Byddi Lee's Blog, page 25

Emigration, immigration and wanting to be in two places at once!

I clearly remember the morning that I left Ireland to immigrate to the USA. I was nipping out to the corner shop (last time I'd do that for a while - no such thing in suburban San Jose!) and as I stood at the traffic lights waiting to cross the road, I examined my emotions. I was excited - so excited. I envisioned outdoor swimming, the heat of the sun on my back and lots of adventures. I shoved the sadness of leaving family and friends to a place where it would remain until I had the strength to explore that painful topic.

The green man flashed. A car, obeying the red light, came to a halt in the lane nearest the kerb where I stood. I took two steps in front of him and was just about to step further into the intersection when from the corner of my eye, I noticed a car barreling down the outside lane towards me. He was never going to stop on time. I jumped back out of the way as the car blasted through the red light and passed inches from me, my hair lifting in the wind his car generated. I ran back to the kerb as a police car sped through after him, blue light flashing.

Had I not stepped back, my story would have simply ended there...

The guy in the stopped car sat with eyes like dinner plates. I lipread one long expletive that began with an "f". He pointed at me and mouthed, "You okay?"

I nodded. The lights turned green and I waved him on.

Trembling, I waited this time, not just for the lights to change and the green man to flash but for both cars to stop before I crossed the road, thinking all the while what a tragic headline it would have made in the newspapers.

"Woman set for USA, killed in police chase."

It almost made me cry thinking about my Husband and my Mum (she was there to drive us to the airport) waiting in the kitchen for the milk for their tea, only to hear the sirens of the ambulance as they scrapped me off the road.

By the time I actually did get home with the milk, my active imagination had kicked in, and I'd played out the entire scenario...the wake (in my sister's house in Armagh maybe) the funeral (the Cathedral in Armagh, of course - where else?) and my grave - beside my Dad who had only died a short 3 months beforehand. Perhaps it was no wonder that my mind was a bit morbid.

The thing with immigration is that, unlike dying, you get to come back - time and again. Though I know this is still not necessarily the case for everyone who emigrates because of financial reasons or maybe because their home country is unsafe. I really feel for people in those circumstances, and often think about the Irish Emigrants during the famine for whom returning to Ireland was practically impossible. For people like me, emigration is a luxury. I was one of the lucky ones with the right paperwork and passport combinations. I know so many people who would love to immigrate to the USA. Not to mention the millions of people in the world who are quite literally risking their lives to emigrate, some packed into boats trying to escape hardships beyond my comprehension.

I can't compare with those hardships. But for me emigrating means, no matter whether I am here or there, I'm missing somewhere and someone. In order to be totally happy, I need to be able to be in two places at the same time.
This was never more clear to me than when I was back in Ireland promoting March to November .

It was a wonderful trip, filled with family, friends and book events. My home town Armagh has really become a great holiday destination. It's always been a pretty city, with its majestic Cathedrals and it's charming architecture, not to mention the people - great craic and so friendly. (Even if I do say so myself!)
St Patrick's Church of Ireland Cathedral
But now Armagh has become a culinary delight, sporting many award-winning restaurants and cafes.

On my last day at home, my sister took me for lunch to a place near Market Street - where we had lived as small children - 4Vicars on Vicars Hill.


We didn't play on this street much having been scared away by the ghost story of the Green Lady. The best rendition of this story is by Rosin Kelly. It's actually a sad and terrible tale. I do recommend grabbing a cuppa and hopping over to this website to read it if you like to spook yourself out!
4Vicars is a fabulous place to eat. Not only does it offer a great menu with fresh, delicious food and beautiful decor, but you have a choice of scenery to view as you eat. If you sit in the front section you can have a table that looks out on the old cathedral.
Or you can sit at the back and enjoy a view of Armagh.
The red brick building in the distance is my old primary school, also sited on top of a hill.

I was thrilled to find this spot and even more thrilled to get talking to Kasia Reid, who owns and runs 4Vicars with her husband, Gareth. He is an Armagh local, but I could tell by Kasia's beautiful accent she wasn't originally from Ireland. She told me she was from Poland, and when I asked her if she missed home she simply said, "This is my home now." She made it sound so easy, and I admired her commitment to her new life.

We then had an interesting discussion on the street names around Market Street. I'd been under the impression that Vicars Hill was not only the name of the street we were in, but that it stretched all the way around the cathedral to Market Street where the Bishops Residence was.

"Oh no," Kasia said confidently, "That's Cathedral Close."

I never knew that, and yet I grew up on Market Street, and played in Castle Street, the street that borders the forth side of the square of the Cathedral's property.

We laughed at how it had taken Kasia to come all the way from Poland to educate me on the street names of my home town.

We had a thoroughly delightful lunch there and I would highly recommend this place. I look forward to going back, because unlike Kasia, I've not been able to let go completely and miss my home town keenly. Especially now that it has such an up and coming gourmet scene.

Byddi Lee
Kasia Reid

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go...

I just love the new direct flight between SFO and Dublin, Ireland. It leaves at such a civilized time. I'm sitting here in my pjs and fluffy pink dressing gown, tying up a few loose ends before I do the final clean up in the house and hit the road.

The last couple of weeks have been all about getting the garden in shape for summer and, of course, author events. It's been a lot of fun, and I was surprised by the buzz  I get reading extracts from my book - especially the funny bits. When writing there's always that time delay between writing and feed back. I love getting amazon reviews. (If you've read March to November and haven't left a review please do - here's the link ) It's just such a thrill when someone contacts me and tells me that they loved the book. But when you read a piece to an audience and get the immediate reaction to it, it's like writer's cocaine! Addictive!

So it's a bit early to be planting the summer garden, but with the drought and the way things have been temperature-wise here, I think I'll get away with it.

This post is merely a "before" and also a place where I can view pictures of my garden when I'm away from it. When I get back, I'll post photos of the growth (or not!) from over the 4 weeks.

These are orange lilies, that I bought last year blossoming and all, that have decided to come up again. I hope it's still blooming when I get back - if it blooms!

The pole beans are planted, the trellising is up, (my husband thought we might need a permit from the city for this!) and I'll add the strings when I see how many seedlings actually survive the birds, slugs and ground squirrels!

The tomatoes are in (I hear a collective wince from the Santa Clara Master Gardeners!) but its a kind of experiment, and I want tomatoes sooner rather than later this year.
I've rushed the photos and the plants can hardly been seen from this distance, but I'm hoping that the "after" pics will be great from this spot.

I didn't buy any new annuals this year - I'm relying on return customers...
  and volunteers...
Poppies are out - in the garden and on the hillsides.
And then there's this plant. It was here when we moved in 6 years ago and has never blossomed. Now I'm going to to be away for 4 weeks and it does this!
I can't imagine what the blossom will look like but My Husband (who isn't coming with me due to his own work commitments) is under strict instructions to take lots of photos.  I don't even know what this plant is called.
It's nice to know that when I get back from my book tour in Ireland there is a seat waiting for me in the garden.
 
Byddi Lee

Home - where the grass is greener, especially from March to November!

I didn't want to be one of those Irish immigrants who cried into my beer and sang sad songs about missing the ould country. Oh, no, not me...

And why would I, when I can see green fields from my garden?
Okay, they are only green for a a couple of months, during the rainy season, and given the drought we've been having in California, that's now down to a matter of weeks.

So, no lamenting from me about missing Ireland, or the rain, instead, I wrote an entire book, all 115 000 words of it set in Ireland!

As I wrote March to November, I realized how much I missed all the uniqueness about home that is so hard to find here - and I'm not talking about rain. There's the pubs, the banter, the chatty taxi drivers, the impromptu traditional music sessions, the potato bread, the scones, the Guinness, the bacon, the whiskey, the Tayto crisps, the Cadburys chocolate, Marks and Spencers Extra Chocolatey Chocolate biscuits, Barry tea, the whiskey, Hobnobs, the style (yes - that surprised me too!) and most of all the people...

Americans who have visited Ireland regale me with stories of how wonderful their time in Ireland was, and the thing they rave about the most is the people. I may be biased, but I do agree with them wholeheartedly, especially when it comes to humor.

The craic is ninety back home. That's a phrase that will trip up many a non-Irish person, and had my critiquing groups running for their red pens. I insisted that any book set in modern day Belfast had to have the word "craic" in it. Other words didn't make the cut, being either not as important or too confusing, such as "scundered" and "banjaxed" which sent the spell-checker crazy into the bargain. Such a rich and varied vocabulary makes writing in "Norn Iron" so much fun.

The other things that the US holiday-maker enjoyed was the bars. I used real bars in Belfast and Donegal as settings for some of my scenes, to the extent that I have readers here in the US asking me to organize a trip to Ireland for them that takes then to these locations. For now, they'll have to make do with the slide show I have on my website.

Here's a little taster.
This is Robinson's Bar, located across the road from the Europa Hotel, reportedly the most bombed hotel in Europe - what a fun reputation to have! If you go in through this door, like Tracy did in March to November, and go right to the back, you get to Fibber Magees, The back door of Robinsons is the door for Fibbers. There's a fun night out that ends in a dramatic twist in the book - I hope you have a less stressful evening here!
Donegal, where the characters go on a road trip, was our childhood holiday destination. I have many fond memories of shivering on beautiful sandy beaches that went on for miles,
 and heart-achingly beautiful but desolate landscapes,
 and every day round off by spectacular sunsets. 
This is the view from the cottage that inspired the one that Tommy's family owns in March to November.
I'm delighted that March to November is generating interest in tourism to Belfast and Donegal.


Special Offer During March 
March to November is available on  Kindle for - $0.99 in the USA or 99p in the UK to celebrate the month that kicks off all the shenanigans in the book.

At the end of March, I'm going home to promote the book, and I can't wait! The response from back home has been better than I ever hoped it would be. The Americans are right - the Irish have big hearts, and I'm lucky to be experiencing that for myself. April is a beautiful month to be home - nearly as beautiful as May, which is the month I always tell people to visit, but really any time between March and November is beautiful in Ireland - if you don't mind a bit of rain and can see the beauty in mist covered vistas and green fields. Because California may have it's own beauty from March to November, but it's not found in its grass!
Byddi Lee

The Tufty Club and other stories

Today I contacted the Armagh City Library to ask if they could accommodate me for a book signing when I go home at Easter. The manager was terrific and immediately agreed. I was delighted because the Armagh City Library holds a special place in my heart - I used to live in the same street as it.
Market street, 2014 - Our house on the right and the Library is house in the building on the left.So when I hung up the phone, it was no surprise that my mind-Tardis dumped me back in Market Street, Armagh, circa 1973, where I'd lived from the ages of 4 until 9.

It's not many kids who can say that they had a library in their front yard, but I did. In fact we shared Market Street with a library, a Cathedral, and a cinema - the Ritz. People from Armagh used to call any cinema a "Ritz" in the same way "Sellotape" or "Scotch tape" became a generic name for sticky tape. I was an adult before I realized that the Ritz Carlton wasn't a movie house! 

The cinema was so close to our house that when my sister and I fell asleep at the movies, my Dad would carry one of us home and then go back for the other one! I remember going to see Jaws there. My best friend, Lucia and I went together to see Grease - both of us too young and innocent to actually get the sexual innuendo in the jokes. By that stage we had moved out of Market Street, so I must have been 11 when we saw Grease.

Often the Ritz would be evacuated because of bomb scares, and if anyone we knew was at the movies they'd come over to our house. If we didn't need to evacuate ourselves, they'd be welcomed in. I have a vague memory of us all lying on the living room floor because snipers were taking pot-shots at the army and the police outside. Dad would pass out beers for the grown-ups from the fridge, and we'd wait it out on the swirly orange and brown carpet. After all it was the 1970s in the North of Ireland - we were inured to the Troubles, not to mention the decor!

We didn't frequent the Cathedral on our street very often. It's not that we were heathens and didn't pray. Armagh has two Cathedrals, a Catholic one and a Protestant one - this one was the Protestant one and while, from time to time, our parents would take us up for a walk around the grounds, being Catholic we worshiped at the other one. I don't really remember being told not to go and play up there on our own, but on the occasions I did, I had this mixture of thrill and unease that I might be breaking someone's rules.

Church of Ireland CathedralOur house's front door opened directly onto the street. No paths, no gardens, no fences for us. The British Soldiers used to hunker on our doorstep, hoping to to shelter from rain and sniper bullets in the alcove created by the slightly recessed front door.

Dad used to tell the story of how one evening after dinner (except back then it was called teatime because we weren't posh enough to call it dinner) he was helping Mum clear up. He was planning on staying in for the evening and had already put on his slippers. He went to put the empty milk bottles out for the milkman to collect the next morning - this was back before recycling was invented, so we had to reuse instead!

Dad open the door and a soldier who was leaning against the door fell into the front hall on top of him. Both were understandably startled, but in a "surprise!" competition the guy with the gun is going to win. Embarrassed and pissed off, the soldier arrested my Dad on the spot. He didn't let him go back into the house to tell my Mum where he was going. He just bundled Dad into the landrover and took him to the barracks, in his slippers and still carrying the milk bottles! They held him for a few hours and then released him. No explaination, no apologies - though my Dad always did point out that he'd been lucky that the soldier's gun hadn't gone off when he'd opened the door or it would have been a much shorter story.

Anyways, poor Daddy, still in his slippers had to walk home a couple of miles through the town from the barracks. When he arrived home he got no sympathy! Mum was mad at him. She thought he'd sneaked off to The Foresters's Club a few doors down from the house. Eventually, she believed him because he was still in his slippers, and Dad would never go to the pub in his slippers!

The Troubles played a big part in all our lives back then. One day my sister and I were playing in Market Street, and we found a parcel wrapped in brown paper. We'd been told in no uncertain terms that unattended packages were dangerous. So we went straight to our parents and told them what we'd found. It was right in the middle of the street - a huge tarmacadamed expanse, not the beautifully landscaped area it is today. The entire street was taped off, and the homes evacuated, and we all stood (as we often did during evacuations) along the top of the hill looking down Market Street. Dozens of police and soldiers milled around and then the parcel disappeared. They found a guy calmly walking away with it. Someone had been loading/unloading a van with innocent parcels and had left one out. When he noticed it missing he'd come back for it, and had just walked over and picked it up!

"Better safe than sorry," my Dad said to us later.

But getting back to the Library...

The Library is a beautiful limestone building that had once been a technical college. I remember it as always being a warm, calm place with the wonderful smell of books, a smell that very writer and avid reader mentions. I know I risk being cliche when I say that that smell still gives me a sense of anticipation - something good or interesting about to happen.

Even when I was a kid (yes, way way back then!) our library had excellent programs for children. I was in the Tufty Club. Tufty was a human sized squirrel - perish the thought! Imagine what that could do to a garden. Tufty, along with his other woodland friends taught road safety, a strange choice of character judging by the number of squirrels that get mashed on our roads in San Jose and whose remains are feasted upon by other squirrels (I kid you not!)

As well as the regular story time and Tufty club meetings, we had a quiz team. I was on the team that made it to some finals or other...a big enough deal for it to attract the local press. My sister and her favorite teddy, Jumbo, came to watch our team compete. I can't remember if we won. Obviously that wasn't foremost in the newspaper photographer's mind either, because the picture that appeared that week in the paper was not your's truly and her quiz team, but instead, my sister and her teddy. Over the years I've tried to hold her stealing the limelight against her, but it's been hard - she is such a great sister. And who could blame the photographer? She was so adorable!

This picture was in the Armagh Observer sometime around 1976I wonder will she bring Jumbo to see me when I do my book signing in the Library in April? I've a feeling a certain little nephew will, and I wouldn't be surprised if history repeats itself!

Nevertheless, it will be a nostalgic and poignant moment to see my book on the shelves of the peaceful haven that existed in a crazy time and place, where I first fell in love with books!

Byddi Lee

Writing for a great cause

Cookbook for a Bug is compiled and written by a group of gardeners who coalesced in a social media group called Gardenaholics Anonymous. I became aware of this group through Gardening Jones, a fabulous blog on gardening that I've been following for years now. 
One of the members has a daughter with Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA) type 1. This little girl's nickname is Bug and all proceeds from the book go towards helping with her medical needs, such as a chair or breathing hoses and monitors. 

This is  a wonderful cause and so I was absolutely delighted that  Cookbook for a Book won Amazon's Awards for Best Books of 2014!  Click here to see the award.
Good for you Amazon for recognizing the great work these writers have done. And good for them on producing a fine book to raise funds and awareness for such a great cause. The recipes are inspiring, using up produce from the garden (though you can also easily buy the ingredients at the grocery store) and some are intriguingly unusual (Grape Salad - grapes mixed with cream cheese and sour cream), whilst others are comfortingly familiar (Lasagna - hard to beat!).
I particularly liked the recipe for Zucchini Burgers since I'm usually buried in zucchini during the summer. In fact, its quite gratifying that there are at least 7 recipes for things to do with zucchini - looks like I'm not the only one who loves zucchini but needs different ways to keep eating it all summer long. There are so many recipes I am dying to try out next summer - Tomato Marmalade - I have some frozen tomatoes from last summer. I wonder would that work...
There's a delicious and simple recipe for Beet Greens similar to one I use when I'm harvesting beetroot. It works a treat and even My Husband, who refuses to eat beetroot likes the greens done this way.
And oh my goodness - the baked goods section! I may have to actually cut those pages out and shred them....that is if I can separate them after all the drooling I've done on them. Cherry Chip Ba Da Bing Brownies, Chocolate Zucchini Cake, and (OMG) "The Fudge I Grew Up With" - YUM!
I've never had Baked Meringue Spice Cake, but I am so going to make it next...It sounds so good.
Consider getting some as a stocking fillers for Christmas gifts. 
You can find your copy of this cookbook-with-a-heart Cookbook for a Bug on Amazon. ISBN 9781502456267 
It costs $20 and remember the recipes will tickle your taste-buds, stuff your stomach and fill your heart knowing that you helped a brave and lovely little girl. 

Breakfast - the most important meal of the day!

'Tommy followed her to the table where Molly was just bringing out the last of the food platters filled with bacon, sausage, potato bread, fried soda bread, mushrooms and eggs. The potato bread was crispy, golden – fried to perfection. The mighty Ulster Fry – heart attack on a plate – would keep their bellies full until dinner time. Tommy’s mouth watered.       “There’s beans too, if anyone wants some,” Molly said.'

I was either very hungry or very homesick the day I wrote page 185 of March to November, but I know one thing for sure - when I wrote it, I had not figured out where to buy Irish bacon in the Bay Area, nor had I discovered the The Britannia Arms on Almaden and their Irish breakfast.

Saturday, October 18th marked the one month anniversary of the release of March to November and to mark the occasion Michael from the Britannia Arms  generously offered to recreate the breakfast from the book. He even requested that I send him the description as it was written.

I was very excited when he said he would make potato scones. I really hoped he was talking about what we called potato bread. Potato bread is my favorite item in an Irish fry, or more specifically, an Ulster fry. Our regional variation tends to include more breads than other versions of the Irish fry. It's really just potato, flour and butter, mixed together and fried (in bacon fat for the most delicious effect!) Click here for the recipe I use when making it because it's not something you can buy in the supermarket in California. You can see it in the picture below, the round farl on the right-hand-side of the plate.
My neighbors tucking into their first Irish fry!Then there's black pudding. (Mid plate.) It's an acquired taste and maybe why my characters didn't bother with it in their breakfast. But I love it, especially when I can't have it.

The funny thing is that I generally don't like beans with my breakfast. When I left mine at the side of the plate everyone commented on how even in the book they were an afterthought!

About thirty people showed up.
It was great craic explaining some of the food in the fry. 
So the thing with the black pudding is....
Did I hear her right? Have I just eaten...

Yeah, I think that's what she said. Have you eaten it already? They ate it!Yes, black pudding is made from pig's blood - it's still delicious! And no, probably best not to order a potato "scone" by itself because it's not really like a scone.
At least the coffee is safe!And yes, noon on a Saturday is a perfectly acceptable time to be eating breakfast in Ireland - especially one that has so much food.
Well, it's breakfast time somewhere in the world!And yes, yes, yes, it probably does explain why there is such a high incidence of heart disease in Ireland. But it really, really tastes like a slice of heaven to me and once in a while it's a treat...right?

The Britannia Arms staff were wonderful, their food only surpassed by their service and hospitality. I'll be a regular there for sure.
  After we'd eaten I signed books.
I'm pretty overwhelmed by the response to the book so far. My heart is full to the brim with gratitude and relief!
I still can't quite believe that I've done it - that my book is published and I'm an author, but for now I'll keep pinching myself and leave you with  the video!



All the photos and video on this blog post were taken by Paul Kavanagh. Thanks for everything Paul.

The music on the video is by Caolas.

Byddi Lee

Lost in the shuffel!

I lost my list of favorite blogs when I reshuffled this page to advertise the launch of March to November .

If you'll like to be reinstated... or added to the list leave me a comment.

In the meantime, I'll try to find my lost links...

Byddi Lee

The writing of March to November

My Mum has read it. She keeps saying things to me like, "I can't believe you did ..... in the book." (Note no spoilers!) And I keep stressing to her that it's not me! They are fictitious characters, Mum.


March to November is not biographical. None of the characters are based on anyone person.

March to November is however a kind of mosaic - a mosaic of events and themes and personalities that many of us ordinary people can relate to.

One of my life-long friends often says, "The world of full of the broken-hearted." This book is for those of us who have had our hearts broken. It's for those of us who have had a friend or family member who did something to let us down, but we chose to love them anyways. It's for those of us who feel like square pegs struggling to fit into the world we have to live in. It's for those of us trying to forge ahead despite the echoes of our past. It's for those of us who struggle with having our life plan turned on it's head. It's for those of us who choose forgiveness over grief.

Even though March to November is set in Belfast, I purposefully avoided the writing a book about oppression, bombs and barricades, but read deeper and you'll see the same message I would have written into any book about the Troubles - the power of forgiveness. Because forgiveness like love is a decision we all have to make, all the time, on many different levels of life. Forgiveness is hard, really hard, but really freeing too. We can do it if we try.

And finally, March to November is my way of saying, "Thank-you" to the heart-breakers in my own life, for making me better than I was before, for me giving the opportunity to enrich my soul and teaching me I could learn to love again - better.

I believe we are all a little bit of each character in March to November. 

To find out more about the book, the characters and it's setting, check out my author website - http://www.byddilee.com/

Available in paper back on Amazon, and as an ebook on Kindle and Nook. For more outlets see the author website.

Dizzying Heights

It's been a crazy couple of months on the writing front. My book March to November, is getting published this month and I think I've turned into the author equivalent of "Bride-zilla"! Would that be "book-zilla" perhaps?

For example, I had an idea for the book cover that involved red bricks. In order to get my idea across to the designer I needed to find a red brick wall similar to the type you find in Belfast, where the story is set. But where to find a red brick wall in this land of stucco and strip malls? My Husband spotted an area in downtown San Jose, so off I went with my camera.

I found a great sample with the perfect color, texure and deterioation just off St James square. A sad sign of the times, this is a regular hang out for what appears to be homeless folk. So there I was minding my own business and taking photos of a brick wall when I heard a voice behind me say, "Miss, would you like us to take a picture of you?"

I turned to see crusty looking old guy wearing a black hoody faded to nearly the same color of grey as his shaggy beard and a pair of really baggy jeans whose hems had seen better days. I'd seen him earlier talking animatedly with himself (no blue tooth or head phones) or maybe he'd just been conversing with the rest of the "us" he'd mentioned.

I thought, "Bless him," but smiled and said as warmly as I could, "Ah thanks but no. I'm good here."

He cocked his head to one side and made a twirling motion with his finger at his temple, then muttered, "Whatever," and ambled off.

Anyways, I got the shot I needed and have been working hard on the finishing touches my book needs before publication such that, as Labor day approached My Husband and I decided to take a break and go somewhere nice.

We'd been interested in going to Lassen Volcanic Park for a while now, but it always looked so far on the map that we knew we needed a long weekend. Even so we decided that if we went as far as Redding the accommodation would be cheaper, the Friday night drive shorter and we could scout out Lassen one day and perhaps Shasta the next - nothing taxing - just nice a Sunday afternoon driving type vacation...

Until we got to Lassen and learned that Lassen Peak trail was open and it was only open for a few days of the year. We knew we had to do it and were glad that we had packed the hiking boots...

And really, the trail was only 2.5 miles, a total of 5 miles. At our usual hiking speed, sure we'd knock that sucker out in less than two hours, easy. Except we were starting at an elevation of 8000 feet going to over 10, 500...but sure who needs oxygen when they're hiking? And gradient smadient, right? So maybe tack on another half hour for that....

Oh you guessed it... four hours and many aching muscles later we arrived back at the car, exhausted.

It made me realize that climbing a mountain is like writing a book.

You start out eager, excited and full of optimism.
The trail doesn't look that steep from the parking lot.

So you set a pace and continue up-hill, just like in writing where you throw out those first few chapters, thinking to yourself, "This isn't so bad."  Until you present your work to your fellow writers for critiquing and then the trail starts to steepen.
In fact every rewrite feels like these darn switch-backs - repetitive, far too many of them and going no-where fast.

But whats the alternative? Give up and slide back down the hill?
Don't forget those moments when you get a great feedback or your plot idea works and then you feel like you could fly to the top of the mountain.
At a certain point you look back and you realize just how far you've come and decide that it would be an awful shame to give up now considering all the effort you've invested. Just put one foot in front of the other and see where it takes you.
Not to mention the interesting characters you meet along the way. My writing buddies are simply wonderful, supportive yet honest, gentle yet guiding and best of all - great oul'craic!
But the closer you get to the top the harder it is to keep going. The altitude was getting to me, my head felt sore and my muscles quivered. The 0.5 mile marker gave me hope. I pressed on wondering how the heck people climbed Everest!
  And then, at last the peak is in sight. That last bit looks heart stoppingly steep. But you're here now and the decision is made for you - one last push!
  Then you get to the top. It's a feeling you want to hold on to for a very long time.
Until you realize that this is just the beginning of another stage in your journey. And so you sit on the edge and look over the precipice wondering if you're ready for it.
You always think on the trudge up the hill that going down will be easier, but on the way down you realize that you have bits which hurt now that didn't on the way up.

In writing, here's the scary part. When I publish everyone will be able to read it, to judge it, to hold an opinion on it and I have to tell myself, "That's okay... I can do this. I'll accept that everyone has different tastes in reading. I'll ignore negativity. I'll keep my chin up."

I pray that won't trip on the way down the mountain...
Looking at my finished novel, I sometimes find it hard to believe that I wrote that. In the same way that I look at Lassen Peak in the distance and think - I stood up there!
I'll end the book-writing analogy there lest anyone think that the next few photos refer to dealing with critics!
This is in fact Bumpass Hell Trail where the mud bubbles at scalding temperatures. It's a short hike from the trail head - 3 miles. Feels like 20 when you've just come down from Lassen Peak. It's a great reminder of the fact that we are in a volcanic park and that something lurks below!
People are warned to stay on the trail as injury can occur - again I'm resisting the temptation to extend my analogy! This pond was a beautiful color - I wonder what temperature it was. The next day we could barely walk. So we resumed our car touring plan and headed for Shasta Dam where it was hot hot hot!

 The dam truly is impressive.
But the lack of water is scary. I came away feeling anxious. Lake Shasta has only 19% capacity at the moment. I really am wondering if I should put in a cool season garden as I don't want to spend a dry winter watering veggies. As it is, we are not allowed to water between the hours of 8am and 8pm. Another dry winter will be disastrous!

Redding proved to be a good central place to stay and only 4hrs from home. We stopped by the sundial bridge before we left. It was nice to actually see some water in the beautiful Sacramento River.

Time to get back to getting March to November published - not that I'm doing much more than waiting right now...

But don't worry - I'll let you know when it comes out and how to get your hands on a copy!

Byddi Lee

Life's Peachy

My wonderful neighbor, Al, let me strip his tree of the ripe peaches that were threatening to drop. They were simply perfect.
I went online to see how I could freeze peaches. Lots of articles gave advice using sugar, and some even used some chemical to preserve the color, but I really didn't like to add any of these. Then I saw a post in a chat room about simply freezing the peaches whole with their skins on. So I experimented and am happy to report that, yes, it works quite well. When thawing, simply pop the peach into warm water and the skin slides off. The rest of the peach defrosts in about 10 minutes. The texture is affected - its not quite the same as eating it fresh but it is great for use in smoothies - mine was a tomato, spearmint and peach smoothie - total yum! The frozen peaches can also be used in baking and making sauces and jams. Speaking of which...

Yesterday I made a jam, a salsa and a crumble...

Peach  and Lavender Jam

Click on the title to take you to the recipe on the Love and Olive Oil Blog.

I loved how they extracted the lavender taste from the leaves giving a delicate hint of floral flavor -soak two tablespoons of lavender flowers in boiling water for twenty minutes, strain off the flowers and add the water to the fruit.
You can do this to add lavender to a lot of recipes. I even made up a recipe of my own. More about that later...
The jam was amazing and My Husband practically took a spoon to it. He's exasperatingly picky with food, so I was very pleased!


The Peach Salsa 

This recipe is from the blog "She Wears Many Hats." (Don't we all, darlin"?)

I'm not very up on Mexican food, and I don't know if cilantro is a must in salsa, but the aim of this salsa was to prepare it from ingredients that came from either Al's garden or mine. Therefore, I had to substitute some items...like basil instead of cilantro, since cilantro is currently blooming in my garden only and therefore not so nice to eat. Also, I used a bunching onion instead of a red onion and lemon instead of lime since Al's lime tree is still in recovery after the cold snap that nearly killed it last November.
Don't the ingredients make a pretty picture? The tomatoes, peaches and lemon were from Al's garden.
The salsa tasted even better than it looked.

Peach Crumble

I followed the recipe in the link above but doubled the ingredients for the crust as I typically find there isn't a thick enough crust.
  The crust was great, but the layer of peaches was too thin and seemed to get absorbed totally into the crust.
  My Husband prefers a dryer crust dessert anyways, so he was happy, but I'd have liked more peaches. Next time I'd use a smaller dish 8X8, with the quantities from the original recipe.

So this is where I invented my own sauce to go with the crumble. When I researched the recipes, every single one of them  added cinnamon. It's not that I don't like cinnamon, but why does it have to be added to every single dessert in America? Apple pie, pumpkin pie and now this?

So here's what I came up with...

Byddi's Peach and Lavender Sauce to keep every crumble eater happy!
Ingredients

2 tbs of lavender flowers
1/3 cup water
8 Peaches (I actually used about 12, but they were small - aim for 4-5 cups of chopped peaches.)
1/4 cup brown sugar
2 tsp cornstarch
1 tsp vanilla essence

Directions

Soak lavender flowers in the boiling water for 20 minutes.Peel and pit peaches (say that 20 times, fast!) Coarsely chop peaches into 3/4 inch cubes. (That is, don't be too precise about the size, not act like a ruffian and swear while you cut them...but you can if you want.)Strain lavender flowers out and keep the water.Mix lavender water, peaches, brown sugar, cornstarch, and vanilla essence together in a sauce pan.Bring the mixture to a boil stirring constantly.Simmer for 10 minutes, stirring to prevent the mixture from sticking (Not sure if it will. I was just scared it would!)Allow to cool and dish up with Peach Crumble, or ice cream or both!


Now you can have it any way you like - so long as it's peachy!

Byddi Lee