Cafloutis, cafloutis—what's a Cafloutis?

 

A different deer pic from Susan Coventry

Sadly, add "Amen."

 

WHAT'S A CAFLOUTIS?

 I have lived a great many years, more than I care to admit, but the word "cafloutis" never crossed my path until last week while reading recipes in the weekly Cooking section of The Orlando Sentinel. But here was a recipe was for:  "Raspberry Almond Cafloutis," and I love raspberries. Therefore, even though I'd sworn off collecting any more recipes, I succumbed to temptation, promptly baking it for Cassidy's graduation party, as there was no way I could ever eat something with two baskets of raspberries all by myself.

So what's a cafloutis? After sampling, I'd call it an "adult dessert." Healthy ingredients, not too sweet. For kids, you might want to sprinkle with powdered sugar, but frankly, a clafloutis—with the consistency of cheesecake but without the cheese—is a sophisticated taste more appealing to health-conscious grown-ups. 

Two of the people at the party asked for the recipe, so since I had it all typed up, I thought I'd share it with my readers. (I was fortunate enough to get PERFECT raspberries from the small Publix near me. Only one throw-away in each box.) [The photo, below, taken from the newspaper, is the best I could do. Too busy cooking & transporting to think of taking a photo of my own effort.]

 

RASPBERRY-ALMOND CAFLOUTIS

Special note: This is a dessert with more appeal to adults than to children (minimally sweet). Also, flavor is best if served at room temperature.

1 cup almond flour
½ cup sugar
3 large eggs
½ teaspoon almond extract
Pinch of salt
1¼ cups Half & Half
3 cups fresh raspberries (12 oz.)
Unsalted butter, for greasing pan
Powdered sugar to sprinkle on top (optional)

1. Heat oven to 375°.
2. Put almond flour, sugar, eggs, almond extract & salt into blender. Blend on medium speed for a minute or so, until well combined. Scrape the bowl as necessary.
3. Add Half & Half and blend again.
4. Butter a 10" round baking dish or cast iron skillet. Arrange raspberries over bottom of dish.
5. Pour batter over berries. Bake on TOP shelf of oven rack for 30-35 minutes,* until puffed and lightly browned on top. (A toothpick or knife inserted in center should come out clean.)
6. Cool clafoutis to room temperature. Sprinkle top with powdered sugar.** Serve in wedges, directly from pan.

*My cafloutis never did quite “set.” Perhaps because I used the next-to-top shelf. I took it out at somewhere between 35-40 minutes.

** I did not use powdered sugar - much too sweet for my taste.


FYI, clafoutis can be made ahead, refrigerated overnight. Just be sure to take it out several hours before serving.
 

For Floridians:  Almond flour is available at Publix under the Greenwise brand.

~ * ~

My featured book for this week is my only Young Adult and my only book with a Medieval setting. However, The Captive Heiress, should appeal to all those who enjoy History with a good dollop of Romance thrown in. Many of the characters are real—Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine; their sons, Richard and John (made famous by the legends of Robin Hood). Many of the events in the book are also true, including Eleanor's capture. This was an era when the castles of the weak were regularly seized by the strong, with the estates of orphans particularly vulnerable. Also:  the story about William Marshall as a hostage is true, his father's words verbatim, a tale that has resounded down through the ages. 

Even if you're a devotee of the Regency, I invite you to check out the turbulent times of the Twelfth Century. I think you'll find they have a familiar ring. (The Richard and John of the Robin Hood tales are children in this book.)

 

Of all my books, the most beautiful cover

Alecyn de Beauclaire, an orphaned heiress, is taken captive at age nine by the Earl of Rocheford who wants to enjoy the income from her estates. Her first friend in the strange new world at Castle Rocheford is Ranulf Mort à Mer, a descendant of Vikings and a penniless squire with no hope of ever being able to afford a horse and armor so he can become a knight. As the years go by, their friendship is unwavering, even when tested by the preaching of monks who declare that all women are evil and should be shunned.

When Alecyn is almost fourteen (a marriageable age in Medieval times) King Henry II makes Alecyn his ward. She is thrilled because she knows the king will want to keep her money for himself and, therefore, will not marry her off for several more years. Perhaps there is still time for Ranulf to become a knight and distinguish himself in battle.

In her position as companion to the royal children and songstress to the royal court, Alecyn learns not only the epic romance of chivalry, but the dark side of romance as she witnesses the love/hate relationship between the king and queen. Ranulf, meanwhile, learns to fight side by side with a new friend, William Marshall. But even Ranulf's eventual elevation to knighthood is not enough to qualify for the hand of an heiress to four fine estates.

Until, one day, Queen Eleanor goes for a hunt on her lands in the Aquitaine, and Ranulf and his friend, William Marshall, are among her escorts. Perhaps, just perhaps, if the three young people survive captivity by Eleanor's rebellious knights, they may have a future after all. But which young knight will King Henry choose for Alecyn?

Author's Note: The Captive Heiress was written as a painless way for people from nine to ninety to learn about Medieval times, particularly the tumultuous twelfth century. In addition to a look at the dramatic lives of King Henry and Eleanor, readers will catch a glimpse of the early days of their many children, including Richard and John who became famous through the Robin Hood legend. Another very important character is William Marshall, often called the greatest knight who ever lived. Please see the "Whatever Happened to . . ." section at the back of the book for the rest of the story of the many real characters in The Captive Heiress.

~ * ~

 For a link to Blair's website, click here. 

For recent posts, scroll down. For Archives, see the menu on the right.

 

Thanks for stopping by,

Grace (Blair Bancroft)     

 

Best Graduation Cap Ever! & The Demise of RWA

 

On Thursday night, May 23, 2024, my youngest grandgirl graduated from Seminole High School, the ceremony held 20+ miles away at the University of Central Florida. (I did not attend, having vowed never to set foot in that auditorium again after what happened at Riley's graduation. Took me three weeks to recover!) But I thoroughly enjoyed Susie's pics of the events, including Cassidy getting a thumbs-up for her hat from the primary official on the stage. 

For those who live where decorated caps are not a tradition, the seniors in Seminole County go to great lengths to decorate their mortarboards for the Big Day. Cassidy had a rather unfair advantage in that her father, Mike, and his cousin, Lionel, are gifted with both creativity and know-how.* I'm not sure Cassidy had anything to do with this cap except wear it—and perhaps breathe down the necks as the men slaved over it. You will note that the airplane is actually "in the air," not resting on the cap.

Also, please note: Class #, name of future college, lighted runway, and trees. (Sanford International, across the street from their house, has trees on three sides.)

 

 

*Mike and Lionel are the proud owners of The Capital Room Bar in Sanford. They struggled to renovate the property during the Covid years, doing almost all the work themselves. Lionel's creativity is on every inch of the upscale decor. He also exercises his creativity creating new drinks, decorating the bar for a variety of occasions from Burlesque Night to Gin-Tasting (with lecture from an expert, which I found fascinating), and keeping a constant watch on making the bar a pleasant destination, as well as a place where only the best is served. If you're in the greater Orlando area, the address is 102 First Street, Sanford (corner of Park Blvd, two blocks south of the Lake Monroe). 

 

THE DEMISE OF RWA (Romance Writers of America)

Grace note:  This article is likely of interest only to authors.

Way, way back—in the mid 90s when I first began to write—being a member of the Romance Writers of America was an absolute "must" for anyone writing for a female audience, whether it was simple Harlequin-style Romance, complex Historical Romance/Adventure, Mystery with Romance, or any one of a dozen sub-genres. Belonging to a local RWA group was essential, as was attending as many national RWA conferences as possible. As an example of this, it was at an RWA conference that I met the Editor of Signet Regency Romances and decided to attempt to confine myself to the rules of that sub-genre so I could find favor with a New York publisher. And that is exactly what happened. Signet published six of my Regency Romances before the line was shut down in an era where Erotic Romance was suddenly taking over the market. Sigh.

I was thrilled to be nominated for a RITA—a big deal in those days. I attended RWA conferences on an average of every other year, soaked up all the expert knowledge offered, thoroughly enjoyed being part of the conference book-signings. Imagine me at a book-signing in the same room with Nora Roberts! (I also recall sitting directly in front of the aisle where three burly firemen lifted a best-selling Romance up (horizontally), to everyone's cheers.)

 In short, RWA was the be-all and end-all for Romance novelists. And then came the conference in Houston (national headquarters of RWA). I opted for a pre-conference tour of Houston, where I met an English lady (closely related to the Devonshires) who became a friend for many years until her passing. I even had an opportunity, several years later, to show her the sights in my part of Gulf Coast Florida. But . . .

During that tour I caught something no one else seemed to notice (I asked several of those sharing our bus & they looked at me as if I was crazy). Part of our tour was a visit to a Confederate cemetery, something I considered an odd choice, even more so as our bus driver was a black female. Little did I guess, however, that my New-England-raised sensitivity had spotted what would bring a mass exodus from RWA only a few years later.

Yes, it was accusations of Discrimination that began RWA's tumble from its pinnacle of power. Discrimination against authors of any color but white. Discrimination against any books with characters who were not lily white. Although I was primarily known for writing books set in Regency England where—despite what you see on "Bridgerton"—there were almost no Blacks or Asians, I soon joined the mass exit of the many authors who turned their backs on RWA after this topic was raised. 

And, truthfully, I have paid little attention to RWA since that time. But evidently, they were never able to recover. The announcement this week:  RWA is filing for bankruptcy. 

RWA was once THE source of useful information for budding authors, the stamp of approval for those who had made it, a showcase for newly published authors as well as the most renowned authors in the field. RWA will be missed. Or will they rise again? Hopefully, with all taints of Discrimination forever washed away. Meanwhile, a tip of the hat to those who recognized the problem and fought for change. 

SUMMARY. RWA, in its heyday, was a bulwark of strength for authors—providing much-needed information, sponsoring contests, awarding our efforts, and, above all, providing the opportunity to meet and talk with other authors. With most of its members totally oblivious to a discrimination that, I am convinced, was more a "built in" oblivion than a deliberate attempt to be an organization "for Whites only." RWA was an immense help to me, for which I am grateful. But I cannot deny its time had come.

~ * ~

This week's featured book is one of my Traditional Regency Romances published by Signet.

A duke in need of an heir, a sturdy young widow who has followed the drum, a young lady who scorns society, a stylish young fribble—exactly the type she most despises. And the stage is set for riot, ransom, and considerable mental adjustment before both pairs of Regency lovers are reconciled against the backdrop of unrest in London at the time of Waterloo.

Review:

"In a delightful dance worthy of any Regency ball, Ms. Bancroft interweaves her characters into one fresh and cohesive romance, letting each find their desires in an effortlessly smooth narrative. . . . Blair Bancroft has captured the Regency and has a firm grasp on its nuances and idiosyncrasies." Celia Merenyi, A Romance Review

~ * ~

 For a link to Blair's website, click here. 

For recent posts, scroll down. For Archives, see the menu on the right.

 

Thanks for stopping by,

Grace (Blair Bancroft)       

Ad Update & True Tale

 

Love this!

 

Update on "How to Kill an Ad"

 I am delighted to report that I have not seen a Progressive anti-parent ad in several weeks. Not one. (I should have complained a lot earlier!)

And . . .

I don't know if any of you took up the cry against the Tampa Hardrock Casino ads or the Inspire commercials, but someone surely did. (Not me.) The Casino ads are gone, gone, gone. Vanished. (They were so outrageous, I suspect shouts of protest came from all over.) As for Inspire, the ad that skated closest to being fraudulent is also gone. The ads that seem to indicate that sleep apnea is a serious problem (NOT insomnia) are still running. 

If my blog or blog readers had anything to do with the demise of these commercials, yay, hurray! If it was simply coincidence, it's still a win. Please keep in mind that you—yes, YOU—have the power to rid your TV screen of insulting, offensive, or downright disgusting commercials. Remember the cry from that old movie:  "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

 ~ * ~

 True Tale from The National Company 

of "The Sound of Music"

(way back when) 

 

A long, long time ago, I took the plunge, gave up my job teaching music in a Connecticut suburb, and moved to the big city—New York City, to be exact. (I knew I'd reached the age where if I didn't I pursue my desire to sing in musicals, I never would.) I was among the fortunate—being a trained musician with near-perfect sight-reading and choral-directing experience certainly didn't hurt. Particularly when auditioning for a serious musical like the "The Sound of Music." (Broadway was just at the turning point when dancing skills were beginning to take over.)

 

We auditioned all afternoon, the group of finalists growing smaller and smaller. Until there were just sixteen of us (all female, of course). A voice came out of the darkness of the auditorium: "Okay, girls, time to put on your dancing shoes."

You can imagine the horrified groans! Happily, this was a joke. We had all been selected for our voices. In addition, I was given the job of playing piano for rehearsals on the road, training all replacements, and directing the off-stage choruses. Wow! (Rodgers & Hammerstein even paid my dues into the local Musician's Union.) 

 

There is music in "The Sound of Music" that you never see in most scores—Medieval-style music in eight parts, sung in Latin. It is absolutely gorgeous, yet doesn't even appear in the recordings of "The Sound of Music." Anyway, we practiced that music, two to a part, until it was perfection, and then we recorded it in a special sound chamber to get an echo effect. This recording would open each show, accompanied by a pantomime of the novices in the Abbey going about their daily activities in front of the curtain.

 

Mechanics of a road trip:

It was customary for key crew and musicians to travel with the show. For example, Stage Manager, Lighting Technicians, Orchestra Conductor, first chairs of each section. All others—crew & musicians—were hired locally. (FYI, we traveled by train, each chorus member with her own roomette. Very posh.)

 

Our opening performance was a Saturday matinee in Detroit—at a grand old theater I now understand is derelict. Naturally, excitement was high. This was it. We were actually doing this. No peeking through the curtain, however. This was Broadway, not high school. But we were told the audience was teeming with families with children and a whole host of nuns. (This was back in the day when nuns were easily distinguished by their wimples.)

 

Our glorious 8-part Latin began to play; the novices wafted onto the stage, doing their pantomime. The music faded away; the girls disappeared into the wings. Sammy, our Stage Manager, gave the signal to open the curtain . . . Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. Sammy roared:  "God-dammit, open the curtain!"

 

And his words went out over the loud-speakers that were still open from broadcasting our ethereal 8-part, highly religious prelude to "The Sound of Music."

 

Oops.

 

The road trip was long and sometimes arduous, continuing for more than a year after I left to return to teaching (and not long after, into another new world, that of marriage and raising three children). But I'm pretty sure they never had another opening quite like our debut that afternoon in Detroit. 

 

~ * ~

 

 The featured book this week is my very first (though Tarleton's Wife was published first). All 144,000 words of it. I actually had an offer from a major NY publisher - if I would change the heroine's age. Incredibly, I refused. Just because she was too young for modern sensibilities didn't mean she was too young for a heroine in 1809! (A foolish mistake on my part. If I'd compromised, who knows what might have happened?) Shortly after, I was blessed by one of the early e-publishers being willing to accept both the length and a young heroine (by the end of the book she is 21). Eventually, I got my rights back, and The Sometime Bride went up on Amazon and the many affiliates of Smashwords (now Draft2Digital). After a quarter century, copies are still being sold each month.

 

 

 

 

A very young bride finds herself married to an enigmatic British spy "for her safety." And is plunged into a seven-year, highly personal view of the Peninsular War—ending, after years of blind devotion, in discovering a betrayal of her trust so immense she can only wonder: Is she the sometime bride of a man who never existed? A discarded mistress? Or a beloved wife whose only rival is her husband's expediency in a time of war?

Author's Note: In addition to being a saga of young lovers caught up in a war, The Sometime Bride is the history of the Peninsular War, Britain's fight against Napoleon in Portugal and Spain. The story moves from France's invasion of Portugal and British troops being driven into the sea at La Coruña to the return of British troops under General Sir Arthur Wellesley, the fortified lines at Torres Vedras, and the gradual push of French troops across Spain and back to France. Plus the chaotic times in Paris after Napoleon's surrender and the Emperor's triumph as he gathers up his old troops, only to be stopped in one of the most famous and bloody battles in history—Waterloo.

Reviews:

Reviewers Choice Award. "Sometimes a reviewer gets a book so powerful, it's hard to know where to begin to tell about it. The Sometime Bride is such a book. . . . Bride passes every criterion for a successful book that I was given as a reviewer. Ms Bancroft weaves a most unusual love story in among the threads of history that cover eight years. . . . I highly recommend both Tarleton's Wife and The Sometime Bride as companion books. They are totally independent, but together give a vastly enlightening and entertaining view of the period through use of wonderful characters and page-turner plots—definite keepers, both." Jane Bowers, Romance Communications

"The writing talent displayed by the author is wonderful . . . Ms. Bancroft's detail for historical events is phenomenal. . . ."
April Redmon, Romantic Times

Five Stars. "Set against the bloody Napoleonic wars, The Sometime Bride is ambitious, engrossing and absolutely wonderful."
Rickey R. Mallory, Affaire de Coeur

Five Stars. "The Sometime Bride by Blair Bancroft is a riveting and well-written story. . . . The tension between the hero and heroine sizzles. . . ." Janet Lane Walters, Scribes World

 

~ * ~

 

For a link to Blair's website, click here. 

 

Thanks for stopping by,

Grace (Blair Bancroft)       
 

---

Gallery - Veterans to Dancing Dolphins

 A startling variety of pics for this week's Gallery, from the return of an Honor Flight from Washington, DC, to Dolphin-dancing off Florida's Gulf Coast. 

What is an Honor Flight? you ask. There is a local group that flies elderly veterans—most from the Vietnam War—to see the Memorials in Washington, particularly the Vietnam Wall.

Our Cassidy has been in Police Explorers since before she joined the Air Force Junior ROTC and has been a faithful member in each, rising to commander of the Honor Guard, which met the return of the latest Honor Flight at Sanford International Airport. In the video below, you will also catch glimpses of her father (red shirt) taking photos of the event.

Cassidy, in front

For a link to the video of the Honor Flight vets returning to Sanford International, click here.

And yes, this is the same airport where Cassidy is continuing her flight training. As her high school years came to a close, her parents decided they should capture Cassidy in some Pilot Pin-up poses. (Is that expression still in our modern vocabulary? I grew up with "Pin-up" meaning a glamorous movie star pic that soldiers and sailors in WWII pinned to the walls beside their bunks to keep their spirits up.) Below, several Cassidy Pilot Pin-ups, using "her" plane as a backdrop.

 

If you're thinking this can't be the same girl as the leader of the Police Explorers Honor Guard . . . I, her grandmother for seventeen+ years, swear it really is. (Needless to say, her two older sisters are ready for all the hoopla to fade away.)

**********

My hairdresser operates her own business out of a building that rents individual cubicles with all the necessary equipment—chair, sink, storage, big window, etc. Which is why my hairdresser can bring her four-month-old puppy to work. Below, Bentley, whose soulful eyes I didn't quite manage to capture. Bentley is both charming and well-mannered, an enjoyable bonus to getting my hair cut.

 

And in a classic sunset finish, a photo from Florida's Gulf Coast, where I lived for 25 years before moving to Orlando to be near my daughter and the three grandgirls. 

Dolphins dancing off Ft. Meyers Beach

~ * ~

 I thought I should choose an intrepid heroine for this week's featured book, and Rogue's Destiny leaped to mind (even though I've featured it before). I based the heroine's father on my own 4 or 5-greats grandfather, Peter Demo*, which would make him Cassidy's umpteen-greats grandfather. And since he lived to be 112 and one of my mother's "greats" lived to a hundred (passing on about the time I entered high school), the family has oral history far more vivid than could be expected about someone who was a drummer boy for the French at the Battle of Quebec (September 13,1759).

*If you would like to know more about a man who lived a truly remarkable life, click here.. for "An Amazing Bit of Family History" (May 30,2015).

 

In previous books in the Regency Warrior series, Jack Harding has suffered a broken heart, a close brush with the hangman, and continued his uncertain history with females by letting yet another woman slip through his fingers—this time to his employer, Terence O'Rourke. It would appear Jack is never to know the joy of true love—until he meets a feisty young French Canadian heiress in need of a knight in shining armor. A role at which Jack excels.

WARNING: Although the story in Rogue's Destiny stands alone, it contains major spoilers for the previous books in the Regency Warrior series: The Sometime Bride, Tarleton's Wife, and O'Rourke's Heiress.

~ * ~

 

For a link to Blair's website, click here. 

 

Thanks for stopping by,

Grace (Blair Bancroft)       

 

Thoughts on Civil Disobedience

 [New Blog:  Saturday, May 18]

From the Orlando Sentinel, 4/28/24

The United States of America was founded on Civil Disobedience, which escalated from the Boston Tea Party to armed and rebellious militias, to the ride of Paul Revere, the formation of the Continental Army and, lo & behold, David was taking on Goliath, and though not winning quite so handily, persisting until the Brits decided their losses simply weren't worth the effort of subduing a bunch of rebellious colonies. (George III was likely too afflicted by madness to realize the enormity of this mistake. But, hey, France was a lot closer and an enemy for centuries—far better to commit Redcoats to that problem than worrying about a near-wilderness 5000 miles away.)

All of which illustrates that the U S of A has enormous tolerance for Civil Disobedience. I mean, we practically invented it. Since my earliest memories go back to WWII, I hasten to say there was not so much as a whiff of Civil Disobedience during that time. Patriotism was rampant, everyone pulling together to grind the "Axis" into dust. (Until, that is, the men came home, and many women found they didn't want to give-up their independence and well-paid jobs to return to nothing but cooking, cleaning, and babies.)

In the years that followed, however, the glow of WWII ideals grew dim, as my college classmates were drafted into the Korean War. (Huh? What are we DOING over there? Why did we found a United Nations after the war if it can't handle situations like this? Have we become Policeman to the World? Really?) And then came the gradually escalating Civil Rights movement and the Vietnam War. You could almost say that protests against both played tag with each other. And at long last, I learned the meaning of Civil Disobedience (strictly as an observer, I hasten to say) . 

For nearly twenty years after college, I was a member of a 16-voice all-professional choir at Temple Mishkan Israel in New Haven, CT. (One summer evening, I even got to be Cantor.) And during much of this time, the choir would sit up in the balcony during the sermon and wonder when "they" were coming to get us. Because Rabbi Bob Goldberg was gung-ho at the front of the Civil Rights movement, marching shoulder-to-shoulder with Martin Luther King and never hesitating to state his opinion on the subject. (Angering some of his congregation as they felt he was neglecting his duties to Mishkan Israel.) 

[As an aside, I should mention that Bob Goldberg was a friend of the author, Arthur Miller, and was the rabbi who taught Marilyn Monroe Judaism before her marriage to Miller.] 

I admit my days at Mishkan Israel, employed by a temple where the rabbi was on the FBI "watch list" was about as close to Civil Disobedience as I ever got. Though, unlike my opinion of the Vietnam protestors, Civil Rights for Black Americans was something I wholeheartedly supported.

In the midst of a growing Civil Rights movement, we plunged into a war in Vietnam. Raised to support our troops, I was horrified when protestors shouted, "Make Love, not War." Appalled at the denigration of our soldiers as they returned from months or years of unrelenting jungle warfare, only to be booed, spit upon. If I hadn't seen it on the TV news, I would not have believed it. One of the most shameful periods in American history. The war might have been questionable. The courage and patriotism of our troops were not!

What did the Civil Rights protests and the Vietnam protests have in common?

They were PEACEFUL protests, escalating to violence only when the police began swinging clubs. Peaceful protests almost everyone tolerated because that's who we are—a nation who fought for the right to speak freely, to express "the other side." But . . .

When Peaceful protests turn violent . . .

When the protestors' rhetoric advocates hatred for someone else's religion, ethnicity, gender-choice . . .

When "student" protests are led by outside agitators with agendas like White Supremacy or Twisted Politics . . .

When it's "Make Hate, Not Peace," it's time to take a long look at what is going on.

My Switch in Attitude:

When my son in New Haven called to tell me protests had begun at Yale, I thought, "Good!" Because I am truly shocked that Israel—with whom I have always had great sympathy—should adopt a policy of annihilation that smacks of Adolf Hitler and his genocidal cohorts. Let's face it—Netanyahu and his rabid Zionists have to go. But . . .

Today's campus protesters are promoting Intolerance and, yes, Hatred. And using VIOLENCE to make their point. I have no doubt there are many truly sincere students involved, justifiably protesting the Israeli army's scorched-earth policy in Gaza, but there are far too many outsiders "jumping on the bandwagon," encouraging—promoting—the protests far beyond the boundaries of Civil Disobedience. 

And yet . . . the Elephant in the Room crops up again . . .

THE BIG PROBLEM:  How to distinguish genuine peaceful protestors, appalled by the excesses of Israel's Zionists from the rabble-rousers who are using the protests to incite anti-Semitism and anti-anything else they might not like. 

I can only hope when it's Punishment Time, both colleges and police will find a way through the jungle of motivations, going easy on those who are protesting genocide and coming down hard on those who are there to incite riot, promote hate, or those making as much political hay as they can for their "any tactic, no matter how low" candidate for the Presidency.

Pay attention, folks. Don't take your eye off the ball. This is a moral battle with world-wide repercussions. And truly difficult to sort out. So condemn the protesters' violence, pray for Peace, and save a bit of admiration for the sincere protesters who are risking their college careers to point out it's way past time to draw a line in the sand and say:

Zionists and Hamas, lay down your weapons, give succor to the wounded, pray for the dead, start clearing the rubble, rebuilding lives along with buildings. An air dream? Pie in the sky? I hope not.

~ * ~

 This week's featured book has to be either The Lady Takes a Risk or The Making of Matthew Wolfe, as both feature scenes of protest. Hmm. Matthew Wolfe, I think—with the scene where Matthew first meets the dour war-amputee from The Lady Takes a Risk (and hero of The Abominable Major).

AUTHOR'S NOTE (from 2020). Welcome to a Regency series with a twist! Although the Matthew Wolfe books feature the adventures of a supposed nobody off the mean streets of London, they are designed for Covid relief—light, warm-hearted, even whimsical. Hopefully, by the time Matthew has found his Happily Ever After, our World will have righted itself and we will be well on our way back to normal. Meanwhile, here is the first in a three-book series of novellas told as an old-fashioned "serial," the first two books with cliff-hanger endings.

Matthew Wolfe, born and raised in the squalor of London's inner city, should be a nobody, forever destined to obscurity, or the hangman. But wait . . . he can read and write, is a whiz at math, can speak like a gentleman, even knows more than a bit of French. And when the boy from London ends up on a hops farm in Kent, surrounded by the remnants of the Royal 10th Hussars and a passel of children, what will this fish out of water do? Retired military and their ladies, children, dogs, a regal cat, neighbors in need, and a determined twelve-year-old—all assist Matthew on his journey toward the person he is meant to be.

~ * ~

 

For a link to Blair's website, click here. 

 

Thanks for stopping by,

Grace (Blair Bancroft)