"Fudging" Cooking Ability

by Amy Alessio

Thanks so much to Evelyn David and the Stiletto Gang for letting me return to guest on this blog. Evelyn told me she loves old recipes, and once started on that topic I find it hard to stop!

I love vintage cookbooks, and own over four hundred and fifty of them. I unleash them on the unsuspecting public when I give talks on themes I notice from my collection, like Jello, pies, cookies and cakes. All the food groups are represented – that is, the important ones. What I’ve learned is that most people have memories closely tied to recipes. I can’t believe how many people associate Jello recipes with certain holidays. In my family every holiday has a Jello concoction and we call it salad when it should be called dessert.

My series of short stories feature Alana O’Neill, a bookkeeper at her uncle’s antiques mall. She has a booth of kitchenalia and does not like to sell many of her cookbooks. She, like me, loves to try recipes from decades past, even if we are not good at making them. In Blast From the Past, Alana tries to make fancy chili chocolates after a professional baker makes fun of her old cookbooks. Alana is distracted when her teen son slams the door and ends up dumping way too much chili powder into the candy. Blast From the Past is one of three novellas featured in Hearts and Daggers, a collection of romantic suspense. Authors Mary Welk http://www.marywelk.com and Margot Justes http://www.mjustes.com provide the other two stories, and all of our characters connect in the stories.

I also included over twenty recipes with my story, though none are for chili chocolates. They are from my collection of handwritten recipe boxes. I do have a few from my own family, and I want to share some with you today.

Here is my Grandma Curtin’s Fudge Recipe. This was handwritten, and lacks some key steps.

5 cups sugar (How can you go wrong with a recipe that begins with this?)¼ lb. butter1 large can Pet Condensed Milk3 pkg. Chocolate Chips (Nestles 6 oz.)1 jar Marshmallow FluffAbout 1 cup walnuts, chopped

Combine sugar, butter & milk. Bring to boil, let boil for 9-10 minutes low. Pour this mixture over choc. Chips & fluff. Beat until smooth. Add nuts, pour into greased pan and refrigerate. Cut in about 1 hour.

Then there’s my Mother’s clipping for Chocolate Marshmallow Fudge. I was intrigued by the note that it “Makes 5 pounds.” Perhaps that is what is gained on your scale after eating this one.

½ cup butter, or margarine2 pounds (4 ½ cups) sugar1 can (14 ½ oz.) evaporated milk½ pound marshmallows2 oz. unsweetened chocolate2 packages (6 oz. each) semi-sweet chocolate pieces3 packages (4 oz. each) sweet chocolate2 cups chopped pecans, walnuts, or other nuts1 tablespoon vanilla

In a large heavy saucepan mix butter, sugar, and evaporated milk. Stir over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Cook to boiling, cover, and boil for 5 minutes. Add marshmallows; stir until melted. Add chocolate, one kind at a time, stirring until melted. Stir in nuts and vanilla. Pour into buttered 15-by-10-inch jelly roll pan. Cool until firm before cutting fudge into 1-inch squares. If desired, press pecan half into each square. Fudge freezes well.

Get out your defibrillator. Notice I don’t do shows on “Healthy Vintage Recipes,” as it would not last more than about five minutes.

Do you have a favorite family recipe? Comment with your email address or email me at amyalessio.com and I will send you some Jello recipes.

Amy Alessio is a teen librarian and an author. She is also an adventurous and unskilled cook who is trying to train her young sons to cook dinner. She is obsessed with Vintage Cookbooks and Crafts and you can share that obsession by reading her blog at http://www.amyalessio.com .

Traveling in the Spicoli Way

by Bethany Maines

Next week I will be making, what is turning out to be an annual pilgrimage to New York City to visit my editor and watch a friend graduate from Columbia (Goooo… Lions?). When I started this whole writing thing I specifically targeted LA agents because I thought it would be a heck of a lot easier to fly from the Evergreen State to the Golden State. I was absolutely correct, of course – travel out to the Empire State (that’s your nickname New York, seriously?) kind of bites, particularly since some dude invented the shoe bomb. Or the Underwear Bomb.  Next thing you know there’ll be the Hair Bomber and we’ll all have to shave. And I swear the 3oz liquid debacle is fully sponsored by the water vendors on the other side of security, but that is beside the point.

The point is that I didn’t want an agent in New York, but Fate, as per its usual modus operandi, had other plans and now mocks me with every trip to the East Coast. Which isn’t to say I don’t heart my agent with big googly eyes (little hearts going pwap! over my head), and I’m not extremely grateful to be able to visit NYC, because I am. I just keep thinking that maybe this year my vacation will be someplace more palm tree oriented than the Big Apple. I miss palm tree vacations – they come with coconuts and beaches and sometimes giant turtles (See the picture? That turtle swam right by me!).

But there are benefits to visiting a place repeatedly. For one thing, you know when it’s being faked on television. OK, maybe that’s not the primary benefit, but it is a good one (Don’t think I don’t remember you Ally McBeal and all your fake Boston sets). Traveling is always a window onto another place and by visiting it repeatedly you start to really understand the cultural ecosystem of that town and how far that ecosystem spreads.

It wasn’t until my second visit to New York that I understood just how very New York Sesame Street was. From Oscar’s crappy garbage can, to the street sign, to the Brown Stone houses, the main street in every toddlers life is a New York street.  Or the bizarre rubber boot fetish that currently holds sway in fashion. The that makes a lot more sense when you realize that even in the summer, New York City is home to a billion disgusting, fetid puddles waiting to envelop sandal clad feet. Each visit reveals some further facet of how New York is different, but also how it’s connected to me.  And while it may not have a lot of palm trees, the mai tais still taste good, and as Fast Times at Ridgemont High pointed out – “Wherever you are, that’s the place to be.”

Anyone can sing. Trust me!

by: Joelle Charbonneau

Anyone can sing.  Yeah, I can hear a lot of you shaking your head in my direction and thinking about whatever family member can’t carry a tune.  Trust me on this, though.  I’m a voice teacher and a stage performer, so I’m supposed to know these things.  If you don’t have a paralyzed vocal chord or you aren’t tone deaf – you can sing.  I’m not talking about becoming the next Broadway star or American Idol.   But if you have trouble carrying a tune and think you can’t do it – you can.  Keep reading because I’m going to tell you how.

When you sing, your brain tells your vocal chords to stretch to the perfect length and width to create the note you want.  Cool, right?  If you want to see a demonstration of the different sizes and widths required to make specific notes, go look inside a piano.  Each wire, different in length and width, creates a specific note.  The only different between the piano and the voice is you.  Yes – you.  When you play the piano, the piano is the instrument.  A key is pressed and a little hammer inside hits the right string and the correct note is played.  When you sing there is nothing to hide behind.  The instrument is you.  Your brain tells your vocal chords to create the right size for the note you want and they do it.  Or they should.  If they don’t there is a reason why and the reason is – yep, you guessed it - you.

One thing most people lack when singing is confidence.  They worry that they aren’t going to sound good or might hit the wrong note.  And guess what?  Once you think you aren’t going to hit the note – you won’t.  Your brain will send mixed signals to your vocal chords and more often than not, you won’t be thrilled with the outcome.  However, if you try the same thing again with confidence, I’m certain you will appreciate the difference.  Sure there are things like breathing and vocal placement and all that jazz that make a singer more polished and a tone more beautiful.  But those things don’t add up to much if there isn’t any confidence.  If you tell yourself you can do it – you can.  Maybe not the first time or the second, but I bet if you keep trying you’ll hear the difference. 

Confidence is an amazing thing.  It can move mountains or in this case help you carry a tune.  Of course, that begs the question – if simply acting with confidence can help you sing, what else can it help you accomplish?  As a writer, I’ve learned that confidence helps me get from page to page – chapter to chapter.  If I doubt the story I am telling – the story never has a chance.  I get hung up revising the opening or I agonize over little details that don’t matter in my first draft.  So I pretend that I know what I’m doing and go for it.  Yeah, I’ve learned lots of important techniques to telling a story, but, like singing, confidence pulls those things together and makes them work.

So today, I challenge everyone to sing.  Sing loud.  Sing as if you belonged on the Metropolitan Opera or American Idol stage.  And then look around and see what else you can achieve if only you believe you can. 

What song are you going to sing today?

Good Grief in Lottawatah

Excerpt from
Good Grief in Lottawatah
Vol 8
Brianna Sullivan Mysteries series

Chapter 1 -
"The Dead Make a lot of Noise."

In case you missed the front page story in Friday's Lottawatah Herald or didn't visit the Shear Artistry Hair Salon on Saturday or failed to listen to local radio host Mutt Jeffrey's call-in segment this morning, let me tell you the big news that has this small Oklahoma town abuzz – I'm engaged to Lottawatah Police Detective Cooper Jackson.

Yes, engaged to be married. I know, you never thought I'd make such a big commitment. Frankly, I'm a bit stunned myself. And before you can ask, no I'm not pregnant. Cooper proposed to me while I was in the hospital in Tulsa, recovering from a gunshot wound I received in early November. Granted I was on heavy drugs at the time and the memory of actually saying yes to his offer of marriage is still a little fuzzy, but I'm sure this is the right decision. I'm almost positive.

"Brianna? Is that you? Come on back to my office, I'm on hold with a casket supplier."

I realized I was standing just inside the Myers Funeral Home, the door chime still ringing. Today was the first day of my new job. Doc Joseph Myers, mortician, fisherman, and as needed, coroner was my new boss. I had no clue what my employment entailed. Of course I've spent most of my life without a clue. I'm Brianna Sullivan and I'm a psychic. And yes, I should have a clue. And no, that's psychic spelled with an "ic" not an "o."

***

It's noon now. I've been on the job four hours. Okay, three-and-a-half since I was late. Cooper dropped me off at his friend Denny's garage. My vintage Mustang convertible was road worthy–barely. Denny had been working on the car off-and-on for almost a year. The good citizens of Lottawatah had finally chipped in and paid my outstanding balance at the garage as sort of a reward for my actions in finding a missing child or maybe as a reward for exposing a murderer in their mist. Either way, I was happy to have a second set of wheels to drive around town. My other mode of transportation is Matilda, my 30-foot motor home. I love Matilda but I don't like driving her around Lottawatah. Right now she's parked out at Lake Eufaula and I stay there when I'm not keeping Cooper company at his apartment in town.

Doc Myers, who said he had already made a house call (yes, that's what you think it is),  showed me around the funeral home before he left for his regular Monday lunch at Tiny's with his Lodge buddies. I'm not sure which Lodge or even if there really is a Lodge anymore since I think this lunch has probably been happening since before I was born.

But back to my job-I was given a nice desk, a chair on rollers that spins, a phone with two lines, and a desktop computer that I haven't yet figured out how to turn on.

Doc told me my title was director of sales and public outreach. As far as I can tell that means I answer the telephone, take messages, and serve coffee and Kleenex to family members when they come in to pick out caskets and make funeral arrangements.

"Good Morning, Myers Funeral Home. How can I help you?"

"Are you going to the apartment during your lunch hour to walk Leon?"

"Hello to you too, sweetheart. Is the magic already gone?"

"Brianna, I'm at the scene of a three-car pileup with a fuel spill. I don't have time for magic."

"Yet you took the time to worry about Leon's bladder. I'm touched." Leon was the bulldog I had inadvertently inherited. He has a grumpy disposition, a sensitive digestive tract, a penchant for chewing on leather couches, and I was devoted to him. Cooper less so.

"Right. Just take care of your dog. I don't want any more accidents to clean up," Cooper said. "And don't forget to call my mother and set up a dinner."

I hadn't forgotten. I was hoping something would happen to prevent me making that call. Maybe a natural disaster. Hey, we get a lot of those in Oklahoma. Last year there were two ice storms, a blizzard, a flood, three tornadoes, a drought, and then 60 one-hundred degree days in a row. Just when I thought I'd experienced all that Oklahoma had to offer; last month there was an earthquake that knocked down an old brick tower in the Miner's Memorial Park, located in the center of Lottawatah. Odds were that something else would happen if I could just delay making that call.

"Cooper, there's a lot of static on the line. I didn't hear that last part. See you tonight!"

"Brianna, call–"

Okay, yes, I admit it. I hung up on him. He doesn't understand that my relationship with his mother is unpredictable. A couple of months ago, she really hated me. Then hate sort of morphed into grudging tolerance. When I was in the hospital, she was very kind. I thought we were really bonding. Then the engagement happened and Sassy Jackson chilled up fast.

"Could I get a moment of your time?"

Startled, I glanced up. The elderly man in front of me was polite, but not alive.

"Do you have an appointment?" Okay, I knew the answer to that question before I asked it but really, I was going to have to set some boundaries or the walk-ins would run me ragged. And of course there was Leon's bladder to consider.

"My viewing is tonight and I wanted to warn you that my wife and my brother will probably get into a shouting match if you don't keep them separated. He thinks she only married me for my money."

"How long have you been married?" I was guessing he'd married a younger woman and his family hadn't approved.

"Fifty years come June," he answered, sitting down uninvited on the chair in front of my desk. "But my brother isn't one to change his mind. He's been waiting for Emma to leave me, so he could say I told you so."

Fifty years was a long time. I don't know if I could conceive of living with Cooper for fifty years. What would we find to talk about after all that time?

"I'll make a note for Doc."

Before I even finished my sentence he was gone.

I grabbed my purse and the set of keys that Doc Myers had given me. I had an hour for lunch and about a dozen personal errands to run. I didn't have to be psychic to understand that having an 8-5 office job was going to interfere with my normal routine.

Just before I walked out the front door, I stuck my head in the three viewing rooms and let everyone know that I'd be back by one.

According to Doc, the viewings were generally set from 3 to 7 pm. Doc assured me that he'd handle the after-5 stuff. People in Lottawatah ate early and liked to be home in front of their television or in bed before it got dark. So the evening visitors were few and far between.

Today, although it was barely noon, there was already quite a crowd gathering in one room. I could try to run them off, but these visitors didn't pay much attention to clocks, policies, or locked doors.

Not only the living attend funerals.

__________________

Zoned for Murder - Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Sullivan Investigations Mystery - e-book series
Murder Off the Books Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Oh, the Places She's Gone!

by Susan McBride

I was thinking today about all the places I've gone with Emily already, and she hasn't even been born. And I don't just mean trips taken, though she and I will be heading to Kansas City this weekend where I'll speak at that Komen affiliate's Pink Promise Brunch.

No, Emily hasn't been to Paris or even Disney World in my belly (although I went to the World's Fair in New York when I was in the womb, and my mother still likes to tell me how being pregnant allowed her to cut in front of everyone in lines--see, I was helpful even before birth!).

But Emily has been in a hyperbaric chamber (that was in February after our old furnace leaked carbon monoxide into our house)....

     

She's been on TV (she already loves the folks at "Great Day St. Louis," I can tell)....

She helped me teach a workshop at the Missouri Writers' Guild's conference and got to meet bestselling author Claire Cook (Emily's secretly hoping Claire will write a sequel to Must Love Dogs called Must Love Cats)....

 

She was with me when I spoke at the Maplewood Library (and she received two knitted baby hats from Mary Garrett, one with a Blue Note on it and another that looks like the top of a little red apple)....

And when I received the "Survivor of the Year" award from the St. Louis chapter of Susan G. Komen for the Cure (pink is Emily's favorite color)....

 Then she was feted with gifts at a baby shower ("Oh, Mom!" she sighed as I took a bite of a teething ring, just to check it out)....

I just hope she's having fun, doing all these things before her due date. As much as she kicks, I'd say she's having a ball. Or maybe she's trying to tell me, "Quit talking so much and moving around so much, Mom!  I'm trying to get a little rest here!"

So long as she's not annoyed by the clickety-clack of my keyboard since I've got revisions still to finish, a nonfiction e-book for HarperCollins to write about my breast cancer experience, and a rewrite of my young adult mystery for Random House. All due this year. Kind of like Emily (who should be making her grand entrance in about eight weeks...although she could show up in as soon as five weeks, said my doctor yesterday!).

A Dead Guy Talks About You

by Peg Herring

Thanks to the Stiletto Gang for inviting me to stop by for Post #2! Peg Herring’s Blog Tour for May (and one post in June) consists of a mix of interviews with Seamus, the Dead Detective, and a few posts on the writing process. Yesterday’s post was “Keeping It Straight,” which can be found at the Murder Must Advertise blog http://murdermustadvertise.blogspot.com/. The next stop on the tour will be tomorrow, May 4th, at Kaye George’s blog http://travelswithkaye.blogspot.com. The full schedule is on my blog, It’s A Mystery to Me: http://itsamysterytomepegherring.blogspot.com

After the tour is over (June 11th), the complete Seamus interview will be posted on my blog, so you don’t have to wonder what the dead guy said about you.

Prizes: People who comment on any blog post on the tour will be entered in drawings for several prizes: Dead Detective T-shirts, copies of THE DEAD DETECTIVE AGENCY and DEAD FOR THE MONEY (paperback or e-books available), and the chance to be a character in the third of the series, DEAD FOR THE SHOW. Multiple winners will be drawn.

Bio: Peg Herring lives in Michigan and writes two series, the critically acclaimed Simon & Elizabeth (Tudor) Mysteries (Five Star Publishing) and the award-winning Dead Detective Mysteries (LL-Publications). The first book of the series, THE DEAD DETECTIVE AGENCY, was chosen EPIC’s Best Mystery for 2012. When not writing, Peg enjoys directing musical groups, gardening, and talking about writing with anyone who will listen.
DEAD FOR THE MONEY - ebook
THE DEAD DETECTIVE AGENCY - paperback
Peg’s website: http://pegherring.com

__________________

A Dead Guy Talks about You

Interviewer: Today we’re talking to Seamus, a man who tells me he’s a cross-back detective. First, Seamus, please explain to our readers what that is.

Seamus: Cross-backs return from the Other Side to investigate for the dead who don’t know why they died.

Interviewer: Then you’re dead?

Seamus: Most sincerely.

Interviewer: Can you tell us—

Seamus: (Holds up a hand) Nothing about the Other Side. It’s in the books, if you want to read ‘em. Peg did okay telling what it’s like over there. I’m here to talk about the problems cross-backs face here on earth.

Interviewer: All right. You come back to discover how someone died. That must mean the dead can remember their lives on earth, right?

Seamus: For a while. Memories usually fade over time.

Interviewer: I see. What do you remember about your life?

Seamus: (Frowns) Everything.

Interviewer: How do you manage that? If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you appear to have died some time ago.

Seamus: You can remember if you work at it.

Interviewer: And you work at it?

Seamus: (Sighs) Can we get back to the job?

Interviewer: (Makes a note) Of course. How do you make the journey?

Seamus: Uh, I don’t know how. They just send us.

Interviewer: Well, do you float down from above, climb up from below, or what?

Seamus: Nothing like that. We travel through something, maybe space. It hurts.

Interviewer: And when you arrive?

Seamus: I need a host first thing, a living person I can travel with. We don’t belong anymore, you know?

Interviewer: So you must exist inside another person.

Seamus: Yeah. We need your life force, because ours is gone.

Interviewer: What does that feel like for the cross-backs?

Seamus: It’s kinda weird, especially at first. Everybody’s different. I see through their eyes, feel through their skin, and hear through their ears. Things smell different. Colors look different.

Interviewer: What do you mean, different?

Seamus: It’s like this. You have an idea in your head what blue looks like, but you don’t know what it looks like to somebody else. We can agree that something is blue, maybe a robin’s egg, but that doesn’t mean we all see it the same way. When I’m inside someone’s head, I can see that his blue isn’t my blue.

Interviewer: They do say that women see more shades of color than men do.

Seamus: Yeah. I never could tell the difference between lilac and lavender, but my wife sure could. Not sure if that’s a lack of perception or a lack of interest, though.

Interviewer: What else about being inside a host is strange for you?

Seamus: Hmm. I’ve been in people whose personal habits didn’t exactly please me.

Interviewer: Oh. I hadn’t thought of that!

Seamus: Being inside the mind of a murderer or an alcoholic or a pervert is uncomfortable.

Interviewer: It must be interesting to understand how they think, though.

Seamus: Yeah, but you can’t get away from it. It’s like being in a sandstorm—you’ve got nowhere to go, no way to avoid the experience.

Interviewer: What do you do in such cases?

Seamus: I get what I can and then jump to someone else as soon as possible. (Smiles) Then I have to start getting used to everything all over again. Maybe blue looks kinda pink this time, and daffodils smell like burnt toast.

Interviewer: Oh, my. I’m not sure I’d like that.

Seamus: That’s the job, lady. It’s what being a cross-back is all about.

A Town Called Malice

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of traveling down the New Jersey Turnpike into Maryland with the lovely and talented Laura Bradford to the annual Malice Domestic convention.  (And for any of you ‘80s-music devotees out there, does anyone else think of The Jam song, “A Town Called Malice”?  I do.)  As always, it was a wonderful time, filled with the nicest mystery writers and the most wonderful readers, people who are so devoted to the genre as to have encyclopedic knowledge of every book every written, it would seem.

Laura and I couldn’t be more compatible as roommates:  she likes the room cold like I do, goes to bed early like I do, and is always willing to listen to my latest hare-brained idea concerning a new book or plot twist.  Oh, and she loves pretzels, just like I do!  I couldn’t have asked for a better person to share the experience with, right down to our delightful Burger King meal at a rest stop on the Turnpike, which she managed to make enjoyable.

Sara J. Henry, a debut novelist who won the Mary Higgins Clark Award—an award for which I was a judge—at the Edgars prior to the convention for her novel LEARNING TO SWIM, also won the Agatha for Best First Novel.  If you haven’t read this book, get it.  It’s fantastic.  It begins with a woman on a ferry who sees a little boy being thrown overboard and it takes off from there.  A fantastic read.

I was on a panel that was geared toward sports-related mysteries, a result of my last book—PHYSICAL EDUCATION—being set in the world of women’s college basketball.  Alan Orloff made a fine moderator—or shall we say “referee”—for the panel which included Beth Groundwater, Sasscer Hill, and Laura DiSilverio.  Although I didn’t have much to say about my less-than-illustrious CYO basketball career, I was able to relive the moment that I hit a walk-off grand slam in our town’s softball playoffs.  Good times.

Laura crafted a panel moderated by Aimee Hix that exposed the “dirty little secrets” that writers have including who they model their murder victims on, what the eat when they are on deadline, and how they come up with their ideas.  For the record, my answers:  1) no one you know (not that I would ever tell); 2) pretzels; 3) while driving.

If you’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it a thousand times:  writing is a solitary, sometimes lonely profession.  To be around five hundred people who all love the same thing—mystery—is exhilarating and fulfilling.  I leave Malice every year energized to finish that first draft or start something new and to everyone who attended and contributed to that feeling, I say “thank you.”

Maggie Barbieri

They Do Things Differently These Days

 Candy Bar at the Wedding Rehearsal Dinner

One of my grandsons got married this weekend. And things were a bit different than many weddings I've been to over the years.

First off, this couple has been together for a couple of years. Grandson proposed, including the ring, while they were on a camping trip. He was the one who wanted a big wedding.

The rehearsal dinner was at his mom's (my youngest daughter's) house. A granddaughter and her kids did the decorating for the dinner which was a Mexican theme complete with the most delicious food from the groom-to-be's favorite restaurant. Great grandkids helped with plans and insisted there be a candy bar--see above.

This was quite a party, complete with margarita machines: one with regular margaritas and the other with virgin strawberry margaritas. And everything else you could imagine to drink.

The person who came the farthest for this shindig and the wedding was from Amsterdam. (Well, now she and the groom's cousin live in New York--which still made them both the ones who came the farthest.)

Another thing that was quite different, at least I thought it was--they took many of the photos of the bride and groom before the wedding.

Part of our family that attended (only a small part) and in front two great grandkids who served as flower girl and ringbearer.

The wedding was outside at a golf course--beautiful setting and gorgeous weather.

Granddaughter Alyssa (youngest sister of the groom) and one of the groomsmen.

Bride's sister and Groom's brother (my grandson)

 The bride came down the aisle to "You are my Sunshine."

The wedding ceremony itself was lovely and quite traditional. And here is a picture of the bride and groom after the kiss.

Ally and Robert

This was such a joyous response, I had to share.

 The reception was fun--cameras on every table--and the kids took most of the photos. Lots of good food. A wonderful slide show of the bride and groom growing up. A very loud band--one the groom played with years ago--dancing and everything that everyone expects at a wedding.

Something else that I found different. The next day many of us, including the bride and groom, joined together for brunch at the hotel where most of the wedding party stayed.

A fun but busy weekend. And his proud grandma had to share.

Marilyn