Tea for Me!

Becky’s Teapots and Cookbooks

Although I look forward to my morning coffee and one extra cup in the afternoon, I also enjoy tea. My favorites include ginger, chai, and fruit teas. I love teapots and have collected several over the years. These came from grandmothers, an aunt, a former mother-in-law, a friend, and a special purchase to match a planned kitchen renovation. One of them even incorporates a music box with the tune of “Tea for Two!”

The two pots on the top right are my most treasured. The yellow/gold one came from my maternal grandmother. The brown pot with red and yellow flowers is from my paternal grandmother, who used to make cambric tea for the kids. That’s just milk, hot water, sugar, and a hint of tea, but it made me feel very grown-up.

In the photos below, my maternal grandmother is pictured in California with her china cabinet off to the right. The yellow/gold teapot rests on the middle shelf. In the other photo, baby Becky and my sister, Terri, spend some time with our paternal grandparents at their home in Michigan.

I don’t often make my tea in a pot and tend to just steep my teabag in a cup. But I love having these vintage teapots to give me a cozy feeling of continuity. I keep the pictures of my grandmothers right inside the pots so my daughters will have no doubt of their importance!

Spring Colors in North Texas

Although I find little to like about Texas weather, I do enjoy the milder winters and spring’s early arrival. Over the weekend, I took these pics on several of my walks. I even started some Texas wildflower seeds in pots on my balcony this week to try my luck.

Speaking of growing things, my short children’s story, “Magic in the Garden,” was recently published at Tebok Kai. Almost five years ago, I wrote a post about William Donahey’s Teenie Weenie characters. And I must admit, I had those miniature beings in mind when I wrote this story!

Fantastic Find at the Bookstore #13: Humor in Daily Life

When I came across this cute vintage paperback by Betty MacDonald at the used bookstore, I recognized the author’s name right away. But this was a “new” story and a new husband! The $3.00 price tag was well worth it, and I snapped this one up without a second thought.

I became familiar with Betty MacDonald’s humorous writing through her first book, The Egg and I, years ago, in high school. I was one of the students chosen in my senior English class to take part in a regional forensics competition. Assigned to do humorous readings (not sure why), I had no clue what to present. The Egg and I had rested on my parents’ bookshelf for years without tempting me. It no longer had the dust jacket pictured below, and with just a plain green cover, it never called to me.

My mom wisely suggested I check it out for some humorous chapters. I thoroughly enjoyed the funny book about a newly married couple who lived on a chicken ranch in Washington State. Imagine my surprise when I discovered this was the origin of the Ma and Pa Kettle characters I had seen in movies! I did well in the competition, advancing several rounds, and even had to read in front of my entire (small) school at an assembly. I was very nervous, but Betty MacDonald’s entertaining words gave me much-needed confidence.

Years later, I enjoyed watching the movie on either AMC or TCM. Claudette Colbert played Betty, and Fred MacMurray played her first husband, Bob.

When I came across Onions in the Stew, I realized there was a lot more to Betty MacDonald (1907-1958) than I had ever known, and I needed to dig deeper! I soon discovered that she wrote Anybody Can Do Anything about raising her daughters as a single parent during the Depression and also The Plague and I about surviving tuberculosis. All told through humor, of course. Onions in the Stew tells about moving to Vashon Island in the Pacific Northwest’s Puget Sound with her two daughters and new husband, Don. For a taste of the humor, I’ll mention that their washing machine floats away into the Sound their first night there!

Although Betty MacDonald died much too young, from cancer at age 49, she packed a lot of living and writing into her life. She is also the author of the Mrs. Piggle Wiggle series, in addition to Nancy and Plum.

My research prompted by this fantastic find at the bookstore also placed another book in my sights, this biography by Paula Becker. I can hardly wait!

Looking Back While Moving Forward

Becky as Mrs. Wishy-Washy,
Joy Cowley’s Delightful Character

I try not to dwell on the past, but I often enjoy thinking of my teaching years. I especially loved teaching reading, using books like Joy Cowley’s “Mrs. Wishy-Washy” stories. Many times, I’m able to effectively use my background in education to enrich both my writing and freelance editing work.

My editing projects sometimes involve non-fiction educational materials. And, of course, picture books provide an abundance of teachable scenarios. Blog articles I’ve written aimed at early childhood education have also been published, along with several decodable readers.

I’m happy to say that one of my fiction stories has recently been published, which combines reading instruction strategies with a fun fantasy setting. Click here to meet Mr. Zappo and his “buzzing letters.” He and Ms. Exeter are the early elementary teachers we each would have been lucky to meet while learning to read!

Santa’s Elevator Woes

With light from the hallway, I press number one.

Our lift starts to move, though inside it’s still dark.

And then with a bump, when our ride should be done,

The doors remain closed, and with reindeer I’m parked.

I reach for my phone, with its handy, bright light,

But I left it with elves for a charge and a rest.

I grope for the buttons and then punch without sight,

Just hoping for movement, the lobby, at best.

My heartbeat increases and booms in my ears.

I see slobber on Prancer’s now quivering lips.                   

Sliding down to the floor, I must face my own fears,

Admitting to Dasher that soon I might flip.

Although my kind voice rarely lifts to a yell,

Tonight I must try this, to beg for some help.

The weak whine I muster next brings a faint bell,

That surely is Rudolph, and I start to yelp.

I still feel no movement, so now what to do?

Detecting faint noises beyond this dark cave ‒

Yes ‒ shuffles and a muffled, “Hey, we will help youuu!”

“Just hang on,” I pant, while I try to be brave.

Long minutes or hours, I just do not know.

My prison then moves, and the doors finally slide.

I smile as a pretense, emotions won’t show,

From those in the lobby, my relief I will hide.

The experts were called and worked hard for their fee.

Announced the found problem, this old man to chide,

Warning, “A sensor was covered with thick reindeer pee.

So watch all your friends till you get them outside!”

I pick up my bag and adjust my red hat.

Then motion at my reindeer to walk down the hall,

Saying, “No Christmas for THIS place and THAT sure is that.

Let’s find a REAL village, with no urban sprawl!”

by Becky Ross Michael

Have a good holiday!!!

Struggling Sunflowers

At least seven new apartment buildings with large parking garages are in various stages of being built around my neighborhood. Last year, this was a beautiful field of sunflowers. These are the brave holdouts. Amid all this construction, only one small “park” area was designed. Most of the other areas are being covered by pavement and buildings. Almost everything has changed in the eight years since I moved to this area of Texas. And now a Universal theme park has been approved for just up the road a few miles! Would you be surprised if I told you the mayor is a Realtor?

Let “Freedom Read” All Year Long!

We each have the power to do something about this growing problem. Here are some ideas to get us started!

A Perfect Setting for Suspense

Tawas Point Lighthouse

I was lucky to grow up in Tawas City, Michigan, near beautiful Lake Huron and the long point of land that forms Tawas Bay. The lighthouse at Tawas Point always fascinated me and felt somewhat mysterious. When I began planning a suspense story, that area seemed like the perfect setting!

In the summer of a 1960s vacationland, an encounter offers a tempting renewal of a bond from the past. My fictional tale, “Yours Till Moonlight Falls,” visits the dark side of human desire for connection. And I am happy to say it has found a publishing home at Mystery Tribune!

Click here to read the story. Is that the screech of gulls you hear, or could that be something else?

When Reading was Golden

As a child, I loved going to the library. And I definitely looked for my favorites each time we visited. But for the books we bought at the store to keep at home, Little Golden Books were the stories that made my heart sing! In fact, I loved them so much that I still collect them. The three pictured above are titles from my collection that I remember from childhood.

I grew up in a small town, so we had no bookstores or large department stores. The great thing about Little Golden Books, besides their affordable price of just a quarter, was that they were sold in grocery stores and at the local “dime store.”

Although I didn’t yet pay much attention to the illustrator or author names as a youngster, I eventually realized that I was drawn to the books illustrated by Eloise Wilkin. Her characters always wore such soft and friendly faces, as the three covers shown above.

And I also loved the Little Golden Book stories written by Margaret Wise Brown. Yes, the same author of Goodnight Moon fame!

Although my 1946 copy isn’t in very good shape, I’m proud to say that my oldest Little Golden Book, The Little Taxi That Hurried, was written by Lucy Sprague Mitchell , a child education reformer. And it’s illustrated by Tibor Gergely, whose artwork graced many other Little Golden Books, as well.

Later, in the 1970s, my own kids liked many of the Little Golden Books, too! The Monster at the end of this Book was one of their favorites. By that time, the price had gone up to $.89.

My family members know that I still love these books and help me add to my collection, on occasion. Above is a Little Golden Book I received last Christmas from my sister. We used to watch Roy Rogers and Dale Evans on TV when we were kids.

And this is the most recent addition to my collection from one of my daughters, purchased right at Target. Both my girls and I “love Lucy” and have watched many episodes together over the years!

What about you? Are you a collector? Do you have a favorite memory of a Little Golden Book?

Plants and Publication!

Becky’s Balcony Mid-May

Happily, my balcony garden is growing well, especially that huge tomato plant! The trick here in Texas seems to be starting plenty early (mid-March) so the plants are well established before the overwhelming hot weather hits. I already have lots of little green cherry tomatoes. I enjoy reading out here!

I’m also pleased to report that my story “Shelf Life” now appears in the 7th edition of the U.P Reader (Modern History Press). In this twisted tale of revenge, a woman discovers some shocking news and proceeds to serve an unusual recipe to guests! I’ll have to wait a while to share that one with you. Meanwhile, I hope you’ll enjoy my story below, which was published last year and features a very different type of meal.

Dinner for Two

by Becky Ross Michael

Built at the advent of the twentieth century, the proud house on Tamarack Street keeps watch over the neighborhood. With a facelift of white paint and new porches, the home embraces the whispers, laughter, and tears of those who came before. Tulips and daffodils reappear like clockwork each spring, and perennial flower beds rebloom every summer. Each autumn, the maple leaves let go of life and flutter to the ground. And the inevitable snows blanket the dormant lawn and insulate the foundation every winter.

Within the walls, modern updates conceal remnants of faded papers in floral prints and musty wooden lath. Residues of past colognes and stale cooking aromas occasionally escape into the air to puzzle the present-day residents.

***

In the kitchen, snowflakes swirl beyond the windows as the man carefully constructs a multi-layered vegetable dish. No meat or dairy, as a nod to her favored eating trends. Together, they learned to cook by trying new recipes and ingredients in their remodeled kitchen.

A snowplow churns past the corner, throwing a wall of white.

He places the pan into the oven and sets a timer for one hour. Surely, she’ll come. It’s her birthday, after all. Taking a sip of white wine from his glass, he glances at the bottle of red set aside for the occasion. I hope she’s careful driving on these roads.

While cutting and chopping vegetables for a colorful salad, he thinks back to other birthdays. One year, he hired a string quartet to accompany their meal. For another, the two dressed in Victorian garb for the memorable occasion. The man chuckles aloud, thinking of a time early in their story. The beef Wellington had refused to bake beyond an overly rare pink. Maybe that led to her dislike of meat?

He checks the timer and savors the lovely smells filling the kitchen. Now to set the dining room table. He has purchased roses, not easy to find in the North during long winter months. I’ll wait to light the candles. While choosing some of their favorite music, the man rests on the sofa near the fireplace, enjoying the ghostly reflection of flames dancing on the surrounding tiles. With escalating winds outside, the old house creaks and sighs.

The sound of the timer startles him, and he moves back to the kitchen, switching the oven from bake to warm. As he reaches for the wineglass, the man notices the quickening beat of his heart and admits to feeling nervous after all these years. Things have been rocky between them, as of late, with more time spent apart than together. Hopefully, this evening will be a step in the right direction.

Seated at a small bistro table near the stove, he finally opens the saved bottle of red wine, noting her still-empty glass. The sky is now dark. Through the frosty window above the sink, he sees the revolving white lights of a snowplow as it cycles through the neighborhood. He peers at the clock and is at first surprised to admit she is late, worrying that dinner will turn dry.

The furnace clicks on, disrupting the stillness in the room and breathing a soft puff of air upon his neck. Suddenly, a new dread grabs hold of his mind. What if she’s hurt and needs me?

When he jumps to his feet, the man’s shoe catches on wrought iron. The chair topples on its side with a clatter and jars his senses. Only then does he remember that she is gone. There will be no more shared birthday dinners or plans for a renewed future. The rooms will remain silent and lonely. They had already said their final goodbyes without realizing the truth at the time. This life is the “empty after” he has always feared.

With tears of regret burning his eyes, he leaves the warmth behind and heads out for a cold winter’s walk. After the door is closed and latched, the house heaves a long moan of sorrow.