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A Winter’s Tale

December 30, 2023 by in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as , , , ,

One memory from this time of year that’s still as crisp in detail as the night it happened was when I was eleven. That was more than thirty years ago, a time before cell phones or Taylor Swift. A time when I hadn’t yet left the magic of childhood.

My Uncle Charles picked me up several days before Christmas to buy a tree. It was our annual outing, just he and I. My family celebrated the holiday, but my parents didn’t care whether our tree was live or fake. In fact, I’m told we had a fake silver tree decorated with glossy red balls for the first few years of my life. I have no memory of that.

At some point, my uncle stepped in, insisting that we have a fresh-cut tree even if he had to foot the bill. And, he said, I was to be his yearly assistant; my Aunt Ruth was too busy to join us on our search for the perfect tree.

The year that’s so vivid has the late afternoon sky spitting snow when my uncle stopped by for me. I grew up in a suburban Bucks County neighborhood, but Uncle Charles wasn’t interested in buying a tree from one of the tree lots that sprang up at the area malls. He drove me out to the Springtown Holiday Tree Farm, which covered acres and acres of Pennsylvania countryside with Douglas fir lined up in neat rows. 

He and I shared a game each year: As we walked up and down the lanes of trees, we pretended we were judges, intent on selecting that season’s winner. Once we had our top three picks, the tree that ranked first was the one he bought. In addition, he always purchased a second tree for himself and Aunt Ruth, even if it wasn’t as lovely or full, even if it had a few less-than-perfect branches.

That year, with a light snow dusting our hair and shoulders, we cast our ballots. My favorite, and his, was a tree that stood a good head taller than my towering uncle. Without fail each year, we picked the identical tree as the “winner.” Looking back now, I think that my uncle only pretended to vote; he ultimately ceded the decision to me.

After paying for the two trees, he expertly sawed each down. I’ve always wondered at his skill with the saw. My father—his brother—had no affinity for sharp tools—or any tools, for that matter.

My uncle gently placed the trees in the back of his pickup and tied them down carefully so they wouldn’t be damaged on the journey home, a good forty-five minutes away.

By the time we were ready to head out, the snow had increased in intensity. Thick flakes now blanketed the fields, and the long farm drive had maybe three inches on it. 

I was nervous about the weather. My mother hated driving in snow, so I must have inherited that autonomic fear from her. 

“Don’t you worry, Elf,” my uncle said, using his nickname for me as he started down the drive toward the main road. “It’s just a little snow.”

But once we were on the two-lane highway, the snow worsened into a squall. Switching the wipers and defroster to high, my uncle slowed his speed to a crawl. It was difficult to see the road ahead, and the rear window was iced over. No one else seemed to be out, not even the plows. In that time before cell phones, we couldn’t call my parents to let them know we would be later than we’d hoped.

On one sharp curve, the tires on the truck slipped, and we skidded toward the edge of the road. The brakes were useless, and although my uncle tried, he could not keep the truck from sliding into the ditch.

He cursed softly, but immediately checked on me. We were both unharmed, yet the vehicle was mired in the snow. He fought his way out the driver’s side door to make sure the tailpipe wasn’t buried, and then turned the engine back on to keep us warm.

One hour became two, became three. Uncle Charles switched the engine off every so often. The slender self I was at eleven got cold even with the heater on intermittently, and Uncle Charles dug out a thick Carhartt coat from behind the seat to snuggle around me. He also discovered a few wrapped chocolates and a stale package of crackers in the glove box, and we shared that scant dinner.

While we waited, he told stories of his own childhood. I learned things about my father’s family no one had ever mentioned: Uncle Charles and Dad had had a sister who died of the measles at age three. My uncle thought the world of Dad, although Dad always seemed to resent him. 

Even in the darkness that surrounded us on that silent stretch of roadway, the cab was illuminated with a glow and a warmth I can’t explain. I must have drifted off.

When I awoke, I was riding in the jump seat of a tow truck. Uncle Charles was in the front seat with the driver. The pickup was trailing behind us as a tow. 

“Almost home, Elf,” my uncle said. He handed me a paper cup of hot chocolate. The snow had stopped, and the sky was lightening toward dawn. The plows had cleared the road, and we made good time.

My mother remembers it differently. She says that we were not stuck in the snow for nine hours, but only for about two. That I was home and in bed by midnight. That my uncle had more personal problems than I was told about at age eleven.

But I know what I recall: It was the night my uncle saved my life. Unfortunately, he passed away several days afterward, having succumbed to a bad case of the flu. 

And the tree we brought home? I still have a photo of it, ablaze with extra lights from Aunt Ruth, and glittering with tinsel and glossy cellophane candy canes. Decorated with love.

I take the photo out every year and prop it on my mantel. To remind me.

Read more of Dianna’s stories in the following anthologies:

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Happy Happy Holidays

December 25, 2020 by in category Apples & Oranges by Marianne H. Donley tagged as , , , ,

Happy Holidays from everyone at A Slice of Orange. We hope you day is calm, stress, and drama free.

To help with that, please enjoy this repeat column Janet Lynn and Will Zeilinger wrote for the 2018 Holidays.


Vintage 1950s  Holiday Music

by

Janet Elizabeth Lynn

&

Will Zeilinger

 

I thought it would be nice to listen to some of the music that we still hear during the Christmas Holidays. I’ve included the links for your “waltz down memory lane”.  Here are the top ten Christmas hits in the1950s.

(In chronological order of release)

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Perry Como(There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays

 

Perry Como

Home for the Holidays was written by Al Stillman and Robert Allen. It was a hit in 1955, but has also been recorded by numerous other artists. Listen on YouTube

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Bing Crosby | A Slice of OrangeI Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

 

Bing Crosby

In 1956, Bing Crosby’s version was released as a single.  Longfellow’s poem resulted when his personal peace was shaken. His second wife of 18 years was tragically burned in a fire, leaving him a widower of six children. Soon after, Longfellow’s oldest son, Charles Appleton Longfellow, joined the Union Army, he was severely wounded in the battle. He wrote the poem December,1863. The lyrics were by Johnny Marks and John Baptiste Calkin. Listen on YouTube

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Barry Gordon | A Slice of OrangeNuttin’ for Christmas 

 

Barry Gordon

Also known as “Nothing for Christmas,” Nuttin’ for Christmas was a novelty Christmas song written by Sid Tepper and Roy C. Bennett. It became a hit during the 1955 Christmas season when it appeared in Billboard’s pop charts by five different artists. The highest-charting of the five recordings was released by Art Mooney and His Orchestra, with six-year-old Barry Gordon as lead vocalist. Listen on YouTube

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Harry Belafonte | A Slice of OrangeMary’s Boy Child 

 

Harry Belafonte

Mary’s Boy Child a 1956 Christmas song, written by Jester Hairston. It is widely performed as a Christmas carol.  Harry Belafonte heard the song being performed by a choir and sought permission to record it. It was recorded for his album An Evening with BelafonteListen on YouTube

 

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Bobby Helms | A Slice of OrangeJingle Bell Rock

 

Bobby Helms

The song was written and performed by Bobby Helms in 1957 and has received frequent airplay during every Christmas season since. The song has hit the Billboard charts a record six times since its original release. Listen on YouTube

 

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Elvis Presley | A Slice of OrangeBlue Christmas

 

Elvis Presley

A Blue Christmas was written by Billy Hayes and Jay W. Johnson and most famously performed by Elvis Presley. Elvis Presley cemented the status of Blue Christmas as a rock-and-roll holiday classic by recording it for his 1957 LP Elvis’ Christmas Album. Listen on YouTube

 

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Chuck Berry | A Slice of OrangeRun Rudolph Run

 

Chuck Berry

Run Rudolph Run was written by Johnny Marks and Marvin Brodie. The song was first recorded by Berry in 1958 released as a single. Listen on YouTube

 

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | Brenda Lee | A Slice of OrangeRockin’ Around the Christmas Tree

 

Brenda Lee

Written by Johnny Marks and recorded by Brenda Lee in 1958, Rocking Around the Christmas Tree was a rockabilly/rock-and-roll flavored Christmas tune. While it was ignored in its first two seasons, the song hit #16 on the Billboard pop chart during the Christmas season of 1960. Eight million copies were sold the first thirty years. Listen on YouTube

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | David Seville | A Slice of OrangeThe Chipmunk Song

 

David Seville

The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late) is a Christmas song written by Ross Bagdasarian Sr. (a.k.a. David Seville) in 1958. Bagdasarian sang and recorded the song, varying the tape speeds to produce high-pitched “chipmunk” voices for  the chipmunks:  Alvin, Simon, and Theodore. Listen on YouTube

 

 

Vintage 1950s Holiday Music | The Harry Simeone Chorale | A Slice of OrangeThe Little Drummer Boy

 

The Harry Simeone Chorale

This song was originally called Carol of the Drums, a Czech folksong which Katherine Davis translated to English in 1941.  When the Twentieth-Century Fox Records label contracted Simeone to make a Christmas album in 1958, he assembled a group he called The Harry Simeone Chorale and searched for recording material. Simeone changed the title to The Little Drummer BoyListen on YouTube

 



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HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

December 20, 2020 by in category A Bit of Magic by Meriam Wilhelm tagged as , ,

Books by Meriam Wilhelm

MURDER BY MAGIC

Buy now!
MURDER BY MAGIC

THE WITCH OF BERGEN

Buy now!
THE WITCH OF BERGEN
THE WITCHES OF NEW MOON BEACH BOXED SET

SEA DREAMS

Buy now!
SEA DREAMS

SUNSET SPELLS

Buy now!
SUNSET SPELLS

MIDNIGHT MADNESS

Buy now!
MIDNIGHT MADNESS

NIGHT FLIGHT

Buy now!
NIGHT FLIGHT

MORNING MAGIC

Buy now!
MORNING MAGIC

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Release Day for Christmas Once Again, Lovely Boldwood Roses, and the very cute Miss Witch.

October 11, 2019 by in category Writing tagged as , , , , ,

I’m exhausted. I stayed up till 10 a.m. PDT this morning promoting Christmas Once Again on my pub date. It was a blast. My publisher, my editor were right there with me, along with bloggers and fans.

We tweeted, I facebood’d, created Instagram stories. It was wild.

I have to admit, I was nervous. Will readers embrace a time when life was so different? I’ve poured my heart into this story about a time when there were no cell phones, so social media. Kate’s family (the heroine in my story), has a phone, but back then they had party lines. Everybody on the block shared the same phone line.

Neighbors Facebook’d over the fence while hanging out laundry to dry on the clothesline.

Newspapers were the 24-hour TV channels, coming out with Special Editions when important war news broke.

Soldiers and their girls wrote letters to each other. On paper. Words poured out by a lonely serviceman on an atoll in the Pacific or the cold, damp woods of the Ardennes in France. Girls sealed their letters with a kiss with Victory Red lipstick.

That is what I miss most about that time. Letters. Ink may fade, but the words are more powerful today than ever. There’s something cold and distant about an email. A digital fingerprint with printed words that look the same no matter who types them.

But a letter…now that has the personal signature.

The bold writing…looping letters…your sweetheart’s familiar scrawl that tugs your heart when he signs, ‘All my love.’

The smudge of dirty fingerprints that held a rifle and trudged over the beaches of Normandy to protect our country.

Coffee stains spilled from a tin cup when an enemy sniper surprised a young corporal.

Dried blood smeared on the envelope rushed into the mail pouch at the Red Cross camp by a wounded Marine.

And to the soldier, the most important signature of all: the scent of his sweetheart’s perfume. Every tired bone in his body, every aching muscle melt away. He can’t erase the horrors of war, but the lovely scent that is so distinctly hers takes him back home, if only for a few seconds. But it’s enough for him to keep fighting.

And promise he’ll come home to her.

It’s that world I write about in Christmas Once Again.

A journey you won’t forget.

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My Christmas Look Back Tree and how it inspired my holiday novel by Jina Bacarr

August 11, 2019 by in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as , , , ,

Christmas Historical romance novel My WW 2 time travel romance back to 1943

I’ve spent Christmas where it snows . . . where it doesn’t . . . and where it’s truly a winter wonderland in the German Alps. The magic only gets stronger over the years for me because each Christmas I have another memory to hang on my tree.

Not a real tree, of course. But what I call my Christmas Look Back Tree.

I can pull up fun memories, funny moments, heartfelt goodbyes, and most of all the true spirit of the season. The star at the top of the tree shines year after year to give me hope.

For there’s nothing like the warm goodness and comforting embrace of family and friends to experience the real joy of the season. Like a cup of hot cocoa with cinnamon sticks that never gets empty.

So, why am I telling you this in August? It’s back to school time, vacation days lingering, time to BBQ and eat burgers and messy corn on the cob. Because I’ve been spending a lot of time recently in a little town in Pennsylvania called Posey Creek.

At Christmastime — during World War 2 in 1943.

I found that in order to create a time and place that existed only in my heart, I relived my own Christmases Pasts far removed from that time, but the sentiment, the hopes, dreams, and needs of my heroine come from a place within me. That I went back to my Christmas Look Back Tree to dig deep into my feelings to mold my heroine.

More on my story next time, but for this post I wanted to write about that even when we write about a time and place we never knew, it still comes from the heart, from our passion to tell a story that reflects a bit of us, even if we don’t know it at the time.

For me, it was Ma. My heroine’s mother. Her strong bond with her mother, her need to see her again (she goes back in time to reconnect with her mother who’s gone when the book opens), also reflects my desire to do the same.

You see, my mother passed away a few days before Christmas many years ago…

So, when we talk about my upcoming release, CHRISTMAS ONCE AGAIN, you’ll understand how joyous I felt writing those scenes when my heroine reconnects with her mother once again…if only for a little while.

Travel back in time to 1943…

NEXT TIME:

News about Christmas Once Again release in October now up for pre-order:

US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07V1QT9Z6 

UK: www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Once-Again-Jina-Bacarr-ebook/dp/B07V1QT9Z6

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