Monthly Archives: July 2014

Foxtale, my favorite bookstore

Some people might scoff at how far I drive (45 minutes in reasonable traffic) for a good book when there are big box bookstores closer and the internet at my fingertips for goodness sakes. But I am here to tell you that people come all the way from Paris, France, to Foxtale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA I know this for a fact and here is how.

It was a Friday evening book-signing by Edward Kelsey Moore for his very first novel, The Supremes at Earl’s All-You-Can-Eat I had read the book because one of the three owners of Foxtale recommended it. You should listen to these ladies when they tell you to read a good book, because they know of which they speak. What I didn’t know was that everybody else was aware of this already, so when my hubby and I showed up, it was obvious I should have made reservations. Not to worry, the owners came to our rescue and gave us the two seats that were vacated by unfortunate no-shows.

Fate is what stepped in, apparently, because there were two ladies—sisters—at our table and one of them lived in France. We immediately bonded over books and art. The sister from France had an Etsy shop and I wanted to start one. While we sipped our wine and nibbled our hors d’oeuvres, before Mr. Moore began his presentation and the Supremes began to sing (yes, the three owners morphed into, I swear, it was the Supremes), we bonded. We traded e-mail addresses and have been pals ever since!

A year and some change later, the sisters reunited for their annual visit and we all met again in Woodstock. Over lunch we shared family stories, compared notes on education and youth sports in our different countries, and laughed about the wonderful time we had that night at Foxtale.

Now, who wouldn’t drive a few miles for an experience like that?!


The Taste of Sunshine

Prompt from Writer’s Write: Write about the taste of sunshine
Here is my response.

I was up early that morning. Couldn’t sleep. I slipped on my robe and tiptoed to the porch. The screens were damp with the remainder of the rain dropped in buckets from the midnight sky. Trees creaked in the wind and I tugged my robe tighter around me. Where had I left that sash, I wondered. They need to invent robes with belts attached.

I sat, snug in the rocker, and sipped at my coffee. The chip on the handle reminded me I needed to get back to my potter’s wheel. But this was my favorite mug—fit my hands, didn’t burn my knuckles when the coffee was fresh from the pot, and didn’t cool off before I got to the bottom.

I breathed in the morning and let it out just as the first fingers of sunrays poked themselves through the oak branches. The edges of their leaves lit up as the mist rose off them. In the distance a rooster crowed and up close a hummingbird zipped to the feeder for breakfast.

I sipped again. Hot black coffee, muted with whipping cream and sweetened with chocolate and caramel. This is the taste of early morning sunshine, I thought. And isn’t it the best!