Susan's Scribblings the Blog

Author Archives: kayewer

• Time for Summer Random Thoughts

  Posted at 3:53 pm by kayewer, on June 8, 2024

  This week I went to vote in the primary. One is required to vote party in the state primary, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to make a difference. The ballot included some regular gung-ho party choices, along with some new angles on party ethics from new voices. The ballots were paper and considered a much more secure way to vote. I was declared the twenty-first person to come in that day. We’re talking late afternoon with polls scheduled to close within little more than an hour. It made me feel like nobody cared about the outcome, and it does matter.

  2. Over last weekend, a town held their annual festival, with a wonderful drone show scheduled for the evening. Before it got started, however, gangs of teenagers, many brought in by car by parent drivers, broke out in massive fights. The show was cut short due to the issues caused by the teens, many of whom hid behind hoodies. A crowd destroyed a supermarket in town. A horse was allegedly assaulted. Not a sign or banner indicating a cause for which this was happening was ever raised. These are the future of society, unfortunately. Unruly and uncivilized, who would destroy their own town for fun. Sad, indeed.

  3. I posted a question (yes, we went over this last week) on social media about the famous painting by Michelangelo of the creation of Adam. The painting supposedly details the moment before God imparts life to the first man on our planet, with inches of air separating a holy finger from touching that of the mortal. It occurred to me that, if Adam wasn’t alive yet, how could he raise his hand to touch that of God? Nobody responded. As with many things that force a different train of thought, folks either go silent or lash out in various directions unrelated to the original inquiry. Michelangelo isn’t available for comment.

  4. The issue of handling my denim jeans came up this week. I had taken advantage of a great sale and bought three pairs. They specify to wash before wearing, which I dutifully did, and one pair need to be hemmed (even with the expense of a tailor, the deal was a great one). Some experts are saying not to wash jeans regularly. One expert says a stint in the freezer can refresh your favorite jeans between washings, which are recommended every six weeks or when confronted with an odor. If you wear them less frequently, fewer washings are your reward. They should be laundered in cold water and treated like delicates to prevent too much abuse in the machine’s cycling.

  5. A new spider invaded the news this week, because it is spreading into all parts of the country. Known as the Joro spider, it is a long-legged and colorful variety that feeds primarily on insects. It moves from place to place by creating web threads into the wind and “ballooning” like a person using a horizontal parachute. It does possess venom, but the creature is not designed and reluctant to bite us (its mouth parts are unlikely to pierce skin) and is harmless to humans and pets (except possibly those sensitive to stings). The media has been playing up the “venomous” part of the story, but their contribution to pest control by devouring insects make it less of an inconvenience.

  6. Among the many shows signing off during the summer, the host of “Wheel of Fortune,” Pat Sajak, retired on June 7 after decades of entertaining game show enthusiasts by announcing letters, cash totals and prizes. His final words on the show were sincere, laid-back and filled with gratitude for one of the most unusual jobs in the world. Vanna White will continue to work on the show with new cohost Ryan Seacrest starting in the fall, and fans of Sajak can watch reruns all summer. Still, it won’t be the same show without him. Happy retirement, Pat.

  7. My favorite vegetable is peas, but for health reasons I’m not supposed to eat them. However, I see that I can eat chickpeas. I suppose this means the others are dude peas.

  So much for this week. Dads and grads will be the subjects of the next week or two, then it’s the official start of summer. Hope it’s safe and wonderful for everybody.
  

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• The Unasked Questions

  Posted at 3:32 pm by kayewer, on June 1, 2024

  It’s a curiosity of life that, at some point in our lives, we go from asking questions to avoiding them. As we begin to use our gift of speech in early childhood, we point and ask, “What is that?” As we grow we start asking about deeper subjects such as why this is so and that is not so. Then, without warning, we become so set in what we feel we need to know that we stop asking anything. We also tend to shut ourselves off from answering other people’s questions.

  Anybody who uses social media can tell you that asking questions can cause the equivalent of a virtual battle. The words online are worse than hearing insults in the junior high gym locker room, and even when somebody speaks the truth, the gaslighting is incredibly volatile.

  As for displays of any support or pride in daily life, you may find yourself with hate speech spray painted on your house, or your pro-whatever flag ripped to pieces.

  To celebrate Pride Month–which is supposed to be a 30-day period to employ the ethics of allowing people to be what they feel is best for them–our town provided merchandise last year at the weekly farm markets (and carried over to this year). Some unfortunate purchasers did not see their signs displayed for long, as passersby would dismantle or even steal them. As if not having a symbol displayed is going to make what it stands for disappear.

  So my question is this: what difference does Pride Month make if you don’t celebrate it? You may celebrate Hanukkah and not Christmas or vice versa, and you may be of a religion that doesn’t celebrate birthdays while your neighbor does. Yet the world continues to turn 24 hours at a time without any issues. LGBTQ people have existed since time immemorial; we just call it LGBTQ these days.

  Another example: a video I watched recently featured a woman who suffered from an infection after getting a body piercing. I dared to ask what, in general, is the reason a person decides to get metal put through some part of their bodies, and you would have thought I broke a societal taboo. Some of the responses that blasted into my inbox said, “because it’s my body and I can,” or “because I like to.” Some of the most notorious criminals committed their acts because they chose to or liked to as well, but it doesn’t answer the truth behind such a decision.

  For example, I ordered a dozen sandal foot knee high pairs of hosiery. Even though many people who wear sandals choose not to put on any stockings or socks, I prefer the additional barrier of fabric between my now exposed toes and the outside world. The pavements and parking lots are full of leftover animal droppings, bugs, chemicals, human spittle and countless other pathogens that I want to keep off my flesh. That is the longer answer I was hoping to receive regarding piercings, since I have zero.

  Instead of a logical explanation of the process by which a person decides to impale their skin with clunky bits of (supposed) decoration, I actually received a reply questioning my mental capabilities (and not from one licensed to make such accusations). I also received a few smatterings of “IYKYK” (if you know, you know) copout responses peppered in to make the entire adventure distasteful.

  Years ago, after an item appeared about a particular doctor performing invasions of patients’ privacy (in short, think examining an arm when the problem is in the leg), I posed a question in a forum asking why we are not better informing our young adults about their bodies and what each part does, to inform them against acquiescing to such actions. The respondents seemed ready to burn me at the stake, though not one of them would openly come out and say they feel that human beings should remain ignorant of their own bodies, I was condemned for bringing up the notion of education.

  Will I stop asking questions? Never. I cannot live in a world of ignorance or denial. If I learn something useful, I pass it on. If I learn something unusual about a person I’ve known for some time, I can let it be: it never mattered before I learned it, so what’s the difference now?

  And if I’m a geek for wearing hosiery with my sandals, I’m letting the geek flag fly.

  Along with my Pride Week flag. And the American flag.

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• One T-Bone, Please

  Posted at 3:17 pm by kayewer, on May 25, 2024

  If there is one type of car accident familiar to everybody, it’s the T-bone. This is a collision in which one vehicle hits another on the side as opposed to a same direction rear-end accident, thus producing a t-shaped impact. Some television dramas have produced great cliffhangers with side impact disasters. You know the drill; the two characters are talking while driving through an intersection, and the car that should have been stopped at the red light barrels through and slams into the couple in the car with the right of way.

  Lately I have seen more than my share of people drifting carefree–or speeding–through red lights, but usually they are ahead of me or going the other way. This past week, however, something else occurred. I had the green light, so I gave the accelerator a slight press and headed across the major four-lane route to the entrance of a shopping center parking lot. Suddenly a vehicle was in front of me and zooming past; the doofus ignored what by now had been at least a good three to five seconds of solid red light.

  Yes, my life flashed before me. I pictured me getting hurt or losing my beloved car. I panicked because I expected to see a terrified driver’s face in front of my windshield any second. I hit the brakes and prayed, and I came to a neat and full stop with inches to spare. Literal inches. The driver didn’t pay the least bit of attention and kept going. Thankfully, so did I.

  The vehicle behind me apparently had not yet entered the intersection. My guess is that either they hadn’t seen that we had the green, or they saw that doofus in the other vehicle was coming up fast and hard in the left lane going the other way, and they paused while I didn’t see them coming. I never did see if the driver was a teenager, a stoner, elderly. They kept on going to the next light (which hopefully they did not whiz through while red), while I parked and collected myself.

  When there’s a holiday weekend, everybody acts as if they are on the clock to get everything done as soon as possible, or they are late and want us to bear the burden for their oversight. It’s not worth one’s vehicle or life to run red lights. Amber lights are designed to bring you to a stop before the red flashes, and you must do so if you value what is dear to you.

  The only T-bone I ever want to see for the rest of my life is on my dinner plate with a side of baked potato.

  Be safe out there when you’re driving.

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• Beauty Mod

  Posted at 3:15 pm by kayewer, on May 18, 2024

  I had to do errands and appointments this week, and at one check-in counter I found myself being served by a trainee with the team leader overlooking his activities. He was, of course, very pleasant and engaging. As he moved his right hand to take control of the computer mouse, my gaze was instantly riveted to it. As he brought up the other hand to begin typing, I made the same observation as I looked at both of them.

  This man had the most beautifully executed hands of anybody I’ve seen in ages!

  I immediately told him how wonderful his hands were, and he appreciated my compliments. Even though I tried not to stare, I was compelled to take in what made his presentation so attention-getting. By way of explanation, I told him I had never seen something so well done before.

  He had oblong hands with long fingers suited for a pianist, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he were not a part-time hand model for some forward-thinking company. His arms, wrists and the hands themselves appeared flawless and clean, as one would expect. This gentleman also chose to have intricate tattoos running vertically down both hands, and elongated teardrop pointed nails applied. Still, the overall look did not elicit a single negative impression.

  The first thing some people might think upon looking over this person would be that he was probably gay (his voice suggested it, too), which wouldn’t matter to me, and I wouldn’t judge or dare ask. The tattoos and nails, however, suggest that he doesn’t go to the local strip mall salon. The skin work must have taken hours of long labor and dedication from an artist with considerable skill, and the acrylics were sized and polished to exacting standards. This is somebody who would not accept anything less than the best, and it was obvious that, in choosing these modifications, he wanted to only put the best presentation out there for himself. I think the scrollwork was simple lines and in black. Like I said, I tried not to stare. I was in a spot where people checked in for things, and I couldn’t hold up the line by asking twenty questions.

  The grey area between what is accepted or not in terms of body modifications is as varied as the things themselves. Henna gets applied to temporarily adorn new brides, prison inmates get all sorts of hidden messages applied permanently to their skin, and there are even medical grade versions of tattoos to restore likenesses of fingernails after joint amputations or nipples on reconstructed breasts lost to cancer, in 3D replicas. Normalcy is subject to interpretation, but after reviewing the brief experience this week, I’m guessing that I found the trainee to be admirable for the effort he put into the decorations improving upon what he already has.

  I don’t do my nails. Once for my birthday, my mother gifted me a salon visit for a manicure and polish, but afterward I felt so self-conscious about them, I couldn’t hold a bowling ball without worrying about wrecking them. She said that was why she only kept hers short and used translucent colors. Also, if my nails grew over a quarter inch, I think I’d never by able to type, which would mean the end of my blog.

  A woman on a social media video I saw recently had what looked like ten half-length emery boards tacked onto her fingers, and while she told her story, all I could see were those pink sticks waving about like short conductor’s batons. I don’t remember much of what she said for the misbegotten effort on the claws she wasted.

  This doesn’t mean I can’t admire well-done jobs on people, and I did admire that man. I hope the trainee has great success as he learns his new job.

  And that he doesn’t hit Enter and break a nail.

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• Listen for a Spell

  Posted at 3:02 pm by kayewer, on May 11, 2024

  I did not go to my university commencement, because of the inconvenience it would have been to the few people I would invite to such an event, and I graduated with my bachelor degree at age 51. My goal was to complete college and be the only woman in my family to do so (mother, grandparents and greats never did). My high school guidance counselor discouraged me from attending college. I did it anyway. The slow way. One course at a time. No dorms or college life. I went to work and did my studies part-time. The ceremony was broadcast online, so I watched from the office cafeteria during lunch.

  When I read about the commencement this past week in which Thomas Jefferson University students were subjected to botched pronunciations of their names as they picked up their diplomas, my first thought was that the education system had finally revealed its flaws in 2024. The person reading the names was given cue cards with phonetics printed on them. Unfortunately the phonetics may have been from a British English translation.

  I recall the late actor Christopher Lee, whose education was at the hands of the British upper-class system, manned with the most brutal faculty imaginable. His pronunciation of Maria Theresa was met with some violence (with a ruler) and the retort that the correct way was to say* “Marya Tereezer!” and a note that, “You’re English, boy, and don’t you forget it!” His background, by the way, was also Italian.

  The mangled name of Jefferson graduate Sarah Virginia Brennan, for example, was translated as “sair-uh-vuh-jin-ee-yuh-breh-nuhn” using such an online aid. We would likely say just “sa-rah-vir-jin-yah.” This would explain why the cue cards were less than useless. As the speaker said, she should have simply read from her book. Apparently she does know how to pronounce “Thomas” and “Elizabeth.”

  I am providing a link to a well-explained YouTube video which makes the point on behalf of the poor speaker (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFNddvwLJEo.

  When we need to depend on such easily faulty guides to read people’s names, we’re truly in a language cesspool and doomed to become a non-verbal generation. If a student were named Daquan, that could be “dah-kwan” or “day-kwan.” Then, you need a cue card. Virginia and Thomas should be no-brainers for those of us with a brain to receive a college degree.

  In my career I’ve managed the landmines of such names with multiple syllables and trippy diphthongs, which I’m lucky to be able to navigate naturally without much trouble. For colleges with soup pots of multinational students, the ability to muddle through names will be a struggle for a time, until we become familiar with some of the subtleties of pronunciation in other countries (including the finer points of British English).

  The speaker should not be the one to blame. Naming starts with parents. Pronunciation starts in the classroom, and it ends when that role up yonder is read by Saint Peter at the gate.

  Congratulations, graduates. As long as it’s spelled right on the diploma, you’re good to go!

  *Being one to double-check my sources rather than rely on memory, I got home and looked inside Christopher Lee’s autobiography and updated this excerpt, but the podcast will retain the original text.

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• Can’t Bear to Watch

  Posted at 4:30 pm by kayewer, on May 4, 2024

  A video news article this week showed a group of children taking a birthday party trip to the zoo. In a glass enclosure was a brown bear whose habitat also included a female duck and her brood of ducklings.

  I don’t know for sure how avian nesting works, but for all I know the poor mother duck got stuck in an urgent situation in which she knew she had to lay her eggs in the bear enclosure. Any woman due to have a baby can tell you that when the baby comes, you can do nothing about it. In the case of birds, they have more than one baby coming, and they don’t undergo labor as we know it. Eggs pop out one at a time, and then the mother duck is held captive while she incubates them. She happened to nest with a pair of bears named Juniper and Fern. The ducklings hatched, and as they usually do, imprinted on mama and followed her around. She took a dip in the water, and they followed obediently in as well.

  Bears are known to have omnivorous habits; particularly in the wild, anything edible is fair game for bears. The video which went viral showed the birthday party children looking on in horror as Juniper took a look at the ducklings swimming behind their mother and instinctively pictured convenient snack food; Juniper proceeded to devour every duckling in turn.

  The Woodland Park Zoo put things into perspective, saying that wild fowl are discouraged from nesting in carnivore enclosures, but they go where they choose and, in this case, the mother duck apparently suffered the consequences.

  Fern, the companion bear, had no comment.

  In the course of this past week, I also had the opportunity to see a male gorilla make whoopie with his female as zoo visitors watched, and I saw another video in which a group of tourists on a safari truck ended up with a pair of lions engaged in the “wild thing” atop the vehicle.

  Two things can be learned from this. First, the circle of life is all-encompassing, and you never know when a free lesson will be presented to your youngsters. Second, never click on a video unless you’re ready to become an unwilling subscriber to anything even remotely connected to it.

  Juniper’s snack I could handle, but the rest did nothing for me. I would get more excitement out of another marathon of “50 Shades of Grey.”

  As for mama duck, I hope she has better luck next season. Maybe she should nest in the children’s zoo.

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• Setting Rights Right

  Posted at 3:41 pm by kayewer, on April 27, 2024

  As an American, I have a natural–as well as a lifelong cultured–allegiance to my country. Besides serving in two military branches for eight years, I have read and been taught about what it took for this huge piece of continent on Earth to become what it is. Some of the historical references have been altered or become fuzzy with time, but there are things to be learned about the good and bad that shaped the nation we live in. Sometimes we can learn the most by what wasn’t said.

  My search engine produces some interesting topics which can turn into deep rabbit holes of trivia; one such venture mentioned a popular phrase I sometimes heard from my own parents: “My country, right or wrong.” The words do seem like a boast of blind devotion which might be better left to extremists, and preferably from other places where such things are more accepted (think North Korea). My country when it is right, I can certainly go along with. My country when it is wrong is a different concept I can’t necessarily follow blindly without knowing why I should do so.

  It turns out the phrase has a story to tell, and it came from a resource which has evolved into a fact provider* in search engine home pages, and which I stumbled upon by accident. I think that in an election year it’s good to tell the story behind this saying.

  The original phrase was uttered some 200 years ago by Stephen Decatur, who was an officer in the United States Navy’s infancy, enlisting at age 19 and rising to the rank of Commodore. He offered a toast after a dinner sometime in 1816-1820, saying, “Our Country! In her intercourse with foreign nations may she always be in the right; but right or wrong, our country!”

  The translation is that we are always America, with our good and bad characteristics. When we are acting with other countries, we do so hoping we do what is right, but always keeping in mind what we represent when we do it. This doesn’t suggest that we own up to our mistakes when we do wrong, and say that we apologize as a nation for the slight. It simply says that we are what we are in totality.
  
  In 1872, the 13th Secretary of the Interior, Carl Schurz, made an amendment to the toast. “My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right.” This from a German immigrant who served in the American Civil War (fighting at Gettysburg) and helped in the formation of the Conservative Republican Party. These were men^^ of some standing, trying to put patriotism into perspective.

  So this is a legacy we should quote in its entirety, rather than misquote. The duty of an American is to keep right what is right and to correct wrongs. To simply state a support of anything “right or wrong” is like saying doing wrong doesn’t matter. It does, indeed.

  My country; still growing after 248 years. Still trying to right wrongs, as well (we hope) this election year.

  *(Resources: Cracked.com, Wikipedia)
  ^^(Carl Schurz’ widow went on to help form what we know as kindergarten for early learning youngsters; women did contribute to our nation.)

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• X Marks the Girth

  Posted at 2:55 pm by kayewer, on April 20, 2024

  Like most women of a certain age, I have a broader figure. This means that clothing becomes more of a struggle than before. The days of high school when I could get away with a size 8 trouser or a size medium off the rack are long behind me.

  Actually there is more in front of me than behind me, because I’ve got a tummy.

  Clothing sizes without numbers can be daunting. When you’re in a grey zone between an upper-sized misses and a lower-sized women, you must begin using the dressing room and your measuring tape to figure it out.

  I discovered that sizing such as XL (extra large) and XXL (extra extra large) are in a different territory compared to women’s sizing starting with 1X. An extra large fits tops with a 42- 43 1/2″ bust, while 1X will fit a 43-45″ bust. I also learned that the average woman in America wears a 34DD bra and has a bustline sized 38-39.4″ In other countries, women wear a large size A or small B bra, which is more the average.

  We’re not only big-waisted in America, but big-busted.

  If I could put my waist size onto my bust, I’d look like an adult film star sporting two basketballs in front of my lungs.

  While I was taking a day at the shore, I visited one of the few open retailers on the boardwalk (off-season hours are limited, after all), and sometimes a 1X is hard to find among clothing limited to XL. I don’t think they’re deliberately telling us “whales” to shop elsewhere, but the beach and its minimal clothing dress code is not inviting to those of us with a bit more going in the corporeal department.

  This is why the Michelin tire man doesn’t wear Speedos.

  I found some sales on XL tops, so I bought some logo apparel, fully aware that not only will they fit, but once I am no longer on medications which can make weight loss difficult, I will lose some numbers on the scale and the XL will swim on me. Just as long as they don’t swim off me in a strong current, I’m okay.

  Some retailers like Torrid, which specialize in diverse sizes from 10 up to 30 in many of their styles, go with numbers such as 00 through 3, which tend to appear on their racks frequently. One doesn’t feel so bad when they say they’re a 1 compared to a 1X.

  Men’s clothing seems to always go by tailoring measurements such as neck circumference, arm length and torso. A dedicated group of specialists adjust the fit for the customer. Women are still assumed to be experts with sewing machines, and thus can alter our own clothing. Unfortunately we’re not in 1942 anymore. We go to the seamstress now.

  As sizes change, I’ve learned to embrace whatever version of me is existing now, and not worry about outgrowing or being too much of one thing or too little of the other. As long as I can find the perfect fit, I feel good.

  Besides, nobody has ever asked me what my clothing tag says. I can always say “Made in USA.”

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• Nothing Humorous

  Posted at 2:25 pm by kayewer, on April 13, 2024

  I like to read the morning paper–yes, an actual newspaper dropped at my home by a dedicated delivery person sometime around three in the morning–before I start my job from home. I would like to say for the record that, after reading an article this week that made me facepalm, I now know of at least 1500 people on social media who have absolutely no sense of humor.

  The sunny shore community of Wildwood, New Jersey, posted on April 1 to make an announcement about their iconic tram cars, which convey visitors along the boardwalk. For ages, the transports of linked cars seating about four people to a row and eight to a section have taken folks for a half-hour ride along the two-miles of boardwalk. Their iconic loudspeaker to pedestrians warns “Watch the tram car, please!”

  The announcement included an unnamed source who reported that Wildwood wanted to be more polite with the warning, and so would be revising the ages-old phrase to say, “Excuse me, please. Tram car coming through.”

  The post resulted in a deluge of responses in the form of the Facebook characteristic angry emojis, and phone calls to the offices in Wildwood from enraged people who wanted the phrase to stay the way it has always been. The phrase was considered, to one posting individual, “Jersey polite.” Another stated that a warning need not be polite when a large vehicle is bearing down on ignorant strolling folks in flip-flops.

  The original phrase is short and sweet, and easy to take heed of along with the occasional bicycle bell ringing. The only other true way to change it would be to reword it to “Please watch the tram car.”

  So the offices in Wildwood fielded angry phone-ins which increased their Monday call volume, while social media blew up with complaints from angry readers.

  Had they taken a moment to think, they would have been laughing instead of spewing their coffee in outrage. For one thing, does anybody go to extremes to make a polite phrase more polite? Do they also go out of their way to make the warning even longer than the original version? Finally, the post was on April 1, also known to most of us as April Fool’s Day. The whole thing was supposed to be a joke.

  Which is why I noted that the nearly 1500 people who clapped back at the post decidedly have no sense of humor. I can imagine these folks keeping pitchforks and torches by their front doors, ready to march on any perceived slight in this world for lack of something better to do. What would’ve happened if Apple had posted on April Fools Day that they were going out of business?

  Naturally I have been observing, with increasing distress, the downfall of the human brain in the upcoming generations; nobody seems capable of constructing a meaningful thought, let alone writing it down using proper grammar. We should at least be able to discern humor when it’s in front of us in carefully worded posts on social media. Without the opportunity to laugh, we lose our focus when life becomes serious.

  I don’t go to Wildwood, but I remember being nudged out of the way by hearing “Watch the tram car, please” at my back when my family went a time or two in my youth. Perhaps they should use a recording of Reel 2 Reel’s “I Like to Move It” instead.

  Just kidding, folks!

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• My Eclipse

  Posted at 7:08 pm by kayewer, on April 6, 2024

  On April 8, a rare planetary alignment will result in a total eclipse of the sun which will be visible across a select area of North America in the afternoon. People have traveled to areas of the country near the path of totality and taken up hotel rooms, making the event double as a perfect vacation. People are getting married. Sun-worshipping faiths will have a wonderful time.

  Back on August 21, 2017, I was working when the last solar eclipse appeared, but I was prepared with an old-fashioned shoebox with a pinhole and viewing window cut into it especially for the occasion. When I went to the rear of our office building to see how far along the sun was to being completely hidden from view, I saw some of our complex’s landscapers nearby and offered to let them take a look using my contraption. They were equally captivated by the spectacle, and I was privileged to share with them.

  This year, I’m working as well, but from home, so I will step out my back door with my free specially designed eclipse viewing glasses (which look much like the 3D freebies we once received for movies using that technique, but don’t try switching out one for the other).

  As much as I feel privileged to see what may be the last major eclipse I will view in my lifetime, the reader in me sees a much different significance to this event, for when I hear about an eclipse, I think back to my favorite books.

  Long before there was the popularity of Twilight or Harry Potter, I was reading a series of books for mature readers stretching back to 1978 and which transported me through history, romance and horror into the 1990s and beyond. After having read Interview With the Vampire, my interest was piqued when my book club offered an “if you’ve read this, try this” story. I ordered a copy of Hotel Transylvania by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro from the club, and from the moment I read the first page, I was permanently engaged, and stayed so to this day.

  Yarbro’s ability to write historical fiction not only enthralled me with the adventure, but I was unknowingly receiving an observational look at world events and how women fit into (or were excluded from) them. Sometimes the characters had rank and power, while others were ostracized and treated with cruelty. Living among them was Saint-Germain, a mysterious man who chose to wear almost exclusively black, carried himself elegantly and adapted readily to whatever culture his travels thrust him into. At his side would be close companions often relegated to servants in the eyes of outsiders, but his longest-serving partner, Roger, was always ready to perform whatever task was needed to keep their foreign status from being taken in a negative way, as outsiders in many periods of history often were.

  The secret: Saint-Germain is a vampire, and Roger is a flesh-eating ghoul. Their travels bring them face to face with Mongols, Charlemagne, Ivan the Terrible, a coven of Satanists in France, Kali worshippers, Nazis, and a variety of evils throughout the world.

  The novels (I have 26 in my collection, along with short stories and related works) are both narrative and epistolary in nature, and contain a wonderful mixture of eroticism, action and violence.

  The connection to this upcoming event: Saint-Germain’s sigil is the eclipse.

  The publishing world being as it is, there are more novels awaiting book form, and I look forward to the announcement that the saga will continue. As I look at this rare period of semi-darkness on Monday, my mind may well wander back to other places and times of eclipses and earthquakes, battles won and lost, practices embraced and forgotten, and the books that took me there.

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