Jenyfer Matthews

It’s ironic that a few weeks back I was lamenting being so out of touch with popular music – what’s hot and happening now. I had hoped that perhaps I could catch up a bit while I was back in the US, maybe pick up a few new CDs.

It hasn’t quite worked out that way.

I discovered that when I’m scanning the radio stations, I seem to gravitate toward either the classic rock stations or the stations that play 80s, 90s, and today. I don’t want to think too much about what that means about my age. Now that I’m up in the woods, the reception is somewhat limited. (Though having better reception doesn’t necessarily mean anything given what I just told you about wanting to listen to older music!)

My mother gave my daughter the soundtrack to Grease for her birthday so guess what I’ve been listening to more than anything else? I think I’m going to have to check out internet radio when I get back to Cairo…

Don’t forget to stop by this weekend when Cyndi Friberg will be my Friday Feature!

This made me laugh so I thought I’d pass it on

MEN ARE JUST HAPPIER PEOPLE

NICKNAMES

If Laura, Kate and Sarah go out for lunch, they will call each other Laura, Kate and Sarah.

If Mike, Dave and John go out, they will affectionately refer to each other as Fat Boy, Godzilla and Four-eyes.

EATING OUT
When the bill arrives, Mike, Dave and John will each throw in $20, even though it’s only for $32.50. None of them will have anything smaller and none will actually admit they want change back.

When the girls get their bill, out come the pocket calculators.

MONEY
A man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs.

A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item that she doesn’t need but it’s on sale.

BATHROOMS
A man has six items in his bathroom: toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel .

The average number of items in the typical woman’s bathroom is 337. A man would not be able to identify more than 20 of these items.

ARGUMENTS

A woman has the last word in any argument.

Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.

FUTURE

A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.

A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.

SUCCESS

A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.

A successful woman is one who can find such a man.

MARRIAGE

A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn’t.

A man marries a woman expecting that she won’t change, but she does.

DRESSING UP

A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the trash, answer the phone, read a book, and get the mail.

A man will dress up for weddings and funerals.

NATURAL

Men wake up as good-looking as they went to bed.

Women somehow deteriorate during the night.

OFFSPRING

Ah, children. A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and romances, best friends, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams.

A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.

Told you it was funny

One of the things I love to do when I’m traveling is eat – not for quanity but all the things that I can’t ordinarily get.

Our first stop on this trip was the New Jersey coast. Some may mock New Jersey but I’ve always enjoyed my visits there – though the beach may have something to do with it. Well, the beach and the pizza. My husband and I were out exploring on a trip we made more than a decade ago and stumbled upon a small local pizzeria. This was no ordinary pizza though – it’s heaven by the slice. I’ve made it a point to get back to that place every time we are in the vicinity and I live in fear that they will go under between my visits.

Imagine my delight to find it still going strong even after a considerable gap in visits. If you’re ever in the Allenherst area, give Serpico’s Pizza a try. You won’t be disappointed.

Another food I always like to eat when I’m back in the US is Mexican food. For whatever reason, it’s not easy to find good Mexican food in the Middle East. I was delighted to discover a good Mexican place located right next door to my hotel in Duluth – the burrito I ordered was obscenely large and they had nice margaritas too. I’ll be staying over again the night before my departure. Guess where I’ll be having dinner?

Now that I’m up in the woods with my parents (dividing my time between their separate dwellings) I’m enjoying home cooking that I didn’t have to prepare myself. I’ve only been here a couple of days and I’ve had fresh fish twice. My mother has a list of all my favorites planned and my stepmother loves to bake.

I’m doomed.

I mentioned a few weeks back that I’d won a year’s gym membership – I think I’m going to need it by the end of this trip!

Great news – my books Here to Stay, One Crazy Summer, and All the Way Home are now available from All Romance eBooks! More choices and ways to buy books is always a good thing.

And if anyone has already read them and feels moved to leave a reader review, that would be much appreciated

Nancy spent her early years wanting to be an English countryside vet (à la James Herriot) and an adventure-seeking archaeologist (à la Indiana Jones). After studying biochemistry and earning an anthropology degree, she realized that her true passion is for writing fictional stories about smart, adventurous women and the men who are strong enough to love them.

Nancy lives in Maryland with her real-life hero/husband, talented musician daughter, and many, many rescued cats.

**BONUS** Through August, Nancy is having a weekly contest! Just visit her website and sign up for her newsletter – each week one winner will receive a pair of hand-made Native American beaded earrings. All people have to do is sign up for her newsletter at her website for automatic entry! Or send an email to nancy@nancyhunterbooks.com with a subject line newletter signup. Good luck!

Taste of Liberty
by
Nancy Hunter

Blurb

In a time of war and hope, loss and redemption, death and rebirth, tragedy unites two enemies who seek vengeance and find love, only to learn that it was never their destiny to be together…

Liberty MacRae, daughter of an American Revolutionary, and Sebastian Cole, a British soldier, share a vendetta against the brutal British commander who killed their loved ones. Each brings a special gift to their quest – Liberty has a second sight that allows her to predict death, and Sebastian is a Fated One, a man who died before he could kill his enemy and has been sent back by the spirits to complete the task. When they fall in love, they have to find a way to defeat not only the murderer, but destiny as well – a destiny that demands that Sebastian either forfeit his life to defeat his enemy or forfeit his soul. Can they find a way to change their destiny before Liberty’s most harrowing premonition – that of her lover’s death – comes true?

Taste of Liberty
Excerpt

Just come a little closer, you miserable bastard, Libbie thought, but she remained silent.

“Now, how could I kill you,” Winters said. “Let’s see, I could cut off your eyelids and tie you to a post, then watch while the sun burns out your eyes and you slowly die of thirst. Very long business, that—takes about a week. Or I could skin you alive, inch by beautiful inch.” His eyes raked over her. “But I would rather see every inch of you under more pleasant circumstances.”
He took another step toward her and Libbie breathed faster.

“I understand your name is beside your mother’s on the deed to your family farm. You simply need to sign over that deed to me. Then you and I will get to know each other better, much better.” He grinned wickedly. “It will almost be a shame to kill you but when it’s time, I’ll make it as painless as possible.” He waved the paper in the air again.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of it. “The deed? What good would my signature do? My mother will still own the farm.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps she could be persuaded to forfeit her share, as well. Especially if she believes it will save your pretty neck.”

Libbie fought to keep her wits about her as he stepped closer, almost within striking range. He wouldn’t go to the farm, not yet. Her dreams, then later visions, had always been clear about the timing of Winters’ attack—it was in springtime, after the first planting. On the first anniversary of her father’s and brother’s deaths.

Libbie’s fingers coiled expectantly around the knife hilt and her heart pounded hard but slowly, like a ceremonial drum. All else was quiet, the deepest quiet she had ever heard.

An explosion shattered the silence. Shrieks, howls and running feet shook the ground above them and then a soldier was calling for Winters. Something about a fire in the munitions building. And then he was farther away from her, throwing a promise to return over his shoulder and disappearing through the cell door.

Libbie turned to the wall and let out a shrill scream. She pounded her fists against her earthen prison walls, re-igniting the pain in her injured hand. She cradled it against her and dropped to her knees. So close. She had been so close, had nearly felt his blood flowing over her fingers, had almost avenged the deaths of her loved ones and saved those few still living. But the chance had passed and she had failed.

With a loud clang, her prison door swung open again. Libbie straightened her back, slipped the knife into her sleeve and waited. She slowed her breathing, tensed her muscles, prepared for a fight. Perhaps she would have another chance after all.

“Miss MacRae? What are you doing here? Did he hurt you?”

That voice. No, it couldn’t be. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d thought she must have imagined hearing Winters’ men say his name but now the months fell away as she turned to see that he truly stood in front of her, taller and broader than she remembered, hair as black as night, blue eyes preternaturally bright. Her vision narrowed until all she could see were Sebastian Cole’s hypnotic eyes.

She could almost smell the flowers in Lady Jane’s garden as he moved closer. She opened her mouth to say his name. The word did not come from her. Just a gasp as he pulled her close. He crushed his lips against hers. His mouth was cold and hard but warmed and softened as he deepened the kiss.

Terror and pain and fury and exhaustion swept over her at once. Given no time to think, only time to respond, she kissed him back. Passion rose to the surface of her skin under the touch of his fingers, just as it had that night.

But that night had been a lifetime ago, when she was barely a woman, just returned home from finishing school. Now her tranquil life had been shattered, her family destroyed, her mother’s and sister’s lives made pawns in some perverse game of a madman. And that naïve young woman was no more.

Libbie pushed him away from her and for the first time noticed his long, red coat. A sobering reminder of who and what he was. “How dare you?”

“You’re right. This is no time for a reunion. We have to get out of here.” He grabbed her hand.
A cold chill started at the point where he touched her and crept up her arm. She pulled away from him, then flung her open hand across his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

He touched his reddening face and stared at her with those unflinching blue eyes. “Miss MacRae, Winters will soon return. Do you trust him or me?”

How could she respond when she didn’t know the answer herself? That Sebastian was a British soldier and a spy was clear. But one of Winters’ butchers? Was he more treacherous than she’d realized? And why did she still react to his touch? She backed away from him, ready to pull her knife.

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Summer is always an odd time for me. I spend much of the year pining for the conveniences of life in the US, the comfort of knowing how things work, where to go, and how to get things done. And then when I come home again, nothing is quite as I imagined it to be.

I feel like I’m in some sort of parallel universe where things *look* the same but are not quite what they seem.

For instance, I rented a car for our week at the NJ coast. When we got the car, it was running and ready to go so we all climbed in and drove away. It wasn’t until I parked the car in NJ that I realized it didn’t actually have a key – just a plastic stump that fit into the dashboard. A car without a key? And the stump was covered with various electronic buttons to lock / unlock the car. So tell me, what happens when the battery that I presume is in the stump runs down and it no longer works to get you in the car? Is that what the “panic” button is for?? Call me old fashioned, but I want a metal key, windows with a hand crank, and pull button locks.

And the stores! The grocery store where I normally shop in Cairo is perhaps the size of a convenience store, yet it has most of the stuff I require. I can do my weekly shop in about 15 minutes and it only takes me that long if the deli guy is dawdling. The grocery stores here seem ENORMOUS to me now. Miles and miles of aisles, acres of choices. It seem so odd to me now. Why is there an entire aisle for chips? Soda? Even picking out a jar of peanut butter can be a challenge where there are so many varieties to choose from beyond just chunky or smooth.

I won’t go into how stupid I feel when I get to the checkout counter and don’t know how to work the credit card swipe. Or how much I hate the electronic signature pad.

I’m not the only one who’s feeling the differences either. My kids have grown up in a part of the world without quite so much. They watch the same TV programs on our satellite package but without the commercials – so they have no built in defense against the marketing. They see a box of cereal with a picture of Hannah Montana or Lighting McQueen on it and they want it desperately – no matter what the flavor. I can tune all that out, but they stop every two steps because cartoon characters decorate every concievable product.

Part of the challenge of shopping is actually trying to tell them “no, you can’t have that” while also trying to scan the miles of shelves for the things I actually do want among all the things I don’t need.

Fortunately, I have left the big cities behind for now and am now in the woods of northern Minnesota. The grocery store is a reasonable size and there are no malls. Grocery shopping will be a little less nerve wracking.

Just because I’m on vacation doesn’t mean that I won’t be around. And don’t forget to stop by this weekend when Nancy Hunter will be my Friday Feature.

I got this by email and it was too cute not to pass along:

A boss wondered why one of his most-valued employees had phoned in sick one day. Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialed the employee’s home phone number and was greeted with a child’s whisper.

“Hello.”

“Is your daddy home?” he asked.

“Yes,” whispered the small voice.

“May I talk with him?”

The child whispered, “No.”

Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, “Is your Mommy there?”

“Yes.”

“May I talk with her?”

Again the small voice whispered, “No.”

Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss asked, “Is anybody else there?”

“Yes,” whispered the child. “A policeman!”

Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee’s home, the boss asked, “May I speak with the policeman?”

“No, he’s busy,” whispered the child.

“Busy doing what?”

“Talking to Daddy and Mommy and the Fireman,” came the whispered answer.

Growing more worried as he heard what sounded like a helicopter through the ear piece on the phone, the boss asked, “What is that noise?”

“A helicopter,” answered the whispering voice.

“What is going on there?” demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.

Again whispering, the child answered, “The search team just landed the helicopter.”

Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated, the boss asked, “What are they searching for?”

Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle: “ME.”

more cat pictures

It’s not cow country in northern Minnesota but I’m on my way to have lots of country life fun!

Kathleen Coddington has been writing romance on and off for 15 years. Her first book, a paranormal romance, Witch Ball was published in 2007 by Cerridwen Press. Her second book, Mistress of Deception, a historical romance set in Italy in 1501, also from Cerridwen Press, came out in April of 2008. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and the Pocono Lehigh Romance Writers. In 2001 she won second place in New Jersey Romance Writers ‘Put Your Heart In a Book’ contest and in 2004 she placed second in the Golden Rose. While a member of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group she served at various times as VP, secretary and treasurer.

A retired school librarian, Kathleen enjoys reading and travel. Members of two Civil War reenacting units, she and her husband are frequent lecturers at schools and historical societies. She has also published several articles about the fashions of the mid-19th century. She and her husband and three cats live near their son in a tiny town in eastern Pennsylvania where she teaches a novel writing course at the local community college.

From Fallen Angels Reviews
Kathleen Coddington is an amazing story teller. {…} Mistress of Deception had adventure, deception, intrigue, romance and a whole lot of goodness. I can’t wait for the next Kathleen Coddington book to come out. For anyone who loves a good-quality novel than you need to pick up a copy of Mistress of Deception.

Mistress of Deception
Kathleen Coddington

Fleeing her half brother Paolo after his attempt to have her murdered for her dowry, Isabella D’Angelo disguises herself and heads to her uncle in Rome. The journey is full of danger to both her life and her reputation.

Marco Galleazzo is on his way to Rome on an important mission. When he saves Isabella from a group of drunken mercenaries, she begs him to take her with him. Even after he discovers his newly acquired body servant is really a woman, the fear in Isabella’s eyes compels him to help her even as he fights his growing attraction to his mysterious companion.

During the long journey their mutual desire eventually ignites passions neither of them can deny. Isabella longs to tell Marco the truth about herself, but Paolo’s treachery still haunts her. If she doesn’t find the courage to trust Marco, the web of lies she’s created is sure to destroy the love blossoming between them.

And in the middle of that web—Paolo waits.

Excerpt from Mistress of Deception

Something cold and wet brushed Isabella’s cheek, waking her. Swatting sleepily at her cheek, she rolled over and tried to recapture the lingering wisps of a very pleasant dream but the cold, wet touch followed. “Go away Dido,” she murmured. A drop of chilly liquid landed on her ear and trickled down inside.

Irritated, she wiped it away and sat up, expecting to come nose to nose with her pesky mare. Instead, she was nose to scale with two large, dripping fish, dangling from a line held firmly between lean, tanned fingers. She tilted her head back, her gaze moving slowly upward past taut thighs and a muscled torso beneath a black doublet to rest at last on Marco’s face.

“Waking you up so that you can perform your duties is becoming a habit,” he remarked as he dropped the cold fish into her lap.

She stood up, holding the line gingerly between two fingers, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Where did you get these?”

“While you and my friend over there were sleeping like the dead, I did some exploring.” He pointed over his shoulder. “There’s a stream over there behind those trees. Fortunately, I always carry hooks and line with me when I travel.”

She raised the fish, shuddering at the glassy eyes and thrust them at him. “They’re very nice,” she said with what she hoped was an admiring smile. “You may have them back now.”

He pushed the fish firmly back at her. “I caught them. You clean them.” He handed her his knife. “Better build a fire first. By the time you finish cleaning the fish the coals will be hot enough for you to cook them for dinner. Don’t take too long. I’m starving and I’d wager that when Georgio wakes up he will be too.”

Her mouth fell open. Build a fire? Clean fish? “Signori?” She hesitated not sure how to tell him she hadn’t any idea how to do either.

Marco stared at her an inscrutable expression on his face. “Let me guess. You don’t know how to build a fire.”

She shook her head.

“All right, I’ll build the fire while you clean the fish. I suggest you watch how I do this so that you can do it in the future.” He knelt and began clearing a space for the fire. A few moments later, he sat back on his heels and glanced up at Isabella who still stood motionless, fish in one hand, knife in the other. “I take it, you don’t know how to clean fish either,” he stated, his voice tinged with careful patience. Her shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug.

“How can you have been raised on a farm and know nothing about cleaning fish?” he demanded as he stood and brushed his hands on his thighs. “Surely your family butchered animals. There must have been the occasional rabbit.”

She shifted uneasily searching for a plausible answer to his questions. “We never ate fish,” she finally mumbled, unable to think of a better explanation.
Marco looked stunned. “Well, what did you eat?”

“Bread, signori. And cheese. When we did have meat my father butchered it. I did mention I sold our farm.” She flashed him an embarrassed glance from beneath her lashes. “Now you know why. I get sick at the sight of blood.”

Marco shook his head. “Well, it’s time you got over that. I’ll build the fire but you, Sandro, are going to clean these fish. I’ll tell you what to do but you’re going to do the work. Understood?”

She nodded. The thought of touching the fish made her stomach roll but she’d do almost anything to distract him from more of his probing questions about her past.

Following his terse directions, she laid the fish on the ground and prepared for the ordeal. Clamping her lips together, she grabbed for one of the fish. After removing the hook, a disgusting task that sent shudders through her, she flipped the fish over. Getting a firm grip on the hilt of Marco’s knife, she jammed it into the fish’s belly and sliced it open. Gray-green guts spilled out and landed by her knee.

She swallowed hard, her gaze riveted on the slimy entrails. Then the smell assailed her. Sweat sprang out on her forehead. Her stomach rolled and bile burned the back of her throat. She tried to stand up but her legs wouldn’t hold her. The black specks swimming before her eyes became a spinning vortex that sucked her down into blackness.

After a time, light began to beat against her eyelids, forcing her to open her eyes. The first thing she saw was Marco’s concerned gray eyes gazing down at her. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m beginning to understand why you sold that farm of yours.”

Suddenly she felt his hands loosening the ties on her shirt. In another moment he would see the bindings around her chest and her secret would be revealed. She grabbed his hands. “Stop that.” Her voice slid up an octave. “Leave me be. I’m fine. I’m fine.” Shoving his hands away, she struggled to sit up.

“Easy, Sandro.” He slipped an arm under her shoulder. “If you move too fast, you’ll keel over again. Take a moment to catch your breath.”

She followed his advice and rested her forehead on her bent knees. Her position also allowed her to discretely tie the laces of her shirt. The panicked beating of her heart began to ease as she realized her secret was still safe. Composed once again, she raised her head.

Marco had finished the task of cleaning the fish and was threading them on a long stick. “I haven’t been much help, have I?” she asked with a small sigh.

He glanced up from his work, his fingers slowing as he considered her question. “You have a lot to learn. But I knew that when I agreed to bring you along. You’re a farmer’s son, not a trained body servant, so I can’t get too upset by your blunders.”

She flashed him a grateful smile. “If you tell me how to do it, perhaps I could cook the fish for you, signori.”

Marco shook his head vigorously. “No thank you, Sandro. I’m looking forward to eating these. You might drop them into the fire. Or worse yet, keel over again and fall into the fire yourself. I think it would be best, if you just sit over there, out of the way.”

She nodded meekly and remained seated, watching him arrange the fish over the fire. Acting the part of a servant was turning out to be nearly as troublesome as maintaining her disguise. Still, she was determined to keep up her end of the bargain. She just prayed it didn’t include anymore fish.

Buy This Book!

I’ve hesitated to recount the following story because amusing as it is, I have no real way to verify its authenticity. I’ve heard it from a couple of different people, told as an example of local cultural beliefs. The last time was from an American acquaintance who is married to an Egyptian man. She told it firsthand as it happened to her.

The majority of Egyptian are Muslim and all Muslim boys are circumcised when they are born. My friend was in the hospital with her son for his circumcision. After the procedure was finished, a nurse came to her with a specimen jar with a bit of something floating in liquid.

“What’s this?” she asked, as the nurse handed it to her.

“The foreskin,” the nurse answered. “In Egypt, we throw it in the Nile. For luck and long life.”

My acquaintance was fairly horrified but smiled and took it. I think she actually flushed it. (That’s one way to get it to the Nile.)

The population of Egypt is approximately 80 million. Let’s assume that half of the population is male. Let’s further assume that of this half not all the men are Muslim and of course the families of some portion of this half won’t subscribe to this sort of folk wisdom. That still leaves a lot of foreskins to be thrown in the Nile! The fish in the Nile must be loving life!

Yet another reason (aside from various forms of pollution) not to eat anything that comes out of the Nile.

Now do you understand how difficult it would be for me to personally verify this story?

On another topic…

The Friday Feature will continue all summer! Don’t forget to stop by this weekend when author Kathleen Coddington is here with her historical romance, Mistress of Deception.