its glory.  The real deal.  Authentic.  Pure.  Straight from the African elephant…to me.

A pop-top pack of pachyderm poop.

Genuine elephant dung from South African

Perfect.  And very grassy. Quite interesting, in fact.  For now, though, I’ll resist the urge to pop the top and inspect it further, knowing that my acute anticipation will only enhance the experience, later on.

Dozy has certainly outdone herself.  I can’t begin to imagine what gift I can find for her that will compare to these treasures.  Still, I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a comparable souvenir …and hope that when I find ‘that certain something’ it will give her as many grins and chuckles as she’s sent my way.

What a gal!  Thank you, Dozy-dear.  You are the absolute BEST.  Sending s**tloads of love back atcha!

African gifts from my friend Dozy 

Heh….

Grumble Bluff--the Story Continues

Life is full of surprises.  Four years ago I was eagerly anticipating the publication of my first novel, Grumble Bluff.  My 'plan' was to begin to write full-time, if possible.  I've always wanted to be a novelist and I envisioned finally achieving my dream.  But... life is full of surprises.  Three years ago my focus necessarily changed and my writing was put on the back burner.

I'm hoping that will change in the near future.  I've written two sequels to Grumble Bluff and have a third rattling around in my head, begging to be allowed out.  Soon, I hope.  Soon...

If you haven't read Grumble Bluff, I hope you will consider giving it a look.  If you have read it, maybe you'll read it again?  Here are a few comments from some folks who gave me the honor of reading my first novel.

xoxo

Kaz

****

Eugene Saint on: Grumble Bluff

Grumble Bluff is an intricate and soul-searching study in the relationship between two young tweens, cursed – but also bound – by their social status. It is a wonderful story about the true meaning of friendship – through the best of times and the worst. A story of both ignorance and of deep compassionate understanding set against the sometimes cruel realities of being that age.

OK enough of that... here’s the deal. Karen Bessey Pease will keep you rolling with her wit and observational humor. This book is a hoot. She’s a hoot. But then – and you know damn well it’s coming – she rips out your heart and holds it still beating before your eyes. She is vicious. I’m a tough old bird; I’ve raised eight kids and served two tours in Combat Infantry; this book broke my heart. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

My four daughters are going to love this book probably just because they’re girls. My four sons are going to love this book just because they’re not. I suppose for that to make any sense at all... you’ll have to read the book – I did. This has best-seller written all over it. All through it. This is the diamond in the heap and I feel incredibly fortunate to have stumbled across Grumble Bluff. Something tells me I have Jack Ramsay to thank for that. I owe him – and trust me, he’ll get what’s coming to him.

Once in a very long while you read a book, hear a story, watch a movie and you know it will be with you forever. This is one of those. It’s made that way by Ms. Pease’s command of each scene. This is a book you hear – a story you see. A world in which, at least at some point, we’ve all played a part. I hope you won’t regret your role.

Eugene Saint

Tennessee

WOW!  That's all I can say.  WOW!

 I just spent 3 1/2 hours, almost to the minute, reading Grumble Bluff.  Knowing you as I do, I expected some laughs.  And having read the reviews, I expected some emotional scenes.  But 3 1/2 hours later, all I can say is, WOW!

You've done something that very few people can do;  you got blood from a stone, you proved I am human, you brought tears to my eyes, and less than  a paragraph later, you made me laugh!  WOW!

 I'm sure I'll have more to say later, but for now I only have one thought to pass on;  If a year from now you are still selling real estate, instead of spending all your time writing, or signing books, you need a better agent!

No Bull, you're an amazing writer!

DC

Concord Twp., Maine

******

“Reading Grumble Bluff from cover to cover was an absolute privilege. I’ve seldom encountered prose that reads as smoothly, and I felt in the opening few chapters that Karen Bessey Pease’s writing had assumed the shape of a magnificently comfortable sofa while she introduced me to two of the most down-to-earth and engaging characters you’re ever likely to meet.” 

And…  “Your talents are obvious. In the space of a few paragraphs, you persuade me to laugh, then brought me to the verge of tears, without forcing me into either. That's gifted writing, and I thank you for the experience and pleasure of reading your work. What you've got is a masterpiece to rival… Proulx and Picoult, Amy Tan and Geraldine Wooler.”  Jack Ramsay, author, Brisbane, Australia

“The story easily transcends the beauty and working-class reality of its western Maine setting; it gives life to the everyday concerns of families trying to keep their children safe and help them make the tough transition to young adulthood. Author Karen Bessey Pease writes Katherine Anne's story in the first person with an impeccable youthful "voice." Katherine Anne and Greta are smart, tough, tender and silly. They are grounded by their time in the Bluff. Their sadness and joy will be yours while you're in the pages of Grumble Bluff.   This is a book ideal for adults or young readers. If you are looking for a story about real issues, infused with the simple magic of friendship and the healing beauty of nature, grab Grumble Bluff and prepare to love it.”  Linda Bulger, Amazon Reviewer, Avon, ME   

“Finally, a story for young folks where the conjuring comes from the heart, not a wand! I loved the two main characters in this book - genuine, yearning, promising gals. I'm looking forward to the sequel.”   Firestarter, reviewer on Amazon

“Well, Karen, what can I say? I've finished Grumble Bluff and I can't but believe it will be a best seller. You've taken a simple idea and developed it to perfection. Surely, if there is any justice in the literary world you will soon be famous!”  J. Rupe Boyd, author, The Heart Reader, Ohio

“This is absolutely delightful, you have totally captured this 12 year old girl's angst, but done it with such finesse and such humour… I just love this too much… It is a completely effortless read.”  Alexandra Stopford, author, God’s Away on Business

“Not fair. First you make me fall out of my chair laughing… and then, not ten minutes later I'm dripping tears so that my eyes got all blurry and I had to stop, take off my glasses, blow my nose and breathe. This is a fabulous book … it is a beautiful story and if my lips ever make it to His ears....it will be talked about in classrooms for generations to come. Really, really well done, Karen!” - Lesley Barker, author, Pastor’s Ex-Wife, Kentucky

“I love your easy going writing style. I really feel like I'm seeing the world through Kathy's eyes. What a magnificent achievement that is. I was a super skinny kid, but I can certainly relate to the taunts that she endures.”  Tyler Adams, author, In Search of Me and Alex, Canada

“Karen, I've read…this compelling and engaging story. Loved it.   Your characters are nicly (sic) developed and very believable. The writing is crisp and easy to follow, and the story does a great job of pulling the reader along.”  Michael Croucher, author, Through Bravo's Veil

“The scenes of bullying, with those all-too-familiar patterns of mob behaviour among children, are harrowing. Also painful to read was the parents' half-hearted responses, the feeling that the behaviour the girl suffers is somehow her own fault. This is strong stuff that most people will identify with.  I liked the introduction to the forest scenes the most - the love of the natural world, the peace to be derived from it. I particularly enjoyed the description of dissolution and decay as being a natural process. Buddhists will love you for that!   All in all a smashing read…” Pat Black, author, Snarl, UK

“I love this book...your story has me hooked! I love, love, LOVE Kathy and when my daughter … is old enough this book is a must read because the message is so good. ..  I am so emotionally connected to your book that… I started to cry and had to re-read a page! I really care about your characters and that is a compliment to your writing!  This book is really well done… You are like a new Judy Bloome”   

 And then:  “I finished reading Grumble....Loved it, made me cry, and you really shocked me with the twist at the end! Excellent writing and left me wanting more!  My best friend… was raving about your book this morning I told her you are working on more and she said she wants to know as soon as possible when she can buy the next! You have a following already.”  Jana Viles Pease, reader and mother, North Anson, Maine

I just finished your book last night and I just loved it!  Great job and I can't wait till the sequel.  I told my daughter that she has to read it as well.  You brought me to tears in the book… Not many books bring me to tears----KUDOS!!  Very touching story and I plan to send a copy to my step-daughter, she will love the story as well.   I just thought you would love some feedback--not that you don't get any, but it is always great to get a pat on the back.  Consider yourself patted.  Crystal Trenholm, reader, Kingfield, ME

“That Writer Pease is an accomplished writer proficient for producing intensely eloquent imagery is evident as the reader treks through the fragrant woods along with Kathy and Greta to sit with them and listen to the splashing of the brook.  Grumble Bluff helps tweens understand that there can be hope and life can be better. Grumble Bluff is a work for the counselor’s shelf, parents and kids to read together and classroom.”  Molly Martin, Molly’s Reviews

Bickering Below

Josie and Eli, 2002

My ‘office’ is in a corner of our upstairs bedroom.  Directly below is the living room.  As I sat at my desk, trying like the devil to write a poem for the 60^th birthday party of a stranger in Massachusetts, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of teenagers involved in a difference of opinion.  I couldn’t hear the words being said, but I certainly recognized the volume and the tenor.  Josie and Eli were arguing.

I let it go for a few minutes.  I was busy.  I was trying to be creative and come up with a poem which would exemplify a woman whom I’d never met, but who had been described to me in great detail by someone who loved her.  I was getting paid to provide the focal point for the event: an amusing story told in rhyme which would be framed and gifted to the woman whose life was being celebrated.  I didn’t want to lose my concentration.  I was on a roll.

But creative ‘rolls’—especially when they are supposed to be humorous—necessitate that I be able to focus.  More importantly… that I be in a good mood. 

Listening to my children squabble isn’t conducive to supporting a mellow temperament.  Finally, I rolled back my chair and went to the head of the stairs.

“Hey, guys?  Will you please quit fighting?”

“We aren’t fighting, Mama!” hollered Josie-Earl.

“Yes, Mum, we are!” shouted Elias.

J&E, 2009

Uh-huh.  Just as I thought.  They were fighting about not fighting.

“Okay, well…whatever.  It sounds like fighting.   So stop it.”

I went back to work.  The lull was temporary.  Maybe 10 seconds.  The bickering continued uninterrupted.  It was quieter, but the tone was distinctive.  What on earth made me think they’d stop simply because I told them to?  Who do I think I am; their mother?

Within a few short minutes, the voices were loud and the timbre was getting nasty.  I sighed.  Banister bellowing wasn’t going to make the grade.  I had to go down there and walk amongst them.

At the living room doorway I stood, hands on hips, and looked at them.  Josie was in her father’s recliner.  Eli was on the couch, remote control in hand.  I had an idea that the television was the source of the disagreement.  Most likely, Josie didn’t want to watch Ice Road Truckers.  Was it ‘Survivor’ night?

“We aren’t fighting, Mum.”  This time, Eli took the high road, which involves trying to mislead his mother so she’ll skedaddle more quickly and let him get on with the business at hand.

“Yes.  This time, we are!” vowed his loving sister—no doubt hoping that her honesty would result in Eli getting the lion’s share of any blame.  If she could get him in trouble, maybe he’d have to give up control of the TV.

“What’s up, guys?  You hardly ever fight anymore.”

“Exactly,” said Jos.  “So this one’s a freebie.”

I really hate it when I have to admit that I admire a smart mouth.  Especially when it’s directed at me.  I sighed. 

J&E, 2011

“Josie, you haven’t washed the supper dishes yet.  Eli, you have laundry to fold.  Do your chores now, please, and stop this.  I don’t like to hear you fight.  It makes me feel bad.”

Well, it does.  I’ve never liked conflict—especially when it involves people I love.  But in all honesty, I hoped that by throwing that comment into the mix, they’d care enough about my feelings to settle their differences before the situation devolved into a full-blown ruckus.  A ruckus in which I would have to be the ‘bad guy’.  It was a little manipulative, sure.  But I’m just a mother who—after thirty years of ‘practice’ raising children—still doesn’t have a handle on what—exactly—will work.

I went back upstairs and tried to re-enter ‘the zone’.  But my concentration was gone; my good mood diminished.  It was quiet down below.  I didn’t hear water running in the kitchen sink; didn’t hear the laundry room door open and close.  But it was quiet.

For almost five minutes.

These Pease kids are stubborn.  They don’t back down.  They were each determined to ‘win’ whatever prize was at stake.  They simply couldn’t allow the other to have the last word.  I don’t know where they got that trait, but it’s annoying as heck.

The sounds of irritation and sarcasm floated up through the floor.  I’d just about had it!  I pushed away from my desk and stomped to the top of the stairs.  If I could hear their hushed arguing, then they could certainly hear my determined footsteps above their heads. 

Prepared to lay down the law once and for all, I braced my hands on the banister.

Silence. Not a single human sound from downstairs.

For three minutes I stood there, saying nothing.  They knew where I was.  Their ears had followed my obvious progression.  They were playing it safe.  Opponents when left to their own devices, they were now united in their desire to avoid my wrath.  I nodded my head in satisfaction.  There!  They knew they were on the edge and that the tipping point was imminent, unless they quit their bickering, post-haste!

This time, I won a full ten minutes.  I re-read what I’d written and began to compose the next stanza in my head.  But then…those sounds.  Those irritating—and now disobedient-- sounds.

I shrieked.  I hate to admit it, but I did.

“You two CUT THAT OUT!  NOW!  You’re going to wake up your father!” Yes, that was as lame as it gets.  As lame as I get!  Steven would never wake up to the sounds of their distant grumbling but he would stir when a one-hundred-decibel shout was emitted twelve feet away from where he lay sleeping.

This time, the two teens responded in unison. 

J&E, 2012

“We’re NOT fighting!”

“Well, cut it out, anyway!”

There.  That would show them!  That would get me the respect I deserve!

Oh, brother.  Being the optimistic sort, I have no doubt I’ll know what I’m doing by Year Thirty-two.  Until then, I’ll comfort myself with the knowledge that I got the ‘last word.’

And I’ll bet it’s annoying as heck. 

  

The Sound of a Leaf

I sat up in my orchard, with cocoa cup in hand.

My husband and my youngest son were roaming nearby land.

The ‘Wees’ (those Tennessean pups) were running here and there,

And Stevie-cat took swipes at them as they passed by his chair.

The dew was heavy on the ground.  The sun peeked over hill.

The trees—their colors riotous—gave eyes and soul a thrill.

My ears could hear the quiet sounds of man and man-boy talk,

As they discussed the forest, on their early morning walk.

And as I smiled and listened to the puppies and the ‘boys’

I once again discovered how this farm has brought me joy.

With face upturned to feeble sun, I heard a quiet sound…

As leaf detached from maple branch and floated to the ground.

How many places in this world can humans still discern

That sound—unique and beautiful—that happens when leaves turn

From shades of green and emerald, which they’ve dressed in since their birth—

To red and orange-- which they wear-- ‘til falling back to earth?

Some things are worth protecting.  Some things are just too rare

To justify complacency.  To say “I do not care.”

This part of Maine is quiet and there’s natural dark above.

To me, it’s worth an effort to safeguard what I love.

As someone who craves peacefulness—nonetheless, I found

That sometimes it’s essential to speak and stand your ground.

For ‘comfort zones’ exist, I think, for seeing if we dare

To step ‘outside’ and see just what we’ll do-- to prove we care.

If I am not successful here, then soon will come the day

When trees with golden foliage cannot be heard to say,

“Alas, I’ve done my duty.  I’ve given it my best.

“I’m falling now—just listen! as I glide to earth to rest.”

More Than 80%....

Grahame and KK's Grand Adventure (con't...)

On the road with Tony and Nicola--right before the elephant 'mock' charged them...and caused Grahame and KK to 'mock' wet their pants and have 'mock' heart attacks...

(This is 'Part Two' of the column which appears in GAG, below...)

In my last column I told you a little bit about Grahame and KK’s trip to Africa.  When I wrote that column, my Australian friends had only spent a night or two on the Dark Continent and most of Grahame’s ‘travel log’ pertained to their experiences en route and as they got settled at the home belonging to their son and daughter-in-law, Tony and Nicola.

Since that time, Grahame and KK have had many ‘African adventures’—and Grahame has sent me almost seven thousand words detailing their holiday experiences. Most of us can only dream about sharing the landscape with magnificent animals such as elephants, impalas, lions, leopards, crocs, hippos, giraffes and rhinos.  It’s likely we will only experience seeing those majestic (and often dangerous and/or endangered) creatures in a domestic setting, such as a zoo or an animal park.  And yet, my friends are spending their vacation sitting on riverbanks, on boats and on the outdoor decks of restaurants while viewing these animals in their natural habitats. 

I’m very thankful (even while being slightly envious) to have been given this opportunity to experience Africa ‘second-hand’ -- due to the kindness and graciousness of a good friend.

Black mambas--photo G. Dowling

Grahame has sent me some of the amazing photos he’s taken of the local fauna-- like the pair of Black Mamba snakes (extremely deadly!) which were sunning themselves right below the patio on which his family was dining.  Or the pair of bull elephants that sauntered into the nearby watering hole and decided it was a good time and place to strut their stuff.  The gents got into a bit of a rumble in their efforts to astound the gals with their ‘tusk action’--proving that boys will be boys, no matter where they live or how impressive their equipment.

I confess that—upon reading the portion of G’s journal pertaining to how he and KK were treated when they took a side trip to the famous and spectacular Victoria Falls—I once again got a bit wrathy.  Grahame wrote, in part:

“We arrived at ‘Vic Falls’ airport. A big difference in the friendliness of the South African airport staff to the Zimbabwe immigration and visa control, where they herded everyone into lines and barked orders as if we were prisoners lining up for a roll call. (They were) generally quite unpleasant and rude while scrutinizing our passport and tickets…”

I began to write about the fact that part and parcel of the African Experience is the state of the human condition on the Continent, as well as the politics surrounding each region.  After waxing philosophic, however, I decided to ‘leave it be’.  This is a light-hearted column…and Grahame and KK are having an amazing vacation. That’s what I want to focus on. I’ll ‘bristle’ in their defense another day.

Instead, I’d like to show you a bit of Grahame’s own ‘human condition’. I can’t adequately convey how this man tickles me and makes me smile.  Yes, we’ve had mild disagreements over the years (topics like ‘God’ and ‘guns’ have sometimes illustrated our differing philosophies) but I am confident that G is the best kind of friend that a person could have.  He’s sensitive but strong, polite but wickedly irreverent…and he has an amazing and powerful love for his wife.  That one quality alone is what I admire most about him.

But while I am in awe of his ‘husband perfection’…I can comfortably tease him about his other characteristics.  This segment from a recent email epitomizes my pal Grahame and shows his sense of humor (and indelible style) far better than I could ever do. 

“Just after I signed off yesterday writing to you I was sitting on my bed at Tony’s (the others had all gone down to the park) when a ******* giant baboon peered in the sliding glass door from outside at me. The door was open but the screen slider closed. Scared the crap out of me and I shrieked which made the baboon shriek and run. Closed up the place, closed all the curtains and went out to the car to drive down and join the others at the park, walked around to the driver’s side of the car and bugger me there was another one of the buggers who shrieked and jumped up in the air and almost made me soil my trousers. All very exciting. Jumped in car and went to park to get some medicine (aka Chardonnay.)”

Hah!  Tell me this.  How can a girl read words like that—and not smile?