Lisa Wingate's Blog, page 2

The Memory Boats

There are times when you turn corners in life without quite realizing what’s happened. It’s only when you stumble across the reminders that you realize how much time has passed and how far you’ve come on your journey. — Story Guru

For years around here we’ve been in the busy season of work commitments, man-child activities, book travel, and the general scramble that comes with the transitional years of fluffing out fledgling humans and preparing them to fly from the nest.

In the meantime, the nest has slowly deteriorated. A post by our wonderful Belle Friday, Nicole Seitz, a few weeks ago, inspired me. Nicole shared her amazing redecorating efforts and her (brilliant I think) literary master bath, papered with pages from her books. Those photos spurred me to action.

I started in the kitchen, moved through bedrooms, and the weekend before Easter, landed on the master bath, where a mini-remodel included new shower tile and a restyled vanity featuring a gorgeous vessel sink.

The vessel sink necessitated taking down the medicine cabinet, which necessitated cleaning out my husband’s junk drawer in the vanity so items from said medicine cabinet could be place inside.

To say this was a journey would be an understatement. No matter who it belongs to, there’s nothing quite like the wacky, wild, and sometimes wondrous world of the junk drawer.

They’re like tiny time capsules filled with stuff of life – these places where we empty our pockets at the closing of the day, or sweep our counter clutter when company is coming over, or tuck away a phone number we might eventually need, or toss a Happy Meal toy that’s found in the bottom of the laundry hamper. Sooner or later the kid will notice it’s gone, and you’ll be reminded to rescue it.

Or not. Sometimes, you find yourself years later, sitting on the floor with the junk drawer propped in your lap as you sniffle over that tiny matchbox car, or leftover tokens from Chuck E Cheese, or shiny pebbles discovered among the roadside gravel on a family vacation, or wrinkled school photos cut crooked along the edges, To Dad, hapy valintin’s day! scrawled across the back in first-grade print.

Some finds are not so sentimental… like this one. Technically speaking, this little wonder is a combination of comb, dental floss pick, red-white-and-blue memory ribbon, and plastic creepy crawler, all nicely sealed together with a rubber band that has decayed to the consistence of Gorilla Glue.

I guess at this point, you could look at it as sculpture…. maybe?

Yet even as I marvel and chuckle to myself, there are reminders here. There’s a little boy who loved bugs, and dinosaurs, and the nature channel, and wanted to be a scientist before he could even say the word. There are the days after 911, when stores were sold out of anything red, white, and blue.

The past flows free like water breaching the walls of a sandcastle. It fills spaces I thought were vacant. Memories float to the surface.

Years ago as a young mom working on my second novel, I wrote these words during a toddler’s nap time:

It’s strange, I thought, how memories are like boats floating out from their anchors. They drift through the edges of our consciousness, unnoticed, unexamined, mere shadows, until we run across the thing to which they are anchored. Wrapping our hands around the ropes, we pull them to the dock again, and they are as clear and as real as if we had experienced them yesterday.

Memories can be anchored to anything—a person, a place, a taste, a scent, an object, a melody….

So I sail away in junk drawer, bewildered and fascinated, the tides floating in and out.  This, I’m reminded, is truth. We do not control the memories that embed themselves in the deep oceans of the mind. We’re unaware of their presence on ordinary days as we skim the glittering surface of life. Yet the real treasures lie hidden, gathering salt haze and barnacles, waiting patiently for us to wander by and trip across the mooring lines wherever they may be tied.

Even in the junk drawer.

— Lisa

The Legend of St. Patrick

Happy St. Patrick’s week, everyone!  Since it’s that time of year again and I am proudly Irish on my red-haired mother’s side, it occurred to me that, aside from “He was the patron saint of Ireland,” I really don’t know that much about St. Patrick or why we celebrate the holiday in the way that we do. I hope you’ll enjoy learning the answers as much as I did. — Lisa

The Legend of St Patrick

Born to wealthy British parents in the year 387, the man who would become St. Patrick was originally christened Maewyn Succat. By all accounts Maewyn seemed destined for a privileged existence, but his life would take an unexpected and seemingly ghastly turn when the family estate was attacked by pagan Irish raiders. Spared from death, Maewyn was taken prisoner and transported to Ireland, where he would become a slave, sent to work as a shepherd far from other people. Frightened, lonely, and in a foreign land, young Maewyn found God his only companion, and he turned to his Christian faith as solace, becoming devout as he prayed alone and guarded his master’s sheep.

After six years, Maewyn had a dream in which he believe God told him a ship would return him to his home in England. Following the message in the dream, he escaped and eventually found passage on a ship. In England, now a young man, Maewyn began his religious training, a course of study lasting over fifteen years. A dream again foretold his future, leading him to believe that he would one day return to Ireland as a missionary. In 432, he was called to Rome, made a bishop by Pope Celestine, and commissioned to travel as a missionary to Ireland. At that time, he was given the name “Patritius”, stemming from two Latin words, meaning “father of his people.”

Patrick, who felt that Ireland was his home, as this was the place he had originally found his faith, came to his new position with the advantage of knowing Irish myth and culture. In order to help bring in converts, he chose to use traditional Irish symbols in his teaching. To help Irish pagans understand the importance of the cross, he superimposed a sun around the cross, creating what is now known as the Celtic cross.

Legend has it that St. Patrick used the shamrock to explain the Trinity as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, one leaf symbolizing each portion of the Holy Trinity, and the fact that all three were bound together symbolizing “three in one.” The shamrock, sacred among the Druids and known as the national flower of Ireland was given a completely new meaning.  St. Patrick’s use of it as a symbol of the Trinity explains the incorporation of it into today’s St. Patrick’s Day lore.

St. Patrick spent 28 years spreading the gospel in Ireland before dying at 76 in Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland, on the 17th of March, 461 A.D. There were few Christians when he came to the island and he succeeded in converting almost the entire population to Christianity. We celebrate St. Patrick’s Day on the 17th of March, the anniversary of his death.

And that, my friends, is the legend of St. Patrick. Quite a story. Quite a testimony to the ability of one life to make a difference in many.

In honor of St. Patrick, as well as his devotion to his faith and to Ireland, I leave you with a traditional Irish blessing, which I hope will follow you in the coming year:

May the Irish hills caress you.

May her lakes and rivers bless you.

May the luck of the Irish enfold you.

May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

— Lisa

The Story Keeper a SIBA Book Awards 2014 Finalist!




Click for peek at The Tidewater Sisters
 Click for sneak peek at The Story Keeper
 
 

The Untold Tale of Gable and Luke

Because the best cure for cold-weather boredom is a warmhearted story (and there’s nothing better than unearthing an untold tale that comes with an underlying lesson) I present you the sweet and true story of Gable and Luke.

This story came to me a few years ago after I mentioned to a dear reader-friend, Ed, that I needed some photos of a mule for a book video. Since I didn’t know any mules personally at the time, that was a bit of a problem. Little did I realize that my intrepid friend would set out on an adventure with his pocket camera that very week in search of a willing, photogenic, and long-eared subject. Ed did, indeed, come back with a treasure:

You may already be guessing, by looking at the abundance of snowy white hairs on this old fellow’s face, that he’s got quite a story. Here’s the tale as Ed related it — Lisa

Lisa,

Let me tell you about my day. We have a Farmer’s Market, here, on the other side of town. During the summer months, on Saturdays, farmers bring their produce to sell and it’s always crowded with people like me wanting to get one more taste of a real tomato, get one more pan fried, fresh Okra, one more ear of sweet corn that just falls off the cob and is so delicious. So I went to the Farmer Market early this morning.

At each of the booths, I looked at the produce and asked if anyone knew somebody who owned a mule. You can guess the looks I got. Each booth had the same story, i.e. that farmers couldn’t make a living using a mule. They had tractors.

Finally I got to the last booth, bought okra, peaches, and tomatoes. The booth was manned by three black farmers — a young boy, and older boy, and a middle age woman. I asked the question about a mule and explained that I needed a picture for the best writer in the country. They talked back and forth and then the woman remembered that their Uncle had a mule that he used to farm his land. I asked where he lived and they gave me the name of the community, which is some distance away. I ask if he had a phone and the answer was no. I shook the woman’s hand and asked her name, and we discovered that we both have the same last name. What a coincidence!

She gave me directions and I left on my journey.

I went right to the farm — didn’t have to stop for directions or turn around. I had no problems finding it. The farm was on a dirt road and the house was very old. A man was sitting on the porch with his dogs. I introduced myself and asked if he still had his mule. He took me out to the barn and  called the mule and the mule came up to us so I could take his picture. The farmer’s name is Gable. He’s eighty-four years old and still farms some 8 acres with the mule. The mule’s name is Luke. He’s thirty years old. Gable got him when Luke was just eight years old.

There’s so much more to this story! We talked for over an hour about so many things. He’s been on that farm for over forty years. Only Luke and Gable to do the work. Gable’s wife has been dead for a long time. He has no tractor, no telephone. He has a radio.  He talked about the importance of being debt free. The last thing he ever went into debt for was the land and the mule. Neighbors told him that if he planted melons, he could make enough money to pay off both in seven years, and he did. He has been debt free ever since. He did not have a television and said he never could see a reason for one.

He’d always been content, just with what he had.

What a wonderful visit!

–Ed

So there, my friends, you have the tale of Gable and Luke, a story of hard-working business partners who resisted the pressure to change with the times. In this rush-and-achieve world, there’s a lesson in that for all of us, I think.

The grass isn’t always greener in the next pasture over. Sometimes, you’re knee deep in corn shucks, right where you are.

Happiness doesn’t come from getting more, but from appreciating what we already have.

And maybe, if we’re lucky, sharing it with one good friend.

— Lisa

The Story Keeper a SIBA Book Awards 2014 Finalist!




Click for peek at The Tidewater Sisters
 Click for sneak peek at The Story Keeper
 

A Dog Year (From Huckleberry Wingate)

Happy 2015, reader-friends!  Yes, it’s Huckleberry here. The regular story guru is tied up with book deadlines and other daily duties, so I’ve been asked to take over today and pen the annual Wingate year in review. I hope you’ll forgive my use of quite a few photos – my typing skills are somewhat rudimentary, due to an unfortunate lack of thumbs. I’ve tried voice-to-text dictation, but the results are generally just a little ruff.

But, I digress. My purpose as your guest host is to share with you the year in Wingateville, just as if you were here and the two of us were chewing the proverbial fat. Speaking of fat — I like fat. Do you? Fat makes me think of delectable morsels straight from the frying pan…which makes me think of Grandma’s house, as treasures from the frying pan do not often fall my way at home. My year in Wingateville began with a stay at Grandma’s house, while these people squeaked out a ski vacation over New Year’s weekend:

It looks like fun, but I didn’t mind being left behind in Texas. Despite my copious fluff, I don’t relish cold weather. And did I mention that I bunked at Grandma’s house? Grandma and I eat at the Sonic Drive-in together. Grandma’s house is good.

Spring in Wingateville brought a lovely bloom of wildflowers this year. Everyone came home long enough to take pictures. There’s nothing better than having your favorite people all together in one place… unless it’s having them all together in a field of bluebonnets. The man-children clean up pretty well, don’t you think?

That’s my assistant, Little Britches, in the photo. She also loves it when the man-children come home, in particular the big one. He’s been her fella for a long time, but since graduating from college he’s busy with his industrial engineering job, and their four-wheeler riding time together is limited. He’s also busy with other things. These days, when the big man-child comes to visit, he generally has a girl with him:

I like the girl. She’s cuddly and she smells good, in a flowery sort of way. My only complaint, really, is that when she visits, she does not deposit dirty laundry on the floor for me to enjoy. I count on this with the man-children. Used man-child laundry is delightful. Laundry piles are great for sleeping and the socks double as entertaining playthings. The man-children love it when we engage in rousing games of give-me-my-sock. Those can go on a while.

Speaking of dirty laundry, I enjoyed much of it over the summer, as the #2 man-child came home from a successful first year of engineering at Texas Tech and spent three hot, sweaty months working for the maintenance department at the high school. Oh, the odor of attics and crawl spaces and dirty sewer drains! The dampened-and-worn socks! I barely missed Mom and Dad when they left us here and traveled to Georgia and North Carolina for a book awards trip. The man-child and I fared quite nicely. For one thing, we didn’t bother washing the laundry. We just reveled in its presence.

About the time I grew accustomed to the man-child being home, he packed everything (including the laundry) and prepared to leave for college. I attempted to go along, so as to help with driving, kitchen floor cleanup (a big job in a home shared by numerous man-children), and editing English papers.

Just when I thought I had had made my case for the move to college, I was, quite rudely, removed from the truck. With the house strangely quiet, I returned to my usual editorial work here.

No sooner had I finished, than Mom and Grandma departed on a book tour, leaving Dad and me alone. We would have starved to death… if not for Sonic. Have I mentioned that I like Sonic?

Mom finally returned home weeks later, and that brings us practically up to date for the year of 2014. If you’re a book lover (personally, I think they’re delicious) you might enjoy knowing that Mom had three new offerings out this year – Wildwood Creek, The Story Keeper, and most recently A Sandy’s Seashell Shop Christmas.

And that, my friends, is the last of the news. Wherever the beginning of 2015 finds your family, I hope it finds your tail wagging, your food dish full, and your chew-bone stash replenished from the goodies there were under the tree (I found all of mine early).

Love and wags,

– Huckleberry

A Sandy’s Seashell Shop Christmas

Is anyone else having a hard time believing it’s December already? For us, the holiday celebration will be coming a little early this year to accommodate for the combined family schedules of man-children and sweethearts.

The times… they are a’changing around the old Wingate house.

I miss the pitter-patter of little pajama-clad feet, the squeal of high pitched voices, the little hands dusted with powdered sugar and bits of cookie dough… but these are good days, too. There’s nothing quite like watching the next generation find dreams of their own. It’s worth having Christmas day early, or a week early, or whenever we can, as long as we can get everyone together.

For years, our holiday celebrations have included friends adopted into our family clan.

Holiday friends aren’t just ordinary friends, but the special kind of friends you raise kids with over the years — the sort with whom you’ve indiscriminately tossed multiple dirty children in the bath at the end of the day… or power washed the whole crew after finding them in a Memorial Day mud puddle, as the case may be (we refer to this legendary moment as The Memorial Day Mud Event).

That Memorial Day mud photo was taken while several of those kids were celebrating a two-week reunion with their dad before he had to pack up his gear and travel half a world away to finish a year-long military deployment. That year was a long stretch of waiting and hoping and praying. It was our first experience (as a non-military family) with seeing what a soldier’s family goes through as one parent tries to fill the roles of two and kids worry about whether the absent  parent is ever coming home.

That Christmas was a Christmas with an empty chair.

A strange thing happened to me on the way to Christmas this year. I thought about that Christmas when one person was missing… and a story came to me — the story of a little Hatteras Island Christmas miracle for one struggling military family:

Through the help of some everyday angels, that story made it to publication in record time. Proceeds will go to Operation Military Kids, which supports military kids when they have a parent deployed. If there’s any child who deserves extra TLC, it’s a child going through the loneliness and uncertainty that come with those months of missing Mom or Dad.

I hope you’ll enjoy this little offering from me… with the help of a few holiday friends

SCAVENGER HUNT STOP # 10

Follow the clues for a Chance to Win a Kindle Fire HDX or 30+ novels!

Welcome to the Autumn 2014 Scavenger Hunt. You have arrived at Stop # 10. The hunt begins at noon (Mountain Time Zone) on October 17, 2014. You may have arrived here before the start which could mean all of the sites aren’t ready quite yet. Once the official start has begun, you should go to Stop #1 (www.robinleehatcher.com) and then work your way through the sites, gathering clues and entering bonus giveaways, until you reach the final stop which will also be on the site of Robin Lee Hatcher.

The hunt ends on Sunday, October 19, 2014 at one minute before midnight (Mountain). That means you have all of the weekend to finish it, so take your time. Enjoy reading the exclusive content the authors have prepared for you. You will collect a CLUE IN RED at each stop. Write them down as you go. At the end of the hunt, you will enter the clues into a Rafflecopter form. (The answer will make sense, even if you aren’t familiar with the quote.)

The hunt is open to international entries. The grand prize is a Kindle Fire HDX. Two runners-up will receive a new release from each of the participating authors.

IN CASE YOU FIND A BROKEN LINK…

Robin Lee Hatcher has prepared a “cheat sheet” with direct links to each author’s post in case a site goes down or a link gets broken. We hope there will be no such issues, but just in case, please make note of the URL for the Participating Authors & Stops page so you can check back and be able to complete the hunt.

Now that the housekeeping is out of the way, let’s treat ourselves to a fascinating untold story from a sweet an talented writer:

My Official Scavenger Hunt Guest, Martha Rogers:

Family History Becomes a Novel

One of the most fun things about my latest series was incorporating family history into fiction. My cousins and I did a lot of genealogical research on our grandfather Whiteman’s branch of our family based on letters from our great-great grandfather and our great-father to our great-grandmother. The first novel is actually a fictionalized version of my great-grandparents’ love story. They met as children when Sallie came to St. Francisville to visit her grandparents. Their love was tested by their separation during the war from 1861 to 1865. They married as soon as Manfred returned home from a prisoner of war camp after the end of the war. The novel recounts his journey home and Sallie’s life back home as she waited for his return.

Here is a copy of the letter that started it all.

We visited the town where the story takes place and visited the sites that are mentioned in the book. One of my favorite places was a plantation named The Myrtles. You can see the reason for the name in this picture of my cousins seated beneath the trees that gave the plantation its name.

The most unusual part was using real names of real people in my family and visiting the places where they lived. The shipping company owned by Manfred’s family no longer exists because the town of Bayou Sara on the Mississippi River banks was flooded in the early 20th century and still sits under the river.

Grace Episcopal dates back to 1827 and is the church where Manfred and Sallie were to be married in June of 1865, but it was still closed due to damage from a Yankee barrage of cannon fire a few years earlier. They were married in the manse next to the church. The picture shows the damaged areas in the lighter parts at the top where repairs were made. Here is a copy of their marriage license.

Researching the history of our family only served to whet my appetite to know more about family, and that led me to start on my grandmother’s side of the family. How the two were intertwined makes for a great story all on its own. One thing I learned for sure, genealogy is addictive and can take up a tremendous amount of time. However, it is like a treasure hunt with each clue leading to more information and more discoveries. The novel, Love Finds Faith, is the second in the series and follows Sallie and Manfred to Victoria, Texas where he came to set up his medical practice in 1880, the year my grandfather was born.

— Contributed by: Martha Rogers

Author Bio: Martha Roger’s writing career began late in life at age 73, and in five years she’s had 14 novels and 2 novellas published. Martha lives in Houston, Texas with her husband where they enjoy visits from their grandchildren and great-grans.

Grab a copy of Martha’s book at Amazon, B&N.com, or Christianbook.com

Thanks, Martha! What fun for us to learn a bit of the untold story behind your story, and how beautiful to know that love can survive and grow, even through the most difficult of times and the most painful human events. What a wonderful family legacy! — Story Guru

Now, back to the scavenger hunt…

The Scavenger Hunt Skinny

Thanks so much for stopping by my site and participating in the new Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt. Before you move on to Stop # 11, which is Martha’s site, to pick up your next clue, be sure to write down this Stop #10 clue: A VERSION OF

Also, please note: Many of the authors use Rafflecopter for their giveaways. Rafflecopter requires JavaScript to work. If you can’t see the form, please turn JavaScript on in your browser in order to enter. Rafflecopter sometimes doesn’t work on mobile devices. If you are on a mobile device and can’t see the entry form, then you’ll need to find a computer.

But Before You Go – an Extra Prize from me! 

Leave a comment below and sign up for my newsletter here, and you’ll be entered to win autographed copies of my latest novels, The Prayer Box and The Story Keeper!

(Click book covers to read a free preview)

Thanks for joining in the Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt!

— Lisa

www.LisaWingate.com

Comfort Food

It’s interesting, the way food and stories seem to intertwine, as if the threads of memory are somehow anchored to the scent, the sight, the taste of something old and familiar. Recipes travel from generation to generation, binding us with the mooring lines of who we are and where we come from. In new places, in uncertain times, we turn to them for comfort, as is evident in this sweet tale that arrived, quite appropriately, with a recipe attached. — Story Guru

Comfort Food

Contributed by: Miriam Lozano

When we came from Cuba, we were very poor.  My Dad did not work for over a year.

We received $100 a month from the Refugee Relief Program and also food rations similar to what the military had at the time.  (Processed meat in a can, peanut butter, powdered milk and eggs, block cheese, rice and beans and flour- sometimes Vienna sausage and deviled ham)  My mother did not know what peanut butter was, so she used it as frosting on cakes that she would make with the flour we got in our rations, that is until she found out we could put it on bread (we did not like this very much).

 

Anyway, she was very creative with the processed meat and made dishes like picadillo (ground beef in sauce) by grinding it all up, or fried it by slicing it into thin slices.  She would cube it and make stew with potatoes, etc.  She did not know what deviled ham or Vienna sausages were but she would make a paste out of the deviled ham with mayonnaise and ketchup, (which we didn’t use either); she watered it down to use as tomato sauce. She would spread this paste  on bread to make sandwiches.

She tasted the Vienna sausage and decided they could be used to make arroz con salchichas [rice with vienna sausage]).   We loved it when she made this because it was special treat that we did not get all the time.  Of course, at the time, we did not put corn in it, because we didn’t have any.  I added that later.  As my Dad and Mom got jobs and income started coming in, we stopped getting the rations and were able to go to the grocery store and buy food, so Vienna Sausage was not something my Mom would buy regularly.  However, when money got tight, this was the most inexpensive meat she could buy and so it was time to pull out the recipe once again.

I use this recipe in the same way now.   Whenever my pantry is running low on supplies, I always have Vienna Sausage because a buy a can or two every time I do the groceries.  So, when pantry is low or when I need a quick meal (Wednesday nights)  I make this recipe.  Hector loves it and I don’t mind it either.  We usually eat this with fried Spam to remind us of the processed meat we used to eat …in the beginning.

 

Arroz con salchichas – Yellow rice with Vienna sausage

3 cans of Vienna sausages – cut into ½ inch slices

A scoop of sofrito (this is chopped onions, green peppers, garlic, cilantro and olives)

1 can of tomato sauce

½ cup of cooking wine

½ a can of corn

*

Saute in a tablespoon of olive oil all the above for about five minutes

*

Add 3 cups of rice and stir it all up.  You will have to add more water or chicken stock; enough to cover the rice and another inch of liquid.   Add salt, pepper, complete seasoning, one bay leaf, a handful of green olives (optional) and paprika for coloring or bijol (this is what I use.  Bought at World or Global Market in the seasoning section)

*

Cook –uncovered on high until the liquids start to boil.  Reduce heat to medium and cover.  Cook for another 20 minutes. Rice is done when it is fluffy and all the liquids have been absorbed.

Hope you enjoy a little bit of Cuba the American way.

Miriam

There you have it — food and a fine tale. Some of the best dishes are the ones that come about by accident. Is there anything more satisfying than a meal that speaks of love and family unity? That, my story friends, is the ultimate comfort food — Story Guru

Author Bio: Miriam is a story lover, an avid reader, a church volunteer, a library volunteer, and a proud descendant of Cuban parents who traveled from the shores of their homeland in search of a new life for their family.

Man’s Best Friend

There are, in life, those friends we never knew we needed until they enter our quiet, comfortable worlds and shake things up a bit. Sometimes those faithful friends arrive in unlikely forms, and sometimes, just when we think we’re the ones doing the rescuing, we find out we’re actually being rescued, as we see in the untold tail-wagging tale of Old Huck. — Story Guru

The Untold Story Of Old Huck

Contributed by: Ed Stevens

While our daughter was in college, she went to the dog pound one day. She saw this one dog, black and white that looked like a Border Collie. As our daughter walked down the row of dogs behind the fence, she noticed that one of them kept his eyes on her as she walked the length of the row. She looked away, changed her pace and his eyes followed her. After she agreed to take him, She learned that he was to be executed that afternoon. She had literally rescued him from the gallows.

Huckleberry was with our daughter until late in her senior year. One day just before graduation, we got a call from her telling us she was considering a job offer in Hawaii but that there was a six month quarantine on dogs brought into the state. Coincidentally, I had just accepted a job to work in Austria.

 

I called my contacts in Austria and they said, “Bring Huckleberry with you. We love dogs! Dogs can even eat in the restaurants over here!” So Huckleberry was soon bound for Austria for a long stay.

We needed a home to live in when we arrived. After finally finding a place available in a small country town a train ride from Vienna, we went out to look. Everything went well until we mentioned that we had a dog. The landlady said, “No! No hunds!” (no dogs).

 

Certain we could persuade her otherwise, we went back to our temporary housing and got Huckleberry. We placed him in the right front seat and returned to the house with the “No hunds!” landlady.

 

I knocked on the door and asked her to come to the car with me. She did, and of course Huckleberry put on his best manners and he and the landlady quickly fell in love. After we moved in, almost every Sunday she would fix chicken or some other meat and leave some of it on the fence between their house and ours and Huckleberry would have his “sit down” Sunday dinner.

 

Not long after we arrived in Austria, we were taking Huckleberry for a walk around an old Castle with a moat, but the moat was dry with a few trees growing out of it. Huckleberry disappeared and we searched for him, finally spotting him at the bottom of the moat. He was lying very still. The only way into the moat was to climb down a tree that was growing out of the mud. I jumped from the rim to a tree limb and then climbed down to where he lay, very still. He then woke up from his fall and I pushed him up to the limb and the over the rim of the moat, to the top, where Marie caught him. He was so happy he ran abound the castle!

Just about every weekend in Austria, we took Huckleberry to the beautiful Austrian countryside. He loved every trip and each new discovery.

 

Over the years, Huck and I shared many new adventures and quiet walks, after returning home to the United States. Huck loved the woods. He is buried in his beloved place by the backyard trees, close by, where we can still visit him and recall old times. While we don’t know Huck’s exact age due to his apparent long stay in the pound (until our wonderful daughter rescued him), we think he was about seventeen years old when he had to leave us and we believe is waiting for us on the other side.

— Ed Stevens

 

What a sweet story, Ed. There’s nothing quite like the way our four-legged friends love us, make us laugh, and add joy to our days. No doubt, Old Huck is exploring the fields up yonder, ready and waiting for the next big adventure. — Story Guru

 

Author Bio: Ed is a retiree, a proud father and grandfather, and a book lover.

My Reminders

 

Many people will count items that remind them of their family history among their most valued possessions. In this story we take a look at a few reminders of our ancestors’ life’s.  — Story Guru 

 

 

My Reminders

 

Contributed by: Sandy Strong

 

I have always loved having reminders of my family from past generations. I have an old trunk that I was told came from Ireland in 1865 when my ancestors, John and Kathleen O’Mannion and their four sons, set sail for America. It still has the travel stickers on one end.

 

 

I have my grandmother’s gold locket inscribed with her maiden initials from before she married my grandfather. I also have a complete set of eight depression-era dishes my grandmother collected over time.

 

There is nothing quite like special family pieces to bring back memories.

 

-Sandy Strong

 

These are wonderful reminders of your family’s past! Thank you so much for sharing, Sandy! — Story Guru

 

Author Bio: Sandy is a proud story teller, reader, and  keeper of family heirlooms.

 

Do you have stories you would like to share with the Story Guru? If so, click “submit a story” at the top of this page! 

 

(Edited by Story Guru editor, Ashlee Symank)