San Jose Taiko
Check this out! If San Jose Taiko plays anywhere near you, get a ticket. They are well worth it.
Mr. Al made an anual habit of going to see the Kodo drumers when they came thought Madison, back in the day. We are both big fans of drums, drumming, etc. There’s nothing remotely like that out here most of the time. The few drummers circles I have attended were soo full of people who had never before set hand to drum as to be painful.
So when we heard from the kids they were going on a field trip to hear some Japanese type drumming, we checked into it. Sure enough, it was Taiko, which we wouldn’t miss. My dd got to see them twice – once in the field trip and the next night with us.
At frist I thought they were going to be a disapointment. The initial beat, played on the big drum, was a hair off. It got noticably better when other drummers joined the frist, but still didn’t quite hit the right note until the second or third song whey they added a touch of humor.
Yep. Funny drumming. It was a blast!
In one piece two drummers came out with cymbols in their hands – we’re talking the little 6 inch hand cymbols here, the ones tha come in pairs. They did a little dancing duet thing. In the middle of it a drummer comes from the back of the stage with nothing in his hands, jumps over a drum and does a ta-da gesture as if he were responsible for the good music. He then gestures to each of them to let him have their cymbols. In each case it looks like he’s going to get it, then the durmmer with the cymobls pulls them back. The one with nothing expresses inspiration through hand gestures and facial expression, then begins stomping and clapping rhythmicly. Soon the other two have joined right along. It’s all done with such joi de vieve. The audiance couldn’t help laughing.
In most of the songs they did a lot of trading of drums. At one point they did a sort of musical chairs thing with the drums, dancing in a big circle around the stage while maintaining the rhythem on which ever drum they were near.
Talk about dancing while drumming, the final piece was a knock out. They set the drums up with two of the mediums – we’re talking about drums about half the height of a man set up stands to about shoulder level – facing one another, then had two drummers facing each other between the drums. Then both drummers played both drums at the same time. There were several stations like this set up. I’m thinking five but don’t remember for sure. At any rate they shifted from side to side, litterally kicked up their heels, and did turning leaps while doing this two drummers on two drums business.
Seriously, the performance was fun, fascinating, and impressive. If they come anywhere near you, check it out.
Alice
Twin Mice
Here’s another one from Kid’s Favorite Recipes.
Put 2 canned pear halves on a lettuce-lined plate. Put 2 cloves on each for eyes, tow raisins for noses – one per pear – and carrot curls for tails. For ears, cut marshmallow into slices with kitchen scissors. Attach to pear halves with wooden picks.
I recommend the strings from celery as whiskers, but don’t expect the kids to eat them.
bon appétit
Alice
Guest: Ericka Scott on Writing and Postcards from the Dead
First of all, I want to thank Alice for giving me this opportunity to blather on and on about myself. I’ll try not to bore you…but if I drone on too long, just skip to the excerpt~ 🙂
I had the honor of sharing about 8 weeks of madness with Alice and hundreds of other wonderful romance writers last fall during Avon Fanlit. In the end, there were only a few dozen of us left, but I blame ALL of you for turning me to the “dark” side …and “turning me on” to writing erotic romantic suspense.
But it really started about 10 years earlier than 2006 when I read a book, threw it against the wall and cried, “Surely I could write a better book than that.”
So, I tried.
And you know, it’s harder than it looks. As a result, I have several unfinished manuscripts on my hard drive that will NEVER see the light of day. I had no clue how to plot, develop characters, or anything. So, I bought some craft books and began reading…then writing a little…reading some more…writing a bit more. Finally, I turned out a short story.
Well, writing it was fun, but I wanted to be published. That, too, was harder than it looked. Researching markets took time and effort, submitting to those markets took patience and persistence, and required me to buy a really big box in which to store all the rejection letters!
And I still hadn’t managed to write a novel.
My longest short story was somewhere around 5000 words and my longest novel was somewhere around…yep, you guessed it, around 5000 words! But I had learned a lot and wanted to try my hand at longer works…
I’m not even sure HOW I stumbled upon the Avon Fanlit contest in the fall of 2006. (Although, I must admit that even today the mention of Patience, Damien, Jonathon, pots of chocolate, feathers, and lightning gives me flashbacks of the agony and the ecstasy of the zero bandits and the five-star fairy!) I would like to thank Avon Fanlitters everywhere for their honest (albeit sometimes harsh) comments. You all taught me so much…especially to have faith in myself.
It was through networking with this wonderful group of women that I discovered the e-book market and the rest, as you could say, was history. Crystal Clear (Cobblestone Press), The Werewolf Whisperer (published by the nearly defunct StarDust Press) and my latest, Postcards from the Dead, have been the result of my learning to write longer by writing shorter (i.e., novella-length) works.
Here’s an excerpt from Postcards from the Dead, coming from Cobblestone Press on 10/5/07
Postcards from the Dead
Coming from Cobblestone Press on 5 October 2007
Excerpt
“I got a postcard from Rick.” Cassandra Moore started to hand the card across the table to her sister, Rosalie Hopkins. When a sudden breeze whipped a napkin off the small table they occupied outside her favorite lunch café, she tightened her hold on the card.
“Maybe we should sit inside for a change.” Rosalie pulled a hair band off her wrist and, with practiced ease, twisted it into her long red hair.
For once, Cassie was glad of her short mop of hair. No matter how hard the wind blew, it always looked the same. Curly. And no, she didn’t want to go inside. She liked sitting outside watching people stream by so busy and full of life.
Rosalie snatched the card out of Cassie’s fingers and read it with distaste. “This is a joke, right?”
“I don’t think so. It’s like all the others.” Cassie squirmed and couldn’t quite meet Rosalie’s gaze. Of course this postcard was just like the others. Why wouldn’t it be? But, was it really? The other postcards were all from decedents residing at the Coroner’s office where she worked as the personal property supervisor, whereas her husband, Rick, had been dead two years this coming Halloween.
“There’s only an address on it. Does it look like Rick’s handwriting?” Rosalie handed the card back across the table.
Cassie hedged. “I haven’t compared it yet.” Of course she had, she’d run straight to her nightstand, and pulled out several of Rick’s love letters from when they were dating. The script had been close but it lacked something. The writing didn’t seem as aggressive or forceful as Rick’s had been. But then, he was dead now, wasn’t he? That must have had some affect on his handwriting.
“Did you go to the address?” Rosalie persisted.
“Not yet. I was hoping you would come with me.” Cassie took one last look at the postcard. Granted, the basket of kittens on the front of the postcard was not Rick’s style. While tucking it away in her purse, she noticed Rosalie shaking her head.
Rosalie wrinkled her nose, and shrugged. “I promised Kyle I wouldn’t get involved with any of this. I’m sorry.”
“What? You told Kyle?” Cassie felt cold all over. Her sister had promised never to tell anyone. What if other people found out? “How could you?”
“Well, since we’re getting married in July, I couldn’t keep it a secret from him. Besides, he thought it was kind of cool.”
Cool? She wasn’t sure she’d use that description. Downright creepy was the feeling she’d gotten two years ago when it started. Oh, sure, there were television shows galore portraying mediums who talked to the dead. But did any of them get postcards? No, not a one.
Cassie leaned across the table. “You told him not to tell anyone else, didn’t you?”
“Oh, of course he knows it’s a secret,” Rosalie said. But from the expression on her sister’s face, Cassie wasn’t so sure.
End of Excerpt
Again, thank you Alice for hosting me on your blog. I wish you, and Avon Fanlitters everywhere, success with your writing careers — I’m your biggest fan!
Suzie’s House 36: Mata Hari
“Yeah, but yours is redder,” Christina, mouthed to herself. How stupid could she get? As if how red his hair was mattered to anyone. It was probably the lamest line she’d tried on him yet, and she’d tried some doozies. What did it get her? He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Christina took a sip of beer, winced, and set it on the old Formica tabletop. She didn’t even like beer, and certainly not in a dive like The Caribou. If it weren’t for the case, the first one she’d ever done on her own, there’s no way she’d be here now.
Maybe she should pack it in and head back to Langley. No doubt they had plenty of data entry for her.
No, damn it! This was her chance to do field work. She’d never get shipped over seas to do anything interesting if she couldn’t prove herself here.
“Hi. Mind if I sit down?” A woman about her own age, maybe a little younger, moved from the bar to Christina’s table.
Christina nodded. She didn’t intend to stay much longer anyway.
“That guy you were with, the redhead…” The woman quirked an eyebrow.
“Which one.”
“The one with the shorter hair that you were sitting next to. You like that guy?””
“Yeah,” Christina managed the lie well enough. She wasn’t the least attracted to Joseph. His brother Sean she could see, but Joseph? There was something very scary about him.
Which was why she had not already packed it in and headed back to the office. Even if it turned out Joseph wasn’t really an enemy operative, or an active member of a terrorist organization, he was a dangerous man who should be watched. If it turned out his activities were beyond her jurisdiction, she could always tip off one of the other agencies – the FBI or DEA or local police. She could do it anonymously. No one needed to know anything about her.
“Oh good. Then you won’t mind if I go for the other one. Could you introduce me? Are they brothers?”
“Yes.” Christina answered the last question as she tried to decipher the rapid -fire comments.
“Yes! Thank you!”
“What?”
“For introducing me. I saw the other one, the one with the short hair, go into my neighbor’s house about a week ago. I thought he was cute, but when I saw the one with the long hair…” The woman, a blonde with a flippy haircut and thick-rimmed glasses, grinned from ear to ear. “You can bring them to my party. I’m having some friends over tomorrow night, seven o’clock.” The woman slid out of the bench seat as she gave the address. “See you there.”
“Wait!”
“Oh, yeah. What’s your name?”
“Um… Christina…”
“I’m Cindy.” She held out her hand. Christina shook while trying to gather her wits. “Nice to meet you.” Before Christina could so much as blink the woman waved and left.
Christina thought about it for several minutes. Joseph had gone into the house next door to Cindy? Why? She managed to keep fairly good tabs on him, but didn’t know what he did with every waking minute. Maybe this was a chance to find out.
The previous was Suzie’s House 35 : A Tale of Two Brothers
This is Suzie’s House 36: Mata Hari
Next is Suzie’s House 37: A Dark and Balmy Night
What was on Photostream today
In case you missed it the first time, check this out. Carefully.
Alice
By George! The Prince Regent’s Childhood.
We have seen a little of George the 4th’s background. Now Mr. Al gives us a look at the way he was raised.
***
King George III had a royal fear of his son becoming a lollygagger. To avert this the Prince and his brother lived a closely regimented life. Every waking moment had to be accounted for. Supervision was constant to make sure that only suitable activities were engaged in. What dad wanted his son to learn first and foremost was that he would one day be king. God himself would see to that.
And what kind of king would he be if he frittered away his time on things like playing and socializing with kids his own age? Not much of a king. That was dad’s take on it. Mum got the boot in as well. “Disdain all flattery. Fear God and abhor all vice.” Not necessarily in that order. Dad’s idea of making the Prince a fit king was to make him a carbon copy of himself. Only better educated.
You see, King George the Third was much like his grandfather and the consensus on granddad was “Stupid, but complicated.” Education notwithstanding, no one would ever accuse the Prince of being stupid. As tightly regimented as the Prince’s early life was, it was stifling in its boredom. George the III loved boredom. Couldn’t get enough of it. Making sure his wife stayed pregnant, she had eight kids by the time she was 27, there would be seven more after that, seemed to be his main hobby.
Beyond knocking up the Queen, he loved puttering around the garden. Not for nothing would he later be referred to as “Farmer George.” He had no time for literature, art, the theater, although he did love opera, architecture or the sciences. He did appreciate that important discoveries were being made. He even had a bit of money for science fellows that needed a research grant. But artists? Why in God’s name did anyone waste good money on that piffle? He didn’t understand art and he didn’t want to. Besides, everyone knew that artists were notoriously immoral.
To make sure the Prince and his brother kept away from that sort; the King raised them away from London, a sinkhole of artistic filth and wanton hussies. This pretty much guaranteed that the Prince would grow up to be everything his father abhorred. But this was not a forgone conclusion. Things might have turned out differently if the King had actually found the time to be around his son.
Dad didn’t see it that way. What mum and dad liked were babies. They LOVED babies. Nothing was too good for the babies in the family. Unfortunately, once the babies became children, their interest began to fade. As a result, they tried to keep the Prince a baby as long as possible. The Prince was forced to wear baby clothes long after he should have begun wearing outfits appropriate to his age. How long did this go on? One day, he grabbed the frilled collar he was wearing and exclaimed to a servant, “See how I am treated.” Too long. Way too long.
****
Oh boy. Poor George! I mean George the IV. It’ so hard to keep them all straight! Thank you Mr. Al.
Alice
Weather Report.
Oh quit groaning. If I decide to talk about the weather, you can pretty well bet it will be interesting. For the last couple of months it’s been interesting.
You see, we have entered Fire Season. This is when the National Forests out here go up in smoke and all that smoke pools in the valley making it hard to breathe. I’ve mentioned it a couple of times, but really, seeing is believing.
This is what it looks like when the smoke is a little on the thick side:
A day or two afterward we had a storm roll through. This picture was taken at three in the afternoon:
An hour later:
If you look real close to the area between the front of the church and the tree to the right you’ll notice there is a mountain back there.
I’ve decided now and then to simply post a picture so you can see what our weather is like.
Alice
Green Goddess Dressing
What? You want the dressing to go with the salad? Fine then.
In a blender combine:
1 c. loosely packed parsley leaves
1/2 c. mayonnaise
1/2 c. sour cream
1 green onion cut up
2 T. tarragon vinegar
1 T. anchovy paste
1/2 tsp dried basil, crushed
1/4 tsp. sugar.
Blend till smooth. Store in a tightly covered jar in the refrigerator. Makes 1 1/4 cups.
Alice
Suzie’s House 35 : A Tale of Two Brothers
Joseph O’Connor lifted his Budweiser, looked at the amber brew, and wished it was a black and tan. You couldn’t get Guinness at the Caribou at all, let alone half of the black and half of the tan in a single mug. So what did his brother, Sean, see in the place?
“We should have gone to Clancy’s.”
“Clancy’s has been closed for years. Besides, this is close to home.”
Joseph snorted. “Nothing this side of the pond is close to home.”
“You’ve lived in America for three times as long as you ever lived in Ireland. You can’t be telling me this isn’t home.”
Joseph clamped his mouth shut. Arguing over home only led to fighting, which was likely to get them bounced.
“You should be glad to be here. I am. Where else could I be such a success?” Sean took a swallow straight from his beer bottle. The brown looked good next to his long red hair, not to mention his worn, green, army-surplus shirt.
“Success?”
“Where else could I earn a living off a web site? The advertisements are rolling in! NASCAR, muffler shops, body shops, you name it. I’m so glad you suggested Ian for the getting of it. He knows how to reach the people who see the beauty in what I do.”
“I didn’t mean for you to take it serious. I thought you were going to close it down now.”
“No need. If there ever really was a cop checking me out he’s long gone…. Ah, the lovely Christina.”
Joseph twisted around on the bench seat to look through the length of the tiny bar to the front door.
Christina stopped by the glass door, looking around. Her waist-length chestnut hair was tied back. Her bright green eyes, and a smile so bright it could dry paint, went brighter as soon as she saw them. Joseph wished the Caribou had more than a dozen tables.
Not that he wasn’t glad to see Christina. He was. Not only was she a fine looking woman and smart besides, she also had a gentle way about her Joseph liked. But she always seemed to turn up when he’d rather she didn’t. Besides, he didn’t like the way she couldn’t seem to decide between him and Sean.
“Hi!” She waved as she hurried across the cracked-linoleum floor. “I thought you guys would be here.” She plopped onto the bench next to Joseph without hesitation. Knowing it wouldn’t do any good to argue, he made room for her. “So what’cha guys up to?” She grinned from one to the other.
“We were just talking about….”
“Nothing.” Joseph interrupted Sean, giving his brother a hard look.
“Why do you guys always do that? It’s not like I would ever tell anyone.” She beamed at Sean, then at Joseph. “Besides, I can’t believe you really have any big, dark secrets. I’ll have Bud Light,” she said to the bartender who replied with a two-fingered wave.
“I’ll get it for you. I was just leaving anyway.” Sean drained the last of his beer. Joseph wanted to strangle him. He was running off because, using Christina to keep Joseph from following.
Joseph loved him dearly, but he hated the way Sean always ran away from anything he didn’t want to hear. Comments like, “Shut down the web page because the cop isn’t dead after all.” “Leave Grandpa out of it. ” And “Quit swiping the keys to my jeep” rolled right off him. Joseph glared at him.
Sean grinned back as he got to his feet. “Have fun, kids.” He came back long enough to put the Bud Light in front of Christina, then he was gone.
“Aren’t you going after him?” Joseph asked her.
“Not tonight. I think tonight I’d rather be with you.” She ran a flirtatious fingertip along the collar of his shirt.
He gave her a hard look, trying to decide if she was serious. “What is it you see in me?”
“It’s the red hair.” She reached toward his head. He captured her wrist, pulling her hand away.
“Sean’s hair is red too.”
“Yeah, but yours is redder.”
The previous was Suzie’s House 34: Lost Boy
This is Suzie’s House 35 : A Tale of Two Brothers
Next is Suzie’s House 36: Mata Hari
A Case of the Georges
Mr. Al is back!! He kept me on tenterhooks long enough. I had to pry this out of his fingers last night. I’m so glad I did.
****
Early one morning in the year of our Lord 1760, George Augustus, King George the Second of England, went to the bathroom. Nature was not kind to him on this fateful morning. Exerting himself above and beyond, he suffered a stroke and died on a rather different type of throne.
.
Waiting in the wings was his grandson, George William Frederick, Now King George the Third. The reason his grandson inherited the title rather than the son is because the son was already dead The son, Frederick, had survived into adulthood and had become Prince of Wales, for a while. As Hanover boys were wont to do, he had become a royal millstone around his father’s neck. The focal point of political opposition to his majesty, Frederick reveled in anything that made his father miserable. .
Said his mum, “If I was to see him in hell, I should feel no more for him than I should any other rogue that ever went there.”
.
Dad felt the need to reprimand her for being too soft on the lad. Fortunately, Fred went out to play tennis one day in disagreeable weather. He caught a chill and died. His title passed to his son. Sayth one historian, “When George was thirteen, his absurd father died.” Things didn’t really improve from there.
.
Two years into his new job, on August 12, 1762, George the Third’s incredibly fecund wife, Charlotte, gave birth to their first child. The Earl of Huntington, exceeding his authority, he was only the Groom of the Stole, not the Queen’s Chamberlain, ran off to be the first to tell the King that he was the father of a bouncing baby girl. The king, anxious for his Queen’s health, raced to the scene to discover that she was doing just fine. He also discovered that he was the father of a bouncing baby boy. The Earl was sacked, but the die was cast. Misunderstandings and miscommunication would be the rule rather than the exception between father and son henceforward.
.
It didn’t help that the two were as different as night and day. Although this did not come to fore until the Prince was a teenager. George the Third, perhaps feeling the sting of his own lack of a proper education, decided the Prince would not be found wanting in this department. The Prince’s early tutors were able enough, if somewhat obscure and unimaginative. “A formal piece of dullness.” Was Horace Walpole’s verdict on one of them, Robert D’Arcy, Fourth Earl of Holderness. Fortunately, the Earl became ill and traveled to the continent to take the waters.
.
He kept up a steady stream of letters filled with advice, but left the day to day job of educating the Prince and his brother, Frederick, to one Leonard Smelt and the Prince’s Preceptor, Doctor William Markham. Smelt, an army engineer, was a talented artist and a great lover of literature. Markham, who would one day become Bishop of Chester, was a somewhat pompous fellow who enjoyed hob-nobbing with the rich and powerful. But for all that, he knew what to teach.
.
Alas, as he would discover when his boss, D’Arcy, returned from the continent, he didn’t seem to have a grasp on HOW to teach the Prince and his brother. D’Arcy had definite ideas in that department. Rather medieval ideas, as we shall see. But before I can tell you about that, You’ll need to know a bit more about Mum and Dad and the way they saw the world.
****
Thank you, Mr. Al . I love it already.
.
Alice
What's the Buzz, Tell Me What's a Happening
Hear that low rumble? That babble of voices? Feel that surge of energy?
Something’s happening over on FanLit Forever. Something big. It isn’t just another round of excellent story telling. It isn’t just the usual chatter on the goals pages.
Something’s up, and it’s coming soon to a blog near you.
Alice
Green Goddess Salad
1 medium head romaine, torn (6 cups)
1/2 medium head curly endive, torn (3 cups)
14 oz of artichoke hearts, cooked and drained
2 medium tomatoes, cut into wedges
Green Goddess Dressing
In a large salad bowl combine romaine, endive, artichoke hearts, olives, and tomato. Cover and chill. Coat with Green Goddess Dressing right before serving. Makes 6-8 servings.
This one is from the Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book 1987 edition. This is a great all around book perfect for someone just setting up their household.
Alice
Pay Per Sale
This looks to me like one more reason to support your local independent book store.
Alice
