Driving into the past

Summerland

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was restless. I just had to get out of the condo and do something! Anything. It was a perfect day for a road trip, a contact-free road trip staying within my approved region in keeping with the British Columbia COVID restrictions. (Sigh!)

I quickly assembled a few necessities: camera, credit card for gas, water, and snacks for both Sparky and me, his water bowl and leash, my sunglasses, and off we go. We headed north to Summerland, stopping at one of our favourite places to allow him a last chance to pee before we hit the mountainous, four-lane Coquihalla Highway with its limited places to stop for a puppy-dog pee break. 

Tim McGraw

We arrived in my old hometown, Merritt, population 7000, around ten in the morning. I did a quick tour, driving past our house on Merritt Avenue, the Claybanks swimming hole, and the compact downtown area. I spent my teenage years in this town, and for me it was a great place to grow up. I walked everywhere with my large white mutt, never worrying about my safety and always able to find a friend or two to hang out with.

Martina, Reba, Carrie

Merritt has been host to a number of high-profile country music stars over the years. Big names that anyone would recognize, Reba McEntire, Carrie Underwood, Tim McGraw, to name a few. Wikipedia has a more complete list of the stars who performed in Merritt. Many have been honored with large murals covering downtown buildings or on the Walk of the Stars. The Merritt Mountain Music Festival, at its peak, attracted 148,000 to the six-day event, but the accommodations were RVs and motorhomes when the small city was inundated with people.

That event petered out in 2012 and was replaced with the Rockin' River Music Festival, attracting stars like Keith Urban, Jon Pardi, and Travis Tritt. Unfortunately, due to the COVID pandemic, everything is on hold for the time being. 

Nicola Stock Farm 

From Merritt, I headed north towards the well-preserved remains of the Nicola Stock Farm, which was started in 1919. A stately manor, the courthouse, and a few other smaller buildings still remain. When I was a teenager, the ranch manager and family lived on site, but now it is part of the massive Douglas Lake Ranch encompassing about 271,000 acres of land. The remaining buildings are a tourist attraction that can be viewed from the outside.

Our next brief stop was at the Quilchena Hotel, just a little further up the road. Again, this was once an independent and well-known ranching family's property, which has been folded into the Douglas Lake Ranch. The hotel, restaurant, and golf course have recently closed due to a lack of business caused by travel restrictions and a drop in tourism. It's a lovely old place that, as a kid, fascinated me. 

Quilchena Hotel

Lawrie and I once stayed at the Quilchena Hotel for a weekend in the early 1980s. I still remember when the young woman checked us in, she said, "Every room comes with a horse." We burst out laughing at the thought of a large horse climbing the grand staircase to our room and settling into our double bed. We were so amused that we did take her up on the offer and went horseback riding the next morning. Neither of us could be considered riders, and I am certain the horses were relieved when we told our guide to take us back earlier than planned. A nice cold drink in the original bar was far more our style.

Nicola Lake

From Quilchena, I drove along the shores of the Nicola Lake towards Kamloops. At the entrance to Kamloops, I turned south along the other arm of the Coquihalla Highway and headed back to Merritt. When I'm on a road trip, I like to stop frequently and explore, or take photos, and by the time we turned south, we had been traveling for five hours. My little buddy was tired of being in the car. His tummy was upset, and he just wanted to go home. 

I hardly stopped at all on the return trip, but even so, we were eight hours on the road by the time we got back. And we didn't have contact with anyone except the drive-through person who handed me a cup of coffee in Merritt. 

I loved the drive, but I miss the human contact. I can't wait until these restrictions end.

Cheers 

Lynda and The Sparkinator

   Love, lust, and loot in the affluent world of wine and wineries. 

Corked is the newest murder mystery from the author of the exciting Isla Mujeres Mysteries. Murder follows Jessica Sanderson and her detective dog Sparky as they relocate from their Caribbean paradise in Mexico to the Okanagan wine country in Canada. On Isla Mujeres, big changes are coming for Jessica’s friends as the COVID-19 virus gains momentum. Leaving her beloved island, Jessica follows her new love interest, Mike Lyons, into a new adventure.

Grab your copy!

The chore that I hate the most!

Cleaning the inside of my car is not my favourite chore. Okay, it's my least favourite chore. I would rather do anything else than clean the inside of my vehicle.

Today I spent a frustrating hour contorting my body to scour out some of Sparky’s accumulated dog hair from under the dash, on the floor mats, and under or between the seats. I scrubbed at pawprints and vacuumed up some of the sand and gravel that he tracked inside my pretty blue Mazda 3. 

And that got me thinking about the cars of my childhood. When I was a little kid, Dad owned a 1950 beige serviceable Ford; it might have been a Customline Ford. It was a functional vehicle barely big enough for two adults, four growing daughters, and the family dog. 

The four of us were assigned the job of washing the car and cleaning the windows inside and out. I don't remember my mother owning a vacuum until the mid-to-late fifties. Yes, the car was Dad’s and the vacuum was Mom’s. It was the 1950s. 

So, how did we clean the inside of the car? Think about it. Two adults who smoked in the vehicle with the windows rolled up. Four messy, noisy kids. And a farty Cocker Spaniel who shed a lot. 

Somewhere in the late 1950s, Mom eventually got a big, awkward Hoover Constellation vacuum, but the back alley where we cleaned the family automobile didn’t have electricity, so vacuuming the inside would have been impossible. In 1955, Dad was able to upgrade to a maroon-coloured two-door 1955 Oldsmobile Super-88. He was pretty darn proud of that car. 

I remember one Saturday morning when Dad told us to wash and wax The Oldsmobile. We very industriously applied wax to the entire vehicle, only to discover that it was the worst possible scenario. The particular type of wax that we were given was to be applied in small areas and then buffed off as soon as the surface clouded. We scrubbed furiously at the hard wax in hopes of removing it before Dad discovered our mistake. 

Yeah, no such luck. He was less than impressed when he had to apply his muscles to remove the mess. 

Our next family automobile was a smaller, sportier one, a Mercury Meteor. There were only two of the four daughters at home by that time, plus a large, white dog who also shed a lot more than the Cocker Spaniel. The Mercury Meteor didn’t last long because Dad was long-legged, and the car was too small. 

The final family car was a big, long, boat of a thing, a copper-coloured 1967 Dodge Monaco. And we still had the big white dog who shed an amazing amount of fur, and who went with us whenever possible. 

 

Our driveway didn’t have an electrical outlet, and I am pretty sure Dad wouldn’t have spent money on someone else cleaning his car when he had two healthy, strong teenage daughters living at home. 

I’ve driven and owned an eclectic assortment of vehicles since I became a licensed driver many, many years ago; everything from a two-hundred-dollar junker to a 1915 Overland delivery truck, to an expensive Aston Martin. 

I love the freedom of a car. 

I just hate to clean the inside.

Cheers, Lynda and The Mucky Sparkinator

Widowhood 101 - dealing with Amazon

 

Lawrie and I

It's been two years, six months, and fifteen days since Lawrie passed away, and I honestly thought I had come to the end of the stressful paperwork associated with losing my partner, my best friend. 

But no, it continues.

Today's frustration isn't one of the difficult things like seeing 'cancelled' stamped across the face of his new passport, or straightening out our joint bank accounts, or advising the government that he won't be filing income tax, ever again, it's about access to over 4000 titles of e-books that Lawrie and I have purchased via Amazon Kindle e-books since 2008.

When Lawrie passed away in September 2018, I continued to buy e-books on the account because it was easier than trying to sort out yet another problem. I read on average three or four books a week; it's a method to fill the hours and keep from thinking about him.

I recently purchased another Kindle to replace my aging and finicky reader. As I have done many times before, I logged in to connect my new reader to the account. I haven't logged in for quite a while, and the site wanted me to input a code that had been sent to his cellphone. That cellphone doesn't exist anymore.

So, I called the Amazon help line for assistance - big mistake!

Now that they know he has passed away, they have locked his account, and I have lost access to all of the books, including the one that I am halfway through reading. It's Amazon's policy that e-books are not transferable - even to the surviving spouse. 

I'm frustrated and angry. I'm the only person who has been ordering and paying for the e-books since Lawrie passed away, but I am not allowed to access them or any of the previous titles.

I asked for a supervisor's contact information and was told, "We don't have supervisors. We are the last line." 

Great, just great. This is another emotional kick in the teeth for surviving spouses. 

Lynda

UPDATE: three full days of chatting on the help line with a variety of agents, two phone calls, and several emails later, it looks like I have a solution to the problem. Fingers-crossed. 

A little wine research and development: CORKED

Friday was research and development day for my newest novel, Corked. 

It's a murder-mystery set in a local, but fictitious, winery. 

With over three hundred wineries in British Columbia, Canada, it was a challenge to pick a name for my winery that wasn't already in use. I chose one of Lawrie's favourite expressions and named my fictitious winery No Regrets. It is supposedly located in the southern part of the Okanagan Valley. 

For authenticity in the story, I picked the brains of my winey-friends, Prudence Mayer, owner of Ruby Blues on the Naramata Bench, in Penticton, Sharon Hickey, who works at Ruby Blues, plus wine consultant and long-time friend, Eric von Krosigk at Frind Estate in West Kelowna. 

Sharon Hickey and Kerry Younie - let's go!

This past week was bottling time at Ruby Blues for their whites: Gewürztraminer, Grüner Veltliner, Viognier, Riesling, and White Stiletto. Sparky and I received an invite to pop out and watch the action, so we did. Early Friday morning, I drove to the property just in time to see the crew start the process. What an amazing operation. 

Rudy tipped the clean bottles onto the line to be whisked away and cleaned, then filled, capped, and capsuled. The bottles automatically made their way along the line until they arrived at the boxing station where Sharon Hickey and Kerry Younie checked each one for correct placement of the labels, and that it had been filled to the proper level, then added six each to the case before it passed under the taping device and slid down the line to be stacked on the wooden pallet. Wine-maker, Blair Gillingham, took turns with Melanie, Spencer, Paul, and Prudence lifting and stacking the boxes. 

The hard-working crew was flying to keep up with the speeding bottles. At the end of the day, they had bottled eighteen pallets of wine. 

That equals 18 pallets x 56 boxes on each pallet x 12 bottles in each box, or 12096 bottles of yummy Ruby Blues wine. So, 12096 times in one day, someone picked up a bottle, examined the label and the fill line, then placed it in the box. That's a shoulder-killing repetitive movement all for our sakes, so that we can enjoy the delicious product. 

Video of the bottling line and workers in action.

When you read Corked, keep them in mind.

The automated line is the brainchild of Norman Cole, founder and owner of Artus Bottling Ltd. Started in 2005, the company provides a much-needed, mobile beverage bottling for small to medium-sized wineries and cideries in the Okanagan Valley. Previously, many smaller wineries struggled to afford equipment that was used twice a year; once in the spring to bottle the whites, and again in the fall for the reds.

Ruby Blues Wine & Gift Shop

I am looking forward to enjoying my Ruby Blues wine.

Cheers, 

Lynda and The Sparkinator

CORKED 

Cover design by Mary Fry Designs

Rocking around the Christmas tree ....

My sisters and I, about 1954.    

Merry Christmas, everyone! 

I know, it's not politically correct to say that anymore, but I was brought up celebrating Christmas. 

Our family went to church, two days a year - Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday. How many of you did that? Come on now, hands up. 

Dad's parents were a strict Baptist mother and a father who was probably agnostic if not an atheist. Mom was adopted when she was seven by a couple who had recently moved from Iceland to Canada, so her religious upbringing centred around the Lutheran doctrine. My parents compromised. When we did go to church, it was at the United Church. 

Most years, Mom pressured us into observing her favourite Icelandic custom, opening our presents on Christmas Eve after the midnight service. Every year, she had great hopes that we would sleep in and not be excitedly rampaging around the house at four in the morning. For us, it was a thrill to stay up and rip into pretty packages, but then in the morning, when we had nothing more to unwrap, it was a bit of a let-down. 

Kids! Always wanting more.

Bralorne BC United Church 

Our presents were warm clothes and skis. Books and hobby items, like a wood-burning set for my second-oldest sister, Joann. Stuffed animals and dolls when we were younger. A wooden bed for a new doll. It was handmade and painted bright blue by Dad. A big candy cane, nuts in their shells, and a juicy Japanese orange stuffed into one of  Dad's woolen work socks; the same woolen socks that were pressed into service when we had a cold. Our necks and chests would be smeared with stinky Vicks VapoRub and Dad's sock wrapped around our throats, then pinned in place with a huge safety pin. 

One year, when I was about four, Mom and Dad ordered a red tricycle through the Sears Christmas catalogue. Our parents were out at an adult Christmas party, and our two teenage sisters were either working or visiting their friends. My third sister, Judith, who was about ten at the time, and I were home alone. It was the early 1950s, and it wasn't a big deal to leave your elementary-aged kid in charge of a preschooler. 

Judith found the shipping box and insisted on assembling the trike. We played with it for an hour or two, then she took it apart and put it back in the box. Judith swore me to secrecy. "I'll pound you if you blab," she threatened as older siblings tend to do. On Christmas morning, our unsuspecting dad spent a bit of time putting my new tricycle together - again.

 Christmas morning, before being sent to play outside, we had a big breakfast, hearty enough to keep us away from the kitchen until later in the day. Mom wasn't an enthusiastic cook most days, but she really put her heart into the special family dinners. Christmas dinner was centred around the biggest damn turkey she could find, and served with baked sweet potatoes, mashed white potatoes, cauliflower with cheese sauce, Brussels sprouts, peas, gravy, cranberry sauce, olives, celery pieces filled with Cheese-Whiz, and pickles. Everyone, kids included, was served a tiny glass of Sandeman's Port in celebration of the holiday.

Mom may not have liked cooking, but she loved to bake. She typically started the Christmas baking in mid-October. Her Christmas cakes were weighty, twenty-five pounds of dried fruit for eight cakes, and took up to ten hours to bake in a slow oven. I remember her staying up all night, checking the oven every hour, and pulling out the smallest cakes in the middle of the night; the bigger ones weren't ready until breakfast time the next morning. In later years, as her four daughters married, her Christmas cake recipe was used for our wedding cakes. 

Mom making her fruit cakes for a wedding

Her other speciality was the traditional Icelandic vinartera, a seven-layer torte, always seven layers, not more, not less. Each layer was slathered with a concoction of cooked dates, butter, and vanilla. Mom preferred to use the more expensive dates instead of stewed prunes, and round pans instead of square. She would wrap the layered cakes in tin foil and hide them in a dark, cool place until Christmas Eve. Then, Mom would carefully unwrap one cake and generously ice the top and sides and liberally sprinkle it with cinnamon. Vinartera is a rich, filling dessert that keeps for many months. It was a family source of amusement that Mom would make enough vinartera to last into spring, plus shortbread, sugar cookies, snowballs, and squares, but we weren't allowed to touch any of it until Christmas Eve. 

Does that sound familiar? Did your Mom or Grandmother do the same? Hoard the goodies, then put the entire family into a near-diabetic coma with a holiday overload of sugar and calories? 

Merry Christmas, everyone! Here's to a happier and healthier 2021!

Cheers, Lynda and The Sparkinator

Murder and mayhem. Revenge and romance, 

Isla Mujeres Mysteries

featuring Sparky, the pure-bred, Mexican-low-rider-beach-mutt.  

Click on the link below to grab your copy today!

Isla Mujeres Mysteries

Two Canucks create American Thanksgiving dinner in Mexico

Thursday, November 26th, 2009  

A few years ago, Frank Marcigliano, the principal owner of the Casa IxChel Hotel, asked if Lawrie and I could help him out with a small problem. He was going into the hospital for a hip operation back in the US, and needed someone to oversee the American Thanksgiving dinner at his restaurant on Isla. This was to be the inaugural turkey dinner for Casa Louisa. In our previous lives, Lawrie has managed three restaurants, and I have managed two hotels. How hard could it be? 

The first challenge was finding the necessary ingredients. A road trip to Cancun was required. Costco for turkey, pumpkin pies, and whipping cream. Sam’s Club for the aluminum roasting pans. Wal-Mart for gravy ingredients. Europea Wine store for cranberry jelly in the imported foods section. And the flea market for cranberry jelly ramekins and gravy boats. We searched all of the stores for sweet potatoes, yams, and possible Thanksgiving decorations for the tables. We came up empty. 

Two days later, we went back to Costco to pick up a terrific canvas banner to advertise the event. Then we put the call out to island gringo friends for spices and herbs for the turkey stuffing. Mary Simpson set Charlie over with sage and thyme. Harriet Lowe sent Richard on his motorcycle with three other necessary herbs. Hmmm, there’s a theme there. The women “sent” the guys on the errand. 

The second challenge was our lack of Spanish! Miguel, the hotel manager at the time, was very fluent in English and a great help when he was available to translate. The kitchen staff and most of the waitstaff spoke Spanish. Period. It is amazing how much can be communicated with sign language, demonstration of what you want (like charades), and laughter. The chefs had looks of perplexed concentration as they tried to understand the gringa. Then hollered, “Miguel!” and he hustled over to translate the instructions. 

The third challenge was measurements. In Mexico, as in Canada, the measurements and temperatures are metric, not imperial. All of the recipes and instructions for foods such as turkey stuffing or sweet potato puree were in imperial measurements. Again, the look of perplexed concentration from the kitchen staff, and I realized I would have to translate the measurements as well, English to Spanish, and imperial to metric, then metric to actual quantities – kilos of potatoes, bread croutons, onions, celery, sweet potatoes or yams – to be purchased. I must say I now have a greater appreciation for what goes on in a restaurant kitchen. 

This was the first time any of the staff had made a traditional turkey dinner, and it was fun to watch them learn the different dishes and techniques, make roast turkey, stuffing, gravy, and mashed yams. The idea of cranberry jelly caused a few raised eyebrows. 

“Why do you put marmalade on meat?” 

 “Because that's what our ancestors did.” 

The fourth challenge was getting the dinners out to the groups of guests – quickly. Fortunately, between Lawrie’s past experiences at busy restaurants in Canada, like Magnum’s at the Lakeside Hotel, and the Cellar Bistro at Hillside Estate Winery, he was able to show us ahead of time how to organize the turkey portions for quick plating. The guys in the kitchen were great! They had it down flat in two minutes. 

Lawrie was the sociable host and front-end guy, getting everyone seated, drinks ordered, and keeping an eye on the tables. I was in the kitchen overseeing the mayhem. 

We had so many reservations on the books that we had to scrounge up another turkey. We had a lot of fun working together, and that big glass of wine at the end of the evening was really wonderful! 

Happy Thanksgiving 2020 to all of our American friends. 

Cheers, Lynda and The Sparkinator

Lynda L Lock Author's Page

How would the 'Social Butterfly' cope with COVID isolation?

Lawrie - forever 18 

In the quiet of my Canadian apartment, I often find myself wondering how my husband, Lawrie, would have reacted to the COVID pandemic that has forever changed our world. As many of you know, he passed away in 2018 and didn't have to cope with the draconian restrictions of this new era of little or no social contact.  I think Lawrie would have found the changes frustrating. 

Lawrie was so sociable that he was affectionately nicknamed the social butterfly. The family joked that, like his mom, he could have a conversation with anyone, including dead ants (that's ants, not aunts!). He loved hugging, dancing, and being around people. These are now forbidden activities or, at the very least, frowned upon in our new world. 

We retired in 2008 to live full-time on Isla Mujeres mainly because we enjoyed the warm, friendly, and very welcoming Mexican culture. As retirees in a foreign country, we didn't have a lot of responsibilities other than a little house maintenance and a few chores, so we hung out with friends and family. Island life, or more specifically, tropical island life suited him perfectly! Sun, sand, shorts, and happy people.

At the Soggy Peso, making new friends

Lawrie and I enjoyed spending the majority of our time together. Still, if he had been forced into isolation for several months with only Sparky and me to talk to, it would have been an unbearable hardship for him. He loved to visit our favourite restaurants and bars on Isla Mujeres for a tasty meal and a beer or two, but more importantly, just to chat with other people. To listen to their stories. To get to know them a little better. 

I, on the other hand, can be a bit of a hermit at times. And I rarely make phone calls, partly due to the echo of my father's voice nagging at his four daughters and Mom for being on the phone too much. Dad passed away in 1968, but I still can't tune him out. Weird, I know, but every time I think about phoning someone, Dad's voice starts nattering in the background about the cost of long-distance calls. Thanks, Dad, for that little anti-social oddity in my character. 

Mature-teenagers at the Soggy Peso on Isla

Then, with the COVID pandemic, there is the mask issue. Lawrie had a well-groomed beard. Wearing a mask in a hot and humid climate would have been a nightmare for him. I can hear him grousing now. I would have had to invest in earplugs for me, and perhaps, for Sparky. But, Lawrie being Lawrie, would have found an upbeat way to manage the situation. He didn't have many unhappy days in his life.

In March of 2020, I returned to Canada because I wanted to be in a country where I spoke the language, knew how to get medical assistance, and would be closer to my family. Due to the COVID safety protocols, I typically only see my friends about once every two weeks. Sometimes it is for dinner out, or a cup of coffee, or a visit to one of the local wineries. 

At the Burrowing Owl Winery with friends

Writing my new mystery novel, sorting my collection of digital photos, or promoting my mystery novels on social media keep me busy and feeling productive. 

Most days I walk Sparky four times a day, except for the two days recently when he had intestinal troubles and needed to go out - now - every 90 minutes. 

It was a sleepless two nights, but I finally got his digestive system settled down again, and we are back on our regular schedule. 

Nostalgia Winery, Oliver

It's interesting to note the different ways people cope with isolation and seclusion. Some of my friends have become super productive, creating a pile of artistic work to combat the boredom. 

One of my writer friends has produced four novels since March 2020. He's a writing machine. Other friends keep busy with handicrafts or learn new skills. Some create food masterpieces and share them with neighbours, like me. I happily oblige and eat their delicious offerings. Some have lost weight, others have relocated lost weight. We all know fat cells have GPS, returning time and again to the same owner. The balance of weight lost and weight gained helps maintain Earth's place in the solar system. It must be true. I read it on Facebook.

Living in a country with a decent road system and being the happy owner of a proper car instead of a funky little golf cart, Sparky and I have been taking road trips to visit old friends, my step-son and his family, and my sister and her family. However, since the weather has changed and winter has arrived - a month early - my road trips will be curtailed for a few months. Planning short road trips for 2021 will give me something to look forward to. In the meantime, Sparky has discovered snow! He thinks it is very entertaining.

Sparky, running in the cold white stuff!

For some, the isolation is tedious. For others, it's manageable. How about you? What do you do to cope with the boredom and seclusion?

Cheers, Lynda and The Sparkinator

Grab your copy today!

Isla Mujeres Mysteries Books #1-3

Chasing the 'funnies' on a Sunday afternoon

I grew up with an abundance of reading material... what about you? 

My best memories of reading go back to when my three sisters and I were still all living at home, so probably late 1950s. Comic books like Archie, Blondie and Dagwood, Little Lulu, Richie Rich, Superman, and Uncle Scrooge were hot commodities to be traded between friends in our tiny townsite of Bradian. 

After finishing our chores, Saturday afternoons were free and clear to visit friends, trade comic books (some that were more prized than others and commanded a two-for-one price), and return home to devour our new reading material. However, our dad was also a big fan of comic books. We had to share with him, sometimes giving up the best ones for him to read first! 

But the real fun happened on Sundays. The Vancouver Sun always arrived in our town a day late. The travel time between Vancouver and Bralorne was twelve hours of hard driving, so getting the newspaper, pre-television, pre-internet, was a big deal. 

The thick weekend paper would hit the front step, and the chase would be on with my long-legged father running up and down the streets holding the Saturday 'funnies' hostage while his four daughters pelted after him. We hollered and laughed and yelled like banshees. 

Some of the neighbours would cheer on Dad, others would be rooting for one of his daughters to snatch the prized weekend funnies out of his hand. 

Being the youngest and the shortest, I never had a chance so I resorted to subterfuge. I would hide in the one and only bathroom in our company-owned home. Dad would return triumphant and dash into the bathroom, the only room in the house with a locking door, and ta-da, there I was ready to claim my share of Donald Duck, Little Abner, Henry, Jiggs, or Nancy. 

Sometime in the mid-1950s, when I was four or maybe five, my parents purchased an extensive collection of sixteen encyclopedia-sized books from a traveling salesman. 

The series started with nursery rhymes and progressed to more complex stories, intended for readers at a grade twelve level. 

I don't remember what the series was called, but I do remember the spines of the books ranged from light blue to deep blue to dark green as you progressed through the stories, gradually reading more and more difficult material. 

Then, when I was nine, my dad gave me his copy of the Springhill, Nova Scotia, mining disaster. On October 23, 1958, there was a 'bump,' a shift in the earth that resembled an underground earthquake. 

It killed 75 men and trapped 99 more. By November 1st, 1958, the last of the survivors was found. After that, the search only recovered bodies. 

So, yeah, a little light reading recommended to me by my dad.

My next conquest was all of the Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Trixie Belden novels ever written, plus Little Women and Little Men. By the time that we moved from that tiny mining town in 1961, I had blown through all of the reading material in our house. 

When we moved to a larger city, Chilliwack, BC, Dad introduced me to the concept of a library and being able to choose whatever I wanted to read. My favourites included the entire Zane Grey collection of western novels and anything written by Farley Mowat.

My voracious reading habit has followed me throughout my life. 

Fortunately, both Lawrie and I shared a passion for reading, and for the most part, read the same authors. Occasionally, I veer into historical novels, and he would find a thriller series that interested him.

When Lawrie and I moved to Mexico in 2008, we made the switch to electronic readers. Books in English were difficult to find, and books in English that we hadn't already read were a rare find. 

Our reading habit became quite costly. We typically ordered an e-book a day from Amazon and devoured it before bedtime. 

Now, I live across the street from a fabulous public library. I can indulge my passion freely.

What are you reading today?

Cheers 

Lynda, and The Sparkinator

Murder and mayhem, revenge and romance on a tiny island off the coast of Mexico! 

Grab your copy today! 

The second anniversary - Widowhood 101

In Paris, 2012

It has been a rough few days leading up to September 3rd, the second anniversary of Lawrie's passing. My emotions have been like a ride on a soon-to-be-condemned roller-coaster. Up, and down, and slamming sideways around the corners.

Over the past two years, I have made some progress in managing my grief, although the special occasions continue to be a problem. Halloween was our favourite fun celebration, and Christmas. Other dates, such as the anniversary of when we moved in together, our wedding anniversary, my birthday, and Lawrie's birthday, continue to haunt me. 

San Miquel de Allende

I also made some life-changing decisions this past year. First, I sold our home on Isla Mujeres to a very nice couple from Wisconsin. Then, Sparky and I moved to San Miguel de Allende in December 2019. San Miguel is a beautiful colonial city in the mountains north of Mexico City. It is a paradise for writers, artists, and historians. I thoroughly enjoyed exploring my new surroundings, camera in hand, for hours at a time. It seemed to be the perfect place for me to heal. 

But the world had other plans. COVID-19 arrived in North America, creating economic and emotional hardship for millions. As a new arrival to San Miguel de Allende, and without a strong support base like I had on Isla Mujeres, things could get a bit tough. So, I packed up my few belongings and returned to Canada on March 20th.

For five weeks, my best friends since elementary school days, let Sparky and me live at their house in the Vancouver area. Their two doggies played with Sparky, while the three humans tried to remain sane during the lockdown. We entertained ourselves with good food, wine, and numerous 'remember when' stories from our high school days.

Fortunately, son John and his family live nearby, and I was able to sneak in a few visits during the lockdown, and more regularly since the rules have loosened up a little. It's fun to spend a bit of time with an adult granddaughter and two grandsons. Where have the years gone?

Naramata Bench, Okanagan, BC.

In late April, I decided to move to the Okanagan Valley in British Columbia, where we had lived for many years before moving to Isla Mujeres. It's peaceful and beautiful here. Vineyards. Orchards. Lakes. Rivers. And people who remember both Lawrie and me. The transition was easier, and my heart has been slowly mending. I am finally able to savour a cup of coffee on my own and listen to music without turning into a mess. 

In the meantime, I kept writing and self-published three more novels: Temptation Isla, Terror Isla, and Twisted Isla. I am now working on the next idea. Writing keeps me from endlessly obsessing over my loss.

But then something happens, and my emotions run amok again.

A very nice man, whom I only knew tangentially, recently died from a rare bone cancer. He and his wife were happy together for twenty-one years, and now she is a widow. Her grief has sharpened my grief.

And, more recently young woman that Lawrie worked with years ago at Magnum's Restaurant in Penticton wrote to tell me of her chance encounter with him in April 2018 at the Penticton Regional Hospital. 

We had returned to Canada to double-check the medical diagnosis, and the specialist had just informed Lawrie that he had only a few months to live. The young woman was on her way to visit a family member in the hospital and accidentally got off on the wrong floor. She didn't know we were in Canada, or that Lawrie was sick. When she saw him, she stopped to chat, and he told her why he was there, sitting in the hallway of the hospital, contemplating life.  

This is part of her email to me, "When we were finishing up the conversation, I asked the woman at the desk where the room I was looking for was, and she told me I was on the wrong floor.

Lawrie and I just looked at each other. I said, "Well, I guess that it was meant to be."

He said, "Life's funny like that, isn't it?"

Had I not followed another nurse off the elevator that day, I would've never seen him or known he was ill. I was so unbelievably grateful for that serendipitous moment."

The young woman went on to tell me of the good memories she had of Lawrie as her boss and her friend. How he had been a strong and positive influence on her life. Lawrie told her that he had had a very full life and had no regrets, and how much he loved me. Stories like this are treasures.

My Widowhood 101 posts have connected me with others who are also suffering and just want to chat. It's good to talk and not keep the pain bottled up inside.

The downside is, my frankness rips open the partially healed wounds of others who love Lawrie and miss him.

It's difficult.

Lynda

Sparky and Lawrie, Isla Mujeres Mexico