Space Opera Deluxe

What can I say? 

It has been awhile. About the only person who could bring me out of semiretirement is the fabulous

Alex J. Cavanaugh.

His excellent series has a new addition and it's a hummer. 

CassaDark

By Alex J. Cavanaugh

 “Cavanaugh returns to the world of his Cassa Series…for a fourth inventive space opera.” – Publisher’s Weekly

 His world is unraveling…

Bassan’s father is stepping down from command. His best friend almost dies when Bassan freezes. Now, he’s being sent across the galaxy to speak at an important conference. Despite saving the eleven races years ago, he’s paralyzed by doubt. Could things get any worse?

Once there, new acquaintance Zendar convinces Bassan to visit his planet for a humanitarian mission. Bassan’s special connection to ancient technology is the key to saving Zendar’s people. One problem though—it’s a prisoner planet.

On Ugar, he discovers things aren’t so straightforward. As each truth reveals itself, the situation grows more desperate. If he can’t find the right answers, he might die along with Zendar’s people. Can Bassan summon the courage to be a hero again?

Links:

iTunes – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1574189874

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0982FL3SH

Barnes & Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940164947033

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/cassadark

Scribed – https://www.scribd.com/search?query=9781939844859&language=0

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58461762-cassadark

Ice, Sunsets, Windmills, and a Suspicious Green Ghost

 

Kids These Days

This video says it all. Kids these days go through life with no inkling of hard times and tough measures.

Or do they? 

Or has every older generation since the dawn of time uttered the same words about the younger?

“People don’t know anything about hard times.”

“Can you imagine the present generation doing that.” 

My ancestors were the first to settle in this part of Missouri. My mother’s side in 1860 and my dad’s in 1840. First settlers, part of the first families of this county, they lived a life we cannot imagine. In reading the fascinating genealogy of my people, their words made me gasp at their unbelievable pain at losing so many children to disease. The many gravestones in pioneer cemeteries attest to that, the same years etched on the stones from several different families.

But not all is sad. Some of their words were sooooo familiar. And made me laugh.

Does human nature ever change? The past is a thread of experiences that we share. Feelings, thoughts, emotions...all a part of who we are.

Those threads bind nationalities and cultures, not in years but in centuries. Eons.

My evidence is small, true. I’d bet about every person in their late thirties and forties have said the same stuff as in the video, maybe not the same language or technology but the sentiments are certainly the same.

“People don’t know anything about hard times.” - said by Starling in 1920 about the hardships of moving by oxen and working the land in the 1860s.

“Can you imagine the present generation doing that.” - said in 1963 by my great uncle. “I remember when I was about 10-11 years old it was my job to go with (my brother) to the day stack where he pitched the hay on the wagon and I loaded it on. Then he hauled it to the fee bunks unloaded and I went from the hay stack to school."

Generations haven't changed much. 

Cold Days, Warm Bread

I think I let this rise too long. A little funky looking

I bake. Call it a leftover from my infatuation with Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Since discovering store bought bread doesn't sit well with me, I started making more bread.

In combination with my other blog, Unicorn Bell, I am posting a couple of my favorites. Plus the only wheat product I use now, King Arthur.

Although this is a French bread-type loaf, I don't usually do the spraying with water etc that goes along with making it more authentic. I like the taste and simplicity but not the work.



For a bread machine:
Add in this order:

1 C warm water
1 T sugar
1 t salt

2 3/4 C bread flour

Make a well in flour and Add, 1 1/2 t yeast.

Set machine on dough. Mine takes 90 minutes to mix, knead, and rise.

Form two loaves, or baguettes and place on greased cookie sheets. Slash tops with sharp knife.
Cover and let rise 30 minutes.

Bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.

For a delicious hot roll recipe, go to Unicorn Bell.

King Arthur Flour has more information regarding how to form rolls and loaves. Also a fantastic Easy Bread recipe.

Enjoy.

The Passing of Sarah

“Sarah.”

The ravaged face twitched in answer to her name. The movement so subtle the onlooker wondered if he had imagined it. An eyelid flickered and he felt her presence. One side of her face drooped like half-melted wax and he knew she would never recover. Her mouth struggled, at war with the stroke that was gently sliding her into forever darkness. Or Light, if believed.

And he knew she believed.

Her breaths came quick and shallow now, the harbinger of death. But, in the time she had left, Sarah gathered strength spoke in trailing wisps:

“Take me home.”

The man frowned and searched the other faces around the deathbed for illumination. No one answered. “Sarah,” he began slowly, “you can’t be moved. It’s hard, I know. But...you’ve had a stroke. Here. At our house. Just half a mile from your home. You were visiting...”

His voice trailed off as Sarah’s mouth moved into a caricature of a smile. Her good eye brightened and truly focused on him. “Not you. Him.” She looked beyond the man to the empty space at the foot of the bed. 

“I’m ready.” Her words came strong and the smile deepened as her eyes closed. “I’m ready.”

As her last breath ended with a sigh and her neighbor knew she was gone. His wife cried out. The son of the old woman wept silent tears.

But the man held still in awe. For a Presence passed him from the foot of the bed. He felt the gentlest of touches as It reached for the lifeless old woman. Without form or substance, the man still knew it was there and made no sound as a separate life poured out Sarah and joined with the Being. Together, they rose from the bed and dissipated, like a mist on a sunny day.

**********************
Sarah Frances Shaw Graves began her life in a dirt-floored slave cabin. She passed away on the oak floor bedroom of her white neighbors. 

Born in Kentucky in 1850, she was only six months old when her master “allotted” or hired her mother to another man, leaving her husband and Sarah’s father behind, never to be seen again. After the Civil War and freedom, Sarah married. Together with her husband and only son, they farmed and worked the land until eventually acquiring 120 acres. 

Sarah was visiting her neighbors the day she had a stroke. Her husband had passed several years before and their son never married. 

After caring for her several days, Sarah died surrounded by her white neighbors and friends in 1942 in their front bedroom. How do I know? Because as I write these words, I am sitting in the same room where she passed, the same house I’ve lived in for thirty-seven years. 

I have her beloved old cook stove on my patio. And I lay flowers on her grave in the spring.