When you're brain-weary ...

What do you do when you're brain-weary? You know the feeling: you're sleeping enough at night; your daily workouts, if you have them at all, aren't enough to wear you out; still, because of the mental work you're trying to do, you feel exhausted, and it isn't even bedtime yet.

I realized I must have hit that brain-weary, unable-to-think-anymore level recently when I found myself watching a TV documentary about the development of kittens. Not that kittens aren't fascinating, but I had a mound of work stacked up, just waiting for me to get to it, and I was watching kittens.


Somewhere between the four-week-old silver tabbies and the seven-week pure-bred Bengals, I got the hint. I could almost hear the TV whispering to me: Susan, your brain has done enough work for the day. You're done. Give up and enjoy the kittens. Feeling guilty about the work that still needed to be done, I kept trying to push myself to get busy again, but when the brain has gone on strike, well, it's kittens for me.

One of our sons, a mildly crazy entrepreneur who will one day be worth multiple millions, simply because he won't take no for an answer, has hit brain-weary regularly of late. When he just about lost it at work one day, his staff suggested he visit his doctor, just to be sure he's okay. The doctor's prescription: an evening of The Simpsons or Laverne and Shirley reruns. He said, "Give your brain a rest. Do something mindless for a while." Yes, The Simpsons or the L&S reruns may be adequately mindless, and maybe even fun, but the kittens are definitely cuter.

Besides, I love cats, but having recently lost the brother-sister pair we had for 14 and 16 years (the calico is my friend, Koi), and not yet feeling ready to watch real cats play in my home again, I get my kitten-fix from a TV documentary. For someone not yet prepared to bring another kitten home, watching them on TV is clearly safer than visiting the local animal shelter, just for a kitten fix.


So what do you do when you're brain-weary? And do you need a doctor's prescription to keep you from feeling guilty when you settle down to let the brain wander aimlessly for a while? I'd love to hear your answers.

The Pacific Flyway

California grows rice, about two million metric tons of it each year, and 95% of that is grown in the Sacramento Valley. Those of us who live in the valley become accustomed to the rhythms of the rice season, planting to harvest.ea


We are also firmly in the Pacific Flyway. Between our location and the flooded rice paddies, we are visited by many kinds of water fowl each winnter. December is a great time for swans, gray geese, coots, and a few ducks. We found some of them enjoying our home country this past week.

These birds were feeding in fields near Richvale, California, with the Sutter Buttes in the background. Fun fact: the Buttes constitute the smallest mountain range in the world.

Our avian visitors are always welcome. They'll soon be followed by Snow geese, Ross geese, and varied species of ducks. We're happy to share our valley with them all.


Look for the first three books in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, available for pre-order now. All three are due to be released on January 6. The fourth book will follow later in January. In order, the four are: Paris in the Springtime, Sunny's Summer, Amber in Autumn, and Winter Skye. Hope you enjoy! 

A day to remember

As I write this post, on Friday, Nov. 8, I'm doing a great deal of remembering. First, I'm thinking of my dad.

Anthen Hugh Hubbard was born on November 8, 1922. If he were still with us today, he'd be 97 years old. I feel blessed that I had him until seven years ago. My children, all adults now, remember him as one of the kindest, best people they ever knew. To me, he was Dad. His unconditional love carried me through all kinds of childhood and teenage crises, and strengthened me when the more serious adult challenges came. I always knew I could turn to Dad and he'd be there. I miss him.

The other memory associated with today is harder. It's also much more raw. Missing my dad can bring me to tears, but thinking about a year ago today is a whole other ball game. A year ago today, the most destructive and deadly wildfire in the history of California galloped through the county where I live. It wiped out the towns of Concow and Paradise, left 50,000 people displaced, and changed our county forever.

Many of our friends lost their homes and all their possessions. Some lost loved pets, a few lost relatives, friends or neighbors. 85 people lost their lives. The impact wasn't so great in my town. Although the fire burned within five miles of our home and threatened us with evacuation warnings, we were spared the flames. We were not spared all of the shock and horror. There's a hymn frequently sung in my church. The third verse begins:



     When dark clouds of trouble hang o'er us, and threaten our peace to destroy,
     There is hope smiling brightly before us, and we know that deliverance is nigh.

I can't sing it without tears. Any time I think of dark clouds of trouble, I remember stepping outside my home last November 8 and watching the black smoke, thousands of feet high, rolling toward us at 50 miles per hour, blown by the same winds that fanned the voracious flames. We lived in hazard masks for three weeks, doing our best to render aid to others while we all worked through shock.

My book, Sunny's Summer, the second book in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, works with characters who experienced that day as so many did. It takes place in the aftermath of the Camp Fire. In it, I've tried to give others the visceral sense of what that first day was like, and what the past year has been like for everyone who experienced it, each of us in different ways. Maybe, for me, it was a form of therapy, or working through the enormity of it all.

People here are recovering. Folks wear t-shirts that proclaim they are #ButteStrong or #ParadiseStrong. The first game of the Paradise High School football team this fall saw the stands overflowing with people who were moving back, or had sworn that one day, they will. Still, every community in Butte County has felt the impact, and nothing will be the same again.

Paradise may indeed rebuild, but it will take ten years before it begins to look like Paradise, and probably 30 years before the population numbers return. The population once here will not return, as displaced people scattered across the map, taking root elsewhere. Speaking of roots, most of the beautiful trees that did not burn died because of the toxins in the air and soil. The forest that went with the town may not fully regrow for a century or longer.

While November 8 means little to the people of the world, for me it's a private memorial day as I think of my dad. To the people of Butte County, it's a day that will live forever in memory, a memory we hope to make happier as life goes on.

Taking my cue from the sun

We're going solar. Again. The first set of panels, put up a few years back, have cut our energy bills so remarkably that, when we were given the chance to put more panels on our roof, we jumped for it.

We've been pleased with the solar company we chose. (Contact me privately if you'd like to know which one.) They own and service the panels, we generate power which we sell to the public utility, and we buy back power from the solar folks. So far, it's reduced most months' bills to a quarter of what they used to be, and the contract we have cost us nothing down.

Our public utility here in northern California has become something of a curse-word since the devastating fires a year ago. The fact that they're cutting power to households all over the state even as I write has not endeared them to any of us. My daughter put that whole question into perspective: "They say they want to avoid wildfires, so they have 900,000 households using candles." Uh-huh. It makes about that much sense to most of us.
 

There's no way to escape said public utility, but by becoming "co-gens" (makers of electric power), we feel we are fighting back, if only in a small way.

The first step in getting the new panels was some electrical rewiring. That happened last week. Abraham and Jesse were here for most of one day and they did a fantastic job. Soon the second crew will arrive and a bunch of healthy young people will crawl around on our roof, making said roof increase its usefulness and reducing the depth to which the utility company can reach when sinking its hand into our pockets.

It's one small step for humankind. I'm eager to take it.

Susan loves to hear from readers. Write her at susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or visit www.susanaylworth.com or her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming early next year. Books 1 and 2, Paris in the Springtime and  Sunny's Summer are available in e-book and paperback formats. Winter Skye will follow soon. Who knows? Stay in touch for updates. 

Not my fave

Everybody has a favorite holiday, and most of us have at least one that we'd rather do without. I feel that way about Halloween.

I didn't when I was a kid. I can remember some of the fun costumes I wore. (Yes, kids, we wore costumes even in the dawn of time.) In those days, moms still handed out homemade popcorn balls, cupcakes and candy. The idea that we'd give out only store-bought candy with each piece individually wrapped, goodies parents could feel secure about letting their kids eat, hadn't occurred to any of us.

Maybe that's part of what's soured me on the occasion. As the years pass, it seems Halloween becomes increasingly focused on the dark side. Parents have to walk the streets with their children even in their own neighborhoods, just to be certain they'll be safe. My husband, a photo-journalist, shot pictures of some of the cute kids at our door one year and ended up explaining that to the police. Suspicions are high--for good reason. No one dares bite into an apple taken from a stranger any longer. We've learned we can't trust each other.

I still enjoy seeing the kids dress up, especially when there's cleverness to their choices like the twins who came as Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr. Seuss, or the time my daughter's whole family dressed as characters from The Wizard of Oz. The cowardly lion was adorable!  One favorite was when our son and his family did a redux of one favorite video game.

Still, among the princesses and pirates who grace our doorway, I see too many zombies, blood-covered walking corpses, or hockey-masked serial killers. The emphasis on the violent and gruesome wrings out the joy and the innocent childhood delight.

Okay, I'm a stick-in-the-mud, but I find that from one year to the next, I dread the coming of October 31. My husband has suggested that this year, we take the advice of one candy commercial: stock up on plenty of goodies, then turn off the lights, sit in the dark, and eat it all ourselves. There's an appeal to that, but I do see potential down sides, especially the next time the doctor asks me to weigh in.

I've been thinking that, instead of bingeing, I might look for somewhere else to be. Does anyone know of a great place for a stick-in-the-mud to hide out this Thursday? I'll bring candy.

Fringe benefits

The writers' conference I attended a week ago met in Gilbert, Arizona, in the Phoenix metro. I was born in the bordering city of Mesa and lived there until I was nearly 12. After my family moved north into Navajo country, we continued to visit Mesa several times a year to see grandparents and other relatives and to take care of the kind of business we couldn't do in Navajo County.

My two remaining uncles, my dad's younger brothers, and my husband's one aunt, his mother's sister, all live within 12 miles of the conference center. Seeing family again became a fringe benefit of attending this particular conference. It's a bonus gift I will always treasure.

My Uncle Gary still lives with his wife, Aunt Lynn, in the home I remember from girlhood. Neither of them is in excellent health, but--considering they're in their late 80s--they're doing rather well.

Uncle Harold, who just celebrated his 90th birthday, may be doing even better. He lives in a home he bought a few years ago, on the east side of the Valley of the Sun, drives his own car, and does most of his own cooking. Although he's outlived two wives, he doesn't lack for female companionship. He's dating a widow named Rita. I remember her from the first time they dated, decades ago, before he met the "cute blonde" (his words) who became his first wife.

My husband's Aunt Geniel, who is also 90, isn't doing as well--at least, not lately. A couple of weeks before our arrival, she fell and broke her shoulder. It's irreparable, but Geniel has an amazing pain threshold and says it doesn't bother her much. It does bother the rest of her body, which is reacting to the stress of the physical insult even though it does not register as pain, rising blood pressure being the most obvious sign. We spent some time with his cousin, Donalyn, and visited Aunt Geniel in a rehab hospital, where Donalyn did her mother's hair and Geniel shared stories about her family and girlhood. Despite the injury, she was in good spirits, and we enjoyed our time with her.







What a pleasure to see these wonderful people again! We don't know if we will have the chance in the future. It's a long way from northern California to the Valley of the Sun, and--although each person born comes with a lifetime guarantee--there's no guarantee as to how long that will last. We felt privileged to visit them this time. Call it a fringe benefit.

As an added benefit, I took my spouse on a tour down memory lane, visiting the homes where I lived as a child. At the second home, the place where we lived for a couple of years before moving north, the owner came out, saw us parked at the curb, and invited us in to tour the place. Everything has changed over the decades, but it's still much as I remember it, some of the major features left exactly as they were. We also saw schools I attended, parks where I played with friends, and a church building, now a school, where my family worshipped.

"You can never go home again." So said Thomas Wolfe and the man got it right. It wasn't home and hasn't been for a long time. Both my grandparents' homes, side by side, were long ago knocked down. A large church building stands where their homes once stood. My old church has become a private elementary school and my other schools have changed so much I recognized them only by their locations. Still, I felt the nostalgia of seeing it all again and remembering, just one more side benefit of showing up at last weekend's writers' conference. Thanks again, ANWA.

Visiting the Neighbors

Here where we live in northern California, we boast the largest municipal park in the nation. Parts of it look like deep wilderness, until you hear a car horn from just a few dozen yards away. Other parts are truly wild, inhabited by bobcats, eagles, lynx, bears, and cougars. Some of our favorite and most frequently glimpsed wildlife are the deer.

For reasons I can understand (I'd feel the same way if I were a deer), they like to hang out on the golf course in Upper Park. The grass is well-tended and hunting is unlawful. Thus, the deer have little to fear from humans and, although not at all tame, they are unafraid if we don't approach too closely.

One day last week, my hubby and I decided to take a short drive. We wanted to visit the neighbors. It didn't take long to discover them. We found the yearling girls grazing peacefully together with the Boys' Club slightly removed. A few minutes later, they wandered nearer and we got an even better view. 

That's when I chose to pay our friends a more personal visit. One of the young bucks lifted his head and twitched an ear, letting me know he was keeping an eye on me, but other than that, they behaved in a neighborly manner and we had a pleasant time.  This is just one of the things I love about the beautiful place where we live.

Susan loves to hear from readers. Write her at susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or visit www.susanaylworth.com or her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming near the end of September. 

Sometimes, a mom has to brag

Sometimes a mom just has to brag. I'm enormously pleased with and proud of each of my children. I've shared their successes in this blog more than once. Today my brag is about my son, John, and what he has recently accomplished.

At the end of August, we celebrated the ribbon-cutting for Xytogen, the BioTech company John founded four years ago in Silicon Valley. This ceremony fulfilled a dream our son has long harbored to bring his work back to his hometown. He couldn't have been happier.

The event turned out to be rather a big deal. Staff members from our state assemblyman's office presented a certificate thanking John for bringing BioTech to the north state. Professors who taught John in his MBA program came, as did the dean of his department and the university provost, scientists and physicians, and about 80 others.

We always knew John was bright, creative, and driven, but we could never guess what he'd do with all of that. We certainly didn't expect this.

Our son took a winding career path to find his way into BioTech. After working several years in orthopedics, he became interested in regenerative medicine. He was especially curious about the potential for stem cells, ethically derived from adult fat tissue, to soothe and heal. He began working with highly skilled scientists to investigate the possibilities.

What developed was Factor Five, a "pharmaceutical." Stem cell proteins form the basis for a serum, a cream, and an eyelash treatment scientifically proven to slow or even reverse the aging process in facial cells and increase the length and volume of eyelashes and brows. 

The company has taken off. The products, now available mostly through dermatologists, plastic surgeons, and estheticians, have been hugely successful. For John, skin care is a way in to the field. His goal is to develop burn and wound treatments to reduce suffering throughout the world.

At the official grand opening, I learned new things about stem cells. John's staff conducted tours through the building, introducing the company and the products in the large reception/conference room and then taking visitors into the lab. There, with the delicate stem cells carefully sheltered, post-doctorate PhDs who work with Xytogen explained something of the science for how and why the treatments are so effective. It's impressive.

I'm pleased for my son and for his family, who now have Dad working closer to home. I'm thrilled for the community to have the burgeoning field of BioTech growing here in our backyard. Mostly, I'm one proud mama, not just of John, but of each of my children. Stick around. I'm likely to share more of that pride in the future.

When Susan isn't bragging about her kids and grandkids, she writes swoon-worthy small town romances. Her latest series is "Seasons of Destiny." Watch for Amber in Autumn, coming soon. 

They're All Grand!

Our newest grandson turned 24 last week. Please note I didn't say our youngest who has his first birthday this week. Callum (we call him Cal) joined our family this past February when he married our eldest granddaughter, Samantha.

Cal brings a number of firsts to our clan: (1) He is our first grandson-in-law; (2) He married our firstborn granddaughter; (3) His new dad-in-law is our first son; (4) Because we could not attend the wedding (they were married two states away when I was days out of surgery), we first met Cal last month when Sam brought him to our family reunion, dubbed AylaPalooza. (See the family portrait below.)

Probably the biggest first he brings? He's a citizen of the U.K., born in Dumfries, Scotland, and studying at the University of York when he and Sam met through mutual friends. We've never had a Brit in the family until now. Because he needed a special visa to come to the U.S.A., and because things were a bit . . . shall we say, impacted? . . . at U.S. Immigration Services, Cal and Sam were engaged for almost 18 months before they could marry. It's the sort of sweet love story I may one day write.

Sam is delighted. She's been waiting for Mr. Right (not Mr. Wright; he married our daughter), and Cal fits nicely. Sam graduated a few months back and now has a high-powered job with Dell. She can support them in style while Cal attends university here to complete his degree. Until he's accepted, he is working as a teller in a bank near their apartment. That fits well into his plans; he's earning a degree in finance. He has also lived in Hong Kong and speaks Cantonese, so we can foresee an interesting and prosperous future for this cute couple.

They couldn't appear happier and we are all happy for them. For my part, I'm thrilled to have a new grandson, even if he's already several inches taller than I am. My grandchildren are all truly grand, no matter how they join our family.

Watch for Amber in Autumn, Book 3 in the "Seasons of Destiny" series, coming near the end of September. 

Making Lemonade, MCO in NYC

Some months ago, my baby girl, Rebecca, and her eldest son, Caleb, signed up with a wonderful group for an amazing opportunity. In becoming part of the Millennial Choirs and Orchestra (MCO), they looked forward to several important concerts, their summer season culminating in a highlight performance in Carnegie Hall.

Titled "Nearer, my God, to Thee," the concert began with an astonishing and deeply moving arrangement of "A Mighty Fortress" and consisted mostly of sacred music. Since the performance was scheduled for mid-July, they also offered a patriotic segment.


Five groups of choirs and orchestras from around the southwest studied the same music, preparing to divide into three casts, each of which would have one big night on the stage in the renowned Stern Concert Hall. Becca and Caleb were in the "blue" cast, scheduled for Saturday, July 13.

With a once-in-a-lifetime experience ahead of them, and a sold-out concert hall awaiting, Becca and Caleb endured an intense rehearsal schedule, costume fittings, and all the expected preparation. That wasn't all. The rest of the family wanted to see them in concert, and since they were going to be in Manhattan, they certainly wanted to take a few bites of all the Big Apple had to offer. Months of work, planning, and saving led up to the big day.

There they were, rehearsing on the concert stage, when the lights went out. At first, they didn't let it bother them. Accustomed to having the lighting technicians at work while they were, they continued on, using only the battery-operated lights on the orchestra's music stands to continue. When the blackout did not ease, the group became restless. This wasn't just normal light-testing, was it?

Soon the Hall officials came in to report that something had happened, blacking out all of central Manhattan. Yes, their scheduled performance was on that night, the night the lights went out throughout the central city on the exact anniversary of the 1977 Manhattan blackout. July 13 also came during Manhattanhenge, the one time annually when the setting sun lines up with the downtown streets.

For a short time, the musicians continued to rehearse, hoping and praying that the power would come back in time for their concert as scheduled. The Hall's staff knew when their fail-safe point occurred, the hour when it would be too late to load in an audience even if the power did return. When that time arrived, they came in to deliver the bad news: For the first time in its history, Carnegie Hall canceled a performance due to technical problems.

Imagine the heartbreak. This concert had been the focus of months of work, not just for hundreds of musicians, but for thousands of people among their family and friends, many of whom had traveled to NYC to enjoy the experience with loved ones. The disappointment was tangible for them all.

As they exited the hall, one woman announced, "I came here to sing. Let's sing." Most of the orchestra members could not participate, given the difficulty of setting up instruments on 57th Street, but the singers quickly organized and an impromptu concert began. Soon their director came up with a makeshift podium and began leading the group.

As the sun set between the skyscrapers of Manhattan, the Millennial Choirs sang. Though they missed their opportunity to perform to the 2,800+ people who would have heard them inside the hall, they ended up singing to hundreds on the streets of Manhattan. Several million have now heard their performances recorded on YouTube. (See #MCOINNYC I Stand All Amazed Carnegie Hall - NYC Power Outage, I Believe in Christ -

The Millennial Choirs and Orchestra went to New York to sing praises in a famous hall, but ended up singing to the world. It's a story I will always remember when stuck with lemons and making lemonade. 

Nothing like family

Summer is a great time for vacations, travel and family gatherings. Our family reunion happens every other year in odd-numbered years, which means we are just returning from a wonderful time with our very own wonderful people.

Some years ago, we realized that, with family spread out from sea to shining sea, we would have to plan something formal. Otherwise, our only meetings would be at weddings and funerals. Not everyone can make it even to those. With that in mind, we began planning our first reunion.

Son John, who is in business and marketing, alerted us right away to the problem of calling it a reunion. "That sounds like a couple of maiden aunts sitting under a tree, sipping lemonade and gossiping. You need to call it something exciting, you know, like a rock festival, like a something-palooza." On that day, AylaPalooza was born. This past one was AP 8.

Forty-two of us met in a cozy lodge near Bear Lake, a beautiful, natural lake on the Utah-Idaho border. Our daughter, Rebecca, hosted and divided up meal prep so no one ended up stuck in the kitchen. We had the lake for fun, but also the local Raspberry Festival (yum!), ATV trail-riding in the hills, a few organized group games, and an impromptu family dance on our final evening. Mostly, we had each other.


At our first AylaPalooza 14 years ago, some of our group had doubts about how well it would work. For the second one, the doubts coalesced around the question, "Can it be that good again?" By the end of the third, AylaPalooza had become an established tradition. We already know the June dates and the place for AP 9 in 2021.

I love seeing the cousins playing together. I love it that when a baby cries (our youngest this year was ten months old), an aunt, uncle, or cousin is on the spot to lift, cuddle, and calm. I grin at the impromptu games that arise when a son starts quoting lines from old favorite family movies and a brother jumps in to one-up him. I love these people and our precious gatherings every two years are worth all the money, time and trouble they take. There's nothing like family.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 18 published novels. Her latest is SUNNY'S SUMMER, a romance set in the Sierra foothills near her northern California home in the aftermath of the devastating #CampFire. Watch for AMBER IN AUTUMN, coming in September. She lives with her husband of 49 years, Roger. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at www.susanaylworth.com, @SusanAylworth, susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Also on Pinterest and Instagram.

It's an Ill Wind . . .

As the saying goes, "It's an ill wind that blows no one any good." The past month saw record-breaking high temperatures across the Midwest to the East Coast, from Kansas City to NYC, Baltimore, D.C., Hartford and Boston. On the heat wave's highest day, the east side of the nation baked under temperatures seldom seen outside the west.

Meanwhile, that "ill wind" blew cooler air to our home in northern California. During July, when we typically expect the 100-degree+ temperatures, our highs registered in the middle-90s. Most days were actually pleasant.

Decades ago, we lived in Connecticut during a heat wave and I remember the misery. Not only were our temperatures in the upper-90s, but the humidity was at 98-99%. That turns hot into unbearable. 

My thoughts have been with those suffering on the eastern side of the country, but (with some apology), I have to admit I'm grateful for the lovely days we've seen here. This week, when life is becoming livable again in the east and temperatures are rising in our hometown, we are AWOL, hanging out in cooler temperatures to the north.

We'll return to our home digs soon, knowing that the August heat will be there to welcome us. We can handle it. We've had a welcome break.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 18 published novels. Her latest is SUNNY'S SUMMER, a romance set in the Sierra foothills near her northern California home in the aftermath of the devastating #CampFire. Watch for AMBER IN AUTUMN, coming in September. She lives with her husband of 49 years, Roger. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at www.susanaylworth.com, @SusanAylworth, susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Also on Pinterest and Instagram.

Nothing like Family!

By the time you see this, I will be on my way to a gathering of family. When we first conceived this particular gathering, our son, John, who has a better grasp on marketing than I, said, "If you call it a Family Reunion, that sounds like a bunch of old maiden aunts, sitting under a tree, drinking lemonade and gossiping." I had to give him props for that. His next suggestion? "You need a jazzy name, something that sounds like a rock festival, like . . . how about AylaPalooza?"

We now stage an AylaPalooza every two years with different family members hosting from one to the next. This year, our daughter, Rebecca, is the host of AylaPalooza 8. She and her husband, Jonathan, have found a resort lodge on the shores of Bear Lake in the northeast corner of Utah where we can all kick back, relax, and enjoy one another.

We will spend most of a week in the company of people we love. Since we'll be on the borders of two other states, we plan to visit caves in southern Idaho and a fossil dig in western Wyoming.

That's in addition to a day on the lake, family game night, a kids' talent show, posing for family pictures, and a variety of other silly, fun, share-the-love activities. This year I'm packing bubbles and beach toys for the little kids, puzzles for the slightly older ones, and a variety of nonsense photos to play 'Remember This?' with the teens and grown-ups.

The future of AylaPalooza will also be on the agenda. As the next generation grows up, will they want to take turns hosting? Will we recycle the hosting sequence we've run through once already? We will have plenty to talk about. Then, as we drive away at AP's end, my husband and I can look at one another and say, "We started all this!"

Past AylaPaloozas have seen us gathered on the shores of Lake Almanor in northern California and on the shores of the great Pacific in Baja. We've gathered in mid-summer and once, at Thanksgiving. The planning takes up plenty of time and there's expense involved for everyone, but the moment AP8 is over, we'll be planning for AP9. It's worth it. There's nothing like family.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 18 published novels. Her latest is SUNNY'S SUMMER, a romance set in the Sierra foothills near her northern California home in the aftermath of the devastating #CampFire. She lives with her husband of 49 years, Roger. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at www.susanaylworth.com, @SusanAylworth, susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Also on Pinterest and Instagram.

Ablaze with Color!

It's crape myrtle time here in northern California, and our city is ablaze with color. Trees loaded with blossoms line many city streets and most yards. The blooms come in shades from pale lavender to deep burgundy red. Some are even stark, brilliant white. The trees are everywhere!

I exult in crape myrtle time and look forward every year to the summer weeks when our world fills with color. When we chose the landscaping for this home, you can guess what I chose. These are the views looking both ways from my front porch.










It's possible there are folks who don't appreciate these trees as I do. Maybe they're allergic? I suppose that would justify turning one's back on this glory. For me, when the crape myrtle are blooming and my roses follow suit, it's easy to overlook much of what's wrong in the world. A world this beautiful must also have a great deal of good in it.

For fourteen months in 2017 and 2018, my husband and I lived in Kayenta, Arizona in the heart of the Navajo Nation. Our Navajo friends have a traditional ceremony called the Beauty Way which admonishes us to "walk in beauty."


Wherever you are this summer, may you also walk in beauty.

Watch the language, please

I’m a sucker for a good story.  It’s an occupational hazard for fiction writers, but a great story line wins me over easily. Two of my favorite movies are Moonstruck and As Good as it Gets, both unusual rom-coms, both with Oscars for best scripts. I love a good story in other genres as well.

Designated Survivor seemed like a natural. I loved it—for the first two seasons. Did the show get new writers in Season 3? Or did the producers, seeing their ratings in decline, simply decide it was time to up the ante with saltier language? I put up with it for a couple of episodes. Then, when the F-bomb was dropped four times in the first three minutes, I was done.

Some apologists explained such language was “realistic” in the pressure cooker of the real-life White House. Although I’d love to deny it, I suspect that’s the truth. Who cares? If I wish to be assaulted with obscenity, I’ll take a walk on the campus of our local university. Besides, don’t we all want the people who hold the fate of the world in their hands to be better than that?

To be clear, it isn’t just the language that got me. Characters I had come to care about, even love, were suddenly behaving in uncharacteristic ways, using language we hadn’t heard before, but also changing job titles and love interests, and in one case, moving into a completely new story arc.

Suddenly, instead of watching “people” I cared about, I saw actors reading lines and being moved around on a set. The suspension of disbelief that lets us slide into fictional worlds went out the window. That transition started for me when their version of the White House began sounding like an NFL locker room.

In my first career as an academic, I learned to use ten-penny words when two-penny ones work fine. As a writer of romantic fiction, I’m sometimes tempted to use those words, since they now come fairly naturally. When I catch myself, I deliberately dial it back—not to dumb it down, and not because I don’t respect my readers. I do, very much.

I choose not to use words that draw attention to themselves, words that pull my readers out of the story. I want my characters (and even my narration) to use language that moves the story forward. In effect I’m saying: “Dear Reader, please love my story, not my impressive vocabulary.”

As a consumer of other writers’ fiction, I ask the same when it comes to obscenity. If that’s the natural speech for your characters, I’m not your audience anyway. If you suddenly need to up your ratings, please do so with a fascinating twist in your story line, not with verbal assaults or manipulating your characters. You’ll win me over easily when you do.  

Independence Day in small town style

For the Fourth of July this year, my hubby and I visited the beach. Although we live in California's beautiful Central Valley, only a short distance from the waves as the crow flies, we aren't crows. The windy roads that take us through the coastal range between our home and the sea require a half-day's travel and, for me, a scopolamine patch behind my ear.

 We spent the week along the northern California coast and loved it. The weather could not have been more cooperative and the small town Americana celebrations of the holiday made the visit even more memorable

Ft. Bragg, California has a farmers' market every Wednesday afternoon. We watched as streets were closed and the market set up. Then we were among the first to wander through the stalls, examining the produce, the baked goods, and the other wares vendors had for sale. We went home with some delicious bread and berries.


On Thursday, we watched a similar set-up in the community of Mendocino as they prepared to welcome the Fourth of July holiday. The volunteer fire department started the day with selling breakfast burritos. Sometime around eleven o'clock, they switched over to hamburgers. The fund raising went on throughout the day as the fire volunteers fed people and collected funds. Down the street at the local park, another organization roasted hot dogs as its annual fund raiser.

Outside the Masonic Hall, George Washington appeared every hour or so, reading aloud from The Declaration of Independence. Small groups gathered at his feet. The parade began at noon, small town Americana showing off its stars and stripes. For reasons known only to them, the locals scheduled their fireworks for Saturday evening, not Thursday, so we missed that part of the celebration, but by the time we returned home, we felt we had enjoyed the holiday in style.

We've been in different places on the Fourth and we always celebrate. We honor the sacrifices of those who gave us this nation and kept it for us when its independence and peace were threatened. We share in the pride of a peaceful and prosperous homeland. While recognizing its many faults, we celebrate its virtues. Having been present during Bolivia's most recent revolution, I always celebrate the peaceful transfer of power that happens every four or eight years. America isn't perfect, but it's home and I, for one, am grateful to be here.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 18 published novels. Her latest is SUNNY'S SUMMER, a romance set in the Sierra foothills near her northern California home in the aftermath of the devastating #CampFire. She lives with her husband of 49 years, Roger, and one old, arthritic cat. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at www.susanaylworth.com, @SusanAylworth, susan.aylworth.author@gmail.com, or facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author. Also on Pinterest and Instagram.

Thoughts on the Fourth

The fourth of July lands this week and I find it a bit intimidating. For me, it follows my brother's birthday on the second and the first anniversary of my mother's passing on the third. If I have some mixed feelings about the celebration, please bear with me.

Mike is seven years younger than I am, so I was old enough to remember his birth in some detail. Mom spent the last three months of that pregnancy on full bed rest, so many of my memories of that time are a blend of watching my mother sit half-way up to crochet one item after another, or sitting in the bed beside her while she read to me and my younger sister, one book after another.

In her last couple of years, after Macular Degeneration blinded her, my sister returned the favor, reading a couple of chapters on every visit to our mother, one book after another. I lived too far away to be a regular reader, but Mom loved hearing the stories I wrote. Pat read them all at least twice.

Meanwhile Mike, despite a rough start and some difficult years along the way, is now living his personal dream in a lovely little cottage situated in a town where outdoor living is paramount. He is one happy camper. Mike is happily situated and Mom is no longer in pain. Those will be my happy thoughts for the beginning of this week. That brings us to the Fourth of July.

I grew up as a flag-waver. Although my views of our country have become somewhat more rounded and less idealized, I still proudly claim my citizenship. Other nations, particularly in Europe, have much of the personal freedom we enjoy, but the opportunities that have fulfilled my life are found in abundance only in America.

Someday I may yet write about my experiences with my daughter stuck in Bolivia during the most recent overthrow of their government in 2005. Having seen how power transitions are handled violently in some other places, I'm deeply grateful for the peaceful changes I've seen every four to eight years in our country. When the Bolivian transportation strikes let up enough that my daughter and I could get safely out of La Paz, I swore I would always celebrate independence Day.

This year, although the celebration may be somewhat diminished by the power of the day before, I will celebrate with my husband at the seaside, watching the waves roll in, enjoying a pancake breakfast cooked by the local fire department, and watching a parade that is sheer Americana, all fun and flags. I'll be thinking of my father, my father-in-law, and others who sacrificed so much to save our freedoms during WW II, and of the many others who have served before and since, now including two nephews who proudly wear American uniforms.

I'll be having some mixed emotions, but I'll be celebrating, just as I promised, hoping and praying that America will always remain "the land of the free and the home of the brave."