The sad part is leaving all my friends. It takes a few minutes to drop the tent, a couple hours more to pack and load everything into the vehicles. The memories stay forever. My good friend took these pictures and gave me permission to post them. The sepia tone adds a golden glow to this sad time.
I can’t describe the feelings during this re-enactment. Excitement at the beginning of the five year cycle, sadness at the terrible losses suffered during the Conflict and the echoes of longing for a time lost in the fog of destruction and recovery.
We’ve come so far as a nation. I hope the lessons learned by the participants help all of us.
Like I have so much free time I can take on another commitment, well, yes.
As I mentioned, I love to blog. It gives me an immediate way of contacting readers and getting a response.
I participate on the Black Rose blog at The Wild Rose Press on the 25th of each month. I’ve been a guest all over the place with the release of Ancient Blood and need to settle down. I’m having a few people over to visit here. I’m working on Barb’ed comments on blogger to stretch my brain.
I’m joining with the Roses of Prose to blog regularly in a differrent venue.
We hope to draw interested readers by providing a variety of talents, viewpoints and articles from fourteen of the best authors out there. Ahem. Not humble, am I? http://www.rosesofprose.blogspot.com/
It’s not quite ready, but I’ll keep you updated.
Next week we’ll be leaving for the first battle of the 150th Civil War reenactments. First Manassass or First Bull Run depending on which side you favor, is mid-July outside of Washington D.C. The 145th ran over 110 degrees on the field of battle and I’m hoping this time will be cooler.
I’m packing my authentic trunk with the dresses, petticoats, stockings and shoes I need to wear to be a participant. My parasol is ready to shade me from the sun.
Am I crazy? Yes, but you have to be to sleep in a canvas tent, with wool blankets, on the ground and cook over an open fire.
Reenacting is the most fun in the world. No radio, no televison, no PHONES or modern newspapers make it a trip away ffrom the problems of this time.
I have met the most wonderful people. History buffs who can talk over every detail of the impending battle. Those who honor their forebearers by portraying the event as honestly and authentically as humanly possible. The ladies who love to sew their clothes and parade the grounds stopping for pictures from the tourists.
I’m going to be with medical for this battle. My husband portrays a civilian doctor caught in the fever of war. He and his comrades follow the troops into battle, attending the wounded. This isn’t all pretend. They check the soldiers who have fallen for real injuries and help them if needed.
A huge crowd is expected. Like the original battle, they’ll watch and picnic and be amazed at the events. What a tribute to both sides. I plan to post regularly about the battle.
I’ve been working on a contemporary romance about reenacting and ‘War is Heck’ is currently under consideration by The Wild Rose Press. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
I didn’t post on Father’s Day about how great my Dad was. Not because he wasn’t, but I didn’t call him Dad, I called him Father.
As in my father was the disciplinarian. “Just wait until you’re Father gets home,” Mom said when I was bad.
Or “Ask your Father” when I begged for something special.
So he was “Father” in my mind.
I was his favorite when I was little. How did I know? It was that magic children have about who loves them. I would run to him and he’d pick me up and spin me around until I was dizzy with laughter.
My Father read to my sister and I every evening from the classics. The joy of books is a wonderful part of my memories of my Father. I heard the classics, Tarzan, Tom Sawyer, A Christmas Carol. He also ingrained in me the need for education since he and my Mom never graduated from high school.
He wanted to be an author, so I guess his gift to me was the same goal. And here I am. My book, Ancient Blood is number five.
Thank you, my Father. You gave me such great gifts.
We didn’t choose Greenville, South Carolina to stop for any
special reason. It was on the way North. This lovely Southern city was a pleasant
surprise. Furman College provides a spark of energy and the downtown is
crowded with boutiques, coffee shops and great restaurants.
Falls Park is in the center of downtown. A pretty waterfall
drops over water-scoured boulders, colorful flower beds line paths, benches
provide restful seating, and an impressive suspended bridge stretches overhead.
I loved the Confederate Museum and Library’s wonderful
collections. Due to the limited number of volunteers, the place is open on
Monday and Wednesday only.
The items are carefully displayed and labeled. It includes
uniform buttons, guns, small cannon, photos, and more for the Civil War buff’s
interested in the period. An authentic battle shirt displayed how the soldiers
dealt with the heat.
There were only a few items about the females of the era,
but a series of daguerreotypes were interesting to study.
I wanted to spend time in the library, but knew I’d never
leave if I started. There is a broad collection of books available to find
information on The Confederacy and its military.
In Ancient Awakening, Police Officer ‘Mel’ Petersen investigates a death only she believes is murder. By disobeying direct orders from the Rhodes End Chief, she risks her career to follow clues that twist in circles to her backyard and lead the killer to her.
Her neighbor Stephen Zoriak is a prime suspect. Steve worked for a major pharmaceutical company where he discovered a weapon so dangerous he destroys the research. He is exposed to the dangerous organism. He suspects he is the killer and agrees to help her find the truth.
In the course of their investigation Mel and Steve find the real killer and a love that defies death.
Legend gave him many names, but the wide halls of his mountain retreat no longer echoed with countless worshipers. He could have ruled the world had his ambition not died with the passage of time. The endless whispers were from the cold winds and the few praying priests. He didn’t care that he couldn’t remember his real name or birthplace.
For an eon he’d regretted the loss of softer emotions. Love had been the first feeling to die, along with the woman who had insisted he would never harm her. He couldn’t recall her features just the merry tinkle of her laughter and the bright smile she had greeted him with every morning. He licked his lips. She’d tasted sweet.
Fierce need flared in his gut and he sniffed the air. Outside his chamber a single acolyte in long brown robes waited to escort him. His mouth curved with a mirthless smile. The silent servants had ignited the flickering wall torches. Shadows jumped and shivered in the drafty halls like nervous virgins.
The Wild Rose Press: Ancient Awakening, a Black Rose