Come. Walk with me. Smell the dust of Texas country roads in summer. Feel the damp, soft fog of the California coast. Follow two families driven from the dust bowl of Oklahoma. My Mother’s people went to Texas while my Father’s family went to California. Ride with us over board roads placed in the sand between the two states. Watch as we hang suspended over a thousand foot drop on an icy road in the mountains.

This book is a look at how ordinary Americans lived ordinary lives. See how the policies and politics affected attitudes and circumstances over a fascinating period in history. There are no famous or heroic people here. There are just ordinary people who, in the course of their lives, did a few extraordinary things. This is my personal account of those times.

Come with me through small towns and large cities, through good times and bad, through danger, desperation, and exultation. Stand in sunlit meadows of the high Sierras. Experience the sharp bite of a blue norther as it sings around a small Texas farm house. Come, walk with me through my growing years.

The author begins by telling us of his innocent beliefs in Christmas traditions as a young child and how with the passage of time, he became disillusioned with the whole concept. His children restored his acceptance of the event and together they celebrated Christmas in different parts of the world. He often wore a beard which over the years became white and he was able to convincingly play the part of Santa Claus. Unforgettable experiences were when he looked into the eyes of children and read there the sincere belief that there really was a Santa Claus and he was it. Eventually his concept of Christmas was passed on to his grand children and so it will go on forever.

Yes, there is a Santa Claus.

In the 1960's a depressed economy in the southwestern United States created an accelerated migration to California. Countless families pulled up stakes and looked with hope toward a land where jobs were plentiful and food affordable. Despite the trials and struggles, families found humor in everyday life. Unity became the foundation for strength and survival. This book retraces experiences of a Hispanic family leaving New Mexico and relocating in California.

THE LAND OF GOLD

On Labor Day weekend of 1968 my family traveled toward a dream we believed would be found or made in the land of gold. I had lived my entire life in Northern New Mexico and never traveled more than 150 miles in any direction. My parents had suffered a few financial setbacks and my father and eighteen year-old brother, Louie went to California to find work. Two months later, my father returned for the rest of the family.

My two younger brothers were soon asleep with the hum of the motor and movement of the car. My seventeen year-old sister, Marcella was irritable, but quiet. It had been a tiring day, renting and hitching the tiny U-haul trailer and stuffing our belongings, before driving three hours to the airport to pick up Dad. He had worked in the morning and taken a late flight from San Francisco to Albuquerque.

"How long will we be on the road?" asked Marcella.

"We should be in San Jose by Monday morning," said Dad.

It was a long trip, compounded by the slow speed we were forced to travel. The U-haul had signs painted on all sides that read 45 MPH. Dad violated the limit most of the time, but not by much.

Although there were six of us in the car, we were not crammed. Joseph, being only three, sat in front, between my parents. There were no seat belts to worry about at the time, so he was able to stretch out and sleep.

"Mejór ladeate (You'd better pull over)," said Mom, when she noticed the car weaving.

Dad drove the car off the shoulder of the highway where we'd be safe from traffic.

"Are we going to sleep in the car?" I asked.

"No," said Dad. "Vámos a sacar un colchón (Let's pull out a mattress)."

Dad and I unlocked the trailer and tossed a twin-size mattress on the ground. The night was dark, but warm and comfortable. The only noise was the occasional sound of passing cars. We stretched out, with a thin blanket and a couple of pillows. The rest of the family stayed in the car.

Dad shook me.

"Vámos (Let's go)." I felt a chill as Dad pulled off the blanket. I wanted to sleep longer. The darkness was disappearing.

"Ahorita paramos a comer (We'll stop to eat soon)," said Dad, starting the motor and pulling onto the highway. I envied Johnny and Joseph for their peaceful sleep. Marcella was curled up like a possum.

"Give me room," I said, claiming space with my elbows.

"Why don't you ride in the trailer?" grunted Marcella.

Dad looked at us through the rear-view mirror and I held my tongue. Although I was nearly sixteen years old, I knew better than to make Dad angry.

A few miles inside Arizona, we stopped at a service station. It had clean restrooms and an outside picnic table. We enjoyed Mom's baloney and green chile sandwiches and apples we'd picked from the trees back home. The morning chill gave way to a harsh sun.

"We have to get moving," said Dad. "We'll rest later, when the day gets hot."

We had never owned a vehicle with air conditioning and had never missed it - until now. The mid-afternoon sun beat on the car, threatening to melt the windows.

"It's like an oven in here," said Marcella. She rolled down her window and a gush of hot air assaulted us like a torch.

"Close it!" cackled Johnny. At eight years of age, his shrill voice annoyed everybody.

I had my shirt unbuttoned and watched the stream of perspiration trickle down my chest into my bellybutton.

One place where we stopped for gas had a thermometer with the picture of a hummingbird engraved on the glass. The temperature read 120 degrees in the shade.

"¿Tienen hambre (Are you guys hungry)?" asked Mom.

It was her subtle way of letting Dad know she was tired of being in the car.

We stopped on a frontage road in the outskirts of a place called Williams. There was a grassy area with trees and a refreshing breeze. This time the twin-size mattress was shared by everyone.

I couldn't figure out if Marcella was grumpy or sad. She was quieter than I'd ever seen and I decided to give her space.

I tried to entertain my little brothers so my parents could rest. We walked along a trail picking up rocks and looking for ground squirrels. At a little rise we discovered a dead puppy. Its mouth was open and all four legs stuck straight out. It was hard to imagine that it once bent its knees and ran and played. I wondered where its mama was. It was comforting to know my parents were nearby.

By nightfall we reached the California border. Everybody's mood changed for the better. There was laughter and cheering in the car's cramped quarters. Dad stopped at Needles and bought hamburgers to break the monotony of baloney sandwiches. There was no breeze. The suffocating night air made my chest feel tight.

"At least we're in California," said Dad. "We'll be at Tía Carolina's house soon. Louie will be waiting."

We were quickly disillusioned by the unforgiving terrain that continued for the next two hundred miles. I saw no difference between Arizona and Southern California.

"There's nothing but cactus and rocks," I said. "We haven't passed any buildings in hours."

"Ten paciencia (Be patient)," growled Dad.

In the middle of nowhere, we had to stop for agriculture inspection.

"Where are you coming from?" asked the man at the booth.

"New Mexico," said Dad.

"Where you headed?"

"San Jose."

"Do you have any fruit in the car?"

"Just a few apples," said Dad, showing him a grocery bag.

"Is that all of them?"

"That's it," said Dad.

"You'd better leave them here," said the man. "Move on."

Dad handed over the bag and we continued on our way. It was only a few apples, but I felt like we had given up half of what we owned.

I knew our destination had to be a very pleasant place because Dionne Warwick had made a song entitled 'Do You Know The Way To San Jose?' In it, she mentioned abundant space and friendly people. At the very least I pictured a modern city. I had also heard of Oakland and imagined that it must be a town filled with oak trees. And it was close to San Francisco. Maybe we'd get a chance to visit the land of hippies.

A couple hours before daybreak we passed a tiny town called Los Baños. Mom wanted to stop and stretch, but everything was closed. We opened the car windows to let in the cool breeze and aroma of alfalfa fields.

This book is also available from Heather at 1-613-582-3257, or at these retailers : Ashlie's Books in Bancroft; The Old Hastings Gallery Store in Ormsby, Ont; Lakeside Pavilion of Barry's Bay, Ont.; Wilno Crafts; Madawaska Art Shop in Maynooth; Coles Books in Pembroke, Ont., and Heart and Home Gift Store in Beachburg, Ont.

Also written by Heather and published by Trafford is The Show Must Go On, a collection of earlier memoirs.

As seasons change, so it is with the mind and body. The call of nature takes us from childhood comforts to the challenging world of adolescence. Chicken Beaks Revisited: An Hispanic Adolescence tells a story about family, religion, and values. This story, told through the eyes of an emerging teen, retraces the lives of an Hispanic, Catholic family living in Northern New Mexico during the 1960's. Told in first person, using dialogue sprinkled with Spanish, each event comes alive with underlying lessons mixing humour, love and drama. Though Hispanic in flavor, the vignettes have universal appeal.

The people and places are real. Only names have changed. During time of rapid physical changes and awkward development a young person is filled with emotions that he cannot understand, let alone control. This book targets older children and adults.

"Is there life after laundry?" This age-old question is posed by every mother, every domestic engineer of the traditional and non-traditional homestead. Personally, I think not. There is only life between loads. Everything else is scheduled around the laundry hamper.

Commandments From The Kitchen Chair is a candid look at our family's life events between running for the rinse cycle and searching for lost socks in the dryer. Early in Motherhood I discovered to my chagrin, that children do not come into the world clutching owners' manuals and husbands fail to greet you at the altar with a self-course in mind reading. These are learned skills for which no night school classes are yet to be offered. Every mother in the world feels at some point in her "career" that she is alone in her domestic dilemmas, that no one else could possibly be having the kind of day she is having. It is my hope that Commandments From The Kitchen Chair will convince mothers everywhere that we've all been there, and most of us are still there. As mothers we belong to a kind of silent sorority, but we're all members just the same. Join with me and chuckle at the life course we have chosen. After all, if it weren't for insanity, we'd all be crazy by now.

Appearing throughout the book are my husband, herein after referred to as "hubby", preferring to remain anonymous unless I use a pseudonym, and two daughters Kristin and Katelyn, fondly dubbed "The Special K's" (ages ten and three at the time of writing). No names have been changed to protect the innocent; none of us are innocent. Our family closely parallels your own, and my Mother too told me there would be days like this. She did however neglect to mention that they would all be like this.

    The author and Baby-Boomer Grandmother comes clean with poetic, creative humor relating her experience with five grandchildren, using the children's visits as a means of losing weight. It's also an opportunity to define a grandmother's role through communication, sharing and involvement.
    It's a humorous view of hope, love and comfort.

CAUTION: This book contains profanity. Let me repeat, this book contains "graphic" profanity that is not meant for those under 18. No let me restate that. It is not meant for those who have not had a bad experience in a love relationship. Who was the group that did the song, LOVE HURTS? I think they meant to sing, LOVE COSTS.
Maybe if I can make you laugh, you won't make the same mistakes I did. I know you may be thinking, it could have been my fault, right? Maybe so. You read the book and let me know.

This latest book by the author of the hilarious O.J. Simpson - The Official No Affiliation Reference Guide carries on jabbing at our assumptions about the American way of life.

Included are lyrics to many of the popular songs Lynn has written over the decades.