Beth Trissel's Blog, page 104

Most Viewed Reviews at Seriously Reviewed

RED BIRD'S SONG is one of the three most viewed reviews of 2010 at Seriously Reviewed and is featured on their homepage.

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Irish Blessings & Angels

"May you always walk in sunshine.

May you never want for more.

May Irish angels rest their wings right beside your door."

"May God grant you always…

A sunbeam to warm you,

A moonbeam to charm you,

A sheltering angel, so nothing can harm you."

May you have:

A world of wishes at your command.

God and his angels close to hand.

Friends and family their love impart,

and Irish blessings in your heart!

"May God grant you many years to live,

For sure he must be knowing.

The earth has angels all too few.

And heaven is overflowing."

"These things, I warmly wish for you-

Someone to love, some work to do,

A bit of o' sun, a bit o' cheer.

And a guardian angel always near."

This next one doesn't mention angels but I really liked it.

"May you always have walls for the winds

a roof for the rain, tea beside the fire,

laughter to cheer you, those you love near you,

and all your heart might desire."

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Celtic, Ethnicity, God, Heaven, Irish, Travel

Gunn's New Family Physician

My mother came across an interesting old book in among many other antiquated volumes in their home called Gunn's New Family Physician written in 1864.   She said the book has some marvelous remedies and many suggestions and exercises for better health.  Some remedies, however, are better than others.

In the section on " Shower Bath," Gunn says, "When convenient, the shower bath is an admirable thing–to be followed, of course, with proper friction and exercise. The morning is probably the best time to take it. In order to take this bath properly, it is necessary to have a box or apparatus constructed expressly for the purpose. Most of my readers, probably, will know how such an apparatus should be made. It is sufficient to say here that it consists, essentially, of an arrangement by which the water is allowed to fall upon the body in a series of small streams at the same time, and the greater the surface upon which they fall, the better. Usually these baths are so constructed that the streams fall perpendicularly, and strike upon the head and shoulders only. ..Where there are no better means at hand, an assistant may stand upon a chair, or in some elevated position, and pour the water upon the bather from a common watering-pot, which will answer as a very good substitute for a more perfect machine. The benefit of the shower bath consists mainly in the general shock, and consequent reaction, which it produces upon the nervous system, and the organs of the skin…In order to derive the full benefits of the bath, the water must be cold…"

I shudder at the thought of a cold shower.  But Gunn goes on to "applaud the benefits of "The Full Bath," which consists of immersing the whole body in water. For this purpose, a tub, vat, or bathing trough, is necessary, which should be large enough to take in the whole person, and be sufficiently roomy to admit of freedom of motion. Should the cold bath, after all proper efforts, be followed by paleness of the skin, dullness and inactivity of body and mind, with more or less chilliness, it is not likely to be useful, and should, for the time being, be abandoned."

You think?

*Pic of the robustly healthy John Gunn and his book. Women in late 19th century bathing costumes

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: 19th century health care, alternative health, Bath, Bathroom, England, Gunn's "New Family Physician, Shopping, Shower, Somerset, Water

The Ghost of Christmas Past

When I was new and the world was young, at that wonderful age of six,  my younger brother and I celebrated our first Christmas in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia at the family home place where my Dad was born and raised.  Called Chapel Hill (all these old Southern homes have names) the gracious Georgian style house has been in the family since 1816.  In those early days, brother John and I had only just grasped the concept of Santa Claus because our family had spent the previous three years in Taiwan where my parents taught English and only returned to the states that previous summer.

Everything about an American Christmas was new and wondrous to us, especially the amazingly generous fat guy in the red suit who was just waiting to give us presents.  But it seemed that he required snow, the cold white stuff we had not yet witnessed, for sleigh travel with his flying deer.  A bit eccentric perhaps, but I was an imaginative child and willing to indulge him.  It wasn't lost on us, though, that this weather phenomenon didn't fall from a clear blue sky.

Our parents hadn't made much of Christmas in Taiwan.  We were tiny tots and toys  scarce, the few there were being some that other missionary families shared with us from those their children had outgrown.  There were no toy stores in Taiwan then like there were here.  Chewing gum was a major treat.  We caught our breath at the delights we saw in the American shops.

Barbie dolls had just been introduced and I longed for one with hair to comb, an endless perfect wardrobe, and furniture of her own. John had his eye on a racing car set.  We'd seen picture books with Santa in them and there was always snow.  What to do, what to do?  Nothing but wait and hope.

The journey to Virginia began in the mountains of Tennessee, jolting along in our old Ford on Route 11 to Augusta County in the Shenandoah Valley.  Our grandmother, whom we all called Mommom, Aunt Moggie, Uncle RW and our five cousins awaited us on the family farm.

Dad spent what seemed like days in preparation for the trip, packing and repacking the car.  Finally we got underway.  I'm amazed as an adult to find that the trip normally takes about six hours, or less, because I have vivid memories of this ride going on all day and far into the night, playing 'I Spy with My little Eye,' and singing carols until we were hoarse and my parents must've been nearly half mad.

Mom taught us a song on the way about Santa, 'You'd Better Watch Out,' a worrisome ditty.  I wasn't an exceptionally naughty child, but knew there were the occasionally times when I had been what, in some person's minds, might be construed as bad. What if Santa, this wonderful provider, had seen me at less than my best?  What if I got switches?

My father told us about his Uncle Gus who'd received switches.  Horrors of horrors.  Deep down I felt it was no more than I deserved if my every move had been carefully noted. I hoped Santa was a forbearing fellow, but doubts lurked, a new worry on top of the snow thing.

Eventually we arrived in the Valley and the paved highway turned into bumpy dirt roads as we wound deeper into the country with its unique smells.  My father pointed out the lights of Chapel Hill glowing in the distance, then unbelievably we were driving up the long lane and the yard filled with family to warmly welcome the weary travelers.

The first night we went straight to bed.  I slept upstairs in the yellow room––every room has a name––with my two cousins, Margaret and Elizabeth Page.  In the morning, John and I got our wish.  We awoke to heavily falling snow, a magical world.  We went sledding down the lane, made a giant snow bunny with my father and had the time of our lives, clambering back into the kitchen ravenous and soaking wet.  We peeled off layers of pants––no snow pants back then––and took our wet clothes and mittens to hang them by the stove in Mommom's room, before downing bowls of homemade soup.

The day before Christmas finally came and the old brick house filled with tantalizing smells.  The kitchen door opened periodically, the sleigh bells on it announcing the arrival of yet more friends bringing yet more gifts.  Friends, neighbors and family all exchanged gifts, even if it was only a plate of cookies exchanged for yours.

Presents were stashed in every corner of the front room, covering the old piano and stacked beneath, wrapped in paper and ribbons which I found almost too beautiful to bear. I knew there were some for me among them, that I was not in total reliance on Santa.  Even so, I longed to be kindly remembered by him.

As any child can attest, Christmas Eve is the longest day of the year and one in which we made extreme nuisances of ourselves, asking endless questions and climbing over and under the furniture to see which gifts were ours.  At last we gathered together in the front room in the presence of the magnificent pine decorated shortly before our arrival.  My uncle cut it from a nearby woods and I loved its fresh smell, also new to me.  A stern glance from him quieted us down and my grandmother read the Christmas story from The Book of Matthew.

The ancient story evoked a new found sense of awe at the holiness of this night as I gazed at the little wooden creche and the figures carved by my father.  I felt the love in the room and understood that it had something to do with this sacred child whose birth we were celebrating.

All right, Jesus loved me, so did God, but what about Santa? After all, he was the one to fill the stocking I'd hung carefully in between my cousin's on the mantle under the portrait of our great-great grandmother.  All of our stockings had been knitted for us by an elderly relative and had a scene of Santa on one side and a reindeer on the other with little bells that jingled when I lifted it.  A reminder of his imminent arrival.

After the stockings were hung and The Night before Christmas read, we heard sleigh bells ringing far off in the meadow.  Good heavens, Santa was that close.  We tumbled over each other in our haste to get to bed lest the old guy should discover us still up and promptly leave.  Touchy fellow, peculiar ways, but ours was not to question why.  We scampered under the covers and did not dare to peep until dawn.

After that, it was every child for him or herself.  We launched out of bed, vying to be the first one to wish each other "Christmas Gift!" then paced about in acute impatience while the adults had a leisurely breakfast.  Who could eat at a time like this?  And dressed with slow, careful deliberation.  I was wearing the same clothes I'd donned two days ago.  As for bathing, only under duress.

We practically gave up all hope of ever seeing inside the front room and paced outside the closed double doors where no child could enter until everyone had gathered.  Mommom, her blue eyes twinkling, reported that Santa had come and relieved our troubled minds.  Uncle RW told us he'd seen reindeer hoof prints in the snow on the roof of the house.  Imagine that.  We never once questioned what he'd been doing on the roof.  Not that this would make the slightest difference if we eked out our days waiting in the hall.

Then, glory hallelujah, the family assembled and lined up according to age, as required by the law of our clan.  The all-important doors opened.  Great was our wonder.  There was the tree lit, the stash of presents sorted into individual piles, and the stockings filled.  Mine bulged with promise.  Praise be!  The old fellow was extremely tolerant.  I'd truly feared to see those switches.

It's ages later now and Mommom has gone on before us.  Lining up outside those omnipotent doors with my brother, cousins, parents, aunt, uncle and her at the end is a distant cherished memory.  Christmas is a place I return to in my thoughts whenever I need the sense of joy and reassurance it brings.  And I remember that time so long ago when my brother and I despaired of snow.

*Pics of Chapel Hill

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: 1960's nostalgia, Christianity, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, christmas memoir, Christmas Traditions, creative non-fiction, holiday, Holidays, Religion and Spirituality, rural Christmas memory, Santa Claus, Taiwan

The Other Wiseman

"Somehow, not only for Christmas,

But all the long year through,

The joy that you give to others,

Is the joy that comes back to you.

And the more you spend in blessing,

The poor and lonely and sad,

The more of your heart's possessing,

Returns to you glad."

John Greenleaf Whittier~

One of my all time favorite Christmas stories is The Other Wise Man by Henry Van Dyke.  I remember sitting in a family circle while my mom, tears in her eyes, read this timeless classic.  A soul-touching Christmas tradition.  The Other Wise Man always makes me cry every time I read it.

From Classic Reader:

"You know the story of the Three Wise Men of the East, and how they travelled from far away to offer their gifts at the manger-cradle in Bethlehem. But have you ever heard the story of the Other Wise Man, who also saw the star in its rising, and set out to follow it, yet did not arrive with his brethren in the presence of the young child Jesus? Of the great desire of this fourth pilgrim, and how it was denied, yet accomplished in the denial; of his many wanderings and the probations of his soul; of the long way of his seeking and the strange way of his finding the One whom he sought–I would tell the tale as I have heard fragments of it in the Hall of Dreams, in the palace of the Heart of Man."

And Van Dyke goes on to weave the beautiful story of Artaban, the fourth Wiseman, and how he sacrifices his every cherished gift for the Christ child in the service of mankind and, in doing so, ultimately for Christ.  The message is profound and badly needed in this world.

From Goodreads:

"1895. American clergyman, educator, and author, Van Dyke explains the origins of the story of the Fourth Wise Man as having arrived suddenly and without labor.  One night he saw him distinctly, moving through the shadows in a little circle of light.  His countenance was as clear as the memory of his father's face. The narrative of his journeyings and trials and disappointments ran without a break. Even certain sentences came complete and unforgettable, clear-cut like a cameo. All that he had to do was to follow Artaban, step by step, as the tale went on, from the beginning to the end of his pilgrimage…"

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: - John Greenleaf Whittier, Biblical Magi, Child Jesus, Christ, Christmas, Dick Van Dyke, Geffen Playhouse, Henry Van Dyke

Where To Buy Beth's Books

Because I've had emails from people in various parts of the United Kingdom including Wales, as well as Australia, New Zealand, India…asking where to buy my books, I've put together a list of online booksellers.  Obviously I can't include everyone, but I've taken a stab at it.  With the growing interest in ereaders, my work  becoming is more and more available internationally.  Some online stores offer the print and digital download forms of my books, some only carry print or ebooks.  I've listed the major booksellers. As to local bookstores, I have no way of knowing which ones carry my books, but few do.  Some will order them in for you if you ask.  So will your library.

THE WILD ROSE PRESS:  ~ My publisher, The Wild Rose Press, has ALL my books in print and ebook format unless a title is only available in digital download.  I love the Wild Rose Press, they're open to authors writing outside the box and wonderful to write for.  They accept major credit cards and paypal, have periodic sales  and offer FREE READS.  My free read is entitled NIGHTHAWK.

AMAZON:  Carries ALL my books in print and/or kindle ebooks.  I also have an author page at Amazon.  My books are available in Amazons all over the world.  AMAZON UK has my books in both print and kindle format.

BARNES & NOBLE: Carries all of my print books at their online store and some of my titles as digital Nookbooks.  They need to carry all of my books as Nookbooks, so if you are on their site, please request them in that form.

Another UK company, Fantastic Fiction, carries all my books, looks like in both print and digital download.

FICTIONWISE: Offers all my books as ebooks

ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS: Carries all my books as ebooks

SONY: Has most of my books.  Not sure why they don't carry SOMEWHERE MY LASS.  If you shop there, ask.

DIGI BOOKS CAFE: Has RED BIRD'S SONG AND SOMEWHERE MY LASS as ebooks and offers a 20% off discount code you can apply to your purchase.

INFIBEAM:  Has my paperback books for sale in INDIA

BOOKS A MILLION: Their online store has some of my books.

BETTER WORLD BOOKS:  Raises funds for literacy & libraries and carries both new and used books.  They have some of my print books.

BORDERS: Has most of my print books.  I don't know why they don't carry my ebooks.  If you shop there, ask.

I know I'm missing a number of stores.  If there's one you'd like me to mention please leave me a comment.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Amazon kindle, Amazon.com, award winning historical romance ebooks, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, buy Beth Trissel's books, e-book, ebook historical romance novels, Fictionwise, Google, IPad, online ebook stores, Publishing, Shopping, The Wild Rose Press, time travel romane ebook, to buy Beth Trissel's books

Historical Romance Novel Red Bird's Song got An Outstanding Review!

*I think this is a particularly well written and insightful review.

RED BIRD'S SONG By BETH TRISSEL
Red Bird's Song

1-60154-812-5
Beth Trissel
Wild Rose Press
Sep 2010
334 pgs
Historical Romance, Western
4.5 Stars
The author weaves a story of deep complexity. The descriptions of life among the nomadic tribe are simply without parallel. It is difficult to explain how deeply touching I find it to be.  In the Afterward, Ms Trissel confides that her ancestors settled in the Shenandoah Valley and that the family records document that some relatives were killed in Indian raids and others were taken hostage and later adopted into the tribe.  It seems clear that this story is exceptionally well-documented historically. I found it to be entertaining, thought-provoking, and educational. This book touched my soul even as it provided a thrilling fictional escape into a period of history I have always found fascinating. 
Read Full Review
Laurie-J
Night Owl Reviewer

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Arts, Beth Trissel, historical fiction, Historical Romance, historical romance review, Literature, Native American Historical Romance novel, Night Owl Reviewer Laura-J, Night owl top pick historical romance, Red Bird's Song, romance, Romance novel, Shenandoah Valley, The Wild Rose Press, western romance

God Bless Us Everyone~

"I have always thought of Christmas as a good time; a kind, forgiving, generous, pleasant time; a time when men and women seem to open their hearts freely, and so I say, God bless Christmas!" ~ Charles Dickens
"Love came down at Christmas; love all lovely, love divine; love was born at Christmas, stars and angels gave the sign." ~ Christina G. Rossetti




"Let's dance and sing and make good cheer, For Christmas comes but once a year."
~Sir George Alexander Macfarren
"I heard the bells on Christmas Day; their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the word repeat of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
~ Henry Longfellow








"Christmas is the day that holds all time together."

~ Alexander Smith 

"Christmas is the keeping-place for memories of our innocence."~Joan Mills

'"Christmas is a time when you get homesick – even when you're home."

~ Carol Nelso

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.
~ Norman Vincent Peale

He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree.
~Roy L. Smith
Christmas, children, is not a date.  It is a state of mind.
~Mary Ellen Chase
Christmas is the gentlest, loveliest festival of the revolving year – and yet, for all that, when it speaks, its voice has strong authority.
~W.J. Cameron




The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree:  the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other.
~Burton Hillis
Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.
~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

There has been only one Christmas – the rest are anniversaries.
~W.J. Cameron

"The earth has grown old with its burden of care But at Christmas it always is young, The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair And its soul full of music breaks the air, When the song of angels is sung."

~ Phillips Brooks (1835-93), American Episcopal bishop, wrote 'O Little Town of Bethlehem'.

Merry Christmas~God bless us everyone!

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Alexander Smith, Burton Hillis, Carol Nelso, Charles Dickens, Christina G. Rossetti, Christmas images, Cjhristmas quotes, Henry Longfellow, Joan Mills, Mary Ellen Chase, Phillips Brooks, Roy L. Smith, Sir George Alexander Macfarren, W.J. Cameron, ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

Kewl Site~fReado

Click to view slideshow.

I uploaded my books–well, excerpts of them, but they read like kindles–and reviews,  links, more about me, etc.  at fReado~Check it out!

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Marketing, my books at fReado

Old English Plum Pudding from The Virginia House-Wife Cookbook

Old English Plum Pudding~

Beat eight eggs very light, add to them a pound of flour sifted, and a pound of powdered sugar; when it looks quite light, put in a pound of suet finely shredded, a pint of milk, a nutmeg grated, and a gill of brandy; mix with a pound of dried currants, and a pound of raisins stoned and floured–tie in a thick cloth and boil it steadily for eight hours.

A variation of that theme is just called Plum Pudding:

Take a pound of best flour, sift it, and make it up before sunrise, with six eggs beaten light; a large spoonful of good yeast, and as much milk as will make it the consistency of bread (dough); let it rise well, knead into it a half pound of butter, put in a grated nutmeg, with one and a half pounds of raisins stoned and cut up; mix well together, wet the cloth, flour it, and tie it loosely, that the pudding may have room to rise.

*Raisins for pudding or cakes should be rubbed in a little flour to prevent their settling to the bottom–see that it does not stick to them in lumps. *Cloths for boiling puddings should be made of German sheeting; an article less thick will admit water and injure the pudding.

She doesn't say anything more than this. I'm assuming this pudding is also to be boiled for the above mentioned eight hours. I never made either but thought they looked fascinating.

In doing more investigation on English plum pudding, I came across a wonderful account and old recipe with more details. He says to cover the pot in which you're boiling the pudding and check to be sure it doesn't boil dry: http://www.homemade-dessert-recipes.com/plum-pudding-recipe.html

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Baking and Confections, Christmas, Christmas past, Christmas pudding, Cooking, Flour, Fruits and Vegetables, Home, old English Plum Pudding, Pudding, The Virginia House-wife Cookbook, vintage recipes