Archive | September 2016

How Can I Be Lonely With 3 Bats, A Spider And A Witch?

Glad you are ‘moving’ on Gail. Onwards and upwards is akways a good thing. Hugs xxx

Just Life - Jennie Orbell


First, let me say how surprised I was at the response to my previous post – the loss of Rita Raptor and the heartbreaking episode of deciding to part with Mable. I thought everyone would laugh themselves half to death, after all, they were only chickens, but that didn’t happen. Everyone sympathised and understood. In fact, many of the comments made me at best, tear-up, and at worst, cry. I still miss them terribly but accept that I can’t continue to whine on and on about it so . . . I’ve attempted to move on – and this is how. . .

I told you that Richard had kindly dismantled all things ‘chicken’ in the summer-house and had taken it back to four walls, well, I decided to move all my junk off the kitchen table and into said summer-house. It was no longer going to be a…

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I’m being interviewed as an author on Blog Talk Radio! #ravereviewsbookclub

Hope this reblogs this time, uf not already.(something went wrong) . Some authors may not know about thus and be interested.



*This photo shows the most recent Blog Talk Radio Show, and the screen where you access the broadcast.  Use this weblink: and click the ‘play’ icon toward the top of the screen (where I’m pointing). 🙂

On Saturday, 8/27, I’ll be one of the authors interviewed on Blog Talk Radio, an online talk show!  I’ll be talking about Made for Me and probably giving a mention of my sequels. It starts at 1 p.m. Eastern time, 12 noon CST, 11 Mountain time, etc.  Won’t you listen in?  Save this website: and put this on your calendar.  It’s a 30-minute  show, and there will be a few authors, so I may only be talking for a few minutes.  That’s a great start for me!  You can listen in on your laptop/desktop while you have lunch.   What should I wear?  Wait, that won’t matter.  It could be my…

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The Short Life and Sad Death of Edward the Martyr

Going a little further back this time.

History... the interesting bits!

330px-Edward_the_Martyr_-_MS_Royal_14_B_VI Edward the Martyr

Poor Edward the Martyr is one of the great ‘what ifs’ of Medieval history. It’s not that he was anything special in the kingly department, it’s simply that he didn’t get the chance to be – or to not be – any kind of king.

Born around 962 he was the eldest son of Edgar the Peaceable, king of England. His mother was Æthelfled “the Fair”, daughter of Ealdorman Ordmaer. There seems to be some confusion as to Æthelfled’s actual status (not surprising given the distance of over 1,000 years, I suppose). Some sources say she and Edgar were married, but later divorced. However, others suggest that young Edward’s legitimacy was in doubt and that his parents never married. This last is compounded by suggestions of ‘youthful indiscretion’ on Edgar’s part.

Nothing is heard of Edward’s mother after his birth, possibly suggesting that she died shortly after…

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Isabella of Castile, the Controversial First Duchess of York, c.1355-1392

Add the pieces, bits and pieces, all coming together.

History... the interesting bits!

Isabella_of_Castile-LangleyThe third daughter of Peter the Cruel of Castile and his long-term mistress (and sometime wife) Maria of Padilla, Isabella of Castile‘s childhood was marred by her father’s battles to hold on to his throne and almost constant warfare with Aragon.

Peter received support from Edward III’s son the Black Prince, but his failure to pay the costs of the campaign,  his faithlessness, and the failing health of the black Prince, meant he was left to his own devices by 1367. Peter’s own nobles backed his illegitimate brother, Henry of Tastamara, who eventually defeated and killed Peter in March 1369.

Isabella’s mother had died in 1361 and her 3-year-old brother, Alfonso, in 1362. On Peter’s death, Isabella’s older sister, Constance, inherited her father’s claim to the crown of Castile and, taking Isabella with her, took refuge in the English territory of Guyenne. Constance married John of Gaunt (third son…

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Fourth September Blog

Fourth September Blog.


I give my Love
A fragrent bouquet,
To show how I feel
Each and every day.

A posy of roses,
With sweet Baby’s Breath,
Like whispers of moonbeams,
My heart, in its depth.

From violets, austoma,
Daisies so bright,
Foxglove or orchid,
Bluebell delight.

Each tied with a ribbon
Of pink white or blue,
A scented gardenia,
I’m sending to you.

Each garden flower
Is grown with great joy,
To bring out your smiles,
When you’re being coy.

Each blossom or bud
In wonderful hues,
Are meant for your pleasure
In reds, whites or blues.

But best of the flowers
Is Rose of Delight,
My Rosie, my treasure,
My Joy of the Night.

Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. Septembet 2016.

Flowers! Most of us buy them at some time in our life. Some of us buy them quite regulary, buy or gather them from our gardens, maybe?

Blooms fill our rooms with pleasure, often fragrence and colour. Whichever you choose, it is certain that most of us enjoy a vase of cut flowers decorating a shelf/table, sideboarfwindowledge. Perhaps a pot of blooms growing right before our eyes. The latter is an option for some because it does not involve damaging a plant. Though they are grown to be cut, many feel the plants are hurt when stems are severed. This is a view.

This however, is not my point today. I want to talk about the kind of blooms available, in supemarkets (in particular – the convenient way these days to ‘pick up a bunch’!

Recently, I have started obtainng the odd bunch in this way and am finding, what I consider, unusual blooms. Of course, the usual roses, carnations (not my favourite)! Gerbera and so on are available, for a price. However, I have seen some strange (to me) names in the cut flower world.

Now, these names may be quite familiat to those who buy from supemarkets on a regular basis, but not to me, for the most part, and I have had to Google the names to find out about certain flowers.

Alstroemeria. This is a name I had heard of in my years of gardening. Not that I ever grew them, but you pick up on names when leafing through plant catalogues. Have recently delved into these flowers and found them attractive and reainly long-ish lasting in vases.

This weekend, the choice was Listriamus! Strange name. and not familiar to me. The bunch was of reasonable cost, quite a few stems, about 20 inches mostly, some cut a little shorter, range of colour in this bunch was deep pink, pale pink and white, with loads of white buds. The blooms are double petel bell shaped. Leastwisr, I think they are double.

The label guarantees 9 days life. So, I Google this. The plant originate from the southern USA, Mexico, northern South America and around the West Indies, in other words, tropical. The flowers have another name Austroma, but, reading on, I found that I am familiar with the genus. Wikipedia show a picture of a colour I am more familiar with also. Gentian! I am sure many you flower buyers and gardeners will have heard of gentian, as in gentian violets? Though these do not look like violers in this firm, but if you bought them in the violet colour, you would understand.

Apperntly for a gardener ( not a commercial gardener) they are somewhat picky to grow, but obviously, commercial growers have overcome any priblems or they would be much more expensive to buy.

Suffice it to say, there must be many more less well known flower plants being grown for the cut flower matket these days, as it is a huge industry.
{ I recently watched a programme on t.v. about the world wide cut flower market, headquarters based in, The Netherlamds.}

It was illuminating, to say the least. Roses growing in Africa, other flowers gowing in South America and all kinds of places, shipped (flown) across the airways, mostly ending up in vast warehouses in The Nethetlands.

Wholesalers buy as if in a Stock Exchange. Sales are logged and the blooms are electronically moved around these great warehouses to where the buyer’s transportation lorries await them. Those coming to England are driven or flown across the North Sea, then driven to many places in the UK

Fascinating, to see how it is so well organised. As much as seeing the wealth of colour and shapes of all these crates of flowers trundling around on little ‘trains’. The aromas must overpower the areas in a glorious way.

So, there it is, just an insight into those, sometimes sad, little bunches adorning a spot .in a supermatket.

Keep safe.


This entry was posted on September 13, 2016. 4 Comments

Third September Blog

Third September Blog.

Far Beyond.

Was I only dreaming,
Did you call me from afar?
Did I listen after daybreak
As I watched the fading star?
Our spirits must have beckoned,
Through the ether we were falling,
Just a fingertip light touch,
Through the stardust void, our essences were calling.

We sought each other’s psyche
The need was there, dear friend,
The both of us were broken,
Almost hard for us mend,
Yet loving thoughts and kindness
‘Cross the cosmos, space and time,
Past perils, love and happiness,
I am yours, and you are mine.

Copyright. Evelyn J. Steward. 2016.

Many people meet that one person who is truly the one for them. Reciprocated with the same enthusiasm, it can be winderful. Others think they have found that one partner fo life, only to find,at some future point in time, they have changed, you have changed, for whateve reason.

Some fall in and out of love or good feelings after time. And yet there are others who havw never found the right one for them. I am no expert, I am just examining this part of the humam condition, as I see it.

Some stay together for decades, ending up being with each other for 60 years and more. And some may still love each other all that time and some just stay together because it is comfortable, an easy life. Most of us want a safe easy life that we know and have become used to,, as we have matured.

Not everyone can afford that luxury. There are those that have drifted apart, possibly nursing old mental injuries, scars from being with the wrong one and breaking free, only to find they are lost without that partner and now have to deal with a world that prefers couples to singles.

And there are those that believe they have the right partner, only to find that the ‘one’ is not what they thought they would be. Are saddened by mistreatment, hurt, never to seek again for fear of being hurt again. Life can be a sad old thing!

Many authors here, myself included, write romantic novels/stories. Are these books how we have come across love? Or, are they what we think that all romance should be like, given half a chance. I know mine is not a smooth happening, as many romantic books are not, but we serm to try to bring the coupkes together in the last chapter, and that makes it alright, rounds iff the tale, so to speak.

I wonder how many, in reality, end this way? Or are we just dreamers?

Take goid care out in the world of romance.


This entry was posted on September 9, 2016. 1 Comment

Second September Blog

Some writing this tine.  A short story.

Next Year!

Shirley brushed an errant strand of chestnut hair back from her eyes as she stood gazing out of the window, not looking at anything in particular. Smelling the aroma of sprung blossoms coming through the window, ajar to let fresh air into the room. Daydreaming really! Going over in her mind, what her life had become. She had a small part-time job. It brought in just enough money to live on, not enough to have many choices. She had been left with very little after the acrimonious divorce,

James’s allownce covered his clothing, school books etc. not much else. But Shirley was a frugal woman. She grew vegetables and fruit quite successfully which spread the costs a little more; baked, and made her own clothing most of the time. And true enough, James was good with clothes but, and this was the problem, he was growing taller, fastp. He needed new shoes more often, as the size of his feet increased. Extra school books, and although she had applied for a larger stipend from his father, there were rumblings from that quarter about how much his son was costing him these days.

Her married name was Shirley Ransom. Most of her friends though, called her Shurl, except for James, her son, of course. There, it used to be mummy. At about seven, it got to mum, and now, at fourteen something, it was ‘oh mother’ when he was irritated, ‘ma’ at other times.

Shirley did not mind. He was her rock, a small rock maybe, but the only man in her family, and he was growing up with all the attributes boys ten years his senior would expect to have gained later. Taking on the role of man of the house had given James wisdom beyond his years.

Shirley had long since reinstated herself under her nee name of Piel. It was an unusual name. But Shirley liked it better than having Ransom as her name now. Ransom made her angry. Reminded her of her former life with a man who had turned against her, without reason, in her view.

Her mother met her father on a European holiday. Yes, it was a holiday affair and when she returned home, she missed Edward Piel, his looks, his charm. He had a strange, somewhat exotic name. It was one of the attractions for her mother. After a few weeks, it became obvious that where once there was one, there now had become two. Slightly niave, her mother had fallen for the oldest tale in the book. You won’t get pregnant!

Soon after Shirley’s birth, arrangments were made to change names, from her mother’s nee name of Pureforth, (which her mother deemed ill appropriate,) to Piel, that of her natural father, Edward, so that she too would remember her father’s name and her mother would remember the handsome man who gave het a daughter. To the good, Shirley always thought! But never the fact that he left her mother in the lurch with a baby on the way.

Her grandparents tried to trace Edward Piel, to no avail. Coming up only with an island off the north west coast in the Irish Sea and a tenuous link to Norsemen. Though, as her mother told her, Edward spoke perfect English.

Coming out of her reverie, Shirley caught sight of the postman across the road. He was cheeky, always a twinkling smile when he saw her

Since John, her husband, left eight years ago, there had been no one. She missed having a real man about the place. James tried his best, but he was not a warm shoulder to lean on, to cuddle up to; a man with which to share the burdens of life.

Then a couple of weeks ago a new family moved in a few doors up. The woman started talking to Shirley. “Nice to meet new people, get to know the area,” the new neighbour had said. “Funny though, I move halfway across town only to find someone I already know.”

“Who was that?” enquired Shirley.

“The Postman, Reg’ I used to be quite friendly with his wife. Has a couple of great kids too. Mind you, never thought he worked this far away!”

So, that was that! Married was not for her. He was a cheeky rascal, no mistake but tangoe with a married man? Never!

It was at that point, a knock on the door brought Shirley back to the real world. Going to answer it, she found it was Reg. “Few bills today, ” he grimaced. “Sorry it isn’t something a bit more pleasant.”

Shirley took the bundle of envelopes and catalogues from his hand. “How are the wife and kids, Reg?” She asked.

Reg looked at her askance. “I’m not married. No kids either. Someone has me mixed up with another man!”

Shirley wondered if she should blow the woman’s gaff? “A little birdie told me.”
She started to withdraw back into the house. Reg put out his hand, catching her fingers, ever so gently.

“i told you. Must be someone else. Really, I am not married.” He looked into her eyes, a querulousness came over him. “Alright, I was married, but we separated. Didn’t get on. We both tried, it’s true. But sometimes you cannot win. Divorced three years ago. Perhaps this birdie’s information is behind the times?” He grinned. “See you again.” Reg was off, whistling a merry ditty.

Now Shirley did not know who to believe! Who was telling lies? Best not to incourage Reg any more.

More thinking in front of the window and finally the answer was revealed. Believe neither. Forget about Reg. But that meant there was no one, yet again, in the offing. Was she to spend her life as an old maid? James would only be around for a few more years. His school work was good,. Chance of a scholarship and that might mean Uni?

“You OK ma?” It was James walking through the kitchen door. He slung his heavy school bag on the table, then raided the fridge for milk and a sandwich.

“Home early James?”

“Mr Goodrich let us out early. Says we can study for the exam better at home.” James gobbled the chicken sandwich, then washed it down with the milk.

“Was that wise of him?” His mother asked.

“Well, I suppose!” Then James was off to his friend Terry’s. An afterthought as he was going through the door. “He asks can he pop in a bit later after normal school hours? Bye!” And James was gone.

Oh no, thought Shirley, what has James been up to? She tidied around the living room though it was in pretty good nick so it did not take her too long.

Getting the kettle on, she got cups out and a cake she had baked the day before. Mr Goodrich knocked about four thirty.

“Please come in.” Shirley made tea and offered some cake.

“Thank you, Mrs Ransom. Looks delicious.” Obviously Mr Goodrich went by James’s birth name, not realising that Shirley had changed hers back to Piel.p

Shirley’s tension was mounting. ” You wanted to talk about James?”

“Don’t worry. Nothing really bad. He is doing well in most of his subjects. History is a bit weak, though even there, he should do pretty well. It is…” he hesitated, taking in everything the room could tell hiim, “he has tended to be…, how shall I put it? Dominating! And, that can be a good thing in life, just…the other children!”

“He hasn’t been bullying children, has he?” Shirley could hardly believe her ears. Had she fallen down in teaching him how to behave? Had she lost sight of his faults whilst concentrating on her own problems?

“I would not go so far as to say that, Mrs Ransom. Just warning you that he has a tendency to …I hardly like to say it….manipulate others. Father not around, I’m guessing?” He looked at Shirley intensely. “It shows, Mrs Ransom, it shows.”

It was at this point that Mr Goodrich mentioned the Scholarship. “His grades are almost perfect, just a bit more studying. And I will put in his application as soon as the reults are in. It would mean the University would defray the costs. It is seldom someone like James comes along.”

After thanking Shirley, he left, promising to let her know if things improved with James.

He needs a man around at his age, Shirley thought. So she took him aside that evening and explained how he was seen to be a bit overbearing.

“Sorry ma, …. mum. Didn’t mean anything. But some of the kids get jealous when I get top marks.”

“I know James! Please try to see it from their point of view. Not everyone is clever. Some children struggle with learning. Be generous.” She kissed the top of his head as he got up to go to bed.

From then on, James’ manner improved. Mr Goodrich kept her informed. Became a regular visitor. Several weeks later, James passed his exams with top matks. Shirley was thrilled. James worked hard, even found himself a little weekend job.

James worked harder over the next few years, passing every exam with flying colours. True to his word, Mr Goodrich applied on his behalf, for a scholarship.

When James reached seventeen, a letter came in the post to say he had been given a place at the local University. Mr Goodrich, Shirley and James were thrilled at this news. Celebrations all round.

And Shirley was not really surprised one day, a few weeks later, when Bob Goodrich went down on one knee, producing a little black box and presenting her with it.

” Will you?” he asked, somewhat shyly. Shirley beamed. Five years was enough for him to mourn.. He was a lovely man, she had grown very fond of him, and James regarded him as a second father already.

Copyright. Evelyn J. Steward. December, 2015.


have a good week, be careful out there.



This entry was posted on September 4, 2016. 2 Comments

First September Blog

First September Blog.


August, end of summer.
Butterflies are listless,
Fluttering here and there,
Feeding almost done.
Time to cut the buddlea,
No longer needed.
Where do butterlies
Spend winter?
Or do they die?
Their eggs surviving
In some dark corner,
Awaiting spring,
Birthing caterpillars,
To munch fresh green leaves,
In turn, to chrysalis,
To bloom again.

Summer hangs on,
But there and here,
Clouds droop,
Coolness seeps in.
Tomorrow, September
Creeps upon us.
Slowly, the year
Begins to die,
Pulls summer bounty
Around it,
Like a shawl,
Nudges nut gatherers
To take heed.
Whispers in the
Seed eaters ears,
As much as you can,
Whilst you can,
For I am the harbinger,
I tell the trees
Draw nutrients
From their leaves
To sustain through
Winter’s perils.
The Waning year
Is dying and winter approaches.

Copywrite Evelyn J. Steward. August, 2916.

I begin this blog on a dour note as the last day of August is upon us. The sun has shone in spots but now the cloud hangs low, almost threatening rain. Will it? Only time will tell.

I am still hoping for an Indian Summer. I have a few plants coming soon. I do not need the weather to deteriorate in the next few weeks. Compost in tubs. Plants to put in. So sunshine, please stay around a while longer.

Yes, gray skies have seeped into this last day of summer holdays (for some), for children, soon to walk through those school gates to begin the autumn term. Some, quite new to school, view it with trepidation: others are old hands, greeting friends they have not seen since July.

Shopping Channels have already shown light winter jackets, hoping you will buy early, ready for winter chills. In a few weeks, jackets become coats, scarves, hats and gloves, these will enter the mix. Boots too, will be available to buy the easy way. No traipsing to the High Street. Order online! Simple! Saving energy, saving cash, (sometimes)! Giving us more time to do other things.

So, time is precious. What can we use that extra time for? Quite frankly, in this day and age, I think most of us will think it a fallacy. Everything we do now, especially those of us getting older, seems to take longer. The theory is sound, but it is only a theory. Reality, in my humble opinion, is a lot different and the time thought to save, is used up by more time it takes to do tasks.

You all may feel differently. Everyone sees time and life differently of course. Perhaps a forceful person can reach out, grab that time and use it to advantage. Would be nice. However, I am of the other persuasion. It takes me longer to do a simple task, often needing rest after. Are you like that? The time we save in not trolling around to and around supermarkets is saved by ordering food online. This is true, but the order has to be deliberated on, decided upon. Frustration sets in and we flunk in our chairs. That is the part where time gained is lost.

So, dear people, think wisely about the time that might be gained, decide if in actual fact, you really and truly gain any mire time at all?

Take care, be safe.


This entry was posted on September 1, 2016. 5 Comments