Similar to the Jane Austen Mystery Series, Karen Harper has written a series starring Elizabeth Tudor. Ms. Harper (and Stephanie Barron) have taken two of my loves, history and literature and combined them into exciting adventures, worthy of my time and attention.
The first title in the series, The Poyson Garden, was released in 2000. The most recent, The Hooded Hawke, was released in 2007. The Poyson Garden takes place in the time just before Elizabeth gains the crown. Subsequent titles follow Elizabeth's progress as Queen of England. Each mystery weaves history and fiction, creating a tapestry for the reader as the mystery itself unravels.
Elizabeth, while still in control as Queen and executing her duties as such, becomes a detective (as if she did not have enough to do!), solving each murder. Elizabeth convenes a group of close allies to aid in exposing the murderer in each case. She calls this group her "Privy Council." Elizabeth delegates much of the leg-work, going out into her kingdom as she sees the need. Her excursions give her council much cause for worry as her life is always under threat from rivals. What if the murderer is really targeting our dear Queen?
I love the way Ms. Harper includes many real characters and events from Elizabeth's realm and time. She is very thorough in her research of both. It is easy to confirm and learn more about the people and historical episodes occurring throughout the stories. Ms. Harper's author's note at the end of each book elaborates on the situations and historical figures.
A timeline of events in Elizabeth's life, a pedigree and a map detailing the area of each title's locations are included at the beginning of each book. These have been a very helpful aid as London and surrounding environs have changed greatly since the late 1500's. I am a map user and use the maps frequently as Elizabeth and her Privy Council go forth to nab a murderer and protect their beloved Queen.
I have not yet read all 9 books. Our library system has the first 3 and 6-8. If I cannot find the others to borrow, it will be worth it to purchase the others. I have really enjoyed this series and look forward to reading all 9 books.
Ms. Harper has other historical novels, some related to Elizabeth I, although perhaps only peripherally. She also has a few titles set in the Amish country of Ohio in addition to other novels in contemporary settings. She is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Ms. Harper formerly taught English at the college level and taught high school literature and writing.*
*Source: Karen Harper
Scars Tell a Story
Scars tell a story. Injuries heal with time; scars remain.
I was going to post a few pictures of a variety of scars. Old scars, however, do not photograph well. Maybe there is a reason why.
Most scars fade with time. Some scars that form are relatively insignificant and don't have much to tell. I have many small, barely visible scars. I don't even remember the injury behind their birth. I have others such as the one from chicken pox that is clearly visible to all. It is a reminder to me of my family's month long encounter with chicken pox as it spread throughout the household. There are six of us children. My poor mother!
Other scars remind me to appreciate the life God has given me. One is from a bone marrow biopsy I had when I was a freshman in high school. Another medical concern led to blood tests that revealed a bigger concern. I had the bone marrow biopsy to check for leukemia. Fortunately, it came back negative and I moved on with my life, left with the scar to remember that scary time. A series of scars recently acquired are the result of relief from years of pain, but I choose to be reminded of the lives issued forth from my body by the grace of God. I can no longer sustain the life of another in my womb, but I can appreciate the two daughters in my life even more so. The scars will forever remind me of the blessings they are to me.
Still other scars come from wounds that don't heal well or wounds that run deep, remaining raised and discolored. However, the scars that run the deepest are the ones hidden from the world. Scars developed from emotional wounds form in our hearts. Sometimes, we don't even allow the wounds to heal to the point of scarring, purposefully or subconsciously. Sometimes, the wound begins to heal and scar, but something happens to us and we rip the wound wide open again. The deeper, hidden wounds we do allow to heal, leave scars that tend to continue to cause us pain. The stories behind these wounds and scars make us who are.
Scars are testament to a life lived.
I was going to post a few pictures of a variety of scars. Old scars, however, do not photograph well. Maybe there is a reason why.
Most scars fade with time. Some scars that form are relatively insignificant and don't have much to tell. I have many small, barely visible scars. I don't even remember the injury behind their birth. I have others such as the one from chicken pox that is clearly visible to all. It is a reminder to me of my family's month long encounter with chicken pox as it spread throughout the household. There are six of us children. My poor mother!
Other scars remind me to appreciate the life God has given me. One is from a bone marrow biopsy I had when I was a freshman in high school. Another medical concern led to blood tests that revealed a bigger concern. I had the bone marrow biopsy to check for leukemia. Fortunately, it came back negative and I moved on with my life, left with the scar to remember that scary time. A series of scars recently acquired are the result of relief from years of pain, but I choose to be reminded of the lives issued forth from my body by the grace of God. I can no longer sustain the life of another in my womb, but I can appreciate the two daughters in my life even more so. The scars will forever remind me of the blessings they are to me.
Still other scars come from wounds that don't heal well or wounds that run deep, remaining raised and discolored. However, the scars that run the deepest are the ones hidden from the world. Scars developed from emotional wounds form in our hearts. Sometimes, we don't even allow the wounds to heal to the point of scarring, purposefully or subconsciously. Sometimes, the wound begins to heal and scar, but something happens to us and we rip the wound wide open again. The deeper, hidden wounds we do allow to heal, leave scars that tend to continue to cause us pain. The stories behind these wounds and scars make us who are.
Scars are testament to a life lived.
Cabbages and Onions
Cabbages and onions. Those two vegetables forever remind me of my Grandpa Clevenger. Not so much the sight of them, but the smell. His barn smelled of cabbages and onions with a hint of apples. He sold vegetables and some fruit out of his barn that opened up into the road. Even after he had left the property and before it was sold (and I think torn down), the barn smelled of cabbages and onions. He had been working out of that barn for so long, the scent was a permanent part of the wood and atmosphere. What wonderful memories those two vegetables invoke.
I loved my Grandpa. He was 81 when I was born. He was bald, skinny, had incredibly blue eyes and smelled of soil and country air. He always seemed to be smiling about something. My favorite thing was to jump up and sit in his lap. By the time I was six or seven, he couldn't handle that anymore. It saddened me, but I learned to be content with just sitting next to him or following him around.
He had a very small farmette, probably about an acre. The patch of ground in which he raised his vegetables was nothing more than a really big garden, but he knew how to get the most produce out of that area. There was also a small apple orchard and a permanent spot for rhubarb, a spot for corn and another spot with blackberry vines. In one corner of the property, my Dad's Mom had a flower garden. It was not tended in my memory-she passed away when I was about 2 years old. There were so many places to explore and hide.
Visiting Grandpa was my only real exposure to rural life as a child. I grew up in a city. The first time I ever saw a cow was at the zoo. Yes, even though I am Kansas born and bred, I did not grow up on a farm! Grandpa's place was on the southern edge of a small Nebraska town. The town was about a quarter mile long and maybe 3 or 4 blocks wide. The grocery store was an old building with a wide wood-planked floor and had the same kind of feel as Grandpa's barn. So many decades of living leaving its mark forever.
Grandpa was moved out of there when I was about 13 or 14. I am certain my memories of the place are skewed by youth, but the memories of Grandpa and my Dad's family are real enough. After he passed away, at the age of 99 years and 8 months, I realized I had so many questions to ask him; so much I wanted to know about him. Some of my questions have been answered through genealogical research. Those answers have only led to more questions. One day, when it is my time to go, I will be able to jump up into his lap again and have forever to get to know the man I call Grandpa.
I loved my Grandpa. He was 81 when I was born. He was bald, skinny, had incredibly blue eyes and smelled of soil and country air. He always seemed to be smiling about something. My favorite thing was to jump up and sit in his lap. By the time I was six or seven, he couldn't handle that anymore. It saddened me, but I learned to be content with just sitting next to him or following him around.
He had a very small farmette, probably about an acre. The patch of ground in which he raised his vegetables was nothing more than a really big garden, but he knew how to get the most produce out of that area. There was also a small apple orchard and a permanent spot for rhubarb, a spot for corn and another spot with blackberry vines. In one corner of the property, my Dad's Mom had a flower garden. It was not tended in my memory-she passed away when I was about 2 years old. There were so many places to explore and hide.
Visiting Grandpa was my only real exposure to rural life as a child. I grew up in a city. The first time I ever saw a cow was at the zoo. Yes, even though I am Kansas born and bred, I did not grow up on a farm! Grandpa's place was on the southern edge of a small Nebraska town. The town was about a quarter mile long and maybe 3 or 4 blocks wide. The grocery store was an old building with a wide wood-planked floor and had the same kind of feel as Grandpa's barn. So many decades of living leaving its mark forever.
Grandpa was moved out of there when I was about 13 or 14. I am certain my memories of the place are skewed by youth, but the memories of Grandpa and my Dad's family are real enough. After he passed away, at the age of 99 years and 8 months, I realized I had so many questions to ask him; so much I wanted to know about him. Some of my questions have been answered through genealogical research. Those answers have only led to more questions. One day, when it is my time to go, I will be able to jump up into his lap again and have forever to get to know the man I call Grandpa.
18!!
On this day, 18 short years ago, our daughter surprised us and the world with her arrival. It was a big surprise-she was not to due to make her appearance until March 27! Unbeknowst to me, I had been having contractions just about the whole weekend and had no idea. I had been having little twinges and did not realize they were contractions until after my water broke! We still had 3 more childbirth classes to go, my bag was not packed and neither my husband nor myself were mentally ready for labor and delivery. As I sat on the toilet while my amniotic fluid leaked out along with tears from my eyes, my wonderful husband made the call to the hospital and quickly packed a bag as I talked to the nurse. We made our way to the hospital, 30+ minutes away in record time (with a stop by the Kansas Highway Patrol). A mere 6 hours later, at 5:20 a.m. CST, I grunted and there she was. Our lives were changed instantly and the world became a better place with her departure from the womb. My dearest, eldest daughter, I love you more than you can ever imagine. Happy Birthday!
Footnote: Just as it was 18 years ago, winter weather is making an appearance on her birthday. My in-laws braved a four hour drive both ways in freezing rain to meet their first grandchild on the day of her birth. They are not on their way now (just in case you are wondering).
Sisterhood of the Traveling Basketball Socks
It started with this picture:
I played 2 seasons of basketball in high school. We were issued new socks every year and I still have both pairs. I wear them in cold weather, usually when there is snow on the ground. The socks are thick and keep my feet warm and dry and since they come up high on the shin, I don't feel any cold air that tries to sneak up the cuff of my pants.
I was going out to shovel the driveway the day I took the picture and posted it on Facebook, tagging all of my former teammates with whom I still keep in touch via Facebook. Someone came up with the idea of sending the socks out to each team member and posting a picture for all to see. I have 2 pairs, not like I will be missing one pair all that much. So we are.
The socks have been sent and a photo posted.
Now they are on their way to the next teammate. The ties that bind. As teammates back in the day, we got our butts kicked in marathon practices, bonded on the bus rides to away games and hung out at school before the home games. Now, we have a pair of socks to revive those good times and remind of us how funny life can sometimes be. Pretty cool. Go Sumner Sabres!!
I've "Bee"n Quilting
I've mentioned what my hubby calls my "funeral shroud" in a previous post or two. This is it:
Hers is much bigger. I found plans online and somewhat followed them. Hers is big enough to cover a queen size bed and then some.
Now I am working on JMW's. She has been patiently waiting and will be waiting another year or so. It takes a couple of years from start to finish. The easy part is assembling the blocks and the backing. What takes so much time is the quilting. Hence, the quilting bees of the past-the detail work is painstaking and requires a lot of stitches and time. I know JMW will be happy with the end result. It's looking pretty cool so far. 4 rows assembled, at least 4 more to go! The finished quilt will be about 8 feet by 8 feet.
It's a bunch of t-shirts from concerts, places I have visited, etc. The back is fleece and it is super warm. When it's cold, I wrap myself up in it with just my face peeking out and have a nap in my recliner. Or you might find me wrapped up in the corner of the couch reading a book. Sometimes, I'm wrapped up in it napping in the hammock. It's my cocoon.
I completed one for SAW a couple of years ago.
Now I am working on JMW's. She has been patiently waiting and will be waiting another year or so. It takes a couple of years from start to finish. The easy part is assembling the blocks and the backing. What takes so much time is the quilting. Hence, the quilting bees of the past-the detail work is painstaking and requires a lot of stitches and time. I know JMW will be happy with the end result. It's looking pretty cool so far. 4 rows assembled, at least 4 more to go! The finished quilt will be about 8 feet by 8 feet.
A "Miserable" Date
It was a date in 4 Acts. Act I started out the evening right. We went to a Saturday evening worship service at Crosspoint UMC at their South Hanover location. It's in a strip mall and fronted by a coffee shop, Perking Point. Nice place, nice people and good worship. Off to the movies for Act II and then dinner for Act III. The movie, Les Miserables is nearly 3 hours long and we went for dinner afterwards. I can't remember the last time we had dinner at 10:30. Probably not since we left Kansas City 16 years ago. Looks like this part of the world is starting to grow up. Dinner in a restaurant that didn't close the kitchen before 10 p.m.! My daughter couldn't believe we were just getting to dinner that late. I told her this is what life is like before children and when children are big enough to handle Mom and Dad going out for a good time. Hey, we are still young enough-dinner at Luby's Cafeteria at 4:30 can wait!
Les Miserables is a must see. For those of you who are hibernating in a cave for the winter, it is a filmatic opera, released Christmas Day. Not a musical. Huge difference. A musical is action and dialogue interspersed by sudden bursts of song. An opera is action and sung dialogue, with very little spoken word and interspersed with arias. Opera in film is quite different from operatic theatre. For one, close-ups allow all to see the emotion in the singer, not just hear the emotion. Another is the obvious difference in scenery, just as in any play or musical turned film. This particular opera is not just a take your wife or girlfriend out kinda movie. My husband liked it so much, he is reading the unabridged novel by Victor Hugo (he also wrote The Hunchback of Notre Dame).
Les Miserables is an emotionally charged story. The short version: parole breaker Jean Valjean is running from the law, in the form of policeman Javert, while raising and protecting an orphaned girl. The story begins at the end of Napoleon's reign in 1815. The story ends following the June Rebellion of 1832. The movie is well cast, with powerful performances from all. There is very little happiness (get a clue from the title!). I can only imagine how physically drained the actors must have been after a day of filming.
The film has won 3 Golden Globes and is nominated for 9 BAFTA awards and 8 Academy Awards. It's really good. I will watch it again some time. But not any time soon. I need to recover. I can't handle that much emotional intensity again so soon.
So, Act IV of date night? A lady never tells.
Les Miserables is a must see. For those of you who are hibernating in a cave for the winter, it is a filmatic opera, released Christmas Day. Not a musical. Huge difference. A musical is action and dialogue interspersed by sudden bursts of song. An opera is action and sung dialogue, with very little spoken word and interspersed with arias. Opera in film is quite different from operatic theatre. For one, close-ups allow all to see the emotion in the singer, not just hear the emotion. Another is the obvious difference in scenery, just as in any play or musical turned film. This particular opera is not just a take your wife or girlfriend out kinda movie. My husband liked it so much, he is reading the unabridged novel by Victor Hugo (he also wrote The Hunchback of Notre Dame).
Les Miserables is an emotionally charged story. The short version: parole breaker Jean Valjean is running from the law, in the form of policeman Javert, while raising and protecting an orphaned girl. The story begins at the end of Napoleon's reign in 1815. The story ends following the June Rebellion of 1832. The movie is well cast, with powerful performances from all. There is very little happiness (get a clue from the title!). I can only imagine how physically drained the actors must have been after a day of filming.
The film has won 3 Golden Globes and is nominated for 9 BAFTA awards and 8 Academy Awards. It's really good. I will watch it again some time. But not any time soon. I need to recover. I can't handle that much emotional intensity again so soon.
So, Act IV of date night? A lady never tells.
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