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Posts Tagged ‘Secrets’

H E L L O there !! And H A P P Y  S P R I N G !!

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Spring bunnyTrudie McAfee here to share the latest with all our wonderful friends and fans of Havenwood Tales!

My author D.J. asked me to write and tell you she’s alive and well and working on HAVENWOOD TALES, and that I am eternally young. But instead, I’ll let you in on what I’ve been up to meanwhile. And please don’t tell D.J. — okay? She might thing I’m being saucy. Let’s just let this be our little secret ; )

I’m SO EXCITED!! You should see all my beautiful Pinterest board pictures!!! There’s books and birds and flowers and Spring, and surprises for Mama and all kinds of things!

You can peek at what Home in Havenwood‘s like, the 1940s, America, My Favorite Things, a Magical Kingdom, Amazing Nature, Native Americans and lots more fantastical stuff, from fancy foods and beautiful quilts to Life Lessons I’m learning (… some the hard way) ; D

Spring has sprung and the race is on to share more Havenwood Tales with you! Thanks very much for being my friend! I hope you enjoy my Pinterest fun, I really like sharing the joy : ))

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Love and Hugs,

Trudie McAfee – Narrator of HAVENWOOD TALES

P.S. I love my Author. I did this for you, Miss D.J. Please don’t be mad.

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Coming of Age – American Tall Tales – Inspiring Stories – Magical Mystery – Heartland America

Copyright©2014 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

spring duckings

HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings Novel by D.J. Houston

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Warm Winter GREETINGS to Fans and Friends!

from D.J. Houston, Author of Havenwood Tales

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D.J. Houston, AuthorHELLO! HAPPY 2014!!

Yes, I’m still wishing friends Happy New Year! And yes, I’ve truly missed getting to “see” YOU more often with updates from Havenwood Tales.

TRUE CONFESSIONS: The arduous task of MOVING (on top of pursuing key studies) has lately put life for this author on hold. That’s my excuse, anyway — that and waaay too much stuff to unpack, despite tossing what must have been roomfuls before the move! But I’m guessing you already know (too well) how moving goes 😉

As a saga of preparation continues for release of the Havenwood Tales trilogy, our heroine Trudie McAfee’s fans will be happy to hear that more surprises and secrets from the opening novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings are heading your way again SOON.

Meanwhile, feel free to enjoy a walk down memory lane in the HAVENWOOD TALES ARCHIVES section at the bottom of our blog menu. And I hope this fun photo helps WARM YOUR WINTER and brings you an extra SMILE!

Hang in there — Spring happens 🙂

Hang in there -- Spring happens

May your fondest dreams come true,

D.J. Houston, Author of Havenwood Tales

~

American Literature Treasures – Inspiring Stories – Visionary Fiction – Life Lessons – Mystery Novels 

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From the novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings by Author, D.J. Houston

Poplar Tree Blossom

“Be sure you’re back before suppertime, please, Trudie Beth.”

Mama’s gentle reminder faded behind me into the lines of thirsty sassafras and yellow-blooming poplar trees on the north shore of Silver Bear Lake.

I was off to meet my destiny.

Drawn by the gift of instinct and trails of friendly bellflowers smiling at me from their delicate, bending stems, I trekked waist-deep through a grassy field and found myself in a vast wildflower meadow, spread around me like the fragrance of wonderland . . .

(more…)

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Magical Mystery from HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings

by D.J. Houston

As the leaves turned red and gold and brown and covered the ground with Autumn

… it was my whole new world of learning with Miss Greenlee that most absorbed my life that Fall of 1946.

But on long walks home from school alone if Timmy stayed behind to practice baseball, while the fat-cheeked squirrels scurried to store their nuts in hidey-holes for the winter and cattle huddled together in the crisp wind, my thoughts would often turn to Mister Walling.

I still had never spoken of him . . .

CLICK  HERE for Secrets and Miracles

Copyright©2007, 2012 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

Magical Mystery – Nostalgic Stories – Gifted Children – Coming of Age – American Literature

 

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HI Everybody! SURPRISE!

It’s me, TRUDIE, your HAVENWOOD TALES Narrator character 🙂

GUESS WHAT ?!! 

B I G  N E W S  — I’M on PINTEREST at http://pinterest.com/trudiehaven/

And it was a BIG DEAL to get there, too!

I confessed to the folks at Pinterest that I live in the 1940s in Heartland America.  I even admitted to being precocious and said I could see the future.  But they said all I needed was a Facebook or Twitter account, and they’d send me an invitation to join.

Simple, right?  So I asked my author — who is (as you probably know) none other than my friend and confidant, D.J. Houston — to sign me up for Facebook BUT

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Inspirations from coming HAVENWOOD Tales Beginnings

by D. J. Houston

For all its endless sunny days and amazing Milky Way nights, the magic of that last abiding summer of my freedom before the era of my schooling years began was too often lost in longing to see Mister Walling.

It was more miles than I could walk in a day to reach his secluded cabin and still make it back home before dark.  But I didn’t dare ask anyone to drive me there…

C L I C K  H E R E  to READ

“Secrets of Gifted Children”

Copyright©2008, 2012 D.J. Houston.  All Rights Reserved.

Mystery Novel – Fantasy Fiction – Life Journey – True Friendship – Coming of Age Story

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Excerpts from HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings

by D.J. Houston

~ Honoring My Father on Memorial Day  ~

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My first pearl appeared the summer I turned six, not long after Daddy and Uncle Arthur returned from the Second World War . . .

It was a time of new necessity for Man.  For despite any halt to the march of evil, that war had turned humanity inside out when the white-hot specter of an atom bomb shocked and awed a pre-dawn New Mexico desert and twice carried death to Japan.

Yet no one could begin to grasp the consequences; it was too impossible to confront that such a thing as an atom bomb could ever happen in the first place.

Even after the war, top-secret scientists kept right on with the military to convince each other, time and again, that bombs do, indeed explode, while regular Joe civilian had no clue of such experiments.  And anyone who might have been aware felt powerless to stop them.  So they did nothing.

Post-WW II Heartland America

Families were reunited with their military loved ones the world over, and did what they could to reorient them to whatever became of their lost years at home.

Most made the transition; all were scarred.  But I’d like to think it was easier for the battle-weary to recover in a place like Havenwood . . .

Livestock and chickens and barns and crops and bank accounts needed tending, leaving little time to ruminate about the war.  And with new enterprises springing up as manufacturing shifted to producing wares and gadgets for the new Consumer Age, earning opportunities outside the home soon grew abundant for adults and young folks alike.

Not that play wasn’t fun and important to youth back then; if anything, a crippling Great Depression with a Second World War on its heels had led Americans of every age to value their freedoms and pleasures more than ever.

But work is its own reward.  If you don’t believe me, ask someone who has none.  And with more choices that come to a freer people, we could enjoy work more than ever, too.

All the kids I knew did chores, before and after school.  And those who had already proven themselves as volunteers for war efforts on the home front had a long leg up when it came to getting hired for the paying jobs.

With no TV screens to spectate at for hours on end, and decades yet before the advent of ubiquitous shopping mall arcades, video games, and personal phones and computers, young people tended to play hands-on at the game of growing up.

They practiced the real deal with real people, in an insular world without internet . . .

~

Author, D.J. Houston

Copyright©2007, 2014 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

Historical Fiction – Memoir Novels – Life Journey – Coming of Age – Social Commentary

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Inspirations from HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings

D.J. Houston, Author

Art supplies kept mysteriously appearing on my table at school . . .

When I wasn’t reading, I was doing chalk or pencil drawings and watercolor paintings of the birds and flowers and forests I knew.

I even made my first attempt to draw the human face — a silhouette profile of Mister Walling, infused with a golden light.

I was adding the finishing touches when I felt Miss Greenlee’s presence arrive behind me like a soft sigh . . .

C L I C K  H E R E  for “Art of Dreamers”

Paranormal Mystery – Inspirations – Adventure – American Literature Treasures

Copyright©2009, 2012 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

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HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY from HAVENWOOD!!

FLOWERS and CHOCOLATE for ALL!!

But let’s talk about chocolate . . .  😉

– by Dark Chocolate Life

FUN NEWS for CHOCOLATE LOVERS

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Excerpts from the novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings

by Author, D.J. Houston

“My mother spoke the wisdom of the Ancestors, secrets from beyond Earth”

My mother’s mother, Meda, left this world before I was born.

She was a full-blood Shawnee Indian, the daughter of my great-grandparents whose keen eyes still watched over us from a tintype photograph high on our living room mantle.

Inherently proud of my Native American heritage, I felt honored to be part of a ritual she had once shared with my mother on that giant rock, overlooking the stream in the hidden woods . . .

CLICK HERE for SECRETS

Paranormal Stories – Mystery Novel – Coming of Age Story – Intrigue

Copyright©2010, 2012 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

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A peek at the novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings by D.J. Houston

“I had shifted time across a line that wasn’t there, into a place of such enchantment I could only gasp and close my eyes as the feeling of arriving somewhere I had always hoped for, having no idea what I would find, engulfed my world . . .”


The scent of warm bark gripped my nostrils, anchoring me, reminding me to breathe . . .

I gathered up my gumption and with the dauntless faith of youth, strode purposefully across the clearing, assuring myself that a cool drink of water from the pristine creek running back of the cabin should be reason enough to knock on the door for permission.

It was not until I reached the stairs leading up to the porch deck that doubt began to enter my calculations . . .

CLICK HERE to READ MORE  . . .

Excerpts from the coming novel HAVENWOOD Tales Beginnings

Copyright©2006, 2013 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

Paranormal Mystery Story – Native Americans – Inspirations – Secrets of Gifted Children

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PART II of  the excerpt from HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings– “Spring in Heartland America”

Missed PART I ? CLICK HERE

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I must say, I had the most godawful urge to stick my tongue out at spiteful old Miss Hickey, the Latin teacher. Her mission in life since before she was born had apparently been to hate anything and everything new and different; that much seemed obvious. But I’d figured out enough about human nature to know that it probably wasn’t really me she was mad at. I just didn’t know who.

I did put an end to her using me for a firing range, though. Daring, considering she had that willow switch hidden under her desk. But it was easy!

One day, I hung outside her classroom door with my arms stacked full of fresh library books till she sniffed me out. And when she huffed over to shoot me the daggers, I just gave her my goofiest grin.

Now, nobody EVER smiled at Miss Hickey. So after both her eyes popped out of her head and rolled on the floor like gumballs (. . . that’s how I saw it, anyway), needless to say, she never bothered to glare at me again. Blame it on the power of imagination, if you like.  But, hey — Mission accomplished.

In that glorious Spring before I turned seven, little could suppress my urge to learn. I had given myself free rein.

With reading treasures I culled from Havenwood School’s library and the books of her own Miss Greenlee loaned me — books filled with beautiful illustrations and intriguing photographs that could tell their stories without even needing words — the whole new world Mama promised me when I first started school was mine to explore every day.

Through books, I could marvel at masterful statues in London and Greece, canal boats in Venice, four seasons in Paris; explore Ireland’s pastoral sheep farms, and scamper with wild goats in the Scottish Highlands.

Aboriginal Dreamtime

Aboriginal Dreamtime

I could wonder at the linear depictions of skinny Egyptian queens and kings and track the hieroglyphic stories of their lives. I could listen to Dreamtime Story spirits of Australia’s Aboriginal people, and feel the throbbing rhythms of African Zulu warriors dancing the hunt as their pictures came alive for me. And I could dream of my life’s journey carrying me across the vast oceans of earth, to make friends with fascinating people in foreign lands.

Through books, I became enthralled with the art and culture of my Native American ancestors, and amazed by the genius of Renaissance Men in America. Benjamin Franklin, George Washington Carver, witty Samuel Clemens with his pen name, Mark Twain, all spoke to me. 

And I would later come to know the Founding Fathers of my nation, and realize–after the dark years that followed my own generation’s folly–how much the character of these great men and others of their ilk helped shape a Neo-Renaissance awakening.

And in my youth, their foresight, will and wisdom inspired me to believe in my ability to help in this world, and fueled my determination to visit my friend Mister Walling again, even if it had to be a secret . . .


C O N T I N U E D C L I C K  for Surprising Part III

Author D. J. Houston

Copyright©2011, 2014 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

Magical Mystery – Social Commentary – Coming of Age Story – American Literature Treasures

Founding Fathers

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Halloween Pumpkin SpidersSometime around mid-October, with lots of spookiness and a hint of mirth in her playful voice, Miss Greenlee made a terribly important-sounding announcement.

“Halloween is coming! It’s Halloween! We must prepare!”

Naturally, none of us farm-country kids who’d come up during the war years had ever even celebrated Halloween. We didn’t have a clue where to start. But Miss Greenlee’s exuberance was, as always, contagious as the pox, and the whole class went saucer-eyed.

My own ideas were limited.

On Halloween night the year before, Mama and some of her women friends from the Sand & Gravel plant drove Timmy and me to a harvest festival on a farm way out in the boonies.

Bobbing for ApplesWe played at dodging shadows and bobbed for apples floating in a big washtub along with some other kids, while the grownups traded pumpkins and baskets of corn and nuts and such around a roaring bonfire in the dark. But other than sensing somebody watching me from behind a tree and the hair on my arms standing up, it was pretty uneventful.

As for the idea of trick-or-treating on Halloween, it usually got too cold at night by late October for kids to be running around outside begging candy from Havenwood folks. Nobody had kept extra candy during the war and the habit stuck, and the houses were too far apart for any big hauls if they had any.

But in that freer world of 1946, nothing said we couldn’t celebrate at school . . .

Spiders, Bats and Hump-Backed Cats

With the able tutelage of Miss Greenlee, our gang launched into the spirit of things and learned as we went along.

After a titillating, quick study of the history of Halloween in the Old Country, we created a host of orange and black construction paper silhouettes for decorations, American style. Hairy spiders, hump-backed cats, Happy Halloween Thomas Wood illustrationwitches on brooms and flying bats and toothy jack-o-lanterns got traced and cut and tacked around the classroom walls to leer at anyone who dared to look.

The boys from Shop Class brought in a ladder and hung some from the ceiling, dangling from lengths of feed sack string that let the creatures sway and swirl whenever a draft blew in under the door.

And there were times when they moved all on their own – I know it’s true, I saw it happen with my own eyes. And I wasn’t the only one.

Tales about the figures moving on their own, however, were classified as top secret, and could only be embellished amongst ourselves. That was the rule.

So our whole class had to swear a pact of secrecy. We swore in the Shop Class boys and Miss Greenlee, too, for good measure. And with abundant giggles, loud shushes and plenty of bad acting, we pretended the source of all those spooky decorations was surely “a mystery.”

Halloween Mischief

“Gee, they were just here when we got here.”

“We have no idea.”

“Honest.”

And so the story went for any outsider who might inquire, especially the older kids who thought we were cute and would drop by before their classes to play along. And our impishness and those innocent thrills only fueled further collusion, as the camaraderie between us swelled like a fearsome juggernaut.

The Halloween Muse

The Halloween Muse had sequestered our lives and rendered us unstoppable — a force to be reckoned with.

Halloween MuseWe kept cranking out spooky artwork until we ran out of the whole semester’s supply of construction paper.  Without skipping a beat, Miss Greenlee assigned us to gather up all the fabric scraps we could scavenge and bring them to school. And from every description of colorful cloth, we proceeded to cut out strange-looking trees shapes, people and animals and their various habitats, gluing them onto long panels of brown butcher paper with homemade flour and water paste.

Prissy ran the glue factory crew at a table hidden in the trees behind our building, keeping us well supplied with buckets of yeasty-smelling paste. And while others cut and I designed, the old hardwood floor of the classroom protested our messy business in grumpy silence.

Hand-painted touches were added to make the whole scene look more Halloweeny with hoot owls, ghosts and gravestones. Sketches of skeletons, scary skulls and three pairs of glaring wolf eyes, courtesy of the hooligans Bobby Blackstone and Teddy MacDougal, completed the work. And panel by panel, the kaleidoscope final mural depicting our very own Halloween Village — our masterpiece — was spread across the windows, wrapped around the walls and covered both sides of the door.

We were beyond elated! Life was a Halloween party!

The rest of the school would have killed to know what we were up to. And predictably, the whole happy scenario infuriated the dickens out of dreadful old Miss Hickey.

~

From the novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings

by D.J. Houston, Author

Copyright©2008, 2013 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

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Spooky Halloween BarnAmerican Tall Tales – Magical Mystery – Funny Stories – Nostalgia – Fantasy Fiction

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“. . . the magic of that last, abiding summer of my freedom before the era of my schooling years began was too often lost in longing to see Mister Walling . . .”

INSPIRATIONS from the novel HAVENWOOD Tales Beginnings

by Author, D. J. Houston

For all its endless sunny days and amazing Milky Way nights, the magic of that last, abiding summer of my freedom before the era of my schooling years began was too often lost in longing to see Mister Walling.

It took more miles than I could walk in a day to reach his secluded cabin and still make it back home before dark.  But I didn’t dare ask anyone to drive me there.  I had decided that his and mine was a private friendship, and revisiting his world would be a journey I would have to make alone.

And although I would cling to my childhood for as long as I could get away with it, that decision marked a clear beginning of the end to it for me . . .

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A peek at the novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings by Author, D.J. Houston

Family Secrets . . .

I was only just getting to know my father then.  Or at least what he’d become.

Trudie's Tiny Nursery LampHe’d been away to war so long, I’d even begun to wonder if I’d only imagined the times when the uniformed man in the picture frame on Mama’s dressing table lingered next to my crib to play with me by the light of a tiny nursery lamp, tickling my toes and fingers until we laughed out loud at each other.

As the years blended one to the next, the promise of his constant presence in my life dwindled to little more than a mist of wishful thinking, if I thought of him at all.

Envelopes with foreign stamps and the feelings that broke in Mama’s voice when she read passages from his letters to Timmy and me helped keep Daddy alive for us.  The scene I caught of Timmy in front of the chiffarobe, sniffling and blowing his nose on his sleeve while he tried on Daddy’s hats, made its mark, too.

But our father was home now, home to all he’d fought for.  And I was letting the strength of his quiet nature spread around me like calm on a morning pond.

He reminded me of a sycamore tree with his tall, lean build and sturdy limbs.  His skin was white when he rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands in the wintertime.  And his hair was as shiny black as a raven’s wing, only curly . . .

He had a sort of handsome face, I thought, with a strong jaw and a high forehead like Timmy’s.  His eyes were the hazel, Irish eyes my own eyes echoed.  But I was just beginning to see him as something more than a stranger who’d been smart enough to marry my mother.  And she said the war left him with troublesome things on his mind.

I figured he wasn’t ready for me to tell him about Mister Walling.

As for Mama, she must have been quite a catch for anyone.

She was a pretty, plump brunette with light bronze skin and dark violet eyes, who liked to wear aprons with big pockets and her shoes as seldom as possible — a rare free spirit, inclined to practice the time-honored values of her Native American mother over those of her English father.

And while I knew she would hear with her heart whatever I had to say without belittling my reality, some innate, protective instinct prevented me from giving her reason to have to mention Mister Walling, or suffer undue concerns about my comings and goings.

WW II Victory, Freedom and Apple pie. . .

My sweet, brave mother had found balance in her life and I didn’t want to upset it.

She was grateful to be home in her own big kitchen, cooking and baking . . .  with all the sugar and spices and herbs she needed or wanted — away from the hard times she’d endured at the Sand & Gravel plant after Daddy went to war and the money ran low, when rationing of everything from milk to nylon stockings was in full swing and we could no longer survive on barter from our Victory Garden yield alone.

But those times were behind us now. . .

Timmy and the boys at school didn’t have to collect used paper and metal and rubber for the war production scrap piles anymore.  And I didn’t have to stay with that overbearing woman who smelled like pork cracklings and made me call her “Aunt Millie,” while Mama worked long hours at the plant with too many ladies who wished their men were home.

And freedom reigned!

FATHER’S DAY TRIBUTE:  C L I C K  H E R E

Excerpts from the novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings

D. J. Houston, Author

Copyright©2006, 2013 D.J. Houston. All Rights Reserved.

Historical Fiction Books – Mystery Novel World War II Veterans – Social Commentary

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From the novel HAVENWOOD TALES Beginnings by Author, D.J. Houston

(This excerpt follows “Common Sense Freedom – Heartland America“)

“Be sure you’re back before suppertime, please, Trudie Beth.”

Mama’s gentle reminder faded behind me into the line of thirsty sassafras and yellow-blooming poplar trees on the north shore of Silver Bear Lake.

I was off to meet my destiny.

Drawn by the gift of instinct and trails of friendly bellflowers smiling at me from their delicate, bending stems, I trekked waist-deep through a grassy field and found myself in a vast wildflower meadow, spread around me like the fragrance of wonderland.

(more…)

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