Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 58
August 22, 2015
The Last Plantagenet King
Here is last year’s post about the battle at Bosworth Field, as I did not think I could improve on it. This also saves me a lot of typing, too, of course. :-)
August 22nd is a sad day for all Ricardians, of course, for on this date in 1485, Richard III, the last Plantagenet king, was slain at the battle of Redmore Plain, now known as Bosworth Field. Many of us feel that the most despicable thing Tudor did was to date his reign from the day before Bosworth so he could then charge the men who’d fought for Richard, their lawful king, with treason. This was an act worthy to have come from the warped, brilliant brain of Tywin Lannister. The anniversary of Bosworth resonates even more with Ricardians because of the discover of Richard’s lost grave and what we now know about his brutal last moments, testified to by the grievous wounds he suffered. I think I’m glad I did not know all that when I was writing this chapter. It was challenging enough as it was to write; it took me three weeks to get Richard out of his tent and onto the battlefield.
Below is a scene from Sunne, page 1197-1198 (paging from the new anniversary edition of Sunne published last year by Macmillan) The fighting has been going on for some time; Richard’s friend and ally, Jack Howard, is dead, and he has just learned that the Earl of Northumberland intends to remain on the ridge in defiance of his summons. Francis Lovell has been deputized by the others to convince Richard to withdraw, to remind him how many men will fight for him north of the Trent.
* * *
He found Richard and Brecher on the crest of the hill. Richard turned as he came up, gestured off to the northwest.
“There, Francis, you see the standard? The Dragon of Cadwallader. Henry Tudor, the would-be king.” He looked at Francis and smiled. “God has not forsaken me, after all.”
Francis stepped closer, brown eyes looking into Richard’s blue ones. “Dickon. Dickon, you realize the risk?”
Richard’s smile didn’t waver; the sudden animation in his face was startling but somehow Francis did not find it reassuring.
“Yes,” Richard said readily, “but it is a risk worth the taking. He’s blundered, Francis. He’s stayed put while the battle line shifted away from him.”
Others had joined them. Rob and Dick Ratcliffe and Will Catesby. Catesby was staring at Richard in utter disbelief. Too appalled for tact, he blurted out, “You cannot mean to go after Tudor, Your Grace! To get to him, you’d have to cut clean across Will Stanley’s army. If he chose to move against you, you’d not have a prayer in Hell.”
Richard’s eyes shifted briefly to Catesby, without interest, as if listening to a language he couldn’t quite comprehend. When he spoke, it was to Francis.
“If Tudor’s dead, the battle’s done. You do see that Francis? There is no other way to make an end to this.”
He didn’t wait for Francis to reply, signaled for White Surrey to be led forward. The stallion was lathered, blowing froth, chest and haunches encased in armor no longer burnished, streaked with blood and dust. But he quivered expectantly as Richard reached for the pommel and, as soon as he felt Richard’s weight securely in the saddle, he danced sideways on the trampled grass, eager to run.
Richard stroked his neck. Never had he felt so at one with the animal; as if the stallion’s pulsing, mettlesome spirit had infused life into his own depleted reserves, he felt his fatigue fall away, aches and bruises and pain forgotten. The men around him came into sudden sharp focus, sun and sky forming a dazzling backdrop of blue over their heads, in which birds wheeled and circled, as if bearing witness to the battle taking place below. Richard raised up in his stirrups; his voice was husky, hoarse from shouting, and the knights of his household crowded in closer, straining to hear
“The battle’s all but lost. One chance remains for victory. Tudor’s within range, protected only by his guard and the knights of his body. But it means passing in plain view of Stanley’s army. I’d not order any man to this; I do ask, instead. Who’ll ride with me to seek Tudor?”
The only sound Richard could hear came from White Surrey. The stallion snorted, sucked air into his lungs in loud, wheezing gulps. Richard’s own breathing sounded scarcely less labored to his ears. And then someone shouted, “Loyaulte me lie!” It was Richard’s own motto, adopted by him at age sixteen in defiance of the conflicting claims upon his heart. Loyalty Binds Me. Others now took it up, chanted his name and the battle cry of his House, “Richard and York!” And then the hill exploded into action. Men were yelling for their horses, snapping shut vizors, grabbing for lance and sword. Men who accepted without question that his quarrel was good, his right to the crown just. A pledge of faith to be redeemed in blood if need be.
* * *
And Richard’s gamble almost worked. He came very close to reaching Tudor, who was saved only by Stanley’s treachery. It is such a lovely twist of irony that Stanley would later be executed by Tudor for treason. Northumberland also learned that Richard was loved in the North and Yorkshiremen had not forgotten Redmore Plain. As for me, I hope very much that memories of Richard’s charge gave Tudor nightmares for the rest of his life On this day it seems very appropriate to thank those who found Richard’s lost grave and made it possible for him to buried with honor and respect—the archeologists involved in the dig, the University of Leicester and the city council, Ricardians everywhere, and of course Richard’s very distant kinsman who donated his DNA to make the identification beyond dispute. As for myself, I did not really expect them to find their royal needle in that concrete haystack, but once they reported their discovery, I never doubted that they’d found Richard. Thanks are due above all to Philippa Langley. Richard could have used a guardian angel at Bosworth, but at least he found one five centuries later in Philippa.
August 22nd is a sad day for all Ricardians, of course, for on this date in 1485, Richard III, the last Plantagenet king, was slain at the battle of Redmore Plain, now known as Bosworth Field. Many of us feel that the most despicable thing Tudor did was to date his reign from the day before Bosworth so he could then charge the men who’d fought for Richard, their lawful king, with treason. This was an act worthy to have come from the warped, brilliant brain of Tywin Lannister. The anniversary of Bosworth resonates even more with Ricardians because of the discover of Richard’s lost grave and what we now know about his brutal last moments, testified to by the grievous wounds he suffered. I think I’m glad I did not know all that when I was writing this chapter. It was challenging enough as it was to write; it took me three weeks to get Richard out of his tent and onto the battlefield.
Below is a scene from Sunne, page 1197-1198 (paging from the new anniversary edition of Sunne published last year by Macmillan) The fighting has been going on for some time; Richard’s friend and ally, Jack Howard, is dead, and he has just learned that the Earl of Northumberland intends to remain on the ridge in defiance of his summons. Francis Lovell has been deputized by the others to convince Richard to withdraw, to remind him how many men will fight for him north of the Trent.
* * *
He found Richard and Brecher on the crest of the hill. Richard turned as he came up, gestured off to the northwest.
“There, Francis, you see the standard? The Dragon of Cadwallader. Henry Tudor, the would-be king.” He looked at Francis and smiled. “God has not forsaken me, after all.”
Francis stepped closer, brown eyes looking into Richard’s blue ones. “Dickon. Dickon, you realize the risk?”
Richard’s smile didn’t waver; the sudden animation in his face was startling but somehow Francis did not find it reassuring.
“Yes,” Richard said readily, “but it is a risk worth the taking. He’s blundered, Francis. He’s stayed put while the battle line shifted away from him.”
Others had joined them. Rob and Dick Ratcliffe and Will Catesby. Catesby was staring at Richard in utter disbelief. Too appalled for tact, he blurted out, “You cannot mean to go after Tudor, Your Grace! To get to him, you’d have to cut clean across Will Stanley’s army. If he chose to move against you, you’d not have a prayer in Hell.”
Richard’s eyes shifted briefly to Catesby, without interest, as if listening to a language he couldn’t quite comprehend. When he spoke, it was to Francis.
“If Tudor’s dead, the battle’s done. You do see that Francis? There is no other way to make an end to this.”
He didn’t wait for Francis to reply, signaled for White Surrey to be led forward. The stallion was lathered, blowing froth, chest and haunches encased in armor no longer burnished, streaked with blood and dust. But he quivered expectantly as Richard reached for the pommel and, as soon as he felt Richard’s weight securely in the saddle, he danced sideways on the trampled grass, eager to run.
Richard stroked his neck. Never had he felt so at one with the animal; as if the stallion’s pulsing, mettlesome spirit had infused life into his own depleted reserves, he felt his fatigue fall away, aches and bruises and pain forgotten. The men around him came into sudden sharp focus, sun and sky forming a dazzling backdrop of blue over their heads, in which birds wheeled and circled, as if bearing witness to the battle taking place below. Richard raised up in his stirrups; his voice was husky, hoarse from shouting, and the knights of his household crowded in closer, straining to hear
“The battle’s all but lost. One chance remains for victory. Tudor’s within range, protected only by his guard and the knights of his body. But it means passing in plain view of Stanley’s army. I’d not order any man to this; I do ask, instead. Who’ll ride with me to seek Tudor?”
The only sound Richard could hear came from White Surrey. The stallion snorted, sucked air into his lungs in loud, wheezing gulps. Richard’s own breathing sounded scarcely less labored to his ears. And then someone shouted, “Loyaulte me lie!” It was Richard’s own motto, adopted by him at age sixteen in defiance of the conflicting claims upon his heart. Loyalty Binds Me. Others now took it up, chanted his name and the battle cry of his House, “Richard and York!” And then the hill exploded into action. Men were yelling for their horses, snapping shut vizors, grabbing for lance and sword. Men who accepted without question that his quarrel was good, his right to the crown just. A pledge of faith to be redeemed in blood if need be.
* * *
And Richard’s gamble almost worked. He came very close to reaching Tudor, who was saved only by Stanley’s treachery. It is such a lovely twist of irony that Stanley would later be executed by Tudor for treason. Northumberland also learned that Richard was loved in the North and Yorkshiremen had not forgotten Redmore Plain. As for me, I hope very much that memories of Richard’s charge gave Tudor nightmares for the rest of his life On this day it seems very appropriate to thank those who found Richard’s lost grave and made it possible for him to buried with honor and respect—the archeologists involved in the dig, the University of Leicester and the city council, Ricardians everywhere, and of course Richard’s very distant kinsman who donated his DNA to make the identification beyond dispute. As for myself, I did not really expect them to find their royal needle in that concrete haystack, but once they reported their discovery, I never doubted that they’d found Richard. Thanks are due above all to Philippa Langley. Richard could have used a guardian angel at Bosworth, but at least he found one five centuries later in Philippa.
August 21, 2015
Geoffrey and Philippe
August 21, 1165 was a day of great happiness for the French king, Louis VII, for after four daughters, his third wife gave birth to his longed-for son. So joyful was Louis that Philippe was known as Dieu-donne, God-given. Philippe must be considered one of the great French kings, for he vastly expanded the territory of the French Crown during his long reign of 43 years. I have been able to find little to admire about the man himself, though. While not a soldier of Richard’s caliber, he was effective at sieges, and he was undeniably intelligent, if not as well educated as the Angevins. He was also utterly unsentimental, pragmatic, and stubborn. Henry II had saved his throne for him on several occasions early in his reign, but he did all he could to turn Henry’s sons against him and, with Richard’s help, hounded Henry to his miserable death at Chinon. He was more anti-Semitic than his contemporary monarchs, said to have believed in the Blood Libel, expelling the Jews from Paris at the start of his reign, and burning eighty Jews to death in Bray in 1192 after the Countess of Champagne (his half-sister Marie) had hanged a Christian who’d murdered a Jew. His reputation was then in tatters because of his abandonment of the crusade, and cynical medieval rulers often found that persecuting Jews was one way to regain public favor. He showed no honor whatsoever after Richard was captured and turned over to the Holy Roman Emperor, scheming and conniving and doing his utmost to make sure the crusader king never saw the light of day again. He wanted to repudiate his first wife ostensibly because she had failed to give him an heir—she was fourteen at the time! He treated his second wife, the Danish princess Ingeborg, with deliberate brutality after disavowing her the day after their marriage, at times even denying her the right to attend Mass. He deserves recognition for his accomplishments, leaving the French monarchy much stronger than he’d found it, but I think he’d have been a difficult man to love.
Philippe’s birth was not a source of joy to Henry, who naturally wanted Louis to remain without a male heir. In Time and Chance, Henry has just had to retreat after a failed campaign in Wales when he gets the news that Louis has finally sired a son. Fortunately for Henry, a sweet young thing named Rosamund Clifford happens to be there to offer him comfort. When they meet in the gardens at Chester Castle, she says shyly, “I was worried about you, my lord. That letter seemed to trouble you so….”
“This letter I was just ripping to shreds?” Henry at once regretted the sarcasm; why take out his temper on the lass? “You might as well be the first to know. All of Paris is re-joicing; it’s a wonder we cannot hear the church bells pealing across the Channel. The Al-mighty has finally taken pity upon the French king. On the fourth Sunday of August, his queen gave him a son.” Of course Henry could not have guessed that this little boy would eventually destroy the Angevin empire.
Moving ahead twenty-one years and we have the death of my own favorite of the Devil’s Brood, Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany, Henry and Eleanor’s “forgotten” son. He died after being trampled in a French tournament, just a month shy of his twenty-eighth birthday in 1186. Geoffrey has been as ignored by historians as he was by his own parents, for he was the only one of their sons not to become a king, and his successful career in Brittany was not brought to light until the publication of Dr Judith Everard’s excellent Brittany and the Angevins. I owe her such a huge debt, for it was her research that enabled me to do justice to Geoffrey in Devil’s Brood. It is too sad to quote from Geoffrey’s death scene in my novel, so I’d rather close with a brief passage from his wedding night. He’d been betrothed to Constance, the heiress to Brittany, since childhood, and she was a reluctant bride, for she blamed Henry for deposing her father. But Geoffrey wins her over, much to her surprise, and their marriage gets off to a promising start.
* * *
She awoke the next morning just before dawn, with a dull headache, a dry mouth, and total recall of the extraordinary events of her wedding night. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied the man beside her. He looked younger in his sleep, less guarded, and she realized that the flighty Enora was right, after all; her new husband was easy on the eye. Best of all, he was quick-witted and clever and ambitious. We will make effective partners. We will be good for Brittany and good for each other, and who would ever have imagined it?
* * *
And they were—good for Brittany and for each other. Sadly, they had so little time together—just five years. I have no doubt that English, Breton, and French history would have been changed if Geoffrey had not chosen to ride in that tourney on that hot August afternoon.
Philippe’s birth was not a source of joy to Henry, who naturally wanted Louis to remain without a male heir. In Time and Chance, Henry has just had to retreat after a failed campaign in Wales when he gets the news that Louis has finally sired a son. Fortunately for Henry, a sweet young thing named Rosamund Clifford happens to be there to offer him comfort. When they meet in the gardens at Chester Castle, she says shyly, “I was worried about you, my lord. That letter seemed to trouble you so….”
“This letter I was just ripping to shreds?” Henry at once regretted the sarcasm; why take out his temper on the lass? “You might as well be the first to know. All of Paris is re-joicing; it’s a wonder we cannot hear the church bells pealing across the Channel. The Al-mighty has finally taken pity upon the French king. On the fourth Sunday of August, his queen gave him a son.” Of course Henry could not have guessed that this little boy would eventually destroy the Angevin empire.
Moving ahead twenty-one years and we have the death of my own favorite of the Devil’s Brood, Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany, Henry and Eleanor’s “forgotten” son. He died after being trampled in a French tournament, just a month shy of his twenty-eighth birthday in 1186. Geoffrey has been as ignored by historians as he was by his own parents, for he was the only one of their sons not to become a king, and his successful career in Brittany was not brought to light until the publication of Dr Judith Everard’s excellent Brittany and the Angevins. I owe her such a huge debt, for it was her research that enabled me to do justice to Geoffrey in Devil’s Brood. It is too sad to quote from Geoffrey’s death scene in my novel, so I’d rather close with a brief passage from his wedding night. He’d been betrothed to Constance, the heiress to Brittany, since childhood, and she was a reluctant bride, for she blamed Henry for deposing her father. But Geoffrey wins her over, much to her surprise, and their marriage gets off to a promising start.
* * *
She awoke the next morning just before dawn, with a dull headache, a dry mouth, and total recall of the extraordinary events of her wedding night. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied the man beside her. He looked younger in his sleep, less guarded, and she realized that the flighty Enora was right, after all; her new husband was easy on the eye. Best of all, he was quick-witted and clever and ambitious. We will make effective partners. We will be good for Brittany and good for each other, and who would ever have imagined it?
* * *
And they were—good for Brittany and for each other. Sadly, they had so little time together—just five years. I have no doubt that English, Breton, and French history would have been changed if Geoffrey had not chosen to ride in that tourney on that hot August afternoon.
Windows 10
A friend sent me this and I wanted to share here, as I know many of you will be wondering if you should upgrade to Windows 10. You ought to be able to find the answers to all your questions here. It convinced me—I’ve reserved a copy, won over by the price (free) and the good reviews that Windows 10 has been earning.
http://www.howtogeek.com/226100/the-w...
http://www.howtogeek.com/226100/the-w...
August 20, 2015
Morris on the life-raft
The news lately has been so sad—those firefighters dying in Washington, that antiquities professor being beheaded by ISIS barbarians, all the homes destroyed in these ongoing wildfires—that I thought it would be a good idea to post something sure to make you all smile. This was already posted on my fan club page, but not elsewhere: the results of the annual Bulwer-Lytton contest for the worst opening line in a novel. (He was the Victorian author who began one story “It was a dark and stormy night.”) Be sure to read my favorite entry about Morris being stranded in a life-raft; I tried to copy and paste it here but the website won’t allow it. I would have given the grand prize to Morris’s author, Charlie Hill of New Zealand, but then no one asked me. Maybe for the best; I wouldn’t want them to start looking at my books to see if one of my own opening lines qualified for the contest!
http://bulwer-lytton.com/2015win.html
http://bulwer-lytton.com/2015win.html
August 18, 2015
Diana Gabaldon and P.F. Chisholm, AKA Patricia Finney
I know that there are many Diana Gabaldon fans here, as well as many who enjoy the mysteries of P.F. Chisholm, who also writes historical novels under her real name, Patricia Finney. You will definitely be interested in watching this video of both writers at my favorite bookstore, the Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale, AZ. It is a long video, but can be watched in segments if need be. I’ve never met Patricia, although I am totally devoted to her Robert Carey, the main character in her P.F. Chisholm mysteries. I do know Diana, although honesty compels me to admit not all that well. She has a wonderful sense of humor, which is on full display in this video. Since there is so much wry humor in the Chisholm mysteries, I assumed that Patricia is also an amusing speaker, and she did not disappoint. So the video is undoubtedly entertaining. It is also informative. You will learn about Diana’s family legend (which turns out to be true) and Patricia’s surprising discoveries about her own family tree. You will find out what they plan to write in the future, what Diana thinks of the proposed cover for her upcoming adult Outlander coloring book, and the flight in which her laptop provided the only light in the entire cabin. They also pull the veil back a bit, allowing readers a glimpse of how writers work. Anyone wondering about the value of book tours should watch this video! My thanks to Barbara Peters for sharing it with me. I am delighted to be able to share it now with all of you. http://livestream.com/poisonedpen/chi...
August 17, 2015
The sons of three kings
August 17th was a significant date in the lives of three kings and their sons. On August 17, 1153, Stephen’s eldest son and heir, Eustace, suddenly died under mysterious circumstances; the most widely accepted view is that he choked to death on a mouthful of eels, although poison has also been suggested. (Conspiracy theories were as popular in the MA as they are today, and Lord knows, Eustace had made legions of enemies, most of whom would have been delighted by his death.) For his contemporaries and probably even his grieving father—most likely the only one truly to mourn him—there was no question as to why he died. It was widely believed that he’d been struck down by God for his impious acts, in particular the sacking of an abbey not long before his unexpected death. It was a lucky death for England, as there is nothing in Eustace’s brutal and bloody record to indicate he’d have been a good king. On the very same day of his death, the future Henry II’s wife, Eleanor, was giving birth to the first of their five sons. And yes, people definitely took note of the timing, seeing it as proof that Henry’s star was in the ascendancy while Stephen’s was sinking. Henry and Eleanor’s new son was christened William, but he would never become king, sadly dying in early childhood at the age of three; not surprisingly, childhood mortality was high in the MA.
It can be argued that neither Eustace nor William were lucky in light of their respective fates. The same can be said of another king’s son born on August 17th, this time in 1473, the second son of the Yorkist king, Edward IV and his Woodville queen. He was named Richard, probably to honor Edward’s father, but quite likely also to honor his youngest brother, Richard, who’d supported Edward so loyally in his quest to regain his crown. As we all know, this Richard was no luckier than Eustace or William, going down in history as one of the “Little Princes in the Tower,” his fate unknown. As readers of Sunne know, I believe Richard died with his elder brother in the summer of 1483, when he was only ten. Others are convinced he survived and was actually Perkin Warbeck, who advanced a claim to the crown and paid for it with his life. All we can say for a certainty is that the bright promise his parents must have imagined for him on the day of his birth never came to pass.
Obviously the deaths of these kings’ sons changed the course of history. I think Eustace’s death was a blessing of sorts, for it led to the crowning of one of England’s greatest kings, Henry II, founder of the Plantagenet dynasty. (Without them, I might have been trapped practicing law!) It is interesting to speculate what might have happened had little William grown to manhood. Is it possible that his survival could have spared his family the internal turmoil, dissension, and jealousy that tore them apart? Or would he merely have been one more son to give Henry grey hairs and grief on his way to his sad death at Chinon? Impossible to say, but fun to speculate about.
It can be argued that neither Eustace nor William were lucky in light of their respective fates. The same can be said of another king’s son born on August 17th, this time in 1473, the second son of the Yorkist king, Edward IV and his Woodville queen. He was named Richard, probably to honor Edward’s father, but quite likely also to honor his youngest brother, Richard, who’d supported Edward so loyally in his quest to regain his crown. As we all know, this Richard was no luckier than Eustace or William, going down in history as one of the “Little Princes in the Tower,” his fate unknown. As readers of Sunne know, I believe Richard died with his elder brother in the summer of 1483, when he was only ten. Others are convinced he survived and was actually Perkin Warbeck, who advanced a claim to the crown and paid for it with his life. All we can say for a certainty is that the bright promise his parents must have imagined for him on the day of his birth never came to pass.
Obviously the deaths of these kings’ sons changed the course of history. I think Eustace’s death was a blessing of sorts, for it led to the crowning of one of England’s greatest kings, Henry II, founder of the Plantagenet dynasty. (Without them, I might have been trapped practicing law!) It is interesting to speculate what might have happened had little William grown to manhood. Is it possible that his survival could have spared his family the internal turmoil, dissension, and jealousy that tore them apart? Or would he merely have been one more son to give Henry grey hairs and grief on his way to his sad death at Chinon? Impossible to say, but fun to speculate about.
August 16, 2015
A computer warning
I wanted to pass on a computer warning. Recently my laptop, Dracarys, started to send me messages, purportedly from Adobe Flash Player, that “An action script error has occurred,” followed by what looked like gibberish. No matter what I did, it kept popping up like the proverbial bad penny, even after I uninstalled the Adobe program. It was occurring so frequently that it was actually interfering with my work. So I went to the Geek Squad for help. It turns out that this bogus warning was triggered by a recent Windows update. The tech who resolved the problem for me said that he’d dealt with this problem 7 or 8 times today alone, so clearly it is widespread. Since Microsoft has not deigned to send out any warnings about this, I wanted to let you all know in case some of you have been experiencing the same problem. Uninstalling Adobe will not resolve it. But for those of you who do not use Geek Squad or know a reliable tech, you could probably Google it to get some suggestions.
Also, I’ve been meaning to ask you all if anyone knows how to send a message to the faceless powers-that-be at Facebook. I bought Dracarys just after the New Year, and ever since then, when I log onto Facebook, I get an annoying message that “someone “has done so from an unfamiliar computer. At first I would respond and would receive the standard assurance, that in the future, Dracarys would be recognized. Well, eight months later, it is still happening. Not life or death, I admit, but I would like it to stop. Anyone have any suggestions how I can convey this message to Facebook?
Also, I’ve been meaning to ask you all if anyone knows how to send a message to the faceless powers-that-be at Facebook. I bought Dracarys just after the New Year, and ever since then, when I log onto Facebook, I get an annoying message that “someone “has done so from an unfamiliar computer. At first I would respond and would receive the standard assurance, that in the future, Dracarys would be recognized. Well, eight months later, it is still happening. Not life or death, I admit, but I would like it to stop. Anyone have any suggestions how I can convey this message to Facebook?
August 15, 2015
An elephant in need of human help
This plea is for my fellow animal lovers here. An attempt is being made to end the long solitary confinement of an elephant at the Bronx Zoo. As most people know, elephants are very social animals, so this sort of isolation is a form of cruelty, intentional or not. For those who agree with me, I hope you will sign this petition, too.
https://www.change.org/p/happy-the-el...
https://www.change.org/p/happy-the-el...
August 14, 2015
My birthday
I had the best ever birthday yesterday, so truly magical that I have decided not to have any more, for they’d have to be anticlimactic. I would like to thank all of my Facebook friends who participated in the Surprise portion of the celebration. You made me very happy. I hope to get back to normal this weekend, and that will include making regular posts again on Facebook. For now, I am savoring my memories of an absolutely perfect day. Thanks, too, to all of you who posted birthday good wishes here. How did we ever get along without Facebook and social media?
August 9, 2015
The missing photo
I am happy to report that the photo of David Blixt, me, and the broadsword is now inserted into the new blog.
http://sharonkaypenman.com/blog/?p=511
http://sharonkaypenman.com/blog/?p=511
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