Who is Blake Calkin?

Blake Calkin....THE central male figure in my series that all the women orbit around like the planets orbit the sun.  Blake is driven in every area of his life.  Ordinary is NEVER good enough for Blake.

He grew up in a seriously dysfunctional (a word that they didn't use in the 1800s) family.  His father was an alcoholic.  After drinking all evening he would come home and beat his wife.  Blake's mother would lock Blake's door by putting a large knife in the top of the door.  In his drunken stupor his father never could open the door.  He had tried a few times.

From his earliest memories Blake hears his Father beating his Mother.  He hears his mother's cries, and pleading.  He tries, more and more as he grows older to open that locked door.  He wants, actually needs, to break free to protect his Mother.  It's an age old primal demand to protect your Mother.  In a perfect world Mother is creator, protector, and friend.  Listening to the battering of your Mother night after endless night is a hideous nightmare.

When Blake is in his early teens his Father's beating of his Mother ends when he kills her.  Blake hears but doesn't actually witness the heinous act.

Now Blake's life which had been barely tolerable because of his Mother's selfless love becomes a living nightmare.  There is no loving hand to lock his door.  In the absence of his Mother his Father begins beating Blake.

Blake does not think to alert the police.  He has been taught by both his parents that the police are the enemies.  As a small child he was frequently coaxed to obey by being told that the police would come with the paddy wagon and take him away never to return.

The abuse continues night after night, week after week.  Finally Blake realizes that he simply will not survive much longer if he doesn't find a way out.  He gets a job that allows him to hide there.  He sleeps in a stable with horses.

The day dawns bright when he knows that he must leave.  He has left his pitiful poor savings in a rag under one of the floorboards in his bedroom.  He thinks that his Father will be sleeping off yet another alcoholic stupor in the afternoon.

After retrieving the money he makes a hasty dash for the front door.  Too late.  His Father is awake, and angry.  He doesn't understand why Blake has abandoned him.  He begins a tirade about Blake's worthlessness.  Then his greedy eyes drop to the rag in Blake's hands.

He rips it from Blake.  Discovering the money he begins a tirade about Blake's selfishness, about his duty to support and help his family.  Blake driven to desperation punches his Father in the face.

He is no match for his Father even in his drunken condition.  His Father has spent his lifetime in barroom brawls.  With a fearful roar his Father attacks Blake and knocks him unconscious.

Blake awakens to find his Father in a drunken stupor on the couch.  Asleep he is still holding an almost empty bottle of whiskey.  He cradles it as a baby would hold a bottle.  Blake tries to stand up and his legs will not hold him.  He realizes that one of his eyes is swollen shut.  His balance is completely gone.  The world begins to reel faster than Blake's aching head will comprehend..

Too weak and dizzy to stand Blake crawls to his Father.  Carefully he draws the rag from under his Father's leg.  The suspense is awful as he slowly, oh so carefully pulls out the rag to find, one small coin left.  Blake seriously considers taking the bottle out of his Father's hand and smashing his head with it.

It doesn't take long for Blake to realize that he can't kill his Father.  If he does he will be no better than the miserable human being snoring on the couch.

Oh so quietly Blake crawls into the kitchen.  He opens the cupboard and find a mouse contentedly chewing on a stale mold covered crust of bread.  Nothing more.  Blake opens another cupboard and discovers a half eaten can of beans.  This is also growing strange life forms.

Sighing he pockets the one coin that he has.  He looks around at the only home he has ever known.  He realizes that since his Mother's death it has been more hell than home.  He slowly, painfully, crawls out the door.

Crawling is so painful that he passes out several times before he reaches the place where he works.  As he crawls into the yard he sees his boss speaking his wife.  Before he can say anything Blake passes out again.

When he awakens this time he is in a bed.  The bed is goose downy and beyond any comfort of his imagination.  He finds that he is in a clean nightshirt.  He tries to stand up and has to lie back down.  Weakness fills his body.  He feels as though his heart is barely beating.

Mrs. Boss comes in the room with a tray.  Blake says, "I didn't mean to make any trouble for you and your family.  If you'll just give me back my clothes I'll be on my way."

"The hell you say!"  The ladies brown eyes flash with anger.  "Who beat you like that young man?  He needs to be put in jail for the rest of his life!  Why you're just a kid."

"My Father.  My drunken, miserable, no good Father."  Suddenly the years of sorrow come tumbling out of his mouth.  He speaks so quickly that the good lady with the tray has to keep slowing him down to understand his words.

When he finally finishes the woman pulls up a chair next to his bed.  She hands him the tray but stays in the chair.

Jamie suddenly realizes that he is starving.  He looks at the tray and finds soup, pudding, bread and butter.  Ravenous he tears into the food.

"Slow down boy.  You will make yourself sick.  I promise nobody is going to take the food away from you.  Where is your Mother son?"

Blake stopped all at once.  He put down the bread that had been in his hand.  "My Ma was killed by my Father.  She would protect me, lock my door so that Pa couldn't hurt me.  He killed her several years back."

"Why didn't you get the police?"

"Because I didn't see him kill her.  She had locked me in like she did every night.  This night I heard the normal screaming, slapping, and shouting.  Then there was one long drawn out scream from my Ma.  I broke the door down, I wish I had done it sooner.  There was Pa standing over Ma with a confused look on his face."

"Ma was like a broken doll.  I tried to wake her up but she was still, lifeless."  Tears began to run down Blake's face.  "It was my fault she died.  If I had just broken that damn,.oh ma'am sorry for my language, door down sooner well, Ma might still be alive."

"Blake Calkin, you can't possibly blame yourself for something hideous that your Pa did!  You did NOT kill her.  He did.  So please don't waste any more time feeling guilty."

She continued quickly, "I will call on the police first thing this morning.  They will want to hear this story from you..."

Blake cut her off.  Bitterly he said, "The police will do nothing.  Neighbors called them out before when they heard Pa shouting at Ma.  The police said, "Unless the lady is willing to swear out a complaint there is nothing that we can do."

"Well things are different now," the kindly woman said.

"How is that?"  Blake's head felt like it was filled with fog.  He couldn't think clearly, not at all.

"Your Ma isn't here.  I am.  My husband and I will swear out a complaint for you."

Blake sat looking far off.  "I guess that's right but I can't let you do it?

"Why not?

"'Cause he'd kill you and your family."

"Never mind that Blake.  My husband and I are very good at protecting ourselves.  I've been hunting since I was knee high to a grasshopper.  I can shoot a rabbit poking his nose above the ground before I can actually tell it's a rabbit."

Everything changed.  The police came and took his Pa to jail.  Blake moved back into his home.  He still worked but he slept well at night for the first time in his life.

He scraped and saved every penny that he could.  Finally one evening he came home and looked around.  He realized that it had never been home.  His Mother had been his home.  Since she was killed the place had been hell on earth.

He packed his pitiful few possessions.  Next he poured coal oil all over the house.  He lit two matches and threw them into the place.  He felt peaceful watching it burn.  He didn't even react when neighbors came to see what was burning.

Finally, the volunteer Fire Department arrived.  Before they started to spray the inferno with water Blake stopped them with three words.  "Let it burn!"

The fire chief tried to reason with him, "Young man you could sell the house and get money from it."

Blake turned and looked down at the man who was shorter than him.  "It's my house.  Let it burn."

Blake watched the fire until everything had turned to ashes.  By then everyone had gone home.  The novelty of someone burning their own home had worn off.

Blake walked through the ashes.  In the middle of the foundation he kicked a burned timber to the side.  He was stunned when he saw that underneath that timber was a bowl filled with coins.

There was also a note.

"Son, if you are reading this note I've died.  People always asked why I stayed with your Pa.  They didn't know the man I married.  He was decent, kind, and a good provider.  I don't know why he changed.  It was like there was a switch flipped in him that turned him from good to dark and evil."

"Every time I could I put money in this bowl.  I hid it under the floor so that your Pa couldn't find it.  I figured that at some point you would find it.  I love you Blake.  I'm sorry that I did you wrong by staying with your Pa.  I hope that someday you can forgive me."

"Marry a good woman Blake.  Then do your damndest to not become the monster that your Pa became.  Love Ma"

Blake stood in the ruins of the house that he had grow up in with tears running down his face.  After a long time he brushed the tears off his face with his sleeve.  Then without looking back he began to walk.  He didn't even own a horse.

Walking into the closest bar that he could find he walked in and sat at the bar.  "A bottle of whiskey please."

The bar tender looked at him hard.  "Ain't you kind of young to be drinking whiskey kid?  You ain't even grown a beard yet."

Blake plunked a $10.00 gold piece down on the bar.  "I think this is enough to calm your dubious conscience barkeep.  The bar tender didn't say one more word.  He put the bottle of whiskey in front of Blake and walked away.

Blake started to drink.  He drank, drank, and then drank some more.  The world began to feel warmer, kinder, fuzzier.  When he had finished the entire bottle he said to himself, "So this is how Papa felt on a drunken binge.  I can see it's benefits."

Then Blake threw up on the bar.  The barkeeper swore as he came running.

Blake stepped wobbily back from the bar.  Suddenly the ground below him was gone and he was free falling into nothingness.  He wondered if death felt like this.  There was no fear at the idea of death, of annihilation.  It was living that he feared, not dying.

He fell a long way.  When he landed it was with a hard crack on a concrete floor.  He was in a very dark room.  He walked to the door and found that it wouldn't open.  Pounding on the door with his fists he cried out, "Help, help someone.  Get me out of this place!"

The door was opened by one of the most beautiful women that Blake had ever seen.  "So, this time we have a kiddie, barely finished nursing at his Ma's teats.  What do you call yourself lad?"

"Blake, and I'm not a kid.  I'm a man!"

"Well Blake, lucky for you that you're a man.  Where you're going now you need to be as manly as possible."

"What do you mean 'Where I'm going?'"  Blake's eyes widened in sudden apprehension.  Everybody in Portland, Oregon knew about shanghaiing.  Men were taken from saloons, the street, one report was a man taken coming home from church.

"Wait, you are shanghaiing me?"

"You catch on quick kid.  That will also be an asset for you!  Unless...  Unless your Pa or Ma has a great big amount of money.  If they paid a big ransom I could see my way clear to letting you go."

Blake eagerly pressed forward.  He held out his Mother's legacy to him.  "I have $100.00 dollars.  That should buy me my freedom!"

"Big Sal is what they call me kid.  I'll go talk to the others and see what they think."

Blake sat on the cold floor shivering from fear more than cold.

It wasn't long before three men came in the room.  They picked up Blake and started to carry him.  "What a minute.  Where are you taking me?"

One of the men laughed nastily, "Where do you think?  It's to the water with you son.  Don't worry, you'll learn to love the briny salt water that dries out your skin and cracks your lips open.  You'll begin to enjoy shoveling coal into the burner all day and night.  It's a hell of a life kid and you've just joined our ranks!"

"But I gave Big Sal my money.  She was supposed to use it to buy my freedom."

The men looked at each other and then burst out laughing.  "You give money to Big Sal?  That's money you'll never see again.  Big Sal wouldn't care if she had Midas himself land here.  She'd shanghai him AND keep his money."

Blake started to strike out at the men.  One of them said, "Hey there sonny.  We all have guns.  This is NOT a fight that you can win."

"Why, why do you do this?  Taking away freedom from another human being?  That is almost worse than murder!"

"Tsk, tsk," one of the men said.  "So young, and yet so judgmental.  There is only ONE reason we do this."

All three men spoke in unison, "Money."  They laughed out loud.

Blake's heart sunk into his boots.  He realized that he had actually gone as the old quote said, "From the frying pan into the fire."

Thanksgiving Day

What was Thanksgiving like in the 1800's?  How was it much the same as the way that we celebrate today?  How was it different?  What foods do we still eat that they ate?  What foods do we eat that are different?

In my first published novel, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," lulu.com there is a chapter about Beth, Jamie, and their first Thanksgiving together.  Jamie's desire to have their very own first Thanksgiving as a family unit is admirable considering the fact that Beth has tricked Jamie into marriage with the desire to make he and his family miserable.

Jamie writes a song and gives it to Beth as an early Christmas present.  Have you ever given a song as a Christmas present?

One of the choicest Christmases in my life was one that my sister taught me to sing a duet with her of a Christmas hymn, "Oh Hush Thee My Baby."  I'll never forget the joy on our parents faces as we presented them with this "gift."

Material things are fun for a while, then the excitement fades, or the thing breaks, or gets lost.  Experiences that create memory are the most precious in the world.  Especially joyous Christmas memories.

So....please comment...what does your family usually eat at Thanksgiving?  Does your entire family get together?  Do you go out to eat?  There is no "right" or "wrong" way to celebrate this holiday....well actually the one "wrong" way is to NOT celebrate this holiday.  Being thankful is amazing.  As the old song says, "When I get tired and I can't sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep, and I fall asleep counting my blessings!" 

So, think of that "half full" glass and find some things to be grateful for....even if it's as small as being grateful for my pretty kitty who purrs me to sleep at nights, or my darling doggy who makes it necessary for me to walk every couple of hours.  Or there is ALWAYS the blessing of CHOCOLATE! 

Or think of the BIG things, good parents, loving spouse, or children, warm place to sleep, clothes to wear, food to eat, and hopefully you will find that that "half-full" glass is actually more full than you realized!

Blake Calkin

It was a chilly, rainy, Portland day.  It seemed appropriate to me to go for a very long walk in one of the five cemeteries that surrounded our humble cottage.  I think every writer should stroll through a cemetery from time to time.  The amazing life stories that you discover when you read tombstones can teach you, and/or inspire you.

I had decided that I was going to write a novel.  It would be romance, historical fiction.  I knew that I wanted to base a fictional town and people around an actual town and people.  I knew that there would be a strong male figure that the book would revolve around.  It would take place in the 1800's.

I need a NAME!  Names are critical in writing.  If you name someone Ebenezer Scrooge even before you know that he is miserly, and miserable, you know he's not a nice person....I mean really Ebenezer Scrooge?

Conversely, ROBIN HOOD, that is the name of a champion.  He was generous, passionate in righting wrongs....a superhero long before Superman was created, and he was more or less a real human.

So....a wonderful name for the male fulcrum of my story.  There stood a proud tall gravestone.  Engraved in larger than life letters was the name BLAKE CALKIN!  That was it!  A heroes name.  I chuckled though wondering if BLAKE CALKIN the man under the tombstone in real life had been a tiny accountant with very thick glasses, that was prohibitively shy, but extremely rich!  (Did I mention that beautiful HUGE tombstone?)

Nonetheless, a star was born, a star named BLAKE CALKIN! 

Nyle and my Series "Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch."

For twenty long years I've been writing, writing, writing a series....actually first it was going to be one book.  Then it was too long for one book.  Then it became 2, 3, 4, and now I'm up to nine novels in the series.

One of the big reasons that it didn't get published sooner was because I didn't believe that my writing would interest one soul besides me.  YUP....my inferiority complex had an inferiority complex.  I couldn't bear the idea that someone would read my book and dislike it.

It took a long time and lots of helpful advice before I had the courage to self-publish.  Amazingly, some people have read it and liked it, a lot.  I'm certain that some don't like it.  On the other hand, if I don't try how will I ever know if I can do it?

So, I came to Nyle (always the man with the creative ideas) and said, "There is this captain...well he doesn't start as a captain.  He's shanghaied at a bar in Portland, Oregon when he's fourteen.  He works very hard, and by the age of twenty owns his own steamship traveling with cargo from Portland, Oregon to San Francisco, California.

He is tired of the sea life (which he didn't want to do in the first place.)  He has looked all over the world for his own personal place to build a ranch.  A humble place at first but he has big plans and dreams to turn it into a beautiful mansion eventually.

His dreams become reality in a strange way.  He goes to bed one night leaving the steering of the ship to his second mate.  The mate has never dealt with the sand bars that are so tricky at the end of the Columbia river, and the beginning of the Pacific Ocean.  He doesn't set the anchor deeply enough and the ship runs aground.

Captain Calkin goes ashore to determine first the extent of damage to the ship.  Then he recognizes the place of his dreams complete with rolling hills, a water supply, and lots, and lots of lumber to build with and sell.

He begins his ranch unafraid of hard work.  He names the ranch for the anchor that drifted and helped him run aground.  The anchor sits at the beginning of the ranch with a large sign above it that says, "Drifting Anchor Ranch."

Nyle gave me the ranch name.  I had just finished the above story, telling it to him, and quick as that he said, "Oh, the ranch should be named the Drifting Anchor Ranch."  He was always so creative.

I'm so grateful for the name because it is a perfect analogy for so many things in real life.  I think most of us have had an anchor that has drifted from time to time in our life's journey.  Many of us have even run aground causing some temporary damage.  If we are blessed that drifting anchor has led us to new opportunities, just as it did for Blake.

I'm grateful for the anchor that Nyle's love has been in my life, keeping me grounded and safe. Even though he is no longer on this physical plane, I still feel his spirit encouraging me and protecting me.

Romance, and Love and Nyle OH MY

I was teaching a spiritual lesson to my Women's group at Church.  The subject matter escapes me now it has been 16 years. 

My beloved husband was far too ill to dress and come to church.  The medical conditions that he had caused extreme nausea, difficulty breathing, pain, and many other issues. 

Still, on this day, while I was teaching there he was in his suit looking so handsome, and so healthy.  Nobody would have guessed what price he had to pay to make that appearance.  In his arms were beautiful flowers.

He came up and presented me with the flowers.  The ladies all oohed and aahed.  Then he announced that the following Saturday was my 40th birthday and that all of the congregation was invited.  My jaw dropped twice.  Once for announcing that it was my 40th birthday (did I really want everyone to know?  lol  Once for the invitation to the entire congregation (about 200 people in all).

I have social anxiety, even a group that large of my closest relatives and friends would find me in fetal position in the corner sucking my thumb!  (OK, maybe not the thumb sucking park)

Then he took me in his strong arms, dipped me and kissed me, and departed as quickly as he had come.  May I mention that I NEVER got the lesson back on track after that.  The sisters were much too impressed by my romantic husband to remember the lesson.

One sister asked me if my husband could give her husband romance lessons!  hee hee hee  Nyle's love was a gift, CORRECTION is a gift that I will treasure forever.

The party was splendid...he designed the graphics on our little computer and laboriously printed out different sections and then put them together to form huge banners.  He purchased about 45 helium balloons.  He had 40 people bring out balloons to our front yard.  He announced in his best attorney/actor/radio advertisement voice that each balloon represented some problem or trouble in the 40 years that I had lived.  As we let go of each balloon my slate would be wiped clean and I would be able to start again.

I could not believe the restorative power of those balloons floating away, taking my troubles, and problems with them.

Did I mention that he orchestrated all of this desperately ill?  He was so nauseated, and sometimes he would cough so hard t would drop him to the floor.  Yet he persevered and did all of that for me.  His love humbles me, and makes me oh so grateful for the twenty-seven years that we shared, and the eternity that we will yet share.

Romance

I was married to one of the most romantic men that I've ever known....and I've known quite a few men in my lifetime.  (No NOT in the Biblical sense of "know"....clean up your mind...lol)

This romantic, loving part of Nyle was and will always be a big part of my romance novels.  He was not only gigantic in stature (six foot four, and two hundred eighty pounds)....Oh did I mention that it took me about fifteen minutes to iron and starch ONE of his shirts....and I'm a fast ironer?  He was gigantic in gesture and love.

One example.  Soon after Nyle and I married he told me that two times of the day were uniquely special to him.  That was the two times of the day when it was 11:11.  That was the only two times of the day that all four digits were the same.  So, he concluded that whenever we saw 11:11 and were together we would hold hands for that one minute until it was 11:12.

Did I just hear all the women reading this sigh and say in a loud voice, AHHHH???  Oh he was an AHHHH kind of man.  He was the stuff that romance novels are made of.

Last night I couldn't sleep.  I don't know why.  Once in a while I just have a miserable night where I toss and turn, and wake up frequently.  This precludes much activity on the following day.

So sitting in my comfy blue recliner (that used to be Nyle's favorite chair in the house) I started to cry hard missing Nyle so desperately that I felt I couldn't breathe.  Then I happened to look at the TV and saw that today's date is 11/11.  So, this delightful day is dedicated to my beloved.  I will write about him, and communicate with those that loved him near and far.

Today in my mind I will be holding tight to Nyle's strong, loving, comforting hand.  I will be strengthening my resolve to move forward into life by remembering the love that Nyle and I shared for twenty-seven years, and I believe that we will share forever.