memories

Fifteen First Times: Beginnings: A Collection of Indelible Firsts #Review #PersonalTransformation @pokercubster

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 20 Comments

This book is a collection of stories about some of Kaye’s first-time experiences with life’s most natural events. Told through the intimate conversational writing we’ve come to know from this author, poignant personal stepping stones to learning moments are revealed. She encompasses the heart of each matter with sincerity and sprinkled inflections of humor.

From first kiss to first car to walking in the desert with four-inch heels, Kaye’s short coming-of-age stories take us through her awakenings and important moments of growth, often without warning. Some good and some not, life lessons are learned through trial and error, winging it, and navigating by the seat of her pants.

About the Author

D.G. Kaye

D.G. Kaye was born and resides in Toronto, Canada. She is the author of Conflicted Hearts – A Daughter’s Quest for Solace From Emotional Guilt, Meno-What? – A Memoir, Words We Carry, Have Bags, Will Travel, P.S. I Forgive You, and her newest release – Twenty Years: After “I Do”. Kaye is a nonfiction/memoir writer and writes about her life experiences, matters of the heart and women’s issues.

Kaye writes to inspire others. Her writing encompasses stories taken from events she encountered in her own life, and the lessons that were taken from them. Her sunny outlook on life developed from learning to overcome some of the many obstacles that challenged her. From an emotionally neglected childhood, to growing up with a narcissistic mother, leaving her with a severely deflated self-esteem, D.G. began seeking a path to rise above her issues. When she isn’t writing intimate memoirs, Kaye brings her natural sense of humor into her other works.

D.G. began writing when pen and paper became tools to express her pent-up emotions during a turbulent childhood. Her writing began as notes and cards she wrote for the people she loved and admired when she was afraid to use her voice.

Through the years, Kaye journaled about life, writing about her opinions on people and events and later began writing poetry and health articles for a Canadian magazine as her interest grew in natural healthcare. Kaye became interested in natural healing and remedies after encountering a few serious health issues. Against many odds, D.G. has overcome adversity several times throughout her life.

D.G. began writing books to share her stories and inspiration. Her compassion and life experiences inspire her to write from the heart. She looks for the good and the positive in everything, and believes in paying it forward.

“For every kindness, there should be kindness in return, Wouldn’t that just make the world right?”

D.G.’s Favorite Saying: “Live. Laugh. Love …and don’t forget to breathe!”

When D.G. is not writing, she’s reading. Her favorite genres of reading are: biographies, memoirs, writing and natural health. Kaye loves to read about people who overcome adversity, victories and redemption and believes we have to keep learning–there is always room for improvement! She loves to cook, travel, and play poker (when she gets the chance).

You can find D.G. on social media and her author and blog pages:

http://www.dgkayewriter.com

http://www.goodreads.com/dgkaye

http://www.amazon.com/author/dgkaye7

http://www.twitter.com/@pokercubster

http://www.facebook.com/dgkaye

http://www.youtube.com/DebbyDGKayeGies

http://www.linkedin.com/in/dgkaye7

Our Review of Fifteen First Times

A Collection of Indelible Firsts

My First Car

I share many memories of my first times with Debby, and the most memorable for me, was my first car and learning to drive it. This was my first taste of independence, and I loved every minute of being behind the wheel.

For The Love of Shoes

Shoes struck a different note with me; however, as being tall, I apparently have rather large feet. Finding shoes that fit has always been a nightmare for me.

First and Last Love

Although I share many of Debby’s Fifteen First Times, I never did find the love of my life, although there were plenty of almosts. I am envious of the love she shared with G and very sad that she must mourn him every single day…

This intriguing book is so many of our lives in a nutshell…

Childhood Footsteps… #Poetry

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 10 Comments 

Childhood Footsteps…



Did I just grab the tail end of a plane
as it took off?
Am I soaring high above the earth?
How or why I am doing this
I cannot tell
I should not be able to breathe
My body should freeze at this altitude
Yet the air feels soft, gentle
Helping me to hold on
It wants me here to witness
The earth below in all its glory
At the same time
to know how it feels 
To be free of all restraints
The clouds brush against my skin
The soft touch of cotton wool
Childhood footsteps 
run through my mind
reminding me of mother’s gentle touch
the air pulls me forward
old memories drift away
I can feel my soul rewriting my future
As I let go of the plane…

                                                                                  ©AnitaDawes2023

Silent Sunday… My Favourite Walk…

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 9 Comments

I have been missing my favourite walk this Spring, as it is just a little too far for me to walk. I could probably manage to get to our local pond, but wouldn’t have anything left to walk home. These photographs were taken last year, and I enjoyed seeing them again.

I have no idea why they call it a pond, as it’s huge. Takes over half an hour to walk all the way around. Now that I am on steroids and feeling stronger already, maybe soon, I can make the trip!

The Magic of Simple…#Fiction #FamilyHorror

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 7 Comments

This story from Anita has long been one of my favourites, about a huge bear of a man called Simple. He loves to be in the forest at home among all the towering trees, away from all the people who torment him because of his size, his slowness, and his stutter.

I thought I would print an excerpt to introduce him to you properly…

       Gran stormed across the clearing, bending to pick up a stick from the ground without breaking her stride.  Simple, sitting against the wood pile, was in for another of her beatings.  I yelled for him to run, but he didn’t hear me.  Lost in one of his daydreams I guessed.

I watched in silence as Gran repeatedly swung the stick hard against the side of her son’s head.  There were no words to describe Simple’s pain, or the pain of watching.  He probably didn’t even know what it was for and I hated her for making me feel all the things he couldn’t say. He didn’t move or look her in the face, not until she let the stick drop from her bony fingers did he feel safe enough to close his eyes.  He slowly put his hands to his battered head, blood pushing its way through the gaps in his dirty fingers…

I know I edited this book, so you could say I am a bit biased, but I don’t think so. I really love the story, even though it has savagely cruel elements involving hatred and violence. But all of these elements are finely balanced with so much emotional determination and caring by Simple’s sister, Leanne, that you get torn every which way as you read it.

This book is a roller coaster of a read but one that has been very hard to categorise. Mainstream publishers really couldn’t figure out what to do with it. They loved it but…

There always seems to be a but, doesn’t there?

I would love to hear if you could love it as much as I do…

Here is the latest review for Simple…

AEM
5.0 out of 5 starsLife’s Choices
 

The Lucky Duckling… #True Story

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 12 Comments

Image by Melanie from Pixabay

Lucy, the Lucky Duckling…

I was watching Britain’s Got Talent last night when a duck waddled onto the stage. Another one of those animal acts that occasionally are brilliant, I thought, but usually amusing when the animals decide to have fun instead.

This duck had no intention of performing, so the act didn’t last long.

For one magical moment, I remembered a duck I once knew. Her name was Lucy, and I was very fond of her way back in my childhood.

We lived in the countryside on a small farm, and every Spring, the farmer would send for 12 newborn chicks. They would arrive in a cardboard box that had holes in the lid. It was a magical moment when that lid was raised, and we could see the tiny chicks. They never seemed any the worse for their deliverance and were soon installed in the barn in a special pen complete with a heat lamp.

In one particular year, 12 ducklings were also ordered, and we awaited their arrival with a mixture of excitement and curiosity. When they arrived, there were 13 in the box, something we would later be grateful for.

After a few weeks, they were transferred into an outdoor run, always our first point of call after school. Only we couldn’t see any of the ducklings in the pen.

Nobody would say where they had gone, just that they must have escaped somehow.

Later, I found out that they had indeed escaped onto the main road and been run over by the passing cars. This information was kept from the younger children, and it was a hard secret for me to keep. The next day, a neighbour turned up with a cardboard box that also had holes in the lid.

I was given the box and told to open it. Inside was what I liked to think was the thirteenth duckling, Lucy.

We often had a chicken for dinner, but Lucy lived to a grand old age, waddling around the garden…

©JayeMarie2023

Image by Birgit from Pixabay 

A Written Conversation ~ Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie ~ Wordle #311 #Fiction

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 6 Comments

Image by Kati from Pixabay 

#Throwback Thursday… The Ring… #Fiction

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 11 Comments

Image by sara graves from Pixabay 

I liked the look of the ring, it had diamonds around the edge and a large amethyst in the centre. Ten pounds, a bargain, I thought.

I decided to pay quickly and look closer when I got home.

The toothless smile from the vendor sent shivers down my back, the look in his eyes none too pleasant. As I hurried away from the stall, I had the feeling something was following me. I turned a few times, but nothing untoward could be seen. I would rather there have been; the unseen worries me more.

I always had a vivid imagination, my mother often said. I need a good imagination as a writer, so I didn’t knock it out. This feeling often brings on a new story.

I jumped on the 49 bus, half an hour, and I would be home. I sat opposite a very old woman wearing shabby clothes. She was staring at my hand.

I thought I heard her say, nice ring.

Again my mind skipped off on some speed dial imagination. It so often runs like water. Not all can be held in mind. It’s a case of catching what you can, writing it down or losing it.

I must have dropped the strange feeling on my doorstep, for I felt better once inside my cosy flat. Thomas, my ginger cat, welcomed me home. I scratched behind his ear and went to make coffee.  I checked my purchase to find that the ring had a nine-carat gold mark on the inside. I had found a treasure…

That night I placed it on my bedside table after writing down all I could remember about my day.

I hoped to sleep like a baby but awoke in a cold sweat. The old lady from the bus had stepped into my dream. She told me the ring belonged to her mother and wanted it back. It was the same voice I had heard on the bus. How could she have known the contents of my bag?

How could I give the ring back to her mother? I’m sure she must be dead, judging the old woman to be about eighty.

It was my day off from work. I would take the ring back to the vendor, hoping he could tell me more about it, but not looking forward to the toothless smile. I walked up and down but couldn’t find his stall. Maybe it was his day off too.

I asked around, but no one knew who I spoke about.

One chap said, ‘we have never had anyone like that working here, and I’ve been here for over ten years. I’m sure I would remember the person you describe.’

Now it seems I am stuck with the ring. Maybe I should throw it into the river, like some ancient votive gift to a God, hoping he or she could spare me from a ghostly visitor trying to retrieve her ring.

Maybe I shouldn’t worry. Ghosts can’t hurt you, can they?

It is gold, after all…

©AnitaDawes2020

Memories… #Poetry

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 8 Comments

Image by Nos Nguyen from Pixabay 

Memories

Slip sliding through life in circles
Torn, shredded, this paper on the wind
Under dark skies, waiting for rain, thunder
Memories of the past haunt the present
Better to forget, get out from under the cloud
Let love into your life, move forward
In hope of better days, I pull up my boot straps
Never again to look behind myself
Grab every moment, as if for the first time.
           Remember that first kiss…


©AnitaDawes2020

Help around the Office?

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 15 Comments

Milo, choosing a pen. I hope it isn’t a red one!

Yesterday was Milo’s first trip to the vet.

We couldn’t have chosen the worst day for it as the outside temperature was – 4. The car looked as though it had been frosted, very pretty, but the doors were all frozen shut!

When we drove into the vet’s car park, we suddenly remembered the last time we had been there. I wanted to turn around and go home, but the memories flooded my mind and cancelled out all coherent thoughts.

Remember Merlin?

When our 18-year-old black and white fur baby took ill early last year, we brought him to this vet, hoping for the best. Sadly, this wasn’t to be, and we lost him that day.

The pain tried to come flooding back as we relived that terrible moment all over again, but we held on to our emotions, parked the car and walked into the surgery, aware that our tiny new arrival relied on us to do our best for him.

Yesterday was the perfect reminder of why we haven’t looked for another fur baby before, but in a way, we didn’t choose Milo. We think he chose us…

An Unexpected Happening…

/ Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes / 27 Comments

Merlin, gone but never forgotten…

Some of you might remember Merlin, our beloved black and white cat. He was an important part of our family for 18 years, and when he suddenly passed earlier this year, it broke all our hearts.

People have often asked if we will get another cat, but we knew we would never find another Merlin. We just wanted him back…

So, we were not amused initially when our number one son came home from a Christmas party with a kitten in a travel bag. His friends knew how much he missed Merlin and thought they would give him the best present in the world.

Milo

After many angry tears, we fell in love with the kitten, who, after all, just needed to be loved. He is nine weeks old, ginger and white, with the sweetest face, and he greeted us all and walked around the house as if he had been here before.

We called him Milo, which is rather close to Merlin’s name, but the name stuck. He is very affectionate and has explored every inch of the house, choosing his places. I just know he will be ruling the roost in no time at all.

We have wondered about reincarnation, as Milo has very similar actions and preferences to our Merlin. He looks nothing like Merlin, though and has one habit we have never encountered before. He farts!

He can clear the room, and we hope this is just a kitten thing and will eventually stop. Just goes to show that you never know what will happen…