Happy 15th birthday to my grandson…

Ryan birthRyan CloseUp - CopyCloseUpBigsmileMy how he grew! From that scary first week in the ICU at UC Davis to toy trucks to tractors.

DSC00790DSC02977DSC02432From a “new ear” party to riding a bike to playing pirate with Mimi on his 5th birthday

 

P1000099Ryan ArtworkRyan and computerFrom his first computer to artist to app developer.

P1010818From testing out the school playground that Papa designed, to a hug for little brother Sam, to getting his first iPhone.

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2014-08-11 11.49.41Most of all, being a loving son, a great grandson, a star student as a freshman in high school, a cross-country runner, and a young man of integrity and faith. What more could a grandmother have? Except of course that there are three other younger ones just like him!

Guest blog by digital artist Bob Keck…on growing old gracefully

DegreesofObsession240Digital artist and illustrator Bob Keck was kind enough back in 2005 to create a digitally produced cover for my first novel Degrees of Obsession from an idea I had come up with. It took dozens of hours for his computer to create the image as we tweaked the content over several weeks.

Download Christmas 2014 to see Bob’s Christmas Letter in its original pdf form AND SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM to see the incredible sci-fi and fantasy digital artwork he has produced in just the past year. More of his digital art can be found at DigitalDreams.com.

I so resonate with his comments on growing old and how it affects our abilities, our attitudes, and our art. And if I wrote fantasy or sci-fi, I would head straight to Bob Keck for a fantastic original book cover. Send inquires to my CONTACT page and I will forward them to Bob.

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Just Cruising by Bob Keck

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Moon rise by Bob Keck

 Here is the text of BOB KECK’S CHRISTMAS LETTER–A paeon to aging gracefully

Well, I almost didn’t write a letter this year. Not much happens when you are semi-retired and work from home. It’s mainly because you are almost always at home. It’s hard to write about nothing. Getting older is strange; you start to become more of a homebody. You no longer want to deal with, or have to deal with, daily stress, traffic, waiting in lines, or the many things that upset you. With the Internet you can even get most things on line and delivered to your front door and don’t have to deal with going shopping, the crowds, and finding a parking space. All the things you put up with to go to work and all the other life events you had to deal with seem to become minimal and fade away. You no longer are into fashion, image, impressing people, bars, and hot spots to go to. All the days seem almost the same and one of the hardest things is remembering what day it is. I’m not sure if this is good or bad.

Being cool is not the same as it was in my twenties. In your twenties you want to be accepted and try to fit in to your social circle (your tribe). In my generation, if your group had long hair or wore jeans and a t-shirt, you did too. Things haven’t changed. In today’s generation if their group of friends has tattoos, they feel like they should get one too. They think it’s a form of rebellion, doing something their parents hate, but actually it’s a form of conformity to fit in and be accepted. Everyone seems to do it in different ways depending on who you hang out with. When you are young to be accepted is what makes you cool. Things change when you are older. I think that when you are older and retired you are cool when you can talk about something besides your kids, the expensive trip you took or your old job.

Now, all this doesn’t mean that you become a hermit, which is really easy to do. It means that you have to come up with things to do that interest you or stimulate your mind. You end up contemplating your past failures, successes and how you got to where you are now. You realize you only have so many years left, so you don’t want to waste them on boring people, stupid events, bad movies, and unproductive tasks. I’ve always said that the hardest thing in life is not getting what you want, but knowing what you want and being happy with what you have now.

There is a certain freedom that comes with age. It’s similar to the freedom you had when you were a kid. You are again on the quest to discover what defines who you are. You no longer have to fit into the restraints of the working world. You can do whatever you always wanted to do. The only thing is that most of the time you forget what that is. Heck, sometimes you even forget why you walked into a certain room.

Anyhow, Christmas and New Year’s seem to be way markers in your life. They are a time when you get to stop and see where you have been, where you are, and where you are going. Hopefully, you appreciate what you have, the friends that have shared your life, and the fact that you are still here.

As I’ve said not much has gone on in the past year. I’m still doing graphic design work for my last company as a consultant. It keeps me somewhat busy. When I’m not doing graphics, I try to do some art or work on my house. I’m still doing sci-fi and fantasy illustrations and even got to do another book cover. I’m also doing some fine art and photography too. I won some more art show awards, which is always nice, but having people buy my art is always better. Sales have been going down the last few years. I’m not sure why.

My cats have changed. Ramone passed away. He was a very nice cat. His nickname was “Mr. Mello”. He has been replaced by Sally. One of my neighbors moved away and left her. She was somewhat feral and ran away from them when they tried to get her. They told me that she hated to be touched. It took me about a month or so before I could pet her. Now she lives in the house. She is like a clingy girlfriend. She seems to always want to be on my lap and loves being petted. At night she sleeps by my head. She is a really old sweet cat. My other cats Frank (the gourmet) and Cindy (the gray ghost) are doing fine and get along with her.

There isn’t too much else to talk about. My house is good. It’s a slow constant project. I’m still trying to update it. My car is still running fine. I keep tinkering with it to make it even better. I’m doing fine too. I have been lucky. There really isn’t anything wrong with me, just the usual getting old aches and pains and basic memory loss. I still exercise and walk fast for a mile or two up and down the hills almost every day. I’ve always exercised and taken vitamins for most of my life. Guess it was a good thing.

Well that’s about it. I hope you have a Happy Christmas and a great New Year. Take care, Bob

 

The day AFTER Christmas

2014-12-05 21.54.33I find the quiet today a bit disconcerting after eight days amidst the energy and enthusiasm of my four grandchildren. Although I’m still enjoying my annual flamingo Christmas tree.

The holidays began with a six-day trip to Oregon where my son Zach and daughter-in-law Amy are raising my two grandsons, Ryan almost 15 and Sam 11.

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At the beautiful Pittock Mansion in Portland

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Sam’s NinjaBread Cookies!

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The Oyster Themed dining room at the Pittock Mansion

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Zach and Amy whipping up great dinners in their kitchen

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Sam…the real ninja!

 

And I enjoyed watching the “boys” play with their Anki Drive car racing set–played on an iPad with real cars that zipped around the track on the floor. 

Then back to San Ramon for a Christmas Eve of baking…not one but two bûches de Noël plus Grandma Kinnison’s famous Christmas cookies. And Christmas day with Santa coming through with a train around the tree and much “FROZEN” bounty to the delight of the girls.

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Christmas dinner–oysters, salmon, foie gras (shipped in from New York!), caviar, butternut squash soup, filet de mignon and all the fixings

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Aveline and Estelle with some of their favorites.

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“I’m hiding!”

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“Peek-a-boo!”

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Bûche de Noël

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A wonderland of new Dicken’s houses for my daughter.

And finally, a Christmas greeting to my French friends on FB via my bilingual daughter and granddaughters and a French Christmas song by Aveline.

WANTED: French writer for translation exchange

templa1MOTHER TONGUE has stirred up much interest in Corsica, but my fans there are clamoring for a version in French. Paying for translation is beyond the means of this semi-retired grandmother. BUT I HAVE AN IDEA!

GOOGLE TRANSLATE is a starting point but, as we all know, yields a rather fractured version of the translated language.
 alt=I would love to locate a French author who would like his or her novel or work of non-fiction or even website translated into perfect and very literate English, starting with a basic GOOGLE TRANSLATE version. And he or she, in exchange could translate my novel into perfect and very literate French. An equal amount of effort on both our parts would produce publishable versions in each others language, with credit given of course.

Please spread the word to any of your French friends or colleagues who write and are looking for an excellent, ready-to-publish English translation at no cost. Those interested can reach me via my CONTACT page.

A icy 2002 winter in France

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Happy Holidays from San Francisco

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Nothing like a trip to the Golden Gate Bridge the day after Thanksgiving to start the holidays off right. My children and grandchildren enjoyed a stroll across the famous span. And then it was time to put of the tree. … Continue reading

They make up…Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE

french colonial villaLeaving a tense encounter at the house with the oblique staircase in the wilds of Niolo, Antoine pulls up to an seemingly out-of-place and dilapidated French colonial villa, its crumbling walls stitched together with ivy. At the end of a bizarre dinner prepared by their enigmatic host and having had a few whiskeys, Liz turns flirtatious.

whiskey fire

I wanted to stay away from the sensitive areas, at least for now. With the whiskey diminishing my resolve, I tossed out a flirtatious remark. “So, confess, Antoine, is that when you developed your passion for American women?”

Scafani shifted in his chair and faced me head on. He reached and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “Passion?”

The clatter of broken pottery and muffled shrieks from the kitchen interrupted the moment. “Those poor girls,” I said, downing the last of my third glass of whiskey.

incenseWith the meal was finished, I suggested we head back to Corte. As we walked back down the darkened hallway, Scafani reached again for my arm and tucked it under his. The front room was now filled with the pungent odor of sandalwood. He put his hand on my shoulder and turned me toward him. I paused a fraction of a second and then slid one hand around the back of his neck and pressed the other against his chest. Whether it was the whiskey or his obvious charm, I returned his eagerness as our kisses moved from tender to hot.

“Would you like to go upstairs?” he asked.

I jerked back to reality. “What!”

“If you really want to go back, we will. Just so you know, this is the only hotel in twenty kilometers.”

A laugh came from deep within my belly. “Do you bring all your women here?”

“Only the American ones.”

I allowed Scafani to take my hand and lead me through a door concealed in the room’s paneling. He guided me playfully up the steep staircase hidden behind, flicking his tongue over the nape of my neck on each riser.

“One bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling and I’m out of here,” I said, envisioning a shabby room with dingy sheets.

beautiful-bedroom-book-candle-candles-curtain-Favim.com-47709Scafani pulled me through the first open door at the top of the landing. I let out a soft whistle when I saw a mosquito-netted four-poster bed and three squat candles aglow on the dresser. “Spontaneous combustion?”

Scafani shushed me with a single finger to my lips.

They meet…excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE

Liz Fallon has inveigled her way to Corsica by taking a fluff assignment to cover Professor Nicoli’s announcement at the Università di Corsica Pasquale Paoli about the mysterious mazzeri and quite unexpectedly meets Antoine Scafani for the first time.

NPG Ax39646; (Frederica) Dorothy Violet (nÈe Carrington), Lady Rose by Francis GoodmanThe Professor’s voice turned tremulous. “I am currently seeking funding for an investigation to be—”

The same voice, louder and more agitated, drowned her out. “You expect the Corsican people to provide funds for this hogwash. We have more important issues to deal with. We are waging a war for independence. Several hundred voices are being raised outside these doors at this very moment. While we sit listening to fairy tales, they are out marching in solidarity for self-determination for all of us.”

flag and hillsAn even deeper male voice boomed out from the aisle. “You underestimate the importance of the Professor’s work. She is a true heroine, as much as any bearer of the Moor’s head. For decades, she has been dedicated to the preservation of our history and culture.”

mazzeri8I watched as the owner of the voice, whose words had silenced the interloper, strode toward the podium. I couldn’t see his face but the mass of dark curls dangling above a set of self-assured shoulders captured my attention. As he addressed the audience, I studied his chestnut-colored eyes and the pulsating muscles of his jaw. “Every invader from the Romans to the Visigoths to the French has tried to eradicate our spiritual beliefs—whether it is the signadoras who bring healing, or the mazzeri, who announce impending deaths. Suppressing local customs and beliefs is an invader’s way of keeping a people subjugated. Our comrades outside understand this well.”

I felt my throat go dry as the man paused and looked directly at me, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.

As another derogatory comment flew at the Professor, the man on the stage curled a protective arm around her frail shoulders and spit out a long string of expletives in lingua corsa. I twisted in my seat just in time to see the gatecrasher’s face twist in anger as he hurled back an insulting rejoinder.

linguaSuddenly, the noise of slamming of doors and rankled voices erupted from the back of the auditorium. I spun around to see a flood of protestors storming down the side aisles, their Moor’s head banners cutting through the air like scythes through ripe wheat. As I looked back to the podium, a second contingent thudded in from behind the curtains and took up a military stance across the front of the stage causing the professor’s champion to whisk her away. I muttered a few choice words of my own as the opportunity to meet the Professor and finish up my phony baloney research assignment got blown to hell.

I hadn’t given a thought to my own safety until that very moment. But as the chants of the protestors became more frenzied, I started scanning the room for camouflage clothing, masks, or gun muzzles, anything that could presage a hostage situation. I saw only Levis and passionate faces, more fervent than threatening.

flnc10Just as I let my shoulders relax, a loud bang echoed from the wings. A shot? I couldn’t tell. The audience wasn’t waiting to find out and broke for the exits. I jumped out of my own seat, threw my backpack over my shoulder, and shoved my way through the line of demonstrators filling the aisle. I was about to reach for my duffle bag when one of our placards smacked me across the cheek. The next thing I knew, a strong hand was gripping my upper arm and jerking me back against the wall. I wrenched myself free only to discover that I was being manhandled by the Professor’s defender. He scolded the man with the placard, who instantly offered up a sheepish nod of apology.

“Forgive my friend, Mademoiselle. We should be more welcoming to our English friends.”

“I’m not British.”

“Ah, American. My apologies again. Permit me to introduce myself. Antoine Scafani. Can I help you get out of here?”

LE FLNC REVENDIQUE UNE TRENTAINE D'ATTENTATS COMMIS EN CORSE AU MOIS DE MAIThe name Scafani set off alarm bells in my head. Hadn’t I just read about a man named Scafani in one of Benatar’s reports? Something about an unsolved assassination. This could turn into my first lead about Benatar and his son’s disappearance. I started to introduce myself as Lisabetta Falcucci but thought better of it. “Liz Fallon,” I finally said. “I’m here to cover the Professor’s announcement about the mazzeri.”

Gratitudes on this Thanksgiving Day

Gratitudes have always been my key to brushing away the cobwebs of disappointment, the shadows of fear, the chimera of lingering doubts, and the pain of promises broken. Today on this official day of Thanksgiving, I share a few of my gratitudes in photos. All of which have put a smile in my heart. .

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Eleven marvelous trips to France and memories in photos. This of Villefranche at night. A photo turned to oil.

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A visit to Strasbourg with our dear friends

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Killer Burgers in Portland with my son and daughter-in-law

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Being present at the birth of my granddaughters

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Wistful moments

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A proud Mom with her volunteer firefighter son and grandsons

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A beautiful daughter who is teacher, Mom, wife, and friend

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Memories of my union days

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Bonifacio, where it all started in 1963 and ended with my new novel MOTHER TONGUE

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Bringing France home in the pottery and colors of Provence

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Being Helio’s number one fan!

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Having adventures–flying over Denali

Paperback cover final

The publication of my new novel in paperback and Kindle

Aveline Estelle & Minnie

Having Minnie in our lives

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Best friends for 63 years!

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And happy to be @docflamingo and not a turkey today!

 

Raffi Minasian…Industrial and automotive design genius

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I had the wonderful opportunity on November 15th to hear a lecture by Designer, Educator and Automotive Historian Raffi Minasian as he explored the fusion of transportation, mobile devices and nanotechnology in automobiles from the past and into the distant … Continue reading