All posts by Charisse Flynn

Personal Essays

Sobriety, Walking, and Veg/Fruit Juice

I’ve been sober 6 months, and I feel fine! Up until then, the longest I’d gone without drinking was 31 days, white-knuckling and isolating, until joining the fun again. Strange how quickly I’d bounce back to my previous level of drinking. Making up for lost time, I suppose. Truthfully, I haven’t enjoyed alcohol in years, suffering from heartburn, brain fog, headaches, and worry that I might’ve said something hurtful or stupid. Or, worse, I’d forgotten something serious told to me in my inebriated state. But I continued imbibing for the same reasons many do—to fit in, or at the very least, to not stand out.

Solving both of these issues, I now quietly order near beer or club soda with lemon wedge served in a cocktail glass. And for hosting at home, I bought special goblets, so no one’s the wiser. The rest of the time, I stick with water.

Athletic Brewing Company. They deliver!

My experience isn’t unique. Many of us have similar stories of partying hard in our twenties: acting like fools, becoming increasingly obnoxious, getting sick, and/or stumbling to bed. But for some, including me, it continues into our thirties, and forties, and so on. Life events, big or small, happy or tragic, became excuses to drink. And, I was convinced I didn’t have a problem by comparing myself to those who drank more than I, yet still functioned. Dumb, but effective.

Thinking back to my 18th birthday, legally drinking with friends at dive bars in Texas after a high school dance, I wish I could tell myself, “It’s all hype. You won’t miss anything if you choose not to drink.” Would I have listened? Doubtful. But I still wonder what I might’ve accomplished had alcohol not been so much a part of my adult life. I think my biggest fear was I’d be too boring or too bored if I didn’t have alcohol to ease my awkwardness. I’ve come to realize it caused me to be both.

But through all my angst, I’d ignored the bigger issue. Genetics! As I aged, alcohol troubled me in ways it had done my father. I became angry, belligerent, and came dangerously close to ruining a dear friendship by projecting my grievances, those I hated in myself, onto someone else. Repairing that relationship will take time, but I’m willing to do the work, because it means that much to me. But, something positive arose from the ashes. That terrible incident, six months ago, was the catalyst I needed to permanently quit an abusive habit.

But, wait, there’s more! Giving up alcohol was only the beginning…

I’m walking again! 5-6 days weekly. 60+ minutes or 3+ miles per session, whichever is longer. Bonus: It’s a great way to catch up on movies and/or listen to new and/or favorite music. On rainy days, I’m on the treadmill. In dry weather, I walk the neighborhood.

Treadmill Session (Bear Buns T-Shirt by Seattle artist Henry).
Sunny day in January, overlooking Shilshole Bay in Seattle.

I’m getting my daily dose of fruits and veggies—the easy way by blending them altogether. You’d think with my being vegan, this wouldn’t be an issue. But my go-to meals are usually filled with legumes and grains, because I don’t like the taste or consistency of cooked vegetables. And I rarely reach for fruit, as protein bars are my usual snack. (Right now, I’m really into Huel.)

Ingredients for Veg/Fruit Juice.
Veg/Fruit Juice – Ready to Drink Meal.

There are tons of recipes to choose from, but I keep mine as simple as possible: 2 cups cooled green tea, 2 kale stalks, 1 banana, 1 cup frozen berries, 2 tbsp. ground flaxseed, 2 tbsp. shredded coconut, 2 tbsp. pumpkin seeds, and 1 packet Liquid IV (orange). On occasion, I add half an avocado and/or 1 cup creamy oat milk. Yum!

After six months of sobriety, and one full week of veg/fruit juice and walking, I feel so much more alive! My mind is sharper. My body is stronger. My spirit is lighter. Plus, these habits will keep me healthier as I transition into my elder years. And, best of all, I’m no longer interested in or tempted by alcohol. Thank goodness!

If I can do it, anybody can! xoxo

Writing Life

Book Review: Small World by Jonathan Evison

I first met Jonathan Evison in 2012 at Hugo House in Seattle where he talked about what to expect if you hoped to become a published writer. Spoiler alert: It’s hard work, so if you’re seeking glamour and/or six-figure deals and/or constant admiration, you’ll be sorely disappointed. Case in point, fewer than 10 people attended the afternoon class, and one woman scurried out midway without explanation. Having never taught before, JE asked if he should personally refund her money. The rest of us thought it unwarranted, so he got back to business.

By 2012, JE had the distinction of being “the author you’d most like to have a beer with,” but what drew me to him were his posts on family life, especially one about the grief he felt from the recent passing of a beloved dog. That touched my heart.

JE @ Third Place Books – LFP (Masks from The Tweedy Show)

If you’ve read any of his books, you’ll know JE doesn’t sidestep difficult subjects in his novels. At the time of the class, I’d read All About Lulu (1st) and The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving (3rd), and he was working on This is Your Life Harriet Chance (4th). I’ve now read that too. I also enjoyed Lawn Boy (5th), which is currently on the list of most banned books in the nation. (JE thinks that people who ban books should read them first to avoid spreading misinformation, but he knows that’s highly unlikely.) As for West of Here (2nd) and Legends of the North Cascades (6th), they’re on my shelves.

In 2016, JE taught a weeklong morning class at the Port Townsend Writers’ Conference at Fort Worden, and I was among the first to enroll. Since then, I’ve come to know Johnny and his wife Lauren. I adore them both, along with their three rambunctious and talented kids. And, Lauren graciously read the manuscript for Katy’s Song before I found a publisher. For that I’m sincerely grateful, because it was a much needed vote of confidence after 100+ agent rejections. Therefore, this review can’t possibly be unbiased. Nonetheless, it is truthful.

Fort Worden: Gary Lilley + two of JE’s kids & Sparky

I first read Small World in May 2020 when Johnny needed fresh eyes on the manuscript. Reaching out on FB, he requested two volunteers to read and critique 150,000 words within five days. For those who don’t know, most novels are around 80,000-100,000 words, so this was epic.

Heaven help me, even though I’m a slow reader, I jumped at the chance! Thank goodness the pages were already in fantastic shape. And, even though I broke my streak of completing the NYTs’s on-line daily crossword, I felt I’d been given the gift of a masters class in writing. That was enough of a thanks for me, but, as promised, my name was added to the acknowledgements. How cool is that?!?

Review: Small World, Jonathan Evison’s seventh novel, focuses on the ambition behind building the transcontinental railroad and how generations of people and swaths of land were touched by the quest to ease travel across the USA in mid-1800.

This story is timeless, asking two questions that plagued us then as they still do today. What exactly is the “American Dream?” And who is it for?

Small Word is a page turner, and I finished it faster than some books that are half its length. No wonder this novel was recommended by author Jason Mott (Hell of a Book) on The Today Show. Unfolding in two time periods (contemporary and historical) with eight POVs, the story might’ve been unreadable in unskilled hands. But every chapter held my interest, and I never felt confused.

Small World explores the complicated issues of innovation and “greater good.” Rife with contradictions, progress is defined by who’s telling the story and which details are included/excluded. Who holds the rights to rightness? Innovators vs. Necessary Workers. Indigenous vs. Transplants. Society vs. Individualism. Livelihood vs. Displacement. Nature’s Beauty vs. Nature’s Resources.

I could go on, but what I’d most like to say is that by the end of this novel, no character is left unscathed, including me as the reader.

One of the best books ever written!

Bit of trivia about Jonathan Evison: (1) He learned how to write by voraciously reading novels, starting at a young age. (2) One of his favorite authors is Dickens. (3) His third novel was adapted into the movie Fundamentals of Caring, starring Paul Rudd, Craig Roberts, and Selena Gomez (Netflix). (4) He was a founding member of March of Crimes (punk/pre-grunge) that also happened to be the first band for bassist Ben Shepherd (Soundgarden) and guitarist Stone Gossard (Pearl Jam). (5) He was once a radio DJ and has an impressive/extensive vinyl collection, including albums from one of my favorite bands Wilco/Jeff Tweedy.

Writing Life

Book Review: How to Write One Song by Jeff Tweedy

Includes Bonus Review: The Tweedy Show

I originally posted this in November 2020, but I kept updating and clarifying, so I changed the date to reflect those additions. And, since then, Jeff Tweedy created a Substack account called Starship Casual. Some content is free, but most songs are behind the paywall. Well worth the subscription price!

In August 2019, my husband and I saw Jeff Tweedy in concert in Washington state at an outdoor music festival called Thing—a new event held at historic Fort Worden at the northeast tip of the Olympic Peninsula overlooking Puget Sound. The weather, often unpredictable in the Pacific Northwest, was near perfect: warm, dry, and calm. And, had Jeff Tweedy played and conversed until morning, I would’ve stayed the entire night with the exception of quick breaks for pesky necessities. Jeff Tweedy is much loved here, as was evidenced by the large crowd and by a small grocery that displayed a sign along Jeff’s travel route, offering him free cantaloupe if he stopped to say hello. I’m happy to report it worked.

At “The Thing” concert in Port Townsend, WA (08/2019)

Last year, my dear friend and editor, Elizabeth Thorpe, introduced me to The Tweedy Show—a delightful, quirky, witty, poignant program that airs on Instagram (stuffinourhouse, Mon/Thur, 9:00 Central). The show begins with a jukebox, after which special drawings by cartoonist Jeff Knurek (Jumble) depict the family. Then for about an hour, the Tweedys offer up banter and songs, and no subject is sacred. Always off-camera, Jeff’s beloved wife Susie runs commentary while filming. Oh my word, she cracks me up! Enhancing the feeling of community, live-streamed texts from clients (fans) scroll down the screen. (Highlights: Susie’s brother Danny jabs and praises in true sibling fashion. Client Paul quickly names every song, except ones that are brand-spankin’-new. And client Arrow creates gorgeous art with emoticons.)

Conversations often become comically raunchy, which makes it all the more appealing. There’s no script, and the show is raw and meandering, so it feels homey, like hanging with friends who happen to be highly talented musicians. Usually wearing t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and sitting on a couch in front of groovy IKEA curtains, Jeff sometimes sings from his solo and Wilco albums (always welcome). Oftentimes, Jeff and sons Spencer and Sammy play covers chosen for thought-provoking lyrics. I’d love to hear “I Got a Name” by Jim Croce, but there are so many other requests, I understand not having time for mine.

Photo from 4 second clip w/Spuds included in YouTube video The Tweedy Show Union Song created by Jeff Knurek.

Lately, Jeff has been sharing new material, and, hot damn, what a treat! Whatever the selection, every song is eclectic and/or haunting and/or whimsical and sometimes prompts backstories, reflections, and impressions. Occasionally, Spencer’s girlfriend Casey Walker (with her adorable dog Basil in tow) sings one of her lovely creations. And, all the while, Susie’s sweet dad listens through a speaker on the coffee table; every now and again offering kudos and/or a lengthy joke. I never want to miss a performance, so I’ve noted it on my calendar with a reminder. But, just in case my plans are hampered, the program is available in archives.

Today marks the one year anniversary of The Tweedy Show. It’s been a generous gift from the Tweedys to help clients cope with the stress of quarantining, and I’m not ashamed to admit I greatly needed it a time or two. I’m grateful to be among the many this special household has touched. Only once before have I fallen in love with a family and pets without personally knowing them. (Obamas 2008 in case you’re wondering.) I’m guessing the Tweedys also benefit from this online relationship that keeps them in touch with clients, especially longtime and unwavering ones. Last night, on a high note, we were shown the collector’s package for Wilco’s “Ode to Joy” that won Jeff another Grammy—a fitting reminder of how art and beauty prevail.


Now for the book review! I began this post with the above information to illustrate how well Jeff Tweedy knows his stuff when it comes to music. In November 2020, and again on a road trip with my husband this past weekend, I listened to the Audible version of How to Write One Song. Jeff Tweedy’s insights are comforting and funny, and his prompts are applicable to various creative endeavors. He possesses qualities found in beloved teachers: humor, encouragement, authenticity, and inspiration. And, How to Write One Song is as good as, and even better than, many writing how-to books I’ve read and workshops I’ve attended. What a delight to have this gem—accurate description for both man and book—in the world.

Oliver Wendell Homes once said, “Many people die with their music still in them.” With the guidance of this book, coming into my life at the exact moment I needed it, I can accomplish something I thought beyond my abilities. Although I can’t read music, I have a pretty good ear and acceptable singing voice. And, among my friends are a smattering of poets who could help me hone the lyrics. Right now, I’m toying with a folkish, Irish lament, because I play a few slow airs on fiddle. Perhaps, one day, I’ll share my song on this blog.

Note to Jeff Tweedy: Thank you for being you! If our paths ever meet, and you have a moment to spare, I’d love to discuss our mutual obsession with the New York Times Crossword.

Thursday, March 18, 2021: New York Times Crossword (What the crunk?!? Blanks?!?)

Although my solve-time is much slower than yours, and I’m well below your longest daily streak of 558, I aspire to reach 1000. And in the four years since downloading the app, I’ve completed all the Mondays and Tuesdays in the archives, starting with November 1993. But, my intention isn’t to brag, because it’s a one-sided love affair where I’m the key beneficiary. When I’m stumped, there’s joy in discovering answers on Wikipedia and Thesaurus, so the crossword keeps me sane(r) as it appeals to my basic need to perpetually learn. And, even more valuable to me, the crossword diverts my thoughts when my mind is chasing its tail. May all our puzzles be sprinkled with Oreos, eels, eeks, ekes, oles, ovals, olios, areolae, asses, aliases, alibis, orcas, iotas, oboes, oldies, opuses, onuses, Ellas, Ettas, Els, Ashes, Otts, Orrs, Olds, Odies, Opies, Astas, eons, ages, oafs, ogres, and etals. [Sigh]

Note: By 01/31/21, I’d logged 216 days in a row when a glitch in the app set my count back to 0. The problem stemmed from Wednesday, January 27th when the square changed from yellow to blue. (I have pictures!) I emailed The NY Times, but I’m not sure I reached the appropriate department or if the issue is even fixable. Good thing I enjoy a challenge. Oh, who am I kidding?!? This sucks!!! Especially since I was so diligent, even when our basement flooded on Jan. 2nd, and my husband and I spent 16 hours using two shop vacs to keep the water at bay until help arrived. But, what can I do about it? Nothin’! 4 down. 996 to go…

Vegan Recipes

Vegan Meal: Tex-Mex Enchiladas

These vegan enchiladas are delicious and so easy to make. I eat them every day. But, I’ll take it one step further and boast a bit, because my non-vegan husband says they look, smell, and taste as good as any beef enchilada he’s ever had.

12 Vegan Tex-Mex Enchiladas (13×9” Baking Dish)

What you’ll need:

  • Mission Super Soft 5.5” Yellow Corn Tortillas (12)
  • La Victoria or Old El Paso Red Enchilada Sauce (19oz can)
  • Diced Green Chile Peppers (4oz can)
  • Gardein Frozen Beefless Ground (3 cups)
  • Tony Chacher’s Creole Seasoning (1 tsp)
  • Sea Salt (to taste)
  • Field Roast Chao Tomato Cayenne Slices (3)
  • Daiya Cheddar Style Shreds (2 cups)
  • 13×9” Baking Dish
  • Large Non-Stick Skillet

Directions:

  • Preheat oven to 375.
  • On stove at medium/low heat, add beefless ground to skillet. Stir occasionally until thawed and warmed through. Add 1 cup enchilada sauce, green chilies, and Cajun seasoning. Stir until completely mixed. Taste for preference, and add sea salt accordingly. Remove from heat and divide into four sections in skillet. Set aside.
  • Pour 1 cup enchilada sauce in baking dish and tilt the pan around until the sauce is evenly coating the bottom.
  • Cut each cheese slice into four strips.
  • Working with 3 tortillas at a time, wrap in wet paper towel and microwave on high for 40 seconds for pliability. Place one cheese strip in middle of each and plop 1/12 of skillet mixture on top. Roll tortilla and place seam-side down in baking pan. Repeat until all tortillas have been assembled and are inside pan, pushing them against one another if necessary to make them fit. Add remaining mixture (if any) to the ends of the enchiladas.
  • Pour remaining sauce evenly over enchiladas.
  • Sprinkle shredded cheese on top.
  • Bake 25 minutes until cheese is melted and sauce is bubbling.

Note: If you want to make these the traditional way, you can coat both sides of the tortilla in red sauce before adding the cheese slice and mixture. Keep in mind, you might need extra sauce. That said, I tried it both ways, and I found no difference in taste or texture by skipping this extremely messy procedure.

Vegan Tex-Mex Enchilada Plate

Suggestion: These enchiladas make perfect leftovers. Simply reheat in the microwave until cheese melts. If you feel like adding freshness, place them atop a salad of lettuce, tomato, black olives, green onions, enchilada sauce, and lime juice.

Personal Essays

House Wedding

When I moved to Seattle from Arlington, Texas in September 1989, I was ill prepared for the rapidly decreasing daylight, SAD inducing gray skies, and an entire month of rain in June. Spending most of my free time alone, I gained twenty pounds with a steady diet of top ramen, Minute rice, and wrapped cheese slices. Working 10 hour days and countless weekends hadn’t helped me find friends. Nor, it seemed, had my thick southern accent.

Taking pity on me and/or tired of the whining, my boss suggested I join his ski club to meet new people and become familiar with surrounding areas. I told him I was an abysmal skier and that my muscles had atrophied. He dismissed my excuses, assuring me the ski club offered various activities throughout the seasons, including movie nights, happy hour meet & greets, leisurely bike rides, and summer concerts at the zoo. Convinced and a wee bit excited, I signed up for an inexpensive carpool trip to Mt. Baker for spring skiing. And, while others careened downhill in freezing temperatures, I lounged in an overstuffed chair at the lodge and read by the fireplace. The slight difference from my normal routine was that I socialized at dinner.

On the Saturday night of the trip, a woman and I got to talking about dating. While sipping beer, I answered her rapid fire questions. What’s more important, humor or ambition? “Humor.” How do you feel about divorce? “Depends on the circumstances.” Age preference? “The closer to mine, the better.” Little did I know she already had a person in mind. On Monday night at the club’s annual elections, held at the now-defunct Rainier Brewery, she introduced me to John. I was immediately charmed by his genuine smile and easygoing personality. And, we were both Star Trek fans!

Early days in our relationship (around the time we jumped out of a plane together).

I remember the moment I fell in love with John. Mere months into our casual dating, the ski club hosted a boat cruise for an evening on Lake Washington. We both wanted to go, but complications arose when my company scheduled a last-minute work event. For logistical reasons, John and I talked about meeting at the dock, but the time would be tight, and the boat wouldn’t wait for me. Anticipating my anxiety, mostly due to directional challenges pre-GPS, John drove the exact route I’d need to follow and noted every single turn. Knowing him now, I believe he would’ve stayed behind if I hadn’t arrived in time.

With John’s patience and gentle instruction, I learned to love skiing.

Two years after we met, John and I moved in together. And in 1996, we spent most of our savings on the down payment for a pre-WWII, 1980s-updated, Cape Cod in Ballard. Whatever funds remained, and with a little ingenuity and tons of help from friends, we held our wedding on a lovely summer afternoon in our backyard. We couldn’t afford a honeymoon, and every time we paid the mortgage, we said, “Hooray! We can stay in the house another month!”

Here’s a toast to the beautiful day!

Fast forward to late 2020, and we were extremely grateful to still be living in this house, especially after a difficult year. And, we were pretty dang proud of ourselves for doing a great job of keeping the property maintained on a shoestring budget. But, on December 21st, a heavy rainstorm pummeled an already saturated earth, and groundwater flooded our fully-finished basement. Ours wasn’t the only flood in the area, nor was it the worst. Employees at professional water extraction companies were stretched thin, and we waited hours for help. It took 10 days for all the flooring to be removed and for the basement to completely dry.

After rerouting two downspouts, we thought our troubles were behind us, but on January 2nd, the basement tried to flood again. For 16 hours straight without food or sleep, John and I used two shop vacs to remove 900+ gallons (approx. 7500 pounds) of rain water. By morning, we held the water at bay on the north side wall in our TV room. On this go around, a beautiful storage bench, custom-built and installed by John’s brother, was destroyed. It had been protecting our skis and gear, but it also covered what we’re now calling a “babbling brook” in the broken cement. Once a temporary sump pump was in place, the floor dried. Cause of this near-flood? Another ineffectual downspout. But during closer inspection, we found multiple maintenance issues in and around our house—ones we’d been too complacent to notice.

Front yard rockery in 1996.

As with anyone who’s been in a long term relationship, John and I have good days and bad. Often, we’re amazed at the luck that brought us together and led us to our ideal home. Other times, we’re on the brink of uncoupling and selling this money pit. Most times, we’re skating from one joy and challenge to the next as we go about our daily lives.

The corner where we said our vows.

At our wedding, the promises John and I made to each other came naturally, because we’d already clocked five years. But what about our new partner? Our home? “For richer.” “For poorer.” “In sickness.” “In health.” By saying “I do” in our backyard, we essentially committed to the house as well. It’s taken good care of us over the years by keeping us safe and warm. Our time has come to reciprocate by making it healthy and whole again.

According to a Chinese proverb, “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” This is our year of healing the past and preparing for the future as much as fate allows. We’re a powerful team, we three. Here’s to the next 25 years together, mes amis!



Personal Essays

The Cookie Tree

When I was a wee babe of 9 months, our family of five moved from Salt Lake City to Delta Junction—a tiny town at the end of the Alaskan Highway, approximately 90 miles SE of Fairbanks. At the time, Delta Junction had a population of approximately 500 and has never recorded more than 1000. Through the years, my parents remained good friends with the next door couple who rented to us. At one point, the four of them idly talked of moving both families to Australia. And, much later, they vacationed together there.

Delta Junction, Alaska (me)

Of course I don’t remember the move to Alaska, but I do hold a few memories of my life before our family relocated to Las Vegas three years later. Certain stories come to mind, some from family lore, such as the moose that stuck his head through our trailer’s kitchen window, my little sister being born during a blizzard, my near-drowning in the Delta River, and Anchorage suffering through a 9.2 magnitude earthquake. But those stories are for another time. This one is about my mother’s knack for making the best of difficult situations, especially where her children were concerned.

Delta Junction, Alaska (two neighbor kids, my brother, and me)

Why, you might wonder, would anyone move to Alaska in November? As it so happens, my parents were looking for a fresh start after my father was fired from his position at a grocery store. When it was discovered two employees were embezzling funds, Dad was held accountable as he was the hiring manager, and he took too long in detecting the theft. Word got around to other stores in the area, and my father lost confidence in securing a new job. So we migrated north where he found work as manager of the PX at Fort Greely. And soon afterward, as was typical everywhere we moved, my mother was hired as a nurse at a local clinic.

Salt Lake City, Utah (Mom and me)

Although my parents brought appropriate clothing and rented adequate lodging, our household items were left behind in Salt Lake to be shipped later by my grandparents. Thus, when Christmas approached the following month, we had no decorations. Having little to do in the near-constant darkness of Alaska’s winter, Mom hatched a plan that became a years-long family tradition. She whipped up batches of sugar cookies and cut them into shapes of stars, bells, wreaths, and trees. Before popping them into the oven, she pushed a thimble into the dough to create a small hole at the top of each. Once the cookies cooled, she iced them with red-, green-, yellow- and blue-dyed powdered-sugar frosting. And after my father dragged a tree inside, my mom hung cookies on every limb using yarn from her knitting case.

Glimpse of Cookie Tree – Arlington, Texas (in the kitchen with my older sister peeking through the branches and me with my baby doll)

Over the years, other edibles were added, such as candy canes and popcorn balls, but the cookies were the only constant. One full day in the second week of every December, our house was a flurry of flour. My mom enlisted the whole family and stationed us along her makeshift assembly line. No one was exempt, and truthfully, we’d be disappointed if we were. Here’s a picture of me with Roman Meal bread bags wrapped around a cast on my right arm—a break that happened from a fall after attempting to skip two rungs on the monkey bars in first grade.

Las Vegas, Nevada

While living in Texas, we invited the neighbor kids for a holiday party, everyone bringing a gift to share. After singing carols up and down the streets, we circled back to the house and devoured the cookies off the tree, avoiding the ones at the bottom the dog had clearly licked. All the while, my sweet mom ladled hot cocoa into mugs filled with marshmallows. The sugar highs must’ve lasted for hours.

Arlington, Texas (brother, me, little sister, big sister)

I can’t find a picture of the full tree, and I’m not sure one exists without kids obstructing its view. But this photo shows a table laden with cookies, where sprinkles were now a thing and new shapes of horses, chickens, and Santas were added. I distinctly remember a rabbit and Scotty dog, but I don’t see any here.

Arlington, Texas

Sadly, my mom no longer remembers the cookie tree or Alaska, because a misdiagnosis robbed her of memories. But family, friends, and neighbors remember. And our lives are richer for having been surrounded by her warmth, kindness, and whimsy.

And for the record, years later I tried duplicating those cookies. Although delicious, they were missing the dash of magic only my mother could bring.


Vegan Recipes

Vegan Snack: Thyme & Maple Savory Nuts

These nuts are a staple in our household, but they also make great gifts. Although delicious on their own, they’ll add flavor and crunch to salads, trail mixes, granolas, and much more.

What you’ll need:

  • Mixed Nuts – Kirkland or Planters Brand (2.5 cups)
  • Vegan Butter (2 tbs. – melted)
  • Pure Maple Syrup (2 tbs.)
  • Vanilla Extract (1 tsp.)
  • Liquid Smoke (1/4 tsp.)
  • Dried Thyme (1 tsp.)
  • Cayenne Pepper – Optional (1/4 tsp.)

Preheat oven to 325. Line baking sheet with parchment paper. Add nuts to a large bowl. In a smaller bowl, whisk together remaining ingredients and pour over nuts. Coat evenly, and then transfer entire contents onto pan. Bake 25-30 minutes, tossing every 5-10 minutes until most of the liquid has evaporated or hardened. For ultimate crunch and flavor, let cool completely before eating. Store leftovers at room temperature in airtight container.

Personal Essays

Fiddle Lessons

I was ten when I told my parents I wanted to learn to play the violin. The notion came to me after my grandfather died, leaving my mother two memorable artifacts upon his death—a collapsible top-hat and his childhood violin.

My mother rarely talked of her father—silver and gold engineer, widower at forty-nine, remarried, retired to Las Vegas. What I remember most was that he drank a lot and his wife exhibited coldness whenever we visited. Now that I think about it, who wouldn’t be upset with four rowdy children clinging to the brand-new fence and playing a game where the pristine lawn represented hot lava?

According to my mother, her father had his heart set on a boy. But being a girl wasn’t her worst offense. He was greatly embarrassed by her lack of “girlishness.” What did he expect after raising her in mining camps?

When my mother turned seventeen, he told her she needed to find a vocation, because she was neither pretty nor appealing enough to attract a husband. Maybe that’s why she transformed Grandpa’s 1917 West Point uniform into a child’s suit when my brother was five.

Sweet picture of my brother and dad.

The only time my mother softened toward her father’s memory was while talking about his violin. Evidently, his side of the family boasted a few classically-trained musicians, and even with strings missing, he could play a recognizable tune on the fiddle. She admired him in those moments, as if music could somehow transcend years of hurt.

On the left, my grandfather’s stringless fiddle.

When I was ten, learning violin would’ve been cost and time prohibitive for my parents, because the lessons weren’t within the school’s free curriculum and were offsite. And, to be honest, I probably would’ve hated being inside while my friends played hide-and-seek and whiffle ball, and tromped in the woods behind our house. But I never lost interest.

Having heard the story a few times, my husband bought me a violin. Fortunately, he also bought me lessons. My music teacher, and now dear friend Sarah, worried I’d struggle as an adult student, and she didn’t want to get my hopes too high. We started with the Suzuki Method, and I plugged along as best I could. But then she realized the songs I leaned the quickest were ones I recognized from childhood, so she changed books and switched to fiddle tunes. I even participated in a recital, alongside grade-schoolers. I was so nervous, my bow bounced the whole time, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Now I’m learning to jam, using open strings. Some of my writer friends are talented musicians, and they don’t seem to mind if I miss a chord or two. And, I even busked once with a seasoned performer. What a thrilling experience that was!

Breakfast concert with poet Gary Lilley at Port Townsend Writers’ Conference

I guess it just goes to show. Even if a door is locked when you’re young, doesn’t mean you can’t find its key later in life.

Writing Life

Where to Find Me

SUPPORTING AUTHORS & OTHER ARTISTS:

Upcoming Events: I plan to attend, but I’m not participating nor am I associated with the venue or performances.

  • Nothing scheduled at this time.

INTERVIEWS:

  • I met talented and lovely author Jeny Heckman (The Sea Archer: Heaven & Earth Series) at the Pacific Northwest Writers’ Conference, and we connected immediately. Sharing the same publisher (The Wild Rose Press), we sat side-by-side as we both experienced our first official autograph signing. Many visitors were drawn to her fabulous display, and after reading her book, I’m a huge fan. Jeny interviewed me for her #AuthorSpotlight series. I thoroughly enjoyed the process, finding her questions intriguing. And I especially loved the “speed dating” rapid fire (one/two word answers) at the end.

READINGS/SIGNINGS (Past):

  • 09/13/19: DoubleTree Airport Hotel (18740 International Boulevard, Seattle, 98188). The Autograph Party at 2019’s PNWA’s Writers’ Conference started at 8:30 and was open to the public. 60+ authors attended—some of whom were award winners and/or New York Times bestsellers. I met other Wild Rose Press authors, especially these three delightful people posing with me below.
2019 PNWA Wild Rose Press Authors (Sadira Stone, Jeny Heckman, me, and ML Erdahl)


Writing Life

Romantic Getaway

Along with champagne and chocolates, Quality Inn & Suites at Olympic National Park is featuring my book Katy’s Song in their “Romance Package.”

Not too far from Seattle, the hotel is located in beautiful Sequim—a quaint town that features high-quality bars and restaurants and offers year round activities, including hiking, biking, golfing, beach combing, and tons more.

I’ve spent countless hours writing in and around the area and have enjoyed its natural splendor. And I’m always happy when I know I’ll be returning.

If you’ve never been and/or would like to know more, please click Visit Sunny Sequim. You just might find yourself falling in love.