Tinsel and Tea Cakes by Jill Piscitello

It’s my favorite time of the year – Countdown to Christmas. Although, I like to think of it as Countdown to the Holidays. In our family we celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas. It can be a bit confusing, but one thing both holidays share is food. Whether you’re making Latkes for Hanukkah (or Santa) or Tamales on Christmas Eve or Christmas cookies and tea cakes, the smells and tastes of traditional meals awakens our senses and reminds us of family and friends.  

For me, second to cooking is watching Hallmark movies and reading holiday romance novels. And if food is involved story, well, what can I say? It’s’s a double delight.

Tinsel and Tea Cakes by Jill Piscitello delivers all the goods!

Jill has written a delightful story with well-rounded, believable characters. Her story has everything needed for a wonderful holiday romance: a hot, sexy hero, a spunky heroine, intrigue and lots of desire.  And to top it all off, the recipes in the back made my mouth water just reading the ingredients.

If you’re like me and love snuggling up under your favorite blanket with a beverage of your choice, then this novella is for you.

Book blurb:  

Hair stylist Scarlett Kerrigan lost her job and her apartment. To alleviate a touch of self-pity, she succumbs to her stepmom’s pressure to attend a wedding in the New Hampshire White Mountains. Unfortunately, she runs into the vacation fling who promised the moon but disappeared without an explanation. Months have passed, but she is not ready to forgive and forget.

After a chaotic year, executive Wes Harley settles into his family’s event venue, The Timeless Manor. His carefully structured world is shaken to its core when Scarlett arrives for the Victorian Christmas wedding weekend. The feelings he never quite erased flood to the surface.

When secrets are revealed, will a magical chateau and a sprinkle of tinsel be enough to charm Scarlett?

Tinsel and Tea Cakes Purchase Links:

Amazon          

Nook

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About Jill

Jill Piscitello is a teacher, author, and an avid fan of multiple literary genres. Although she divides her reading hours among several books at a time, a lighthearted story offering an escape from the real world can always be found on her nightstand.

A native of New England, Jill lives with her family and three well-loved cats. When not planning lessons or reading and writing, she can be found spending time with her family, trying out new restaurants, traveling, and going on light hikes.

Jill’s Social media links:

Website ~ Twitter  ~ FacebookInstagram

ABOUT MEJanie Emaus

I’m the author of the picture book LATKES FOR SANTA CLAUS. Available now here and here. A joyful, engaging read perfect for culturally blended families and delightful for all readers. The playful rhymes will keep kids giggling, and the delicious recipes are to die for!

“A delighful story for all families.”

Posted in Christmas, Cookies, Hallmark Movies, Holidays, romance | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Latkes for Santa Claus

It’s that time of year again!

Once we see Halloween in the rear view mirror, the rest of year zooms by in the fast lane.

This year Hanukkah is only a few days after Thanksgiving. And when the last candle burns on the eighth night of Hanukkah, it’s a mere days until Santa comes jiggling down the chimney.

And what better treat to leave Santa than a plate of delicious latkes.

YUMMY!!!! -Recipe included in the book!

I’m happy to report that my debut picture book, Latkes for Santa Claus, is once again available and has garnered great reviews and ended up on many gift lists.

What are you waiting for? Get you copy today. Available here and here.

Latkes for Santa Claus: Emaus, Janie, Langdo, Bryan: 9781510759886: Amazon.com: Books

Latkes for Santa Claus | Book by Janie Emaus, Bryan Langdo | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster (simonandschuster.com)

HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL!!

xo

Janie

Posted in Books, Children, Christmas, Cooking, Food, Hanukah, Holiday, Holidays, Latkes, Santa Calus, siblings | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

GOING VIRAL DURING CORONA VIRUS

We didn’t realize how many people would be coming into our home when we made this video.

Thanks to my creative granddaughter, we went viral!

What else to four generations of women do when they are stuck in the house with each other!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6kSTfgWXUI
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Three Generations of Butts

Three generations of butts

Hair whitens. Butts droop. Arms sag. Aging is not a pretty picture, is it?

And it’s even less pretty when you’re in a dressing room with all those mirrors that don’t hide anything. Rather, they emphasis all those parts of your body which you’d like to imagine looked differently.

But those mirrors don’t lie.

I was faced with that painful truth when I went shopping with my ninety-something mother and my thirty-something daughter. Three generations of women made from the same mold.

The similarities were still there, but the differences were hard to ignore.

Years ago, my butt was as firm and ripe as a melon, just like my daughter’s. My thighs were smooth, void of those craters and bumps making one think of the moon surface. My arms didn’t have that flabby effect. My hair was a natural blonde.

After looking from my daughter to myself, I wanted to bolt out of that room. In fact, I wanted to bolt out of 2019 and into 1990.

Then I looked at my ninety-four-year mom. And felt even worse.
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I saw where my body was going!

And I’m not convinced that any amount of exercise can stop it from happening. (Although, I don’t think I’ll ever wear old lady under panties).

While I was lamenting the state of my future body, my daughter blurted out. “Ugh, I hate my waist.”

Me: “Your waist is perfect. Look at this extra skin around mine.”

My mother: “What are you two talking about? I’m one big wrinkle.  My butt is flatter than melted butter. And my boobs are like bananas.”

With that, we all started laughing. There was no age difference in our giggles. Just three happy women, trying to find a decent pair of jeans that hugged our bodies in just the right way. No matter what that body looked like.

And we were determined to succeed. Because no matter our age, we all want to look good when facing the world.

No butts about it.

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I’m posting more now on Medium.

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My Father Did Know Best

FATHER: THEN

FATHER: NOW

When I was growing up, my father brought in the bacon.  All of it.  He went to work every morning at 6:00 and came home every evening around 5:30.  When he walked in the door after a hard day at the office, my mom handed him a cocktail, the newspaper and a slice of rye bread.  (Don’t ask.  I’m not sure why he wanted this, unless of course, it was a symbol of being the bread winner.) For the next half hour he would sit and relax while my mom finished making dinner and my sister and I set the table.

I guess you’d say he was a lot like Ward Cleaver or Jim Anderson on “Father Knows Best.”  And back then I believed he did know best.  After all, he was the man of the house.  My father.

This routine lasted for many, many years until my sister and I started high school, at which time our mom wanted to go to work.  Not so much for the money.  But how many times can you change the bedding, scrub the toilets, rearrange the pantry, or play golf in one week?

But Mom going to work wasn’t the only change that took place in our household.  Now my father’s daughters were dating.  Goodbye Ward Cleaver.  Hello Archie Bunker.

My father wasn’t exactly like good old Archie, but when it came to the boys his girls were bringing home, he could be quite judgmental.  After all, he had once been a teenage boy and he knew how boys could act toward girls.  When their daughters it’s a scary time for fathers.

And of course, as a teenage girl, I knew my father did NOT know what was best for me!
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Some of my boy friends were definitely  “undesirables”  in my father’s eyes.  In looking back, I can’t say as I blame him.  With only two daughters, he had five son-in-laws.  So, I guess he had reason to be concerned.

Let’s not forget the time he had to bail me out of jail. (Nothing serious) The many months when he wondered when I was going to get on with my life after I came back from Europe.  And what the heck was I doing with my college degree? Of course, I was wondering that same thing myself. Although, I would never admit that to him.

So, eventually I went to find who I was in life, with the security of always knowing where to find my father.  In his workshop.  Throughout the years he was always building something.  From gigantic wall units, to roll-top desks to rocking horses.  In his later years, he turned to small wooden objects such as stamp holders, bagel tongs and boxes with secret openings. He often made me guess what he was making.

But I never have to guess how much he loved me.  And of all the things he’s built, the best was the strong foundation upon which my sister and I lived for many years. Until the time came for us to build lives of our own.

He’s been gone now for six years. In that time, his grandchildren have become parents. HIs great grandchildren will never meet him in the physical sense, but they will sit on his chairs, ride his rocking horses and play with his wooden toys.

And they, too, will argue with their fathers, and as they grow up, they will doubt their fathers’  knowledge in everything. But in the end, I hope they come to realize – Fathers really do know best.

I know, mine did.

I miss you, Daddy!

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY to all the wonderful fathers in our lives.

Posted in Daughters, Father's Day, Fathers, Grandparents | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Learning to be Chipper

Chipper and Mom

I don’t speak Canine. But my ninety-three-year mother is fluent in this language. She has numerous conversations with Chipper, her beloved beagle. Most often they go something like this.

“Do you think it is hot out?” she asks.

“Yip yap yip.”

“Yes? Do you think it is hot out?”

“Yap yap yip.”

“Do you think it is hot out?”

“Yip yip.

It is apparent her dog doesn’t mind her constant repeating. He jumps on her lap, curls into a ball and listens. I’ve never heard him cry in desperation. He doesn’t clench his jaw. And he favors water over wine.

Unlike me.

The sad truth is, I’m upset with my mother for getting old and forgetful and for leaving behind the woman who raised me. Because I need that other mother now more than ever. I want her advice on how to deal with her.

If only it were possible to go back a few years to when my mother was still a clear-thinking, active, energetic eighty-seven year-old widow who made the decision, on her own to sell the home she had shared with my father and move into a small apartment in a retirement village. Perhaps if she hadn’t sold that home where the memories lived, where the smells and sounds of my father followed her from room to room, she wouldn’t have lost herself.

That is something I will never know.

At first, she loved her new place. Or perhaps she was only pretending. Although void of the past, it was lovely and filled with the familiar: her worn couch, family photos, a homemade quilt. Every afternoon a buttery strip of sunlight fell across the carpet.

But as the months passed, her mind began to shift. She referred to her apartment as “that place.” The only one who truly felt at home there was her dog.

Every time I said goodbye, this woman who had raised me to be strong and positive, who had dropped me off at college with the promise that I would find someone to eat with in the dorm, squeezed my hand and looked at me with frightened eyes.

I would hold her hand and promise her that very same thing. She would find her tribe and make friends. But there is one small, or rather large, difference. Going off to college is the beginning of a new life. Moving into a retirement home is the beginning of our last act.

We both saw the future and neither of us liked it. Two years later, she moved in with my husband and me.

Ever since, it’s been a slow decline into our role reversal. I wish I could shake her like a snow globe and have her mind clear as the flakes settle.

But shaking is obviously not going to land either of us in a better place.

What does often bring her back to me is playing a game she has always enjoyed: Rummy Q.

And for a brief moment in time, that other mom makes an appearance.

It always starts off a bit rocky. As I scatter the tiles onto the table, she asks several times what game we are playing.

Taking a cue from Chipper, I answer each time, with kindness. I explain over and over how many tiles to pick and how many points are needed to meld.

And then we are off and running, back to the past. To a place where my mom was a sharp, witty woman who loved to talk politics, recipes and sex. She even gives me tips on how she dealt with my father in his later stages of Alzheimer’s.

My spirits soar each time she makes a complicated play. I imagine that she will once again be able to shower herself. That she won’t look at me with her mouth open slightly, her head titled as if she’s trying to figure out what she’s reading. She won’t try to call her only friend using the remote control.

But nothing lasts forever.
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“We’re tired, aren’t we Chipper?” she says.

As we stack the tiles, her face travels to that blank place.

“What game did we just play?” she asks.

I close the box. The click of the latch, the loudest sound in the room, shutting out all possibilities of a different tomorrow.

“What game did we just play?” She asks Chipper as they shuffle down the hall. My mom collecting her memories. Chipper filling in the empty spaces with unconditional love.

“Yap.Yip.”

I imagine Chipper is telling her she is not alone. There is no need to be afraid.

“You’re right, Chipper,” I say before my mom can answer. “Together we will care for her and help her remember.”

“Yip. Yap. Yip.”

 

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Congratulations to our Essay Contest Honorable Mentions! Your essays stood out and are excellent in every way.

Encounter by the River by Kathleen Flanagan Rollins, Davisburg, Michigan

Trauma Lives in the Stomach by Emily Clarke, Anza, California

Ashes to Ashes by Lori Lyn Greenstone, Cama, Washington

Hotel of Terror by Nancy Lewis Shelton, Springfield, Missouri

Learning to be Chipper by Janie Emaus, Winnetka, California

Leaving Mom by Shelley Roberts Bendall, Lexington, Kentucky

One More Night in Love (Kind Of) by Ella Mach, Boston, Massachusetts

Overlooked by Janet Parsons Mackey, Annandale, Virginia

Paradise Lost by Linda D. Menicucci, Paradise, California

Seeing Red by Marianne Lonsdale, Oakland, California

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Aging, Daughters, dementia, Mothers | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

The Woman Behind the Sleigh Balls

 

As I did last year, I had the great pleasure of meeting with Mrs. Claus, that wonderful woman behind the man who makes Christmas happen. We met for a few hours at the Red Nose Saloon. Over hot buttered rums, she filled me in on her year.

JE:  It’s a pleasure to see you again.  You look absolutely fabulous.

Mrs. Claus: (blushing a little) Well, you know I put my dear hubby on a diet after last year’s fiasco. Seriously, how many times can a man get stuck in one evening!  Obviously he cheated all year, sneaking candy bars into his work shed, but I followed along.  And…voiloa! ( running her hands down her slim body.)

JE:  It seems to have worked wonders.

Mrs. Claus:  I love to keep myself in good shape.  Not only for my myself, mind you, but you know I’m doing quite a lot of PR. Along with my blog, I’m on Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, Linkedin, Instagram, Pinterest. And I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m in talks with the BBC and NBC for a reality show, “Mrs. Claus & Jolly Balls.”

JE:  How wonderful. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that it all works out.

Mrs. Claus:  I think it’s time the public saw what really goes on here during the off season.

JE:  I’d certainly watch.  So, last year you were working on the GPS system. Have you added anything new this year?

Mrs. Claus:  It’s way more sophisticated.  But we had quite a scare during our test run.

JE:  Do tell.

Mrs. Claus:  Well, it was full moon.  And wouldn’t you know, dear hubby got lost and landed smack dab in a pack of werewolves. He texted me frantically, calling for help.  But what could I do from here, except poor myself another martini and hope for the best.

JE: Oh my god!  How did he get out alive?

Mrs. Claus:  Fortunately, a few vampires showed up and rescued him. With all the hoopla this year over shape shifters, not to mention the political ones, if you ask me, I’ll take a vampire over an orange-haired human any day.

JE:  I’m glad that all turned out okay.
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Mrs. Claus:  You and me both. But now on top of shape shifting phobias, the reindeer are kicking their heels up over the new security measures they’ll have to face while flying.

JE:  Oh, yes.  They have gotten quite strict.

Mrs. Claus: Rudolph is terrified of a cavity search.  He’s talking in his sleep, having nightmares.  And Cupid is no help at all.  She’s teasing Rudolph to death, saying he’s looking forward to it.  She claims it’s been a long dry spell here at the Pole.

Mrs. Claus finished her drink and ordered us another round. A few minutes later, her iPhone started singing that old favorite, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”

Mrs. Claus:  That was my husband.

JE:  I guessed from the ring tone.  Does he need you?

Mrs. Claus:  When doesn’t he?  He’s a man, isn’t he? The elves are bit restless. It happens every year. Last year they threatened to go on strike. This year we had the #Metoo situation. It’s always something.

JE: If anyone can handle it, it’s you, Mrs. Claus.

She blushed, but I knew she appreciated my compliment.

JE:  Is there anything else you’d like to add.

Mrs. Claus:  Follow my tweets on Christmas Eve, #Jollyballs. You’ll get a pretty good idea of how busy I am. My husband’s not the only one working that night.

I thanked her for taking time out of her busy day. We exchanged business cards and as we stood to leave, her phone started ringing again, followed by several text messages.

Mrs. Claus:  My last word of advice – Update your calendar.

We wished each other a very #Merry Christmas and  a very #Happy New Year!

As she ran off, she yelled over her shoulder, “It’s all about the love and magic. And don’t forget to update your calendar. #doublebooked.”

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Counting Latkes

Every Hanukkah the women in our family gather for the traditional latke making event. Kitchen counter space is cleared. Cookie sheets wait in anticipation. Oil is poured. Potatoes, eggs and onions are chopped.

And as we’ve been doing for years, as we chop, stir and fry, we talk about men, love and sex. I mean, what else do women talk about while cooking?

But what makes this conversation different from ones we’ve had on other nights is the focus of the discussion. Usually my ninety-three-year mom, our matriarch holds the wisdom and doles out the advice. This time the expression on her face informs me that she’s totally dumbfounded and must feel like she’s walked onto the set of a sci-fi movie.

We are talking about using iPhone apps for birth control, a concept completely foreign to her frame of reference. In fact, a lot of this new technology is hard for me grasp. I can only imagine how confused my mother must feel.

Her eyes get wide and she shakes her head as she listens. Birth control itself was not around her in younger days, let alone using a phone to tell you when your egg is ready for a sperm.

As my niece explains to her how it works her expression turns to wonderment, much like a toddler’s. I know she’s reaching into her memory trying to categorize this information. But unlike a toddler who will hold the answer tightly in his little fist and move on to the next curious item, my mother will forget and ask me again. And yet again. Dementia has taken her away from us.

“How many latkes are you going to make?” she asks, tossing the app discussion aside.

“About 100,” I say.

“That many?” She begins to count the latkes as they are laid on the tray. “What about this app?”

My niece tells her again how it works. But she’s not listening anymore. She’s back to counting.

That’s her job now, according to her. Spreading out the paper towels on the cookie sheets and counting. Over and over and over.

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And so-she counts.

We continue talking about the best time of day to have sex. And what foods to eat if you want a girl. We giggle like school children, sharing secrets on the playground.

“There’s 40 on this tray,” my mom says. “How many are you going to make?”

“About 100,” I say, as the oil sizzles, turning the latkes in the pan a golden brown.

Something in the crackling of the oil, or perhaps the whirring of the food processor, or the taste of the crispy latke, snaps my mom into awareness. “You’ve got be kidding? Your phone tells you when to have sex.”

“Not quite like that,” my niece answers. She begins to explain how the app works, but within minutes, the mom that could understand, is gone again.

“How about that,” she says. “How many latkes are you going to make?”

Just then my granddaughter comes through the kitchen. She’s recording her great grandmother on her Snapchat story. As she walks past, I hear my mom’s voice repeating over and over. It’s hard enough to hear her repetition in real time. I don’t like that my granddaughter is making fun of my mother.

But then I hear my granddaughter say in a sweet tone, “That’s my great grandma. It’s her recipe.” And I realize she’s not making fun, but documenting our family history, and doing it with love. Before leaving, she gives my mother a hug.

The future is sure to hold strange, incomprehensible inventions for my grandchildren and all the generations to follow. Technology is moving at such a fast pace.

But as long as there are women in my family, I know they will be sharing secrets while frying, eating and counting latkes.

Posted in Daughters, Hanukah, Holiday, Latkes | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

From Boytalk to Botox – Growing old with old friends is the best

When we are young, we can’t really imagine growing old. As Paul Simon sang,

“Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a parkbench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy…”

Well, it is strange! But also wonderful. And the best part, is sitting on that bench with someone you knew in high school.

This article of mine in Leisure Living says it all.

xox

Janie

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