M. Jean Pike's Blog, page 5

Uprooted

The hostas in my shade garden did not come back this year. They didn’t come back last year either. Maybe it was just too hot for them. Or possibly I wasn’t as good about watering them as I could have been. I missed their quiet beauty. So when my neighbor called and said she had separated her years-old hostas and wondered if I’d like some, I didn’t hesitate.

Thank heavens they were “Miss Emma approved” for the yard

They sat in a cardboard box for two days, waiting for me to have time for them. Yesterday, in between the raindrops, I dispersed them throughout my flower beds. God gave them a good, refreshing drink

They look a little bedraggled this morning, a little stunned, but who wouldn’t be? I know how hard it is to be uprooted later in life, to have to start over in a new, unfamiliar place. I hope my hostas will thrive. I hope they will be happy here and come to realize that even older girls can make a new start.

Have you ever had to start again in a new environment?

Rainy Days…

They were made for soup

And candles

And writing. Which I have not done nearly enough of lately. With my dinner in the crock pot and the mood set with scent and soft, flickering light, it’s time to escape into my fictional world for the day

A Teddy Bear Doing a Back Float and A Baby Elephant…?

The clouds had many stories to tell again today

On an In-Ground Swimming Pool, Jane West’s Fabulous Horse Ranch, and the Night Mr. Callahan almost Put His Foot Down

My family moved a few times for my father’s job when I was growing up. Some of my fondest memories center on the brief space of time when we lived in a drafty old farm house in Mendon, NY. I’m sure my parents thought it was the best of both worlds — quiet country living convenient to my father’s job in Rochester, a half hour away.  

We were an average family of average income. I didn’t know that my parents struggled to heat the big old museum in the winter, or that my father had to work many hours of overtime to put presents under the Christmas tree.  One of my sisters and I shared a pretty bedroom with pink roses on the walls. We had a toy box full of stuffed animals and Barbie dolls, parents who loved each other, and food on the table. I couldn’t think of anything else a little girl could need or want. Until we crossed paths with the Callahan’s.

Mrs. Callahan was a good fifteen years older than mom. She had skin tanned the color of rich copper and eyes that crinkled in the corners when she smiled. Which was often. Nothing much seemed to bother her. She had a daughter our age named Diana, whom we rode the school bus with. One day Mrs. Callahan called our mother to arrange for us to come over and swim with Diana.

I had never seen anything like the Callahan’s in-ground swimming pool, that big, square lake of clear blue water that dominated their front yard. I was fascinated by the diving board. I learned how to dive that day — or at least do some impressive belly flops The wonders did not end with the pool. Whereas we had one TV in our living room, the Callahan’s had three. They even had one in the kitchen where Mrs. Callahan could watch the news while she prepared dinner. They had a glass wall of windows in the living room that overlooked acres of woods, and a den with a record player hidden behind a door in the wall.  

Diana had her own bedroom, with a sea shell collection as big as our toy box and a family of Jane West dolls with moveable arms and legs who owned their own ranch, complete with horses — black and brown and white, each with silken tails and manes. Diana had a dog named Julie whom she’d taught to roll over and beg for treats. Diana was allowed to watch TV in her room after her parents went to bed. Oh how I wanted the things Diana had!

One day Diana invited my sister and I over for a slumber party. I’d never been to one before and I was beyond excited. We played with Julie. We swam until it was dark outside, and then Mrs. Callahan treated us to hot fudge sundaes and the promise of her famous chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Maybe it was the excitement of spending the night in a home other than our own. Definitely the hot fudge played a part. We couldn’t fall asleep. We sat up in Diana’s room, talking and giggling until what seemed very late into the night. Mrs. Callahan came up twice and told us to keep it down. We didn’t. On her third visit to Diana’s room, Mrs. Callahan came with a threat: Quiet down, now, or Mr. Callahan would come up and put his foot down!

Wait, what?

I’d never heard the expression before and could not begin to think what Mr. Callahan putting his foot down would look like. Would he come to the door and stomp his foot like I did when I was angry? Diana explained that it meant he would come up and holler at us. I could not imagine such a thing. Mr. Callahan was a scientist, a mild mannered man, who never even raised his eyebrows, let alone his voice.

Mr. Callahan never did come up and put his foot down. I suppose the threat alone was enough to make us finally turn out the lights and go to sleep.

I don’t remember how long we lived in that farmhouse. We moved again, and then again, and eventually lost track of the Callahan’s. But I think often of the house with the glass wall of windows and the in-ground swimming pool. I think of my mother and Mrs. Callahan sharing coffee and secrets in Mrs. Callahan’s beautiful kitchen. How Mom must have treasured those moments of relaxation and friendship. I think of the wonderful times we all spent there and the lessons I didn’t know I was learning

Lesson #1 Friendship. It doesn’t hinge on age or economic status, but the joy of a true connection  found between kindred souls.

Lesson #2 Jealousy. Human nature is a curious thing. Jealousy can rear its ugly head at even a tender young age. A person can be perfectly happy with what they have. Until they notice that someone else has more.

Lesson #3 Sacrificial Love. The Christmas after our slumber party, I would awaken on Christmas morning to discover a Jane West doll under the tree, along with a Palamino horse with a golden coat and a silky white tail. It would be years before I would look back and appreciate the overtime my father must have worked to get me these treasures.  

August — Another Month in the Rearview

So here we are at the end of August. Another month in the rearview mirror. How have the first eight months of 2025 gone by so quickly? August was a month of highs and lows in many ways. The month started hot and then became blessedly cool I hope we are done with the heat and humidity for this year, but then, we are talking about Ohio.

I read just two books this month. I have been battling exhaustion, and it has cut into my nighttime reading. My first book was a little longer than my usual and took half the month for me to finish. The River Wife by Jonis Agee is a family saga- type story with three narrators; all women who in one way or another are connected to river pirate Jaques Ducharmes. It is a story of hard lives lived in the deep south, spanning the decades from the 1800s to the 1930s. It was nicely written with engaging characters– quite brutal in some spots, very sweet in others. But I found it to be a bit heavy. I gave it 4 stars on Goodreads.

While putting out our monthly shipment of books at work, I was delighted to see a title by Mary Kubica called The Good Girl. I came across her book, Just The Nicest Couple, at a thrift shop last month and had read first chapter before leaving the store (with the book tucked safely in my shopping bag!) I took a peek at this one to see if it was just as good. It was! It went home with me that night. Another twisty, turny psychological thriller of dark family secrets. I couldn’t put it down. 5 stars

In other bookish news, My twelfth novel, Superheroes, came out this month and is getting some really good feedback. I’m so pleased!

On the social calendar for August, my sister and I had a coffee date to celebrate Superheroes’ release.

And there were more things to celebrate. My youngest granddaughter turned four this month! Wasn’t she just a baby?

My friend Sharon and I celebrated my seventh (now 8th) week of being sugar free with a bubble. It was such a pretty day we went for a little ride around nearby Lake Katharine afterwards, and then we went for a spin around Sharon’s property on the Kubota. Fun day!

I have only lost five pounds so far, but I am noticing that clothes that used to be tight are now loose. Progress!

I also had a new kitchen adventure in August. Freezer Pickles! They are much sweeter than the dill I usually make, but the sweet, tangy taste is a nice change, and they are quick and easy to make

Ever have an old clunker that became not so reliable? The kind you take to the shop for a tune-up and discover there’s another issue. And another, and another, that needs to be addressed? I sometimes feel like an old clunker, lol.

I decided that before summer ended, I would take care of some maintenance. First up, a visit to the dentist for a cleaning. And some news I was not anticipating. I now have two shiny, new dental appointments on my calendar for November Next up, eye exam. I had noticed my distance vision was getting a little blurry. I thought I would have the exam and in a few days, get a snappy new pair of glasses. Maybe red Instead, I got a referral to an eye specialist for some testing on my corneas, which my eye doctor though appeared to be thinning. He erred on the side of caution. After a number of tests, the specialist concluded that there was nothing wrong with my corneas (Well, nothing he would not expect to see in a 60-plus year old pair of eyes. Thank You, Lord!) So it’s back to the eye doctor to get those glasses. I’m definitely getting red!

As we move into fall, my thoughts turn to autumn leaves and big pots of chili. Apple picking and comfy sweaters and pumpkin everything. Welcome, September! Please hang out awhile, instead of rushing off like your cousins, May, June, July and August  

On Reading Poetry With Grandma, Saturday Nights at the Bingo Hall, and the Search for the House With the Red Door

When I was growing up, there was nothing more wonderful than a weekend spent at Grandma’s. There was something so magical about that time. It wasn’t the house itself, a no-frills, blue-and-white singlewide manufactured in 1963. Maybe it was about the grove of pine trees the trailer nestled in that my grandfather planted years before, one tree at a time. Maybe it was the shuffleboard out back where we’d spend long, sunny afternoons trying for that perfect score. Or the glider swing on the front porch where we’d sit and watch the world go by while Grandma told me stories about growing up in the early 1900s. But probably most of the magic was about Grandma herself.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

The visits always started with a stop at the Red and White on Main Street in Grandma’s small, Western New York town. She would pull her Plymouth to the curb, open her big, black purse and utter those magic words: “Take my billfold in and get whatever you want.” Billfold in hand, I’d wander the aisles, filling my cart with Orange Fanta and Root Beer (which we rarely drank at home), frozen TV dinners, hot dogs, chips, and plenty of snacks to last the weekend. Grandma had a wonder in her kitchen known as a gas stove, so much more fun than our electric one at home. She let me cook our hot dogs over the open flame of the burner and pretend it was a campfire.

Some nights after dinner I’d curl up beside her on the couch and she’d read me poetry; The Children’s Hour, October’s Bright Blue Weather, The Highwayman (which I did not really understand at the time, but found profoundly sad and beautiful.) Walt Whitman, D.H. Lawrence. William Butler Yeats. Grandma exposed me to these Masters at a young age. Is it any wonder my first attempts at writing were poems?

Some nights grandma and I went to the local BINGO hall, a large, smoke- filled room with long tables where old men and women lined up BINGO chips and rabbit’s feet in front of them like talismans. Grandma would buy me two play cards for each game. On rare, lucky nights I would win a dollar or two, but not very often.

The best times were when we’d get in Grandma’s Plymouth and go for a drive. Grandma let me be her GPS, dictating every turn. There was no country lane too narrow, no cow path too rutted when Grandma was behind the wheel. One day after a heavy rain, Grandma got the car stuck in the mud on a country road. We walked to the nearest farm, where the farmer and his wife were just sitting down to Sunday dinner. No matter. He grabbed his chains, and we hopped in his pickup truck. He drove us back to where the car was stuck, pulled it out of the mud, and returned home to finish his dinner. (Try that in a big town )

One soft summer evening we drove past a little white cottage with a red door. I begged Grandma to slow down so I could take in the scene; a family playing badminton, a cat on the porch, a hound dog snoozing beneath a Weeping Willow tree. The scene exuded peace. Love. The joy of summertime. I could not stop thinking about it. The next time we went for a ride I begged Grandma to drive back by the house with the red door. She tried. She drove down every country road for miles until it was too dark to see. We never found the house again.

There are things from childhood that stay with you for life. I still love to sit in a comfy chair on the porch and watch the world go by. I still love hot dogs cooked over an open fire. I still love long Sunday drives, especially when they turn into an adventure. And every house I have ever owned has eventually had a red door.

It’s National Dog Day!

I couldn’t let the day slip by without posting a couple of pics of my sweet, goofy girl. The One and Only Miss Emma

We hope you and your fur babies had a barkin’ good day

Pictures in the sky

I saw these clouds out the window at work today and had to grab my phone and run outside. These are the kinds of clouds I love, the kind that make pictures in the sky. I see a big, fluffy cat. What do you see?

Connection

It can be a lonely thing to sit with a story for ten months to a year, trying to choose the right words that will bring the setting and characters to life. Choosing just the right scenes to make your point, writing and cutting, rewriting and cutting some more and hopefully still saying something of value. You wonder whether anyone out there will connect with your “people.” It’s so very gratifying when someone does. I absolutely love this review of Superheroes from Reading is My Superpower!

Book Review: Superheroes by M Jean Pike

Coffee, Candles and Superheroes!

This is an exciting day for me. Have I mentioned that my new book, Superheroes, releases today (lol). So this morning, my sister and I headed back to Holy Grounds to celebrate, because what goes better with a really good book than a really good latte

So, so many choices at Holy Grounds, but I behaved myself and went with the sugar free caramel latte!

Marge went with the hazelnut latte this time.

And look at this custom- made Superheroes candle she ordered from our favorite candle lady!

I’m so thankful for books and coffee and candles. And for my sister, who always finds a way to make a special day even more special