I grew up in a jewelry store, so I’ve never been one to be distracted by sparkly things. And then, six months ago, I saw this flower ring designed by Neil Lane and said, “I have to have it!!!!!” It’s been haunting me since then, and I’ve looked high and low for something comparable that was just as gorgeous but not quite so expensive.
I finally realized that something “like” this ring just doesn’t exist.
So I gave in a bought it today. It’s SO PRETTY!!!!!!!!
As I have stated in a previous entry, I’ve had a long-time ban on books written in first person POV (known as FPPOV for the rest of this entry). That ban ended, though, upon giving in and reading Colleen Hoover’s Hopeless, because then I read Slammed and Point of Retreat. This past weekend, I read John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars, which is another book written in FPPOV, and also another book that had a gutting, heart-wrenching effect on me.
So all this crying I’ve been doing over these books lately – all written in FPPOV, no less – have me thinking: is FPPOV the new “thing” in popular fiction? Because all of these books that have knocked me to my knees with emotion are best sellers, and they’re all written in first person. Is that where it’s at now in the world of fiction?
I’m struggling to write my own book. Each and every sentence feels like a monumental task because I’m still trying to find my characters’ voices. The idea of just one voice, flowing so freely in “me” speak, is appealing. But I’m a third person kind of girl. I love third person. I’ve embraced it my entire writing life. Third person POV and the Oxford comma are my two favorite parts of the writing process. Can I write my story, and tell it as authentically as I want to, if I’m only inside one character’s head and only sharing her voice? One of the reasons I love writing romances is because I have two characters who are world apart at the beginning who have to find their way to a spot where their orbits intersect. If I’m only sharing one voice and one character’s thoughts, I can’t do that.
So what’s the answer – is FPPOV the way to go now? Do readers have a particular narrative that they prefer? Am I using this debate as just an excuse to put off writing even more? I need answers!
Dear eBay, f*** you. You’re going to kill me with all your thousands of RCA Victors, Philcos, Wards Airlines, etc. I should have never gone to that damn site and entered “antique radio” into the search bar. Since then, I can often be found gazing at my iPhone screen, cursing at my eBay app because some total creep used eSnipe and outbid me at the last second.
Anyway, I managed to win an auction finally (because I play fairly and don’t cheat like a big butthead) and scored myself a 1942 Firestone Air Chief Intercepter. The seller didn’t know the year, but since he was kind enough to list the model number, I was able to locate it. It was only $53 with shipping! When it came, it was in a huge box! Imagine my surprise to find out that this baby is 19″ long and 12″ tall!!! It’s a monster!
Here it is:
And here’s the original ad for it:
So I’m up to six radios now! And I’m totally bidding on another because it’s an addiction!
As my readers are aware, I collect vintage radios. Roughly two years ago, my mom called to tell me that she and my dad had been digging around his grandmother’s old homestead, which was getting ready to be demolished, and they had snagged an old bakeware-style radio from the late 30s/early 40s. It wasn’t in good shape, she said, and it had a crack running up the middle of it, but since it belonged to our family, she grabbed it for me anyway. I was excited and thanked her for it.
A few days later, my parents delivered the radio to me. When they got to my house and handed me the radio, I was excited because it was a pretty cool radio, despite the damage. About the size of a loaf of bread, it was tan in color and was quite heavy. I happily added it to my collection. As she handed it off to me, though, she warned me that weird things had been happening the few days it was in their house. She said that on the first day they brought it home, they sat it on top of their fridge. Minutes later, they were on the other side of the kitchen when they heard this huge crashing sound that came from the area of the fridge. It was very loud and shook the floor. When they turned to investigate, nothing was there.
When the visit was over, my parents left. I spent a few minutes admiring my new radio. I had placed it in the living room next to my RCA Victor, which sat on top of my highboy Philco. These three radios were placed directly under the light that turned on the porch lights. After that, Tim went into the kitchen and I went into my office. Minutes later, we both heard a huge crashing sound right in the living room, directly in the area where the radios were. It was so powerful that the floors even shook. Tim and I both went running into the room but there was nothing there; everything was in its place.
Two days later, I was getting ready for work. It wasn’t quite 6am, Tim was still in bed, and the pink light of morning was just beginning to peek through the windows. My house was totally quiet with no TV or radio on. All of the sudden, I heard the clear sound of a little girl’s voice say “hello?” The sound came from the living room. Even though I knew there was no one in my home that shouldn’t be there, I went dashing into the room. Staring at the radios in that empty room, the sound of that little girl’s voice playing inside my head, I knew that this radio had “something” attached to it.
After that, we started to notice more things. Every time I let the dogs out at night, I would turn the porch lights on. When I would go back to let them back in a few minutes later, the lights would always be off. Tim and I were both annoyed and accused each other of turning the lights off until we realized that neither one had turned them off. At that point, I decided to reason with the ghost I knew was now residing with us. One night I said, “Okay, look, I know you’re here. And now you know that I know you’re here. So please stop turning off the lights, okay?” After that, the lights stayed on when we turned them on.
Kyle, my dog who passed away last April (and who I still mourn each and every day), would lie on our couch, his eyes intently watching something right in the area in front of the radio. His eyes would track whatever he was watching as it moved across the room, back and forth, up to the ceiling and back down again. I would watch him watch whatever he saw in rapt fascination. I saw nothing when I looked.
The last straw (for Tim) happened about a month after we got the radio. I got a call when I was at work and Tim was breathless when he said, “We’ve got to do something about this radio!” I asked him why and he explained that he had been doing laundry when he decided to go run some errands. He said he went into our utility room and turned off the drier. “And Rachel,” he added with emphasis, “I know I turned the dryer off because it buzzed!” Well, he left and ran his errands and when he got back home, the dryer was back on and running.
At that point, I told him to remove the radio from our house. Having grown up in a house that I know was haunted, I knew the radio was to blame. It was the first time I had experienced an item that had a spirit attached to it, but I knew, without a doubt, that it was because of the radio. That day, Tim took the radio, went outside, walked across our backyard and into our detached garage, where he placed the radio in the very back corner of the building that. After that, all “unexplained” events in the house stopped. But when he was working in the garage a few months later, though, the lights kept going off and on the entire time he was out there.
In November, we decided to move. And even though that radio had familial history attached to it, we made the decision not to take it with us. As far as we know, it’s still sitting on a dusty corner shelf in that garage. I often wonder who that little girl was and why her spirit was attached to that radio. Part of me regrets that I’ll never know. And with each new radio that I bring into my home, I have to wonder – who did it belong to? Where did it come from? What is its history? And did it happen to come with any extra “baggage”?
When their husbands are away, some women let their hair down, go out with friends, and get a little wild.
Me?
I stay in my pajamas all day and make dishes where the main ingredient is cabbage.
I’m a rebel.
Roxie and I have spent our Saturday sleeping on various surfaces – the bed (both of us), the couch (her), the recliner (me). I’m on call, meaning I’ve had to check my email a dozen times and do some work from home, but other than that, this day has been all mine. Tim is visiting his family and he may be stuck there for an extra day because we’re supposed to get upwards of 9 inches of snow starting tomorrow morning.
So what shall I do with the rest of my weekend? Well, I have a new recipe to try and post on The Homefront Kitchen. I’ll probably do that in a little while. I’m also in the middle of a rather titillating book, and I’ve been working on my own novel lately (praise God! Finally!)
I’d like to pretend that I have something exciting to blog about, but I don’t. I’m just a woman, hanging out with her dog, and about to eat a bowl of cabbage casserole. In other words, I’m livin’ on the edge! 😛
Pete, or James K. Stepro, as was his given name, was born on a chilly February Saturday in 1912. The seventh of eight children in a three-room house with no electricity, he was from inauspicious beginnings. The family was poor but they did the best they could. His early years were full of joy, with his siblings and cousins around to play with and entertain the precocious child. All of them would even scrounge up a nickel a piece to go down to the Dream Theater every Saturday to watch the silent movie that was playing. Then on Sundays, they trudged to the First Methodist Church for worship services.
Pete, below at age 4, was doted upon.
Even from a young age, it was clear that Pete was a strong character – one that was born to lead. He dealt with adversity in a calm manner, one that impressed his teachers early on. And, like many in his generation, he had to learn to be the man of the house at a young age. In 1926, when Pete was just 14, his father died. Immediately, Pete knew his dreams of graduating high school would have to be cast aside so that he could provide for his family. He dropped out of the 8th grade and took a job delivering milk.
Four years went by. The Roaring 20s ended and 1930 came. It was only then that Pete finally got to go to high school, beginning as an 18-year-old freshman. He soon began playing on the basketball and boxing teams.
Below is Pete, second from the right, with the 1933 Corydon High School basketball team. His developed biceps give away the fact that he was four years older than his classmates.
Here is Pete as a student coach with the team. He’s the one in the sweater on the left.
In 1934, at age 22, Pete graduated high school.
A little over a year later, on August 1, 1935, Pete joined the Army. After basic training, he reported to Fort Knox, Kentucky, which was only a little over an hour’s drive from his hometown, and became a Private in Troop C of the First Cavalry Regiment.
Not long after he enlisted, he and his buddies went to a dance hall on a Saturday night. There, Pete’s life would change in an instant when he set eyes on a pretty brunette named Ruth. They talked, they danced, and at the end of the night, he asked if he could see her again. Her face fell and she shook her head no. “I’m not allowed to date until I’m sixteen,” she admitted. Having just turned fifteen, dating Pete would have to wait. Never one to be kept down for long, Pete waited and on the day Ruth turned 16, he appeared on Ruth’s doorstep and asked her on a date. He would never again look at another woman.
Pete took to military life and began to quickly move up the ranks. On December 7, 1937, he became an officer – Second Lieutenant James K. Stepro. In 1938, Pete left active duty and went into the reserves. Still hoping to better himself, he moved to Bloomington, Indiana to attend Indiana University. His schooling only lasted one year, though, because then, everything in Pete’s life changed.
By 1940, there were rumblings that America was going to go to war. Hitler was tearing across Europe and the Japanese were terrorizing Asia. As Hitler grew more powerful, the American military began to take counter measures. Pete’s reserve unit was activated on July 8, 1940. One week later, on July 15th, the 1st Armored Division was born and Pete’s regiment, the 1st Cavalry, became the 1st Armored Regiment. Later that same year, on December 14, he married Ruth.
Even with a wife waiting for him back home, Pete focused on his job. He was a natural leader and his men loved him. As he prepared for war, he continued to move up within the Army. In April of 1941, he was promoted to 1st Lieutenant.
After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, America entered the war. Preparations to go oversees ramped up and 1942 found him in command of company H. Before he could be shipped overseas, Pete took one last weekend pass and went on a trip with his young wife.
Pete and Ruth:
After he returned from his trip with Ruth, Pete was moved to various posts around the US as training continued. He was promoted to Captain and not too long after, he was and on a ship to Northern Ireland.
Training in Ireland was intense. Pete was tasked with getting his men into fighting shape, teaching them to become one with the tanks they controlled. Just four months after arriving in Ireland, the 1st Armored Division moved to England and even closer to the action.
Below are several images of Pete in the UK for training:
On December 21, 1942, the 1st Armored Division would leave the UK to face the Axis powers for the first time. They were now in North Africa.
By mid-January 1943, Pete and his men were seasoned veterans of the war. They had met with Hitler’s army on numerous occasions but so far, Company H had survived unscathed. Pete found time to write letters home, telling of how cold nights could be in the desert inside his tent (below).
One such letter, sent to Ruth on January 25, 1943, says:
North Africa Jan 25 (not sure)
Monday (I am sure)
Dearest Sweetheart Ruthie,
It has been sometime since I wrote to you, Jan. 17, I believe, and now I am going to take a few minutes to write to my sweet Ruthie. Hun, this morning I received two letters from you, one from Alfred, one from Robert. Since I last wrote to you I have received the following letters – Nov. 5, 27 – Dec. 13=14. The two this morning are Nov. 10-13. Hun, I am glad you have the letters dated because we have to destroy the address as soon as we receive a letter to keep it from falling in enemy’s hands. Also, a letter from Mom dated Nov. 27 – one from Robert Nov. 9, one from Doris Dec. 11.
Hun, you said you received a copy of the Illustrated London News. It has probably expired now since I subscribed for only a quarter of a year but I hope you renew the subscription.
Mom said that she is receiving an allotment from Robert so if she writes you to discontinue the $25 check, don’t discontinue it because I want her to save the money Robert has allotted – I mean save the $22 for him. This was the way I wrote him last summer (and your Petie knows his business.)
Ruthie, you can probably tell by the spots on the letter what kind of weather it is now. Your letter of Nov. 13 says, “We are shedding today and Ermel is helping Mother cook.” It should read “___ and I am helping Mother cook.” You had better learn, Honey-girl.
I suppose that by now Rodney has a new niece or nephew (maybe it’s a cousin) to play with.
Pretty soon it will be Feb. 1st. Time sure does fly. I would sure like to be home with you, Ruthie, then time wouldn’t matter so much.
Hun, I went to some old Roman or Carthaginian ruins and found a little clay tea pot. No telling how old it is, either. It has a picture of a little girl or boy engraved on it. The remains of the buildings have a lot of engravings just like the history books show. I couldn’t stay there but a couple of minutes and I would have liked a couple weeks to dig around in the ruins. It is hard to visualize those places as having been built centuries ago, and that those places were once great cities.
One day I took a ride on a camel – it had only one hump and it began to bubble inside. Lt. Horre said it was taking a drink from one of its several reservoirs.
Hun, I have a lots of figs and dates. Now I am in a big olive grove and there is a fig palm only 40 yards from me. They are good, too.
Last night I turned my radio on to BBC and heard the news from the US (not supposed to do this) and I heard them telling of things that are happening over here. It seems funny that the people at home know about what’s going on sooner than we do.
Hun, do you still have that Coca Cola on ice for me? You probably don’t think much of Cokes much in January. I am still wanting a big, juicy hamburger.
Ruthie, don’t let me forget to tell you about Lieut. Robertson’s slit trench when I get home. It happened some time ago when the planes first started their flying over us but it is still funny to me.
Have you been cracking any walnuts this winter? I would like be at home cracking them for you Rodney and Ila Sue would probably help us eat them. And we will have to teach Ila Sue the game we always played with Rodney, “going through a tunnel.” We liked that game, too, didn’t we?
Today is the 26th, Ruthie. If I get this letter in in time it may make good connections.
I think that I mentioned receiving Xmas cards from Masonic Lodge and Ladies Society Methodist Church.
I sent you several postcards from over here (not where I am) and I know you will like them if they arrive home.
Ruthie, Sweetheart, I must stup writing, but I will always keep loving you with all my heart. For always with loads of fun,
Your Captain Pete James K
After the letter was posted, Pete’s brief respite from the war was over and he went back to work.
Fighting intensified in late January and early February. On February 14, 1943, the 5th Panzer Army met up with three companies, including Pete’s, at Sidi bou Zid. Company H was first attacked by air and artillery shells soon followed. The fighting grew in intensity, chaos raining over Pete’s tank as they faced the Germans. Pete, ever the commander, stuck his head out of the turret so that he could direct the company. A shell hit the hatch cover, which caused Pete to look down at his men inside the tank to make sure that everyone was okay. Reassured, he popped his head back out into the open air. Seconds later, a German 88 artillery shell hit him directly, ending his life.
It wasn’t until February 20th, six days later, that Ruth was notified. She received this telegram while at her parents’ home.
THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR HUSBAND, CAPTAIN JAMES K. STEPRO, WAS KILLED IN ACTION IN DEFENSE OF HIS COUNTRY IN THE NORTH AFRICAN AREA, FEB. 14. LETTER FOLLOWS. ADJUTANT GENERAL
Pete was buried far, far from home, first in a temporary resting place near the ancient ruins that he had excitedly written Ruth about.
Ruth was notified in June that Pete was to be posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions at Faid Pass. She was also presented with a Purple Heart for his valor at Sidi bou Zid.
Pete’s resting place wasn’t final until 1947. At that time, Ruth was notified that they were moving his body from the temporary cemetery to the North Africa American Cemetery at Carthage, Tunisia. She had the option of having his body sent home, but chose not to. There has always been some question as to why Ruth made that decision. It’s thought that she probably couldn’t endure the grief that would follow the arrival of his casket. By that time, four years had passed and the wounds, though still open, were no longer raw. Holding a funeral would have only opened them up, leaving her aching with heartbreak and drained all over again.
Pete’s resting place in Carthage, Tunisia:
I never knew Pete. And my father, who wrote a book about him (which provided me with the above details), never knew him either. Dad was born on May 7, 1945, just as Americans were celebrating the Victory in Europe. But Dad grew up hearing stories about Pete, and once he became a man and he, too, served in the armed forces, Pete’s widow, Ruth, began to give him some of Pete’s personal effects. I grew up staring at Pete’s Army boots, which were safely stored in a glass case, while Dad wove stories of Pete’s childhood and the people I knew who knew him. Just a few years ago, Dad gave me one of his caps, which very well might be the one he’s wearing here:
Even though I never got to have a single conversation with my great-great uncle, who would have been 66 when I was born, I am nonetheless moved by him. He was a strong, proud man full of honor, and he was one of the hundreds of thousands of Americans who gave their life in that most terrible of wars. And as my father advances in years, I feel it’s my duty to keep Pete’s memory alive. After what he did for me (and for the rest of the world), it’s the very least I can do for him.
source – Pfeiffer, Larry. Captain Pete: A Biography of Captain James K. Stepro. Self-published. 1983.
I’ve got a new address! Now, when you go to gettinsentimental.wordpress.com, it will redirect you here to 14thandoak.com.
So you might be asking yourself, “What the heck is 14th and Oak?”
I chose this domain in honor of my beloved Fibber McGee & Molly. Anyone who is a fan of the show knows that anytime anything ever happened in the lovely little town of Wistful Vista, it happened at 14th and Oak. Bank robbery? At 14th and Oak. Fibber’s car stolen? He last parked it at 14th and Oak. Fibber’s hand caught in a mailbox? It was the one at 14th and Oak. Molly headed to the Bon-Ton Department store to check out the new fur coats? She did that at 14th and Oak. Fibber craving ice cream from the soda counter at Kramer’s Drugs? That was located at 14th and Oak.
Free domains associated with Fibber McGee & Molly are hard to come by. I was very happy when I stumbled upon this one. So in honor of my favorite show from the golden age of radio and the two stars, Jim and Marian Jordan (who feel like family to me because of the hours I have spent listening and laughing at their antics) my blog, too, is now located at 14 and Oak!
I want to befriend other aspiring novelists or full-fledged authors so that we can talk and share ideas and offer support but I have no idea where to meet them. Hello? Writers? Are you out there? Can we chat?
A blog where I share my messages and interactions that I have with God
- A monastery of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance -
I am just an ordinary woman with ordinary thoughts living an ordinary life. But through the grace of Jesus Christ, there is beauty in the ordinary. Look with me at the ordinary, that we might see His beauty.
graceful living . biblical virtue . feminine calling
Learning a Life of Self-Reliance
Christian, wife, mom, homeschooler, podcaster
A site for preaching
"In the sweetness of life, let there be laughter, because in the dew of little things the heart finds its joy."
Gluten-free living, growing food, raising chickens and loving my family!
Beautiful things, motherhood, life in NYC and Queens
Our journey through homesteading
Living the simple life in a farmhouse filled with faith, special needs, humour, and horse manure.
The Podcast for Jewish Women
modesty without the frump.
Where modest meets modern
Coffee isn't love... but it's close. My journey- learning to love myself.
Seeing the world through a British lens
Living the Life of Magick and Devotion
Feminism, paganism, self-discovery, and headscarves.
Two Bears And A Cat
A blog where I share my messages and interactions that I have with God
- A monastery of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance -
I am just an ordinary woman with ordinary thoughts living an ordinary life. But through the grace of Jesus Christ, there is beauty in the ordinary. Look with me at the ordinary, that we might see His beauty.
graceful living . biblical virtue . feminine calling
Learning a Life of Self-Reliance
Christian, wife, mom, homeschooler, podcaster
Life on Wild Hare Farm 