Grove Park Inn: A Great Place, Summer or Winter

My husband and I discovered Grove Park Inn in Asheville, North Carolina many years ago.  Built entirely of stone, it was once a playground for presidents and celebrities. (Their portraits are displayed in the hotel’s hallways.)

Although we first visited the famed inn when a relative recommended it for their after Christmas buffet, we discovered there was so much more. From the lobby with its polished stone floors and enormous, six-foot high fireplaces, to endless hallways and hidden  sitting areas, we were blown away. It’s easy to get lost, even on the first floor, but it’s a great place in which to disappear. It’s also a good way to find gems such as a small waterfall isolated in a quiet spot.

After our initial trip there, we returned several times. One year we opted for an historic room. Instead of using the regular elevators, we were sent to a small one set into the stone wall and guarded by a steward. The old-timey compartment took us to the top floor, under the eaves. The whole room seemed to be carved from oak, and the thick furniture made me think a giant once lived there. We didn’t have the amount of space we were used to, but we did have a magnificent view of the mountains and part of Asheville through our tiny window. And, although it was interesting, we thought we’d rather stay   in one of their modern rooms during subsequent trips, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and all    of the updated amenities.

Something unique about Grove Park Inn is the Gingerbread Contest. It wasn’t well-known as the time, but a few years later I spied it on television, and it had become a really important national competition. Perhaps that’s one reason so many people started showing up during the Christmas holidays–and now it’s the place to be.

Orange Snow!

Watching big orange leaves fall from the trees in her schoolyard, Lucy begins wondering what it would be like if snow were orange. Her mother thinks it’s an unusual idea, but it’s not long before Lucy convinces her to play along, letting their imaginations take over as they discuss the pros and cons of orange snow. And when they arrive at home, they turn an ordinary day into something special!

By Dale S. Rogers

Illustrated by Valentina Esposito

Children’s Picture Book

Hardcover, 32 Pages

October 1, 2020 by Summers Island Press

http://www.SummersIslandPress.com

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Lucy likes to imagine things.

That’s what she was doing, one windy autumn day, waiting for Mom to pick her up from school. She was thinking how wonderful it would be if snow was… orange! And how fun it would be to play in. Just for pretend.

But do you ever wish pretend could be real?

Reviews

Perhaps inspired by the catchy tune, “The Best Things in Life are Free,” Southern writer Dale Rogers has demonstrated that finding joy in what may, at first appear to be the most mundane gifts of nature–often taken for granted, have the power to make us realize and truly treasure their priceless impact on our well being.

Dottie Ashley, former play critic and freelance writer

It’s a charming story involving one girl’s active imagination. What if snow was orange like the fall leaves? The illustrations are just gorgeous, plus there are activities in the back so you can create your own orange snow.                                     

L. Diane Wolfe, author & professional speaker

About the Author

A South Carolina native, Dale currently lives in North Carolina with her husband and three cats. With several family members involved in writing, Dale soon found herself drifting in that direction, eventually joining her high school newspaper staff. Continuing her interest in writing after graduating from Anderson College and the University of South Carolina, she penned articles and stories, as well as poetry, eventually starting a novel. Since then, she has written several novels, both for teens and adults. She also loves music and dance, and has participated in several musicals and even one movie.

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Summers Island Press Home of “mysteriously different books for children,” ages five through seventeen. www.summersislandpress.com

Using Addition or Subtraction for Correct Grammar

Grammar Problem?  Fix it With Addition and Subtraction

Grammar is complex, and it takes years to learn it correctly. But what if someone has to make a split-second decision and there’s no time to pull out grammar books for an in-depth study of the English language?  I know we’re talking about grammar, but the answer is addition and subtraction.

My mother taught English for years, and she expected her children to use proper grammar. We learned little tricks that make it simple to add pronouns to sentences. There’s no need to complicate or overcompensate. Simply think about how the sentence would be without the new pronoun. Just because one is added, that doesn’t mean the first one changes. Below are examples of the most common mistakes.

“Henry and I.”  “Henry and me.”  Which is it?  It depends on the sentence.

Some people think it’s always better to say “I” rather than “me,” when there are two pronouns in a sentence, but that’s not the case.  I’ve even heard people on television being admonished for saying, “Henry and me,” when it’s correct. The person is overcompensating while trying to avoid the slip-up, “That’s for me and Henry.”  No one says, “That’s for I,” so why would anyone say, “That’s for Henry and I?”  Without getting into subjects and direct objects, let’s simplify the process. Subtract “Henry” for a moment, and you have your answer: “me.”  “That’s for Henry and me.”

“Henry and I want to go.”  “Henry and me want to go.”

It’s pretty obvious that “I” is proper this time. You would say, “I want to go,” rather than, “Me want to go.”  In your mind, add what is understood.  “want to go.”  Who wants to go?  “Henry and I.”

“Him and I.”  “Him and me.”  “He and I.”

You wouldn’t say, “Him is going,” or “Me is going.”  It’s “He is going,” and “I am going.”  Who is going?  “He is.”  “I am.”  By adding the portion of the sentence that’s understood, you have your answer.  “He and I are going.”  “He and I.”

It’s unusual, but I actually heard someone say, “Henry and I’s tickets.”  It’s also not, “Mine and Henry’s tickets.”  You wouldn’t say, “Mine tickets.” It’s simply, “Henry’s and my tickets.”  Subtract Henry or the personal pronoun, and you have your answer.

So the next time you’re in doubt, add it in or leave it out.

~ Dale Rogers

Lighthouse on Tortola

A debut novel filled with suspense as Photojournalist Andra seeks to clear an innocent person’s name and find evidence against a wealthy adversary. But she isn’t isn’t expecting the biggest twist of all… falling in love.

When Andra goes to the British Virgin Island of Tortola on a magazine assignment, she never expects to become involved with a tour guide bent on revenge. Pulled into his world of intrigue, she must learn who she can and cannot trust while striving to prove the truth concerning the Ahoskie Diamond Necklace.

Review

As a reader who has been to the islands all over the Caribbean, I truly enjoyed the scenic trip back to those turquoise waters and happy trips. When Andra, the somewhat disgruntled photojournalist on assignment for a her not-so-nice boss, meets Michael, the owner of a start-up tour guide company, the match that we know was made in heaven, unfolds.

What I liked best about the story was the counterbalance of the tour of the Islands with the intrigue of Michael’s passion for restitution. Striving to outwit Roscoe, the villain who portrays far too close to reality the vile and insidious kind of human too many of us encounter in our lives, pitches Andra and Michael on the precipice of death.

The author built the tension to the very end of the story, keeping the action going and handing us a few twists that kept me reading in one sitting. Best, of course, was the underlying thematic structure that none of us get out of this life without God’s help/divine interventions.

-Catherine Lanigan,
Author Romancing the Stone/The Jewel of the Nile/The Shores of Indian Lake series/ANGEL WATCH Series-non-fiction. catherinelanigan.com

    From the author, Dale Rogers

Lighthouse on Tortola is the second book I’ve written about the Caribbean. I’ve been there twice with my husband and absolutely loved it. I knew I had to use it as the setting for my lighthouse drama. The small amount of research I did to add little tidbits of knowledge was a pleasure, and I hope it helped to make it an enjoyable read. Thanks so much for your interest in my book! I’m on Twitter @DaleSRogers, and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mocha.rogers.5

Available in both paperback and ebook at https://www.amazon.com/Lighthouse-Tortola-Dale-S-Rogers/dp/1946920940/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1590447358&sr=8-1

Also available on Barnes&Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lighthouse-on-tortola-dale-s-rogers/1137018798?ean=2940163791774

 

 

 

Does Everybody have a Twin?

Photo by John Nyberg, Free Images.

I used to hear that everybody has a twin somewhere in the world. Whether or not it’s true, my husband, Rick, and I have both seen ours. For me, it was on a barrier island in South Carolina when I was about ten or eleven. My family was staying there, and we’d pulled our car off the road for a few minutes. Before we took off again, a girl on a bike rode right past my window, and we  glanced, then stared at each other. I’d never seen anyone I thought looked like me, but I almost felt like I was looking in a mirror!

And I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Everyone in the car was amazed at the resemblance, and later on they talked about how the girl was looking at me. I’ve often wondered about my “twin.” Did she live at the beach, or was she on vacation? Does    she still look like me, now that we’re grown? Does she tell people she’s seen her twin?    I wish I knew.

Now on to Rick’s twin. After we’d been married about ten years, we were watching the Olympics on television when we noticed a man helping someone get ready    for the ski jump. When he turned so we could see his face, he looked just like Rick! Even his mannerisms and the way he moved were extremely similar to my husband’s. I hope the skier never realized the man was shaking  was head, which wouldn’t inspire confidence in anyone,  but that seemed like Rick too! We believe the man is German or Austrian, and I wonder about him, too.  I guess both instances were a part of the interesting things in life one never forgets.

Grove Park Inn: A Great Place, Summer or Winter

My husband and I discovered Grove Park Inn in Asheville, North Carolina many years ago.  Built entirely of stone, it was once a playground for presidents and celebrities. (Their portraits are displayed in the hotel’s hallways.)

Although we first visited the famed inn when a relative recommended it for their after Christmas buffet, we discovered there was so much more. From the lobby with its polished stone floors and enormous, six-foot high fireplaces, to endless hallways and hidden  sitting areas, we were blown away. It’s easy to get lost, even on the first floor, but it’s a great place in which to disappear. It’s also a good way to find gems such as a small waterfall isolated in a quiet spot.

After our initial trip there, we returned several times. One year we opted for an historic room. Instead of using the regular elevators, we were sent to a small one set into the stone wall and guarded by a steward. The old-timey compartment took us to the top floor, under the eaves. The whole room seemed to be carved from oak, and the thick furniture made me think a giant once lived there. We didn’t have the amount of space we were used to, but we did have a magnificent view of the mountains and part of Asheville through our tiny window. And, although it was interesting, we thought we’d rather stay   in one of their modern rooms during subsequent trips, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and all    of the updated amenities.

Something unique about Grove Park Inn is the Gingerbread Contest. It wasn’t well-known as the time, but a few years later I spied it on television, and it had become a really important national competition. Perhaps that’s one reason so many people started showing up during the Christmas holidays–and now it’s      the place to be.

Ski Trip or Comedy of Errors?

I’d wanted to go skiing ever since I saw “I Love Lucy” set at a ski resort, and I finally had my chance after Rick and I had been married several years. It was a five-hour drive from our home in South Carolina to Beech Mountain, North Carolina, and we could tell we were in unfamiliar territory as the terrain became hilly and patches of snow covered cow pastures.

When we finally reached our destination, car sick and exhausted, we discovered that our hotel was set in a curve of the main road running up the mountain, which meant traffic passed the lodge on both sides, practically encompassing it. We tried not to focus on this as we settled into our room, which included a sitting area and a kitchenette. With a treated log in the fireplace and heat strips running around the entire suite to make it extra warm, another perk of the establishment was free hot chocolate.

Needless to say, our first evening was cozy, sitting before the fire and tasting the best hot chocolate of our lives.  The electric heat was tremendous. I’m cold natured, but even I thought it was a little overwhelming, so we turned it down. The buildings in the area were well-heated in general, which surprised me. I guess everyone wants to warm up after a long day on the slopes.

The next day, we started preparations for our first ski adventure, not knowing it would take hours.  Snow fell at an alarming rate, and we heard that chains were required for anyone driving up Beech Mountain. We stopped at a ski shop to buy some, and they offered to put them on our tires. Thinking we could get our ski gear while we waited, we agreed, not realizing how long it would take, or that the woman at the shop couldn’t help us with our skis and other paraphernalia. By the time we purchased goggles and rented skis and all the clothing deemed necessary for our lesson, we’d spent a small fortune.    (We had coupons we could have used at a nicer shop farther up the mountain, but we needed chains to get there.)

Armed with everything a skier could possibly need, we started up Beech Mountain. The road hadn’t been cleared, so we slipped and slid, hoping we wouldn’t plunge to the bottom as we rounded unprotected curves.  When we finally made it to the ski area, trudging through the snow to sign up for a lesson, I was amazed at how comfortable I felt, despite the twelve degree reading on a thermometer.  (Those ski clothes really work!)

The snow still fell incessantly as we joined our instructors and other would-be skiers, so I wore goggles as I listened attentively to advice concerning turning around, slowing down, and stopping. The goggles seemed to throw off my balance as I struggled to maneuver brand new, slippery skis, and I suddenly slid to the ground without warning. At least it was a comfortable fall, since there was about  a foot of snow on the ground.

Next, we were told to follow our leaders down, then up a small incline to mechanical arms flying by, conveyor-belt style, waiting for each of us to grab one and be pulled up the hill. I was doing okay, but the young lady in front of me was barely moving. I didn’t want to seem rude by passing her, so I was forced to slow down, which made it difficult for me to get up the hill. By the time I reached the arms, I felt rushed, so I grabbed one before I was ready. (I should have paid attention to my instincts.) The monster flung me part of the way down the hill, wrenching my knee in the process. I didn’t want to go through that again, so one of the instructors, let’s call him Mike, walked with me to the top, and I prepared for the descent.

When my turn arrived, I took off, zooming down the hill like a pro. Maybe I should’ve been in a race, because I found it impossible to slow down as I approached an orange barrier. Plowing didn’t help. Nothing helped. Delving into the far reaches of my mind, I remembered the way Olympic skiers stop, so I tried their method, turning my skis to the side, hoping for an easy, complete stop. It worked, and Mike called out, “Good!”

I felt pleased with myself until I fell directly into a snowy drift. I tried to release my skis, but sprained my left thumb instead. Mike came to my rescue, but he had trouble with the lever too. He commented on how slick my skis were. These revelations made me feel better about having so many problems, but it’s frustrating that I didn’t have the equipment I needed in order to ski properly. I informed Mike that I’d had enough. With two injuries and a stinging sensation starting in my thumbs because of the frigid air, I just wanted to get warm and dry. I received my wish after Rick took his plunge down the hill, stopping the same way I did.

Arctic air continued to move into the area, and by the time we went to bed that night, the wind chill was well below zero.  The log we burned the night before hadn’t been replaced, and our free hot chocolate seemed lower in the cups the longer we stayed at the resort. We made the mistake of not turning the heat back up, and it really made a difference. About midnight, with windows to the parking lot just above my head, I was freezing in bed. I heard cars pulling in, then the screams of young girls  as they hurried to the building with sub-zero wind whipping around them.

All in all, it was an interesting trip to what seemed like another planet at times, or at least the top of the world. We had grown so accustomed to the snow, it seemed odd when we drove toward home and it disappeared. We hope to try another resort someday and use those goggles we bought.

Home For Christmas

Catherine Lanigan’s lovely romance, Home for Christmas, brings to mind decisions and regrets, as well as tragedy and second chances. And as we follow  the journey Joy Boston makes back to her hometown after the death of her grandfather, we get a sense of how difficult second-chance decisions can be.

Taking temporary leave of her career and fiance in New York and being reunited with her high school boyfriend, Adam Masterson, Joy is already experiencing mixed emotions, and striving to revive the old greenhouse her grandfather left her rekindles feelings, not only for Adam, but for other relationships in the community. As they work together to bring the greenhouse back to life, we’re given a good idea of how much work goes into preparing a business, and of how many varieties of poinsettias there are.

Lanigan always gets to the heart of the matter in her Indian Lake novels, and Home for Christmas is no exception as Joy and Adam consider their past, present, and future. It’s     a perfect read for the holidays, since it encompasses both Thanksgiving and Christmas.

What Does Thanksgiving Mean to You?

We all know what Thanksgiving is really about: Giving thanks. It’s easy to forget that as we make our plans to be with family and friends, eat a lot of turkey, and watch football. Some have even started calling it “Turkey Day.” But as we strive to remember what the day is for and how it began, we also focus on what it has become and the traditions that have been carried throughout the years.

When I was growing up, my whole family usually went to my grandmother’s house, and      I visited with aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, etc. And while many of my cousins are several years older than I am, I do have two who are close to my age: Beth and Anne.     A study in personality differences, they are four and six years younger than I am, respectively.

My brothers and I played with them in the back of the house, never knowing what Beth would come up with.  She’s one of the most energetic, ebullient people I’ve ever known. From bending a spoon while fighting with my younger brother over who picked it up first in a card game called “Spoons,” to announcing that the kids would put on a show for the others, then dancing about gleefully while the rest of us skulked in the background, she was far from shy, and always up to something. Her sister, Anne, however, is the polar opposite:  Sweet and quiet, never talking much or saying anything bad about anyone.

So many of my holiday memories center around them, since my older cousins weren’t that interested in “the children,” and a couple of them lived 1000 miles away in New York State.  (They were more personable, but I didn’t see them often).  My high school and college-age boy cousins always had a football game on, and during halftime the rest of us gathered around the television to watch the band and majorettes.

It seemed like we were there all day, and even though I had fun with Beth and Anne, and the food was good (I never did graduate from the breakfast room to the dining room), I felt restless at times. And while I don’t miss being held captive in that house  until everyone was exhausted and full, I do miss being with my extended family, and they’ll always have a special place in my heart.

What does Thanksgiving mean to you? Are there traditions and memories you hold dear?

November

November, November,                                                                                                                             I’ll always remember                                                                                                                               Your brown leaves down                                                                                                                       All over the ground.

Your overcast skies                                                                                                                             With the hawk that cries.                                                                                                                   Squirrels all a twirl,                                                                                                                          Their nuts soon to burrow.

November, November,                                                                                                                        So far from September,                                                                                                                     With short days spun                                                                                                                         For a long run.

With twilight near                                                                                                                               And holidays to cheer.                                                                                                                         Soon snowflakes fall                                                                                                                            To the wonder of all.

November, November,                                                                                                                        So close to December.                                                                                                                        With all that’s dear                                                                                                                              That time of the year.

With frosty air                                                                                                                                     And more to share.                                                                                                                               The end is near                                                                                                                                   For the old year.