Old Ideas by Judy Fowler

 

          

We are at the dinner table, circa 1959.

My brother Steve, tired of fielding criticism from Dad, joins him in that pecking order project: father, mother, son, and three younger sisters. He turns to me. "Go on, chubby. Why don't you eat the whole bowl?"

He snorts like a pig. I'd just taken another spoonful of mashed potatoes from the bowl on the lazy Susan.

He caught me doing what I usually do at the table: pretend to be invisible when taking seconds. I'm also hoping not to be the one sent to my room for some minor infraction, such as seeking the private territory that having my elbows on the table provided. Compared with elbow placement—always grounds for dismissal at Dad's tense table—my brother's rude barb about my size slides by in the conversation like the gravy on the mashed potatoes going down my esophagus.

I pretend not to hear him, though I sit back from my plate. That was only his opening gambit. He finds a synonym for 'chubby' to toss in my direction while Dad is occupied with shaming our dog for begging near the table.

I can't get support from my older sister, my grandfather, or the baby. I look to my mother. Surely, she'll censor Steve's conduct, as she has impeccable manners—the best I'd observed in my eight years of life. Eighty years later, they remained so.

But my mother ignores my brother's remarks. My discomfort doesn't even register on her face—a beautifully made-up face, devoid of any sign of pain unless it's her drive to see things done properly. By the age of four, she'd taught me how  to answer a rotary phone: "This is the Fowler residence. Judy Fowler speaking. How may I help you?"

That very week, as she drove me to school, I'd heard the tear of fabric. I'd been sitting on my foot, and pulled out my skirt hem with the heel of a clunky Buster Brown. "Oh, no!"

"What?"

"My hem came out!"

I imagined the ridicule I'd endure from countless children during the day. The scornful eyes of teachers. I thought Mom would choose to turn around and go home rather than let me present myself like that. 

But she hadn't turned back. 

I assumed she had a remedy in her purse. "Do you have a safety pin? Scotch tape? A needle and thread?" 

She didn't. "Just smile," she said as she pulled the car into the drop-off area. "If you smile, no one will notice."

How I'd manage to smile while infinitely self-conscious, she didn't explain. I picked at the hanging fabric all day. I asked everyone if they had a safety pin. No one did. During a quiz, my the troubling hem drew away my attention like a cuticle hanging off my finger. I couldn't smile. When I got home, I removed the skirt and handed it to my mother to deal with.

She hadn't taught me to use a needle and thread because of her fear of knives and needles in the hands of children. She was also afraid of stovetops, bowls near the edges of counters, letting us dive into murky  water, and ovens opened without supervision.  You'd never know she'd spent two years during World War Two stalwartly facing the possibility that any day a telegram might make her a widow. Maybe raising four kids who were fifteen years apart in age, housing a father-in-law without help, and pleasing an ambitious husband and a new baby had temporarily overwhelmed her. Mom was not, for some reason, afraid to hand children a hot iron. From the age of six, I helped her iron my father's handkerchiefs. I'd lean over the ironing board from a tipsy chair and shift the squares of dampened white cloth around with my left hand while lifting and lowering a steam-spitting iron with my right.

The theme that emerged at that board re-emerged when I was twenty-six. I'd just announced I'd be living with my boyfriend, an indigent dreamer I hoped to help make a career in acting in New York. My mother wrote me a lengthy letter, the gist of which was that I would miss out on the joy of ironing my husband's shirts if I lived with him unmarried. It was 1976, when everyone was beginning to live with everyone.

I married him. For 25 years I followed her example, though my husband mostly wore wash and wear clothes. I helped him where I could. On my 52nd birthday, I admitted I'd over-reacted: "I made it to menopause," I told my spouse, "but I'm not going to make it till death."

Then I started my own life. It's been fun. I don't even iron my own shirts. The old ideas —self-consciousness, my mother's good opinion, and the urge to protect men—still hang around. I guess they're starched in.  

 

STORMY SUMMER NIGHTS by Sheryl Jordan

I enjoy summer for all it has to offer, but one of my favorite parts is the nighttime storms. There’s a special magic to summer nights when the sky is restless. As the last light of day fades into dusk, a silence falls over the night, a false calm before the storm’s symphony. The air, thick with the smell of warm earth, seems to pulse with anticipation. I always tell those around me that I can smell the rain coming. They gaze at me, some say, “You can smell the rain?” Others say, “I smell it too!” (Yes, petrichor, storm scents are real!) In these moments, the environment teeters between sluggish heat and the vibrant anticipation of rain.

The Prelude

Stormy summer nights begin with subtle signs. The breeze, once gentle, stiffens and shifts, curling around porch columns and through open windows.  Somewhere in the distance, a rumble of thunder announces itself as though a whisper from the heavens.

As twilight deepens, clouds swirl overhead. Lightning flashes on the horizon, briefly illuminating the darkening sky with jagged silver streaks. For some, these moments bring anxious preparation: windows are closed, candles and flashlights are found, and pets are brought inside for shelter and comfort. For others, there's excitement in the approaching storm, a sense that nature is about to put on a spectacular show.

The Unleashing of the Storm

As the initial heavy raindrops strike the hot pavement, the world seems to pause briefly. The sound pattern starts irregular, then quickly shifts into a consistent rhythm that drowns out the hum of air conditioners and the buzzing of insects.

Lightning streaks across the sky in a spectacular display, illuminating familiar landscapes in a haunting effect. Thunder follows, sometimes seconds later, sometimes as a deafening, immediate roar. In these moments, the lines between indoors and outdoors blur. People stand on covered porches, counting the seconds between flash and sound. Children press their faces against the glass; their faces are lit with awe and a hint of fear.

Within the storm’s embrace, time appears to bend. Minutes seem to stretch into small eternities as the wind howls and rain pounds rooftops. Power may flicker and go out, plunging homes into darkness broken only by the intermittent flashes of lightning and the glow of flashlights and candles (unless you have a generator, of course). Conversation shifts to whispers, stories, and secrets best kept in the cozy cocoon of a summer storm.

Beauty Amidst the Turmoil

There is a wild, unrestrained beauty in nights like these. Trees dance fiercely in the gusts, their limbs bending but rarely breaking. Water rushes, gathering in puddles that reflect the jagged light above. Somewhere, frogs contribute their voices to the chorus, a deep counterpoint to the frantic song of the rain.

The world outside is transformed. Lawns glisten, streets shine like rivers of ink, and flowers, battered and brilliant, seem almost to glow in the storm’s strange illumination. The air, once oppressive, is now laced with coolness and possibility.

Stories and Memories

Stormy summer nights tend to bring people closer. On screened-in porches and under awnings, neighbors gather, attracted by the display and their shared vulnerability. Old stories resurface: the time lightning struck the oak in the yard, the blackout that lasted until dawn, and childhood games played by candlelight. Laughter mixes with the rain, and for a moment, the world feels smaller and more personal.

Inside, families rediscover forgotten rituals. Board games emerge, stories are told, and the light of a flashlight reads books. The usual distractions—screens and schedules—are rendered irrelevant by the storm’s command. There is, in these hours, a return to simpler joys and the comfort of togetherness.

For individuals alone, a stormy night can become a moment for introspection. The noise outside encourages inward calm—a perfect opportunity to sit by a window and observe the world being transformed, while listening to the natural symphony of water and wind. In solitude, there's a strange feeling of connection: to the earth, to the weather, and to everyone who has ever watched summer rain fall.

The Calm After the Storm

Eventually, the fury subsides. The rain tapers off, the thunder recedes, and the clouds start to break apart, revealing glimpses of moonlight. The world appears washed and glistening, the air fresh and clean as if the night itself has been reborn.

The aftermath has its own enchantment. The sharp scent of petrichor lingers, blending with the fragrance of wet grass and blooming flowers. Fireflies resume their dance above the damp lawns, their lights brighter after the darkness that came before. The distant chirping of crickets returns, first tentative, then bold and insistent.

Walking outside barefoot on the soaked earth, one feels the storm’s deep, almost mythic, sense of renewal. The worries of the day before seem smaller somehow, as if the rain has washed them into the gutters. Sleep comes more easily and more deeply, carried by the lullaby of raindrops and fading thunder.

I love a good summer storm, whether during the day (especially when a beautiful rainbow appears on the horizon afterward) or at night. There is something about summer night storms that sparks something in me. I don’t mean the storms that cause destruction and harm to people or property. I enjoy relaxing and binge-watching a good show or movie (if the power doesn’t go out). Sometimes I catch up on reading or writing. When the power is out for a while, I enjoy sitting in the dark, chatting with my family, or lying in bed just listening to the rain and thunder until I doze off to sleep.

Do you enjoy summer storms? What do you like or dislike most about them?

Exploring Virginia: A Travel Guide by Teresa Inge

When my husband and I returned home from a family wedding in New Jersey, we stopped at the Virginia Welcome Center. As we approached the center, we saw a signboard announcing Virginia’s 2025 Travel Guide. Upon entering, we were welcomed by two officials who provided us with a guide and "Virginia is for Lovers" stickers. The officials asked our destination, and we said Chesapeake. They noted Virginia’s landscape has much to offer, even for locals like us using the travel guide.

On the drive home, I read the guide and agreed: Virginia, known as the "Old Dominion," offers history, nature, beaches, cultural attractions, and culinary delights for everyone.

Regions

The guide divides Virginia into regions: Central, Chesapeake Bay, Coastal (Hampton Roads and Eastern Shore), Northern, Southern, Shenandoah Valley, Southwest (Blue Ridge Highlands and Heart of Appalachia), and Mountains.

Must-See 

Toast the Coast Trail is a highlight in the guide, featuring top wine, beer, and spirit makers from Williamsburg to the Virginia Beach oceanfront. It's on my must-see list and located in my area. Other must-sees include Crabtree Falls, the tallest waterfall east of the Mississippi, and Virginia Natural Bridge State Park with its impressive limestone arch and hiking trails. Since 1925, the Chincoteague Island Pony Swim has attracted large audiences, and marks its centennial this year. The event gained fame through Marguerite Henry's children's book, Misty of Chincoteague. Additionally, Colonial Williamsburg offers an insight into life in the 18th century.

Virginia is for Mysteries

The Virginia is for Mysteries anthologies, coordinated by me, features sixteen fictional short mystery stories set in actual locations in Virginia. Approved by Virginia Tourism, the series is available in bookstores and various other sites across the state for readers to explore.

With the guide at our disposal, my husband and I plan to explore new spots in Virginia for summer weekend getaways.

 

 

 

AN OUTRAGEOUS BOOK REVIEW BY: KIMBERLY R. THORN

An Outrageous Book Review  BY: KIMBERLY R. THORN

The Rabbit Hole Called YouTube

I have recently started down a new rabbit hole.  Thanks to Malice Domestic.  I have found out that there are influencers called BookTubers on YouTube and I am fascinated!

A Naked Singularity

This past month I joined one of the BookTubers called Life on Books.  They have a book club (for a small fee) that reads a different book each month that they all vote on.  The popular vote is chosen.  They meet online every week to discuss each session.  June’s book was A Naked Singularity by Sergio De La Pava.  This novel was originally published in 2008, then republished in 2012.  It follows Casi, who is 24 years old, he and his family are Columbian immigrants who resettled in Brooklyn, New York and he works as a public defender in Manhattan. 

All 678 pages of this book take you on a wild ride.  I felt like I took a psychedelic drug while I was reading this book.  It seemed to get wilder and wilder as the story progressed.  All in all, I was SO invested in this book that I couldn’t wait to see how it ended.  I thought surely that the ending would be just as much of a rush as the whole entire book, at last, I was sadly disappointed. 

ANS-Themes

Suffice it to say, that even though this book was wild, it had many great themes.  The discussions included themes of good vs evil, what does real justice look like, philosophy of life, death and everything in between, societal breakdown, mental health, picking yourself up after you’ve fallen and if anything can go wrong, it will and astrophysics.  If you absolutely love science and philosophy, then this is the book for you!

Not Exactly My Cuppa Tea

This was not a book that I ordinarily would have looked at the cover and been like, ‘YES I NEED to read this.”  I admit it, this book club is taking me out of my reading comfort zone.  It is challenging me with much harder books.  Maybe this is why I feel smarter for at the very least having read the book….. I’m just not sure how!  It is definitely a book that I want to re-read after a break.  I’d like to try to read it at a slower pace so that I can enjoy it more.  Really delve into its themes.  While I don’t love the book, it certainly leaves a lasting impression on the reader.  It gives the reader something to think about long after you read it.  There was a movie that came out in 2021 based on this book.  I did watch the movie and honestly, I loved the movie much better than the book.  I know, normally that isn’t the case but it is with this one.  I would suggest that if you want to read the book, you should read it before you watch the movie.  The movie is great but it is very different from the book.  I also think that it will give you a greater sense of what the book is about by reading first then watching the movie.  I would also like to watch an interview of De La Pava speaking about his debut novel.  I’d guess something was on YouTube but honestly have not looked yet.

Why Do I Care?

You may ask yourself, this sounds all good and fine, but what does this book have to do with a mystery or a mystery writer group?  I’m so glad you asked this question.  The mystery of this book is what is it about?  What does it mean?  This book is considered postmodern.  I’ve learned that while this movement has its own set of unique parameters, the most important is that the writer does not follow the writing rules that most writers follow.  The author does not use quotation marks, nor does he use a different line for each different characters’ dialogue.  What you end up with is one huge paragraph that you have to slow down to read in order to understand who is speaking at any given moment.  Extra care is given to also tell the difference between a character speaking or just having an internal thought.  Then just when you think you may have it all figured out, you realize that the action is not linear.  The writer jumps around in the action so what you are reading is not a big paragraph with no quotation marks, three people having a conversation where you not only have any clue when each character is speaking but then the action jumps to something that happened yesterday in the story.  (whoa that was a lot to not only type but to read too, right?)

Common Characteristics of Postmodern Literature[1]

1)      Metafiction-acknowledges itself, references itself.  Example in movies, a character speaks directly to the camera

2)      Intertextuality-references other texts

3)      Nonlinear Narratives & Shifting Perspectives-Narratives and Perspectives shift with no clear indication.

4)      Pastiche-blends with another genre or other styles

5)      Paradox and Irony

6)      Questioning Authority, Reality and Truth

7)      Maximalism-rather complex and lengthy in nature

8)      No use of correct punctuation, correct spelling, no three act structure to the story telling, no linear timelines.

9)      Unreliable Narrator[2]

 And Hyperrealism

I would amiss to fail to mention that this novel also uses an enormous amount of hyperrealism.  Google defines ‘hyperrealism in literature as a style of writing that aims to depict reality with an extreme level of detail and accuracy, often blurring the line between reality and fiction. It emphasizes precise descriptions and meticulous attention to everyday life, creating a sense of heightened reality for the reader’.  This is used throughout the novel to show how outrageous life can be and how inept our justice system is.

Conclusion

I wish I had known all of this BEFORE I read the book!  My advice is to do your research before reading something new.

---

[1]Life on Books “What the Heck is Postmodern Literature. September 1, www.patreon.com/LifeonBooks.

[2] Google.

SUMMER QUOTES TO BEAT THE HEAT by Yvonne Saxon

Want to see a writer spontaneously combust? Put me outside in the middle of July! How anyone can write at the beach, by the pool, or at the lake is beyond me. My HVAC unit died on the hottest day of July so far, and my fictional murder mystery was in danger of becoming a true crime episode had the repairman not shown up at my door that evening! Summer heat fries my brain and any words that I might possibly write disappear when sweat runs down my face.

So for those kindred spirits who are also heat-averse, I offer a few chuckles to amuse you while you scribble inside in the cool.

POSTWAR ELEGANCE: FASHION TRENDS OF THE 1950s, By Ellen Butler

 

The 1950s was a decade marked by optimism, prosperity, and a return to traditional values in many parts of the Western world, particularly the United States. After the hardships of World War II, people were eager to embrace stability, comfort, and a sense of normalcy.  It was the reason I chose to place my historical mystery, Ink and Intrigue at Ivy Tree Inn, in the year 1958. This cultural shift was clearly reflected in the fashions of the era—which remains iconic to this day.

 

Fashions of the 1950s

Since my character, Ariadne Winter, is employed at a women’s fashion magazine, I dedicated time to researching the fabrics, textures, and styles of the 1950s. Though she dreams of becoming a hard-hitting investigative journalist, her upper-middle-class New York upbringing and journalism degree make her a natural fit for Ladies’ Lifestyle Magazine—a tribute to iconic publications of the era like Ladies’ Home Journal and Look. Despite her ambitions, Ariadne never loses her sense of style. When it comes to fashion, Miss Winter is always impeccably dressed and effortlessly on point.

The fashion of the 1950s was elegant, structured, and deeply influenced by a desire to appear polished and put-together. Women’s clothing embraced femininity with cinched waists, full skirts, and soft pastel colors. One of the most influential designers of the decade was Christian Dior, whose 1947 “New Look”—featuring narrow waists and voluminous skirts—set the tone for much of the decade. Dresses often included petticoats to enhance fullness, hats and pearls were standard accessories for a polished look.

Teenagers were beginning to carve out their own identity through fashion. Girls wore poodle skirts, saddle shoes, and tight sweaters, while boys sported denim jeans, leather jackets, and slicked-back hair—a look inspired by Hollywood stars like James Dean and Marlon Brando. This emerging youth culture stood in stark contrast to the more conservative styles of previous generations. The rebellious image of Hollywood icons often influenced how teenagers spoke and behaved, leading to tension within families rooted in traditional values—a recurring pattern seen throughout history as each new generation navigates adolescence and seeks its own identity.

Men's fashion in the 1950s favored clean lines and a more conservative approach. Businessmen wore grey flannel suits with narrow ties, while casualwear might include a cardigan or a bowling shirt. The growing influence of television and cinema helped spread these styles quickly across the country.

The 1950s reflected a unique combination of traditional values and modern styles. Whether it was a woman stepping out in a circle skirt, or a teenage boy wearing jeans and slicked hair, these elements helped define the decade’s identity and left a lasting impression on American culture.

FIRST SAY GOODBYE . . . AND THEN SAY HELLO . . . By Sand in Our Shorts Management

Maria Hudgins

As the saying, and the song, remind us, there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven, to include, of course, Blogs.

With a mixture of sadness (for us) and happiness (for her), we announce that one of our stalwarts—the incomparable Maria Hudgins—has asked to step away from her duties as a regular contributor to the Sand in Our Shorts Blog.

Maria has long graced the writing community with a vast body of work. She is the author of the Dotsy Lamb Travel Mysteries and the Lacy Glass Archaeology Mysteries. She has had short stories and novellas appear in a number of anthologies and periodicals. Her stories often feature her real-life interests such as chemistry, travel (she’s been to more than fifteen countries), archaeology, dogs, cats, and poisons. A native of East Tennessee, Maria now lives in beautiful Hampton, Virginia, on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay.

Maria earned a master’s degree in plant physiology with a minor in biochemistry from the University of Tennessee. Having never studied writing, she credits her English teacher mother with instilling in her a great respect for our language.

Thank you, Maria. Heartfelt wishes for your future endeavors.

And as we say goodbye to Maria, we’re excited to announce that well-known and respected author Ellen Butler has agreed to join us as a regular contributor to Sand in Our Shorts. Ellen’s first post is in the queue and ready to launch on Saturday, July 5, 2025. Let me assure you, it’s a humdinger.

In addition to Ellen, we’ve lined up some excellent “Guest Bloggers.” Stay tuned to https://sandinourshorts.blogspot.com/ for details.