The Value of a Third Grade Education

There is a time between completing the final manuscript of a book and the publishing of that manuscript where I traditionally enter into an author’s zone of self-doubt and anxiety. These days that zone sounds something like this.

”What if no one reads Money or Love?”

”What if they read Money or Love and hate it?”

”What if I never write another book that engages readers and earns reviews like Crown Hill or Beauty & Grace?”

That desolate territory is where I have been languishing for the last few weeks, until an email from my friend, Maureen Purcell, took me on a bit of a life review.

Maureen and I attended Mt St. Mary High School together many years ago. (That is Maureen behind the wheel and me in the backseat.) We recently reconnected via Facebook, yet our alumni friendship is not the place where the two of us most strongly intersect.

For that we have to go back to 1957 and Blessed Sacrament School, in the Town of Tonawanda. There, as a fresh-faced, uniformed, beanie-wearing third grader, I was taught by a funny, kind, and wise woman named Mrs. Dundon… Maureen’s mother.

Marion Dundon was the ultimate teacher, not because of her educational background or degree. Rather, because she was the mother of eight children, five girls and three boys. That experience provided her a full understanding that at the tender age of 6 or 7 years, each one of her third graders were in need of various levels of discipline and equally generous amounts of love.

While I cannot tell you one english, math or science principle I learned in Mrs. Dundon’s classroom, I clearly remember being treated as if I had value and learning that my little voice mattered.

That life lesson came back vividly when Maureen reached out to me after reading one of my Facebook posts on the challenges of producing an error-free book. Her reaction was a generous offer to proof read Money or Love, relying on the expertise she had developed in years of professional corporate writing/copywriting.

I was honored by her offer, but also uncomfortable about responding. There are few people I allow into my pre-publishing inner sanctum of writing and editing. Mostly it is about the amount of trust it takes to let someone read a manuscript to which I have devoted two or more years of my life and a great deal of my heart and soul. When I finally found the courage to explain to Maureen my author’s insecurity, she responded with a reply that is now indelibly inscribed in my being.

”It’s not about critiquing your work, it’s about lifting each other up. We will call it a tribute to my mom. She would be very proud of you.”

Those words took me right back to Mrs. Dundon’s third grade classroom and the lessons of self value and worth she taught me there. They also reminded me of the reasons that I write books…to tell the stories of life that I have experienced and witnessed, as only I can do.

Does that make me an Anne Lamott or an Glennon Doyle? Nope. It makes me a Christina M. Abt, of which there is only one. And, as Mrs. Dundon taught me, my voice matters.

Whether Money or Love becomes a best-seller that Hallmark turns into a movie or an unread door stop at the bottom of the pile, I love this book for the characters that define it and their stories they inspired me to create.

I based those stories on a variety of life experiences I have known or observed and told them with a passion for the telling that has defined me for as long as I can remember. At the end of the day, more than booksales or five-star reviews, that is the true measure of who I am as a storyteller and as an individual.

As I await Maureen’s copy edits, I do so wondering if she will like my latest book. And taking great comfort in the fact that, regardless, she believes her mother is proud of me.

Realizing My Writer's Dream

While I love storytelling and creating characters that touch people's hearts, there is something extra special about being in a room with real people and talking about books, writing, women, wisdom and life.

Today I was invited to speak to the Clarence Contemporary Club, a not for profit philanthropic women's club founded 53 years ago by members of The Clarence Welcome Wagon.

Currently numbering 60 members, these women have fundraised close to $400,000 dollars in support of area charitable and educational activities. Definitely an impressive group.

My assigned speaking topic for this group was based on my first book, Chicken Wing Wisdom. The women wanted to know to acquire it, how to live it and how to share it.

For an hour, I told stories of the 14 women in my book who took their innate senses of wisdom, combined them with food and changed their lives, our community and sometimes even the world.

I then suggested every individual at that luncheon was a CWW Woman, as they have given and continue to give of themselves and their time in volunteering to make a difference throughout Western New York.

Afterwards, the women and I visited as I signed their books and listened to stories they shared about themselves and their lives. Their conversations were so engaging that I was literally unaware that they were purchasing everyone of the thirty copies of my four books I'd brought with me.

Unfazed by my empty table, these supportive women then began placing orders for an additional seven books, with the agreement that I would deliver them by week's end. One kind lady even ordered an advance copy of my newest book, Money or Love, which I promised to hand-deliver when it publishes in May.

While to some authors, 37 books may be a relatively small sale, the support of these women today made me feel like a NY Times Best Selling Author.

Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "“Writing, at its best, is a lonely life." From my experience, there are days, weeks and even months when that statement is true. Yet today. my life as an author was as interactive and validating as any writing dream I ever imagined.

Thank you ladies of The Clarence Contemporary Club for reminding me that I am a writer of talent and a speaker of value. Sorry I didn't get a chance to take pictures with every table. Next time, I promise!

#chickenwingwisdom #crownhill #heartandsoul #beautyandgrace #moneyandlove

Families, Caring and Community

Saturday, December 7th was the last of three coat giveaways in the 24th Annual Colvin Cleaners Coats 4 Kids Campaign. As with the first two distributions (at the Knights of Columbus in Kenmore and the True Bethel Church on Buffalo’s east side), families in many forms came through the doors of the final giveaway held at Buffalo’s west side Belle Center.

Thanks to the generosity of the people of Western New York, The All State Foundation Coats 4 Kids sponsor and  support from WIVB-TV, Towne Square Media and Fidelis Care, everyone who entered the Belle Center in need of warm winter wear went home with freshly cleaned coats, hats, scarves and gloves.

 It’s a humbling experience to undertake a distribution of clothing that most consider a necessity, but many in our community cannot afford. That feeling is doubled during the holiday season, when numerous Western New York families struggle to put food on the table, no less have money for decorations or gifts for their children.

Yet for those on the receiving end of this campaign, their perspective is one of gratitude, as expressed by some of the individuals and families at the Belle Center who shared their stories
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NAOMI
Naomi is focused as she works her way through the racks and tables of winter wear displayed in the Belle Center gymnasium. Some of that focus has been ingrained through her responsibilities as the mother of four kids, ages 4 through 18. Some is due to the fact that she doesn’t feel well and wants to get done. She is searching for warm clothing that will not only protect her children, but that they will hopefully be willing to wear.

Browsing through a table of scarves she notes that she asked her oldest son to accompany her to help choose the family’s outerwear. His response was that he was too tired. Under her breath, she grumbles, “Yeah, I’m tired too.”

 This woman has lived a life that has made her tough. When asked about the pressures of the holidays, Naomi states she will tell her kids that these coats are their Christmas. Any other shopping is not going to happen on their family’s strict budget.

She also clearly declares that she is thankful for the opportunity to obtain the winter wear stacked in her arms and has no problem clothing her family at distributions such as this one. In quiet defiance she adds, “It would be more embarrassing to not have clothes for my children. We mothers do what we have to do and don’t worry about what others think. Other people’s opinions never paid my bills.”

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VANESSA, ILANYA AND ADONI
Vanessa spends hours at The Belle Center, searching through aisles of coats and tables of hats, mittens and scarves. She is thoughtful in her selections but faces challenges in keeping everything together, since throughout the process she carries her three-month old daughter, Ilanya, protectively in her arms.

Vanessa’s husband, Adoni, sits patiently nearby, acknowledging that the clothing his wife is selecting is essential to their surviving Buffalo’s wintry weather.

This family of three is newly arrived in Western New York, having journeyed from the African Republic of Congo. While they prefer not to have their picture taken, they are willing to share the ways in which they are striving to adapt to the local culture and build better lives than are available in their homeland.

They take turns explaining in halting phrases about their greatest obstacle. Adoni holds a master’s degree in Environmental Law from a French University that is not recognized in the United States. While this capable young man has secured gainful employment, it is not at the level or pay scale equal to his education. That reality is causing him to entertain thoughts of returning to the Congo in a year or so, while Vanessa steadfastly states her desire to stay.

She speaks reflectively of her gratitude for the opportunity to choose warm clothes for them all, acknowledging, “It has not been easy to pick up and just leave our homeland to follow the dream of a new life in America.

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DARLENE and GIANNI
One of the most active families at the distribution is one of the most engaging. This group doesn’t follow the practiced pattern of moving through the Belle Center in rank and file order. Rather the adult of the group, clothed in a mint green jacket and a furry white hat, stands like a beacon in the center of the room while six teenagers orbit around her with their selections of coats and scarves for approval or rejection.

Darlene is the woman in charge and the six teens are her grandchildren. She lives in South Buffalo and has custody of four of the grandkids and takes responsibility for the other two. As a woman on a limited income, she has come to the distribution because her grandchildren need winter clothes and she is grateful to be able to get them all good coats and warm gloves.

 In between conferring and ruling on her grandchildren’s selections, Darlene details the ways she manages her family’s situation. She tells her grandkids straight out that they are living on limited funds but makes sure they do a lot of volunteer work together, including caroling at nursing homes during the holidays. She wants them to know what real poverty looks like and to learn to be kind to others, no matter their lot in life.

The longer we chat the more her grandchildren clamor for Darlene’s attention. One in particular is the only girl in the family, Gianni. She’s 15 and attends Emerson Vocational, a name she and Darlene debate for several minutes as the proud grandmother determinedly defines it as a culinary and hospitality school.   

Gianni loves to cook and wants to work in the field. It’s a passion she’s inherited from her grandmother who nourishes her six growing teens with home cooked meals. When asked to describe her grandmother, the young girl beams as she reels off a list of adjectives, “…wonderful, amazing, loving,” the moment made perfect as Darlene leans into her granddaughter and bestows a sweet kiss on her cheek.

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As the final Coats 4 Kids distribution for 2019 winds down with families of all colors, shapes and sizes departing with warm clothes in hand, images of all who came through The Belle Center on this day, those who volunteered and the many who donated and sponsored blend together in providing extra ordinary examples of the meaning of family and caring in our community.

Fear, Courage and the Meaning of Art

"It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep.”― Author Clive Barker

In 2016 I embarked on a year-long interview project based on my dream of telling the stories of individuals who had valuable wisdoms for those of us willing to listen and learn.

Since I undertook this video storytelling journey in the year between my 64th an 65th birthdays, I titled the project 64 and More. While the focus was on others, it unexpectedly became my own storytelling odyssey as well.

The project took me across the United States, from New York to Portland, Florida to Michigan, and eventually to The Emerald Isle. The end result was 52 weeks of video stories, divided into Monday through Friday segments of five-to-twelve minutes in length.

I found my subjects in a variety of ways, often through the recommendations of family and friends as well as from complete strangers who heard of my project and wanted to help. One of those “recommenders” was my friend, Patti Huse, from Indianapolis. Patti and I connected 25 years ago through our common devotion to, and ownership of ,Morgan Horses. It was an instant bond that has kept us connected despite the 500 mile distance between our homes.

Early on in my 64 and More adventure Patti messaged that she had an interview suggestion for me. Excited to hear the recommendation of this well-educated, well-read, accomplished woman I immediately called her. Almost as immediately said no to the person she suggested.

My reaction had nothing to do with the person, a man from the Indianapolis area by the name of Frank Grunwald. Rather my negative response related to his story——that of a Holocaust survivor.

My reasoning for rejecting Patti’s suggestion came down to one simple reason. Fear.

I ‘d read The Diary of Anne Frank as an impressionable young girl of the same age. I found it terrifying to follow along Anne’s life path as she and her family stayed hidden away for years, trying to avoid being murdered at the rifle ends of the Nazis. Which, of course, ultimately was exactly what happened.

The lingering after effect of reading that book was that I never again went near anything related to the Holocaust. Yet now, here was one of my most valued friends suggesting I interview a man who lived but did not die at Auschwitz.

Knowing that through my 40- year journalist’s career, my interview process always resulted in my becoming intimately engaged with my subjects, I could not imagine the emotional turmoil this man’s stories would generate within me. Still, I felt an obligation to Patti to consider adding Frank Grunwald to my 64 and More list of interviewees. I told her I would think about it. Her reply was what ultimately inspired me to agree, “I think it would be an important interview for you.”

Frank Grunwald and I met at his home on Tuesday, March 16th—-a day that will forever stand out in my mind. As he welcomed me into his home, he led me to the living room and seated me in close proximity to a sculpture he’d created of a faceless female body. He explained that he’d dedicated the haunting artwork to his mother and brother who were herded to their deaths in the Auschwitz-Birkenau furnaces.

Amid that backdrop Frank and I shared four hours of our lives, interviewing about his family and the horrors of their concentration camp experiences. We talked, we laughed, our eyes welled with tears as Frank led me through his life beginning as a privileged child in Prague, to his family’s banishment to internment and concentration camps and ultimately his liberation by American Soldiers and a reuniting with his father.

At the end of our interview Frank and his lovely wife, Barbara, invited me to share lunch. Afterwards he gave me a tour of his artist’s studio where he had crafted the sculpture, along with other pieces of his artwork. One of those was an evocative drawing of a face, half in light, half in dark., titled, “The Survivor.”

Frank explained that his grandson has artistic talent. To encourage him, when ever he visits he brings art supplies and they draw together. One day as he and his grandson were creating, Frank said that he sketched this face. He continued that he didn’t know who it was, or why he drew it. He then asked my opinion.

Nervous to express myself, I took a deep breath and offered that it appeared to be someone conflicted between the dark and light….good and evil….of life. Emboldened, I added that perhaps it was a subconscious self portrait.

For a few moments, the two of us stood in silence, becoming immersed in the possibilities of the stark image. Then Frank turned to me and asked for my address. A bit startled, I hesitated until he explained that he had created a limited number of reproductions. He wanted to send one to me.

Recently, my grandaughter asked why I had this unusual work of art hanging in my living room. I told her my story about Frank Grunwald and the courage it took him to survive the Holocaust. I added that it also serves as a daily reminder for me to have the courage to do things that scare me, no matter how frightening they may seem.

And for that life wisdom and lesson I am forever grateful to Frank Grunwald and his art.

Kavinoky Theater To Kill A Mockingbird Review: All Rose

To Kill A Mockingbird is one of the most cherished books in modern literature. Since the publication of Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize winning tome, in 1960, it has been translated into close to 40 languages and continues to sell a million copies a year, worldwide.

It has also been adapted into an Academy Award winning movie and two plays, the latest of which was adapted by Oscar-winning screenwriter and Emmy-winning TV writer, Aaron Sorkin, currently onstage at New York City’s Shubert Theater.

The burden of that almost-six decades of reader devotion to Harper Lee’s novel, and the widespread acclaim for the current Broadway theater adaptation, is what the Kavinoky Theater now faces in staging one of the first regional productions of the Sorkin-based, To Kill A Mockingbird.

How do you follow and maintain that high level of success?

In the case of this respected Buffalo performance venue, they have called upon 40 years of experience in producing quality, live theater to put together a cast with the talent, a crew with the skills and a set to meet the Mockingbird challenge on their own terms.

As the set plays a key role in this production, let’s begin there. This play is set in 1935 in two main settings: a courtroom, and a neighborhood in the imaginary rural town of Maycomb, Alabama.

The personality of this town is key to the storyline. The audience needs to feel as if they are right in the midst of that neighborhood characterized by an oddball scary resident, a cranky old lady and her gardens, open land with places for kids to play and roam and a welcoming front porch swing connected to the home of town attorney, Atticus Finch and his children.

The audience needs to become intimately seated in that courtroom as jurors, taking in the drama of the trial as well as the actions and reactions of those within it. Thanks to the Kavinoky crew of Designer, David King, Carpenter Scott Richardson and Lighting Designer Brian Cavanaugh and their staff, all of that happens in clever and effective ways.

 With the stage set, the onus then falls on the cast tasked with bringing Harper Lee’s words to life. Kyle Loconti’s direction has ensured that task is well met and performed by each one of her actors.

The lead character of Atticus Finch is played by Chris Avery. This is a demanding role with lengthy passages, amid pages of dialogue, that he must make his own. Avery tackles the task with the thoughtful strength and sensitivity required of his character. He excels at delivering the rapid-fire dialogue commanded of those who inhabit Sorkin’s written world, portraying a fierce allegiance to his southern heritage, his fellow man and their rights.

While Sorkin realigned the role of Atticus’ tomboy daughter, Scout, from protagonist to more of an observer, this crucial Mockingbird character is still front and center in the production.

Actress Aleks Malejs seamlessly transports the audience along the timeline of Scout’s life as she transitions from a plot-revealing adult to an innocently tempestuous child. It is a thinly veiled incarnation of Harper Lee, herself, which Malejs achieves in a manner that makes the audience feel it’s her own, personal, narrative.

Scout’s childhood world is defined by her brother, Jem, and their summer visitor/next door neighbor, Charles Baker “Dill” Harris. The two characters are played by a rotating cast of actors, in this particular performance respectively being, Michael Seitz and Jacob Albarella. The duo serve as Scout’s corroborating guides through the Mockingbird story and both men excel at using their vocal and physical talents to transition the audience between memory and reality.

Two of the most compelling performances in this Kavinoky production are given by Patrick Moltane as Maycomb farmer, Bob Ewell and his daughter, Mayella, played by Robin Baun. Moltane uses every bit of his body in portraying the hateful anger and violent nature of his racist character. His physical appearance of unkempt hair and matted beard add to his menacing nature, expressed through aggressive motions and confrontational threats, as he accuses a Negro farmhand of raping his daughter.

Her father’s violent intensity controls Mayella and Baun portrays that intimidation to perfection. While her testimony of being raped by the accused Negro is convincing, it is her silent but compelling courtroom presence throughout the trial---eyes trained to look away, clenched fists glued to her lap, shoulders bent forward, awaiting punishment--- all silent signs that allow the audience to suspect the life of perverse abuse she has endured at the hands of her father.

The central character of the trial is the accused, Tom Robinson. In this role, Xavier Harris is perfection as he strikes a balance between the fear of a black man living in the segregated south and the compassion of one human being for another, in recognizing the bonds of slavery that define Mayella Ewell’s existence.

The conscience of the play comes in the character of Calpurnia, the housekeeper for the Finch Family. Actress Shanntina Moore breathes life into the character of this black woman who continually tweaks her employer about his unrealized prejudices by challenging his thoughts, words and actions.

David Lundy

The Kavinoky cast is rich in supporting performances as well. Peter Palmisano wears the mantle of a small-town judge with appropriate aplomb and just the right amount of humanity and humor. Ray Boucher rings true as the prosecutor audiences love to hate. Mary McMahon is perfection as Maycomb’s crabby and eccentric garden lady. 

David Lundy comes close to stealing the show as Maycomb’s town drunk, Link Dees, using physical affectations to portray the, undeserved, alcoholic title he wears, while exquisitely exposing the truth of his tortured life.

 One last note about the play’s costuming, created by Jessica Wegrzyn. The clothing designed for most every character in the cast not only portrays the era of this story but helps to define their personalities. The glaring misstep for this reviewer was with Scout.

The tradition of this character is a rough and tumble tomboy who willingly fights for whatever her heart demands. Historically that has translated into a child with a bowl haircut, wearing denim overhauls and sneakers. The madras plaid shirt, red leather belt, khaki slacks, sweet saddle shoes and trendy hairstyle of Ms. Malejs seemed the antithesis of that tomboy persona and, as a result, distracted from the sense of innocence needed to visually personify Scout.

The Kavinoky is one of an elite group of theaters across the United States to be given the rights to produce Aaron Sorkin’s’ adaption of To Kill A Mockingbird. It is an honor to which they have admirably achieved as evidenced by the audience reaction at the play’s end, in league with what has become the tagline for this play, in that all did rise.

Surprised and Grateful

As I settle into the rhythms of life at home, I have received two wonderful reminders of my Beauty & Grace Journey throughout South Dakota.

The first came from the Midwest State itself, in the form of a newspaper story about my Beaut & Grace presentation to The South Dakota Women's Prison Book Club.

The story was written by Del BartelsDel Bartels, a reporter for The Pierre Capital Journal Newspaper, published in the state capital of Pierre, SD.

Del's story appeared online the day after my September 30th prison book club presentation. I was thrilled and assumed the online exposure would be the full extent of the story's publication.

As the age-old saying goes...never assume.

My new SD friend, Vonnie Karlen Shields, sent this copy of The Pierre Capital Journal's October 2nd edition with a front page story and full color photo of the two of us and a turn to p.3 with the continued story alongside a photo of me with the outstanding SD Women's Prison Warden, Wanda Markland

Talk about surprised...and grateful to Vonnie and Warden Markland for making that presentation happen. And thanks to Del for sharing my Beauty & Grace experience with the Pierre Community and beyond.

Then yesterday, as I was attempting to catch up on 12 days of mail, errands and client work that accumulated in my absence, I stopped to see Jen Heaton Reisdorf, owner of @Bookworm Books in East Aurora.

Jen had messaged me that there had been a recent run on my books and she needed more. As we chatted about my South Dakota Book Festival trip, she noted the story in The East Aurora Advertiser as the catalyst for bringing people into the store to purchase Beauty & Grace.

Realizing the story must have published while I was away, Jen retrieved her office copy of the paper and opened to a half page story with two color photos.

Again, I was surprised and grateful for the recognition by my new hometown's newspaper. And for the book lovers in East Aurora for supporting my work and Jen Reisdorf's gem of a local bookstore in our community.

Good to go away. Good to come home.

A South Dakota Festival of Books Memento

October 6, 2019

It’s Sunday. The final day of the 2019 South Dakota Festival of Books. Many of the authors here are from the area. They arrived on Wednesday and will return back to their everyday lives later today.

As for me, I’ve been in South Dakota for ten fun-filled and adventurous days. It’s been an amazing, life-changing experience, but I’m ready to go home. Tomorrow morning, bright and early I'll be on my way—-back to my family, to new writing projects that await and to my own bed.

Yesterday’s festival was another tremendous opportunity to meet readers and sell my books. I spent most of the day at my author’s table chatting with those attending the festival.

Some wanted to share the book they are trying to write. Some wanted writing and publishing advice and are now going to send me their manuscript or rough draft.

The majority were interested in my work and when our conversations came to an end, I was continually thrilled and honored when they purchased one or more of my books.

I also donated some books—-one to the South Dakota State Library three to the South Dakota Women’s Prison. It’s one of my true pleasures to share my books with those who might not otherwise be able to read them.

Between the chatting and selling, I managed to attend two presentations by other authors (both about women’s sufferage efforts in South Dakota) and lead my own Beauty & Grace presentation before a wonderful audience of appreciative fans.

And I made time to wander through the exhibition hall for a project I’d planned as a festival memento.

I took a book festival poster and flipped it on to the white side and approached my fellow authors and asked for their autographs. While I wasn’t able to get to all 64 of the invited writers, those who did sign, filled my poster perfectly with signatures from basic to artistic.

My plan is to take this poster and frame it alongside the printed side of another.

Then, when I get home, I’m going to hang this South Dakota Festival of Books memento front-and-center in my office and use it as a reminder of what I have achieved in my author’s career in getting here….and all the places I have yet to go.

Finding Your Writer's Purpose

Seven months after a chance meeting with a woman at a Florida Beauty & Grace Presentation, followed by her sharing of my book with a friend in South Dakota, I experienced my first day as an invited author at the South Dakota Festival of Books.

As I found my assigned author table in the exhibition hall and arranged my display, I wondered if anyone would be interested in my books, or even want to purchase them, 1,300 miles from where I live and write?

In the same context, I reflected on the first of my two author presentations scheduled for later in the afternoon. I’d titled the presentation “Finding Your Writer’s Purpose.”

While I was sure of the value of what I would be offering, I had mentally prepared myself for an audience comprised solely of the South Dakota woman who had read Beauty & Grace and encouraged me to apply to the festival.

My first surprise of the day came as I was putting the finishing touches on my display. While I was two hours ahead of the official opening of the exhibition hall, a slow but steady stream of people started passing by.

Actually they did more than pass by. They stopped and chatted, wanting to know about my work. It was only a short time before one of those with whom I chatted returned and purchased two of my books.

At this point, it was time to head to the Deadwood Pubic Library for my presentation. The day was sunny and warm and the library close by, so I decided to walk. As I turned a corner to arrive at my destination, I was impressed by the iconic building before me.

Based on a nearby historic marker this library was one of more than 1,600 throughout the United States generously funded by the philanthropist, Andrew Carnegie.

Ground was broken on March 28, 1904 and the Greek Style Building was officially dedicated as the Deadwood Public Library on November 8, 1905.

Entering the library, I was completely caught off guard by the fact that two people were already seated, awaiting my presentation.

As the time drew near for me to begin, more people joined with those two until all the chairs were filled and more had to be added. By the time I started speaking there were over 40 people in the audience.

I asked if I could take their picture to show my kids that their mom was a famous author—-which explains the smiles you see in the photo of the front half of the audience.

From that point it was a fast-and-furious 45-minutes of encouraging those gathered to find their writer’s purpose, whether as a family historian, a blogger, a newspaper/magazine writer, a Pr/media consultant or an author.

The collective of men and women of all ages took notes, asked questions and were an incredibly supportive audience, for which I will be forever grateful.

Afterwards a few individuals approached for some one-on-one exchanges and then I returned to the exhibition hall for a group author book signing.

The hall was now officially open and filled with 65 authors, an assortment of vendors and crowds of book lovers.

For the next three hours I met people from across South Dakota and beyond. We chatted about the festival. They shared their book genre favorites. They asked about the topics of my four books. More often than not, they chose one to purchase. Some who attended my presentation stopped to thank me and bought books as well.

Finally, at 5pm, my first day as an author at a book festival came to an end. I was exhilerated and exhausted all at the same time.

I was also grateful that people who love to read now have my books in their hands, to experience the redemption and renewal of my Beauty & Grace characters, to become immersed in the spirit of my beloved Crown Hill Home and to share in my slice-of-life Heart & Soul newspaper columns and WBFO radio commentaries.

And to validate that I have found my own writer’s purpose.

A Whole New Definition

One thing I’ve learned in my short time in South Dakota is that things are defined differently here than back east in New York State.

I learned that lesson most pointedly during my 186-mile drive from the state capital of Pierre, located in the center of South Dakota, to Deadwood, set on the western-most border.

For the most part, the landscape along my drive was rural and open, dotted occasionally with round bales of hay, metal storage bins and cattle in the far off distance. It was only after a scenic detour that my vista changed.

After encouragment from people I’d met during my trip, I decided to break up my highway journey by taking the driving loop through the Badlands. This is a world-renown national park comprised of canyons, ravines, gullies, mesas, hoodoos and other such geologic  forms that have been formed and shaped by hundreds of years of eroding winds and rains. As it turned out, it was a hauntingly beautiful experience.

As I exited the Badlands, my truck’s GPS directed me along some roads far removed from the main Route 90 Highway. So far off, in fact, that I eventually found myself driving on a dirt road.

Now, as background, I am the daughter of farm woman, the granddaughter of a farm family from Wyoming County, NY. Dirt roads are nothing new to me. In fact, I was almost a teenager before my grandparent’s Curriers Road was earmarked for paving

Along with those dirt roads came my family’s farm tradition of crossing the cows. As implied, farmers often owned land on both sides of the road. To preserve the nutritional value of their pastures they would move their herd from one side to the other on a regular basis.

This process involved the farmer opening the pasture gates on both sides of the road and prodding and pushing the cows until the very last one crossed. In actuality, there were usually one or two leaders in the herd and where ever they went, the rest followed. So, after a few times, a “follow the leader” crossing process became pretty routine.

And that’s what ran through my mind as I got about two miles down this South Dakota dirt road and saw a cautionary “cow crossing” sign.

It was less than a mile before I saw a herd of black cows in the distance. However, no matter how hard I strained my eyes, there were a few things missing----like a farmer and some fences.

The closer I got to the oversized bovines the more I realized that in South Dakota, a cow crossing sign meant just that. Cows could be independently crossing the road at any time!

Like I said. I come from a family of farmers and traditionally would not be overly concerned about driving alongside some cows. However, I’d just spent five days motoring through national parks where the constant warning was to respect the animals that roam freely across their roads, or suffer the ravages of a damaged car….or worse!

Deciding to err on the side of caution, I stopped a good distance from the cows who were meandering from pasture to dirt road to pasture. Sometimes they went backwards, sometimes forwards, always at a pace that clearly indicated they had no concern about my presence in their rural landscape.

Finally it got to where there were only two cows left in the road. To be honest it almost seemed as if they were purposely toying with me to see just how long it would be before I tried to make a break and speed by them.

As the last of the herd took steps onto the green grass pasture, I slowly started inching past them, keeping a wary eye to ensure that none of them might decide to take dead aim at me and my red rental truck.

As it turned out, not a moo was mooed, not a charge was mounted. And I as cleared that last cow, we stared at each other for a long moment in which I breathed a deep sigh of relief…..by any definition of the term.

Pledging My Allegiance to South Dakota

The first half of my South Dakota Adventure has been a wondrous combination of events, places, culture, cuisine and people.

Now at the halfway point in my trip and with The 2019 South Dakota Festival of Books approaching, I decided to finish up my free time with a tour of the South Dakota Capital Building, located in the state capital of Pierre.

This gorgeous building was constructed between 1905-1910 with a large addition/annex added in 1932. It is a combination of Colonial Revival, Classical Revival and Renaissance Styles of construction.

The building contains four floors. The first defined by a massive entry area highlighted by four statues set into the walls. They are individually titled, Wisdom, Courage, Integrity, and Vision and were designed to embody four aspects that all South Dakotans share.

Within this area also stands a series of glass enclosed display cases. They pay homage to South Dakota's First Ladies in the form of miniature replicas showcasing the dresses worn by each woman to the state inaugural ball. Included are individual portraits photos as well as pictures of their families and other related mementos.

Completing the first floor are two hallway art galleries where portraits or all the state's governors and the supreme court justices are displayed and a Medal of Honor Hall recognizing South Dakota recepients.

The second floor houses the offices of Governor Kristi Noem​, and other state officials, along with a stunning rotunda area. The dome of the rotunda is 96-feet high. The bottom ring of the dome is designed to resemble a string of ribbons joined together, symbolizing the eternal nature of government.

The dome interior is decorated with sixteen images of the Tree of Life, acanthus leaves representing wisdom and a pasque flower, which is the state flower.

The third floor is the location for the House of Representatives and the Senate legisative offices and chambers, with the fourth floor providing galleries for pubic viewing of legislative sessions.

As impressive as the architecture of this building, the materials used to construct it are impeccable. Marble, brass and high quality woods fill each floor along with stained glass that elevate windows and transoms to works of art.

Then there are those special touches like curved masonry walls, hand stenciled ceilings and hallways, floors of marble, glass and concrete laid out in intricate designs, ornate water fountains, overstuffed leather furniture and a couple of old time phone booths, complete with phones, albeit non-functioning!

I spend over an hour wandering the capital building's hallowed halls. I found their beauty and sense of pride to be reflective of the spirit I'd encountered in the time I'd spent in the great state of South Dakota.

Inspired, I decided to stop into the governor's office and let her know.

As I approached the massive double door entry with a gleeming brass plaque reading, "Governor," I will admit to a bit of trepidation. After all, she is the highest government official in the state and I am only a visitor. Then I saw the second sign on her door.

"Please Walk In"

And that's just what i did.

Immediately I was greeted by one of Governor Noem's aides. Without pause, I shared my enthusiasm for the natural beauty of the state and the friendliness of the people. I went on to extol the state prison system, where the previous night I'd spent two plus hours with women inmates, and finished up with high praise for the beauty of the State Capitol Building.

By the time we were done chatting, the governor's aide had written down my name and my website and assured me that she would share my New Yorker's perspective Governor Noem.

As I departed from the building I felt good that the governor would start out her week getting at least one positive review of her work and her state.

I felt equally good in realizing that, despite being from a state 1,300 miles away, South Dakota is part of my nation. And within my allegiance to those united states, it was my citizen’s right to walk into in her office and say helllo.

A Book Club of Special Readers

Since publishing Beauty & Grace, I have shared my writer’s story with book clubs from Pennsylvania to Oregon, New York to Florida and states in between.

It’s been a meaningful journey, with moments from each gathering forever etched in my storyteller’s soul.

Here in South Dakota, my primary focus is the Festival of Books, which takes place later this week in Deadwood.

However, there has also been a book club on my schedule—-a group of 12 women I met last night for a Beauty & Grace discussion unlike any I have, or ever will, experience.

The club was started by a woman named, Vonnie Shields. This energetic lady holds a number of life titles including wife, mother, teacher, volunteer and community leader. She also is a book lover of the most extraodinary kind with a deep desire to share her literary passion.

That’s one of the reasons Vonnie was appointed Director of the South Dakota Humanities Council. It’s also why, fifteen years ago, she decided to start a book club at the South Dakota Women’s Prison.

When Vonnie emailed me that Beauty & Grace was the September women’s prison book club selection, she explained that the struggles of my book’s characters, locked away in an asylum, offered parallels to the lives of the women in the prison. She also felt Beauty & Grace’s redemptive storyline would resonate with the book club members and provide hope about their own lives and their futures.

From that email, I became dedicated and determined to take part in the club’s September book club discussion.

Five months of correspondence, pages of background checks and approval forms and a lot of finger crossing later, the wonderful warden, Wanda Markland, (pictured here) gave her approval for my attendance. Vonnie and I made a date—-September 30th, 6:30pm at the South Dakota Women’s Prison in Pierre.

What I never imagined was the excitement my presence at the book club would generate. From Warden Markland to the book club members, they made me feel like a rock star as I entered the impenetratable double door system and went behind the walls.

But, to be honest, I wasn’t sure of this Beauty & Grace presentation. What would these women want or need from me in talking about my book? What could I offer that would matter?

As it turned out, the women only wanted and needed to talk about the ways in which the book allowed them to escape within its pages. They talked openly about the similarities between the challenges faced by my characters and their own situations. They expanded the discussion to friendships they have developed in prison and the importance of the support they provide each other. As they spoke it was clear that Vonnie’s love of books had connected these women in ways that were essential to their well being and their dreams for the future.

An amazing two-and-half hours later, the women and I had extended our discussion beyond the club’s alloted time. Concluding the meeting, Vonnie announced the next book the women would be reading, I felt a pang of sadness, knowing these special readers would be moving on from Beauty & Grace to another author’s characters and storylines.

As the women gathered where Vonnie and I were seated to receive their October books, I heard a voice say the women had something for me. Turning toward the group, one of the women stepped forward and bowed as she presented me with a beautifully printed thank you card.

Giggling like school girls we savored the moment as my presenter explained each one of them had written to me in this card. They wanted me to know just how important it was that I took the time to come and share the Beauty & Grace journey with them.

Doing my best not to cry, I promised that I would read each note and savor the card as a special reminder of the time we shared.

As Vonnie continued to try and move us out the door, one of the women spoke the words we were all thinking “I don’t want this to be over..” To which I immediately added, “Yeah, it feels like we should get in our jammies and have a sleep over.”

Silly? Perhaps.

But it was as close to a “not-allowed-in-prison” hug as we could all share.

Volksmarch

So far my trip to South Dakota has been an amazing learning curve of people. history, culture and food. Today that learning curve taught me a new word—-Volksmarch.

According to the American Volkssport Association (who knew there was such a thing?!!) the meaning of the word is a walking event. Also termed, “volkswalk”. In Germany, these events were originally termed Volkswanderung - "volkswandering." and evolved into Volksmarch in the United States.

Though walking is the primary activity, the volkssporting movement also includes bicycling, swimming, cross-country skiing and snow-shoeing. Special provisions allow for people with disabilities to participate in most events.

Depending on the event, participants will walk a distance of 3.1, 6.2 or 12 miles or longer, on a pre-determined outdoor path or trail, with the aid of posted signs or markings, or a map and a set of written directions. Worldwide there are more than 7,500 Volkssporting events each year, with an estimated participation of 10,000,000 people.of all ages and abilities participate. 

I was completely unaware of Volksmarches until I met Jill Hendrix at the Custer State Park Buffalo Roundup and Arts Festival. The festival was the first stop along my South Dakota journey and I was immediately drawn to Jill’s Wyoming Silvers artisan booth for the gorgeous horse jewelry she creates.

Within minutes of my wandering through the displays of her work, Jill approached and we began to chat in a way that felt like we were best of friends. Before we were done, we’d bartered one of her beautiful necklaces for one of my Beauy & Grace Books and Jill invited me to go for a hike on Sunday.

When explaining the hike she said it was a local event in which she’d taken part once before and wanted to do again. She gave a name to the event that I’d never heard before but stuck in my mind as the Harry Potter “bad guy” Voldemort. Whatever. I was pleased to have connected with Jill and looked forward to sharing more time together.

Over the ensuing three days, as I met more South Dakotaians, whenever I mentioned this “Voldemort “hike, they immediately nodded in recognition, correcting my terminology to Volksmarch. They then continued to extol the significance of the hike linking it to a memorial they named as Crazy Horse.

It wasn’t long before I realized that this so-called hike was much more than a casual walk through the woods and decided it might be prudent to do some research.

What I discovered was that Jill’s hike is officially titled, The Bi-annual Crazy Horse Volksmarch. Started in 1985, it is a 6.2-mile woodlands ramble to the world's largest mountain carving in progress in the southern Black Hills of South Dakota. It is also is the most popular organized hike in the United States, with 15,000 walkers participating in their best year.

WOW!

With a bit of trepidation, I set off Sunday morning to meet Jill in the Crazy Horse Memorial Information Center. Despite the South Dakota Weather Forecast of sunny and warm, my early morning drive to the memorial was filled with clouds and rain.

My mood was one of tempered excitement as I wondered if this 6 mile walking hike would be a stretch for my body?

Passing through the admission gates (where the fee for the day was waived in exchange for a donation of canned goods) I followed the flag waving volunteers to the appointed event parking lot.

Following in a line of cars, I found myself rubbing my eyes to clear my vision as I thought I was seeing people on horseback directing drivers to their parking spaces.

A few feet closer and I realized it wasn’t the foggy morning or my eyesight playing tricks on me….there were women and men on horses moving from car-to-car as they guided them into their appropriate spaces. Clearly this was going to be a most interesting day.

Jill and I made out way to the registration area and waivered our rights to any injury claims the day continued to be dark and dreary.

I mentioned to Jill my wonder about the demanfrds of the hike and if I would be up to the challenge. She kindly encouraged me with assuances that I would be fine and then offered that we would take our time and stop, if and when needed, along the way. I appreciated her positive approach, despite railing against the thought of having to stop in the middle of thousands of hikers, like some old lady .

Setting out we joined in a group of hikers from across the United States. Men, women and children of all ages, shapes and physical abilities. Picking our way through the clearly-marked, wooded trail, Jill and I found a walking pace that suited us both, chatting as we went.

People passed us, we passed others. Some relied on walking sticks, some powered using their own strength. There was even a woman 8-months pregnant, hiking with an entourage of husband and family ready to deliver the baby if need be.

It wasn’t long before I realized that this hike was not about competition or even endurance. It was about the chance to prove to oneself that it was doable and to experience the wonder of standing within touching distance of the 640-foot high Crazy Horse Memorial.

And to answer your question, yes, Jill and I stopped along the way, multiple times. Yet we were far from alone. And as we sat to catch our breath at 6,000 feet above sea level, we chatted with others doing the same.

Two of those people were Ed and Brenda from Minneapolis, Minnesota. We met them as Brenda was waiting for Ed to get up from his boulder seat and start hiking.

As Ed rocked his body in motion to help him rise, I asked Brenda if I could help him? Smiling sweetly, she answered, “No. He’s fine.” And she was right. After a few forward and backs, Ed managed to pull himself up and start walking.

Jill and I partnered with the MInnesota couple for a while chatting about our lives and our communities. In the midst of our conversation Brenda shared that over the last three years Ed had lost 175 pounds.

She continued that part of his motivation was his lifelong dream to hike to the top of the Crazy Horse Memorial. I turned to Ed, who was making his way up the mountain one step at a time, and asked him about his weight loss and how he felt realizing this life dream. With a glow in his eyes, Ed told me about his measuring belt—-the belt he used to wear that now wraps around him one and a half times. He said he uses it to inspire others.

When at last Jill and I reached the top of the memorial, the sun had burned through the dreary clouds . Between my euphoria at completing the hike and standing next to the imposing head of Crazy Horse, my writer’s brain was in overdrive. There were so many stories to be told in this moment in time. Where to start?

Fortunately, Volksmarch organizers placed craftsman currently working on the memorial around the site to answer questions and provide information.

.To my amazement, one of those craftsman was at the top, actually standing outside the protective fencing, on the edge of the mountain. Armed with a barrel of questions I made my way over and fired away.

The young man said he has been on the project for the last three years. He is not a sculptor or a mason. Rather, he is someone who can follow the guidelines of the 3-d designs and CAD drawings of both the mountain and the sculpture as it was dreamed and designed in the 1940’s by Korczak Ziolkowski, a Polish-American designer and sculptor.

As he continued to describe the next stages of sculpting of Crazy Horse’s arm and the horse that will support the arm, I tried to imagine the time frame of such complex and demanding work.

Asking that question, the young man said the hope is that it will be done in another 50 years. The fact that I will not be alive to see that completion washed over me within the realization of the complexity of this project.

With my writer’s curiosity fully satisfied, Jill and I took our leave of Crazy Horse’s domain. The retun walk was a straight shot along a dirt and gravel driveway made to accomodate oversized drilling and digging equipment. Between our euphoria over reaching the top of the memorial and the downhill slope of our path, we only stopped once—-to shake out some stones that had become trapped in my sneaker.

Reaching the final descent area, we came upon an oversized sign.

The message was simple yet clearly reflected the spirit of Korczak Ziolkowski and the craftsmen who have and will continue to create this monument. And people like Ed whose lives have been changed by their desire to stand with Crazy Horse on his mountain.

And me, who through my writer's dream was invited to come to South Dakota for the Festival of Books and am enjoying that opportunity to the fullest by experiencing the wonders of this region...like the here-to-fore unknown Volksmarch at The Crazy Horse Memorial.

Someday, a half century from now, I dream that my grandchildren and great grandchildren will travel to South Dakota to witness the completion of The Crazy Horse Memorial in all its glory.

When they do, I hope they they will read this story and see this photo and know who they are and where they come from.

Pier NOT Pierre and Changing the Palate of a Community

After almost two full days of South Dakota adventures, I finally got to something related to my writing and books.

Saturday from 11am to 2pm, I enjoyed signing copies of Beauty & Grace at the charming Prairie Pages Booksellers. This independent book store is nestled into the Main Street of the City of Pierre, South Dakota’s state capital.

My hosts for the signing were Cassie and Sam, store employees and so much more. Both of these young women are passionate about books and their community and they welcomed me, along with all who entered the store, with a genuine warmth.

Throughout my signing I met booklovers who not only purchased copies of Beauty & Grace, but knew of me as an author. They also had heard that I would be speaking at the South Dakota Women’s Prison.

They expressed gratitude for my part in helping to make a difference for the women incarcerated there. It was pretty humbling to have a bit of renown in a city 1300 miles away from my hometown of Buffalo

Partway through my time at Prairie Pages, I dediced to broadcast a Facebook Live interview. Although Cassie and Sam were hesitant, it turned out to be a lot of fun….particuarly when we explored my inability to properly pronounce the name of their city.

While it is spelled, “Pierre,” in this part of the world South Dakotans pronounce it “Pier.” Check out the video for a first person view.

When my time for booksigning came to an end, I got back on the road to Rapid City. My plan was for some sightseeing fun before my author duties next week at the Women’s Prison and the Festival of Books.

Following Sam’s recommendation, I headed into downtown Rapid City for dinner at a place called Tally’s Silver Spoon.

As I made my way to the restaurant, I glanced in the long line of oversized windows that define its exterior. What I saw was an interesting juxtapostion of diner style booths and forrmica tables set with fine linens and glassware.

Stepping inside I was intrigued by a circular bar enhanced by overhead contemporary lighting. Sosphisticated seating of round tables with dark wood chairs surrounded the bar area, again set with fine linens.

With the restaurtant at full capacity, I slid over to the bar and found an available seat next to three gentlemen who clearly were friends. As I ordered a glass of wine and a pasta dinner, I caught snippets of conversation among the three that further led to me understand that they were Tallys regulars.

When my dinner was served, the gentleman next to me asked about my dinner. It only took a few exchanges for us to realize that we were both Irish.

From there we advanced to a first name basis ( his was Daniel) and began chatting as if we were old friends. Amid stories about our families and our communities Daniel also gave me a thumbnail history of Tallys.

He explained that before the new owner took over, it had been a diner—- a function it still filled during the day. Yet now at night, Tallys transforms into a fine dining restaurant with innovative cuisine such as Foie Gras of the Moment, Madako Cherry Shoyu Octupus Salad and Bison Maytag Marsala Mushroom Pasta.

As we finished our dinners, Daniel and I took a selfie and exchanged emails, pledging to stay in touch. He then introduced me to the gentleman next to him as his husband and the next man over as, Ben. We then spoke for a few momemts before the trio departed.

As I finished my glass of wine, the story of Tallys kept running through my mind. I wondered about the person who had the ability to envision a diner into such a unique restaurant . As the bartender passed, I asked if the owner was around. He cast a glance to where the three men had been sitting and replied, “I think so. His cell phone is still there on the bar.”

Within minutes the owner, Benjamin “Ben” Klinkel, returned to claim his phone. Without hesitation I began asking questions that led him through his career, begining with dishwashing duties in his grandfather’s restaurant at the age of 6, through culinary school in Oregon where he made a connection with Anthony Bourdain that resulted in a mentorship with a world famous chef.

The end result of that chain of experiences brought Ben home to Rapid City where he is now the owner and executive chef of two successful restaurants. It’s a demanding career that this determined young man describes as “a responsibility” to create food in his community that allows people to learn that dinner can be more than a baked potato and a steak.

Before I left, I asked if I could take his picture outside of one of those former diner windows. In the dark of the night, with the backdrop of his staff and a full house of patrons, Ben patiently posed while I tried to capture all that I’d learned about Tallys and its owner in one snapshot. Somehow, I’m pretty sure we got it done.

Fourteen Days to The 2019 South Dakota Festival of Books: Day 14

I did it. I arrived with my overstuffed suitcase in tact, ready, willing and able to begin my ten days of book presentations, signings and related events. But before my author adventures, there was a South Dakota tradition I wanted to experience, one custom-made for a Buffalo gal.

Fifty four years ago, the State of South Dakota decided to undertake a yearly roundup of the buffalos in Custer State Park. Their purpose was to medically treat the herd for the highly contagious Brucellosis disease, which threatened their continued existence.

Today, that practice is still in effect for medical reasons as well as a way to maintain a balance between the bison and the available forage in the park. It also has become one of the great tourist attractions for the state, drawing over 14,000 people from around the world to what has become a buffalo roundup and arts festival.

When I realized I would be in South Dakota on the date of this year’s roundup, I made a plan to not only attend, but to be there as an “official” reporter. I was determined to get up-close-and-personal to these impressive animals for which my hometown is named. Retreiving my media credentials at the park and following the advice of the roundup organizers, I set my alarm for 4:30am and went to sleep dreaming of thundering herds.

The thing about South Dakota is that their roads wind through gorgeous landscapes, often at perilious angles.

As I began my 45- minute drive to the park in the black of the early morning, those curves, coupled with the unreliability of my GPS in the mountainous terrain, kept me on the edge of my driver’s seat.

It was only as I came upon another driver, who I prayed was headed to the same destination, that I realized I hadn’t been breathing!

As our mini caravan continued on in the darkness, we slowly began to gather more adventurous travelers snaking our way along the two lane roads.

When the sign for Custer State Park finally appeared, I felt the blood return to my fingers that had been gripping the car’s steering wheel for almost an hour.

Glancing at my car’s clock, I saw it was 5:55. Officlally I was 20 minutes earlier than the suggested time to arrive in order to avoid a long line of traffic coming in to the park.

At 5:58am, everyone in my caravan came to a halt as we drove over a rise in a hill to the sight of cars as far as we could see.

It took until 7:15 am before we were finally directed into the west viewing area parking lot, settling in among cars with licence plates from throughout the United States. Energy and excitement filled the early morning air as people of all ages made their way to the feed tent for the roundup’s traditional pancake breakfast.

I chose to skip the pancakes and instead headed directly to my exclusive reporting vantage. I was anxious to get a good spot and to chat up my fellow journalists, whom I’d been told were an international group. Feeling priviliged with my official purple media credentials around my neck, I followed a roundup official’s vague directions to go beyond the feed tent and down the hill. Once again, South Dakota gives a whole new meaning to certain terms…one of them being “hill.”

As I approached the cliff between me and my reporter’s assigned spot, visions of movie scenes where the heroine tumbles and rolls down a rocky mountainside came to mind.

The fact that thousands of people were comfortably settled in their chairs at the top fo the cliff, ready to monitor my descent did nothing to enhance my confidence.

For the sake of storytelling brevity and my pride, let’s just say I made it down the hill without tumbling (one small slip doesn’t count) and took my place along a fenceline of camera-toting, lens-loaded journalists.

Considering the early hour and the time most had arisen to arrive, pretty much everyone along the fence was in a state of sleep, or at least semi-consciousness. Except, of course, for me, who was so excited to be there and share the story of the day with all of you….NOT.

Once again the same mountains that interferred with my GPS made live broadcasting impossible. Undaunted, I recorded a few videos to post later and then began looking around, trying to figure out how to occupy myself until the estimated arrival of the buffalos——some two hours later.

Thankfully, a gentlemen claimed a spot alongside me on the fence. He was a 70-something retired research scientist, presently living in Texas, but truly a citizen of the world.

For the next two hours we shared stories of our lives. His involved residencey in six different states and travel to all 50, along with adventures in every continent of the world. He focus at the roundup was to capture that “one” photo that would satiate his photography hobby/passion.

We whiled away the time until at last we heard the far-off sound of what roundup veterans around us assured us was the approaching herd.

Word spread through the gathered crowds like an electric energy as people started standing and trying to spot any sign of the buffalo’s approach.

Then the moment came. With a “there they are,” shouted out from the hill, the first brown dots began appearing on the far off landscape.

Within minutes the thousand plus buffalo were wrangled by horses and their riders along with pickup trucks and their drivers across and down the rolling hills into a fenced off area leading to pens. Everyone who had waited hours to witness this roiundup cheered and clapped in respectful awe.

Riding alongside the herd was a trio of flagholders on horseback. The American flag led the way followed by the South Dakota State Flag and a POW flag—an inspiring sight that brought another round of applause from the audiences on both sides of the viewing areas. And for a few moments the Buffalo grazed while the horses, riders, trucks and drivers got into position to drive the buffalos into the waiting pens.

The lull in the action didn’t diminsh the crowd’s appreciation for the majesty of these animals that are a part of our nation’s history and heritage. It was almost magical to be separated only by wood and wire while observing them.

But suddenly our shared reverie was disconnected as riders commanded their horses to begin moving the herd. Slowly edges of the gathered animals started moving forwarded as mandated. Conversation among all gathered began to ripple as the energy of the brown furry beasts transferred through us. Then the eternal power struggle of man v. beast played out before our very eyes as the buffalo took control of the roundup to the delight of every person watching.

It was surely a South Dakota Roundup adventure custsom made for this Buffalo Gal.

Fourteen Days to The 2019 South Dakota Festival of Books Day 13

Today I took flight to South Dakota for the beginning of a number of adventures, some planned and…. as I was about to discover….some complete surprises.

In the planned department, after landing at the Rapid City Airport, I drove to Custer State Park, located in the Black Hills. This is South Dakota's largest and first state park, named after Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer.

My purpose for this stop was two-fold. First, to pick up my media credentials for the park’s Buffalo Roundup happening the next day, and which I am going to attend and write about. Second, I wanted to explore the art festival that partners with the roundup as an annual park tourist attraction.

The festival is defined by rows of white tents housing artisans who craft paintings, jewelry, candles, metal work and sculptures, wood carvings and furniture, stained glass, pottery, paper art, leather goods and felt and knit handiwork .

It’s a laid back atmosphere with country and folk music drifting across the grounds from live performances happening throughtout the festival.

Also as you miight expect at the Buffalo Roundup and Art Festival, there are Buffalos for sale, of every shape and forml to take home as mementos.

I had a great time wandering the festival grounds, admiring the wide-ranging artists and chatting with them about their crafts.

Invariably, our chats evolved into a give-and-take that ended in conversation about my part in the South Dakota Festival of Books. Our creative passions immediately became common bonds that allowed us to engage on very personal levels.

After working my way through the festival grounds, there was one particular artist to whose tent I returned. It was filled with hand crafted glass jewelry, each piece more beautiful then the next.

When I first stopped at the tent I lingered long enough over a display of horse jewelry that the owner wandered over. Introducing herself as Jill, owner of Wyoming Silvers, she explanined the technique she used in creating the gorgeous jewelry—-more out of pride in her artistry than trying to make a sale. I told her about the horses my family once owned and from there we were trading stories like old friends.

When we got to conversation about my book, Jill gave me one of her business cards with her address.. She said she wanted to buy a copy of Beauty & Grace and asked that I mail it to her. I told her I wanted to buy some of her jewelry and suggested we work out a book-for-jewelry trade. Without hesitating, she agreed.

As we finished the details of our big business transaction, we began talking about our plans for the remainder of the weekend. Jill said she was going to the Volksmarch at the Crazy Horse Memorial, a mountain monument under construction on privately held land in Custer County that one day will depict the Oglala Lakota Warrior, Crazy Horse. She explained it as an annual 5-mile hike up to the arm area of the unfinished sculpture. She’d done it once before and thought I would enjoy it.

u

This is where the first surprising adventure of my South Dakota trip comes in.

Jill then asked if I wanted to go on the hike together. Without hesitating, I agreed.

So early Sunday morning a jeweler and a writer will share an adventure based on a conversation about their passions and the immediate bond that conversation created.

And so my South Dakota adventure begins….

Fourteen Days to The 2019 South Dakota Festival of Books Day 12

It’s nitty gritty time for packing as I leave for South Dakota bright and early tomorrow morning.

While I have my clothes, shoes and accessories ready to go, I’m still working on the odds n ends—-things I use everyday at home and would be lost without on the road. One of the prime items in that category is my jewelry.

I realize that to most jewelry is an accessory. To me it is a marker, a reminder, a memento of meaningful people and places in my life.

A few pieces of my jewelry fall into the family heirloom category, but most of my earrings, rings, neclaces and bracelets are costume pieces purchased at a special event, while traveling, or given from someone with love.

While packing my jewelry for this trip, I realized that I have pieces directly related to my writing and my books. When it comes to Beauty & Grace, I am honored to own a beautiful handmade pearl bracelet. It was given to me by a woman who has become one of the most stalwart supporters of my writing work. She is also someone I have only met in the online world of Facebook.

Her name is Sylvia and she now lives in California, but we share the pride of having both called Eden, NY our hometown. In fact, that’s how we connected on Facebook a few years back.

From there it’s been a gradual evolution to where we message and email regularly, sharing our challenges and celebrating our successes. And in Sylvia’s case, praising my work and recommending it to others.

It’s a joy being a writer, but it’s solitary, sometimes lonely and often nerve-wracking as you struggle to imagine, dream and craft words into stories and books people may never read, no less enjoy.. That’s where Sylvia’s bracelet comes in.

I expressed my writer’s insecurities to Sylvia one day. In return, she offered words of kindness and comfort . A bit later she followed-up with a message that our conversation caused her worry. As a result she was sending something that she’d made for me and I was to watch for it.

A few days later, as promised, a package arrived from my Facebook friend. When opened, it revealed a glowing pearl and silver bracelet. It was only on closer examination that I saw a charm attached with a seven letter word of encouragement.

“believe”

Like I said, it’s nitty gritty packing time. No doubt, despite my best intentions I will leave something at home that I wanted to bring—-but it won’s be my Facebook friend Sylvia’s bracelet. That bracelet will be on my wrist for all 11 days of my journey, evidence not only of Sylvia’s friendship and abiding belief in me as an accomplished author, but a reminder that I need to believe in myself that way as well.