St. Patrick’s Day is fast approaching and I can already smell the corn-beef and cabbage–a St.Patrick’s Day must in our house. My hubby is half Irish, though with his fair skin and orange beard, he looks more like a giant leprechaun (he really hates it when I call him that *g*). I have always found it interesting that the four-leaf clover is a symbol synonymous for this Irish holiday.  While the four-leaf clover is certainly a universal symbol for good luck, the true Irish clover, aka, the Shamrock, is a THREE-leaf clover. St. Patrick himself chose the shamrock specifically because of the three leaves, using the clover as a symbol of the Holy Trinity. I came across a Celtic gift site that had a some great facts on both shamrocks and four-leaf clovers.

The Shamrock: a 3-Leaf Clover, is Ireland’s most recognized National Symbol.

• In the 5th century when St. Patrick came to convert the Irish information on Christianity could only be spread across the realm from one storyteller, or seanchaí, pronounced shan-a-key to the other.
• In mind of this St. Patrick used to the Shamrock to explain the concept of the holy trinity – that God was composed of three entities – the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit – yet each entity was part of the other just like the shamrock has three leaves but a single stem.
• As St. Patrick continued to use the Shamrock in his conversion of the irish it grew, through story telling to be seen as a holy plant, just as he was seen as a holy man.
• It is for this reason that the Shamrock is worn on the St. Patrick’s day and all other special occasions to celebrate his work and to bring ‘a bit o’luck’ to the Irish and all their children wherever they may be.
• Before the arrival of the Christians to Ireland the plant was sacred to the Irish Druids because the three leaves formed a triad.
• The word shamrock comes from the Irish word seamróg or seamair óg, meaning “little clover”.
• The tradition of wearing Shamrock on Saint Patrick’s Day can be traced back to the early 1700s.
• For good luck, it’s usually included in the bouquet of an Irish bride, and also in the boutonniere of the groom.
• In the 19th century it became a symbol of rebellion and began to be strongly associated with Irish identity. Apparently anyone wearing it risked death by hanging. People even ate the shamrock in times of famine.

4-Leaf Clover and Luck:

• Druids held the 4 leaf clover in high esteem and considered them a sign of luck. In 1620, Sir John Melton wrote: “If a man walking in the fields find any four-leaved grass, he shall in a small while after find some good thing.
• According to Irish folklore, finding a stem of clover with 4 leaves will bring you good luck, but finding a clover stem with more than 4 leaves will not bring you even more luck.
• The mystique of the four leaf clover continues today, since finding a real four leaf clover is still a rare occurrence and omen of good luck.
• One leaf is for HOPE… The second for FAITH…The third for LOVE… And the fourth for LUCK!

As I kid, I spent a ton of time searching those clover patches in the grass for the elusive four-leaf clover. Being a person who believes you can’t have too much good luck, those lucky 3-leaf clovers can come in real handy!

So how about the rest of y’all? Ever found a four-leaf clover in those three-leaf clover patches? Any special St. Patrick’s Day traditions in your house?

Well, it’s Friday the thirteenth. I don’t fancy myself a superstitious person (I do not count my quirks and phobias in this statement, which include my terror of down-escalators and cooking with yeast). However, if I see a penny on the ground, I admit to picking it up because all day long I’ll have good luck. I especially like finding a dime because that way I get ten lucks.

So I reckoned there must be some kind of superstitions in the Old West among our cowboy heroes. Somehow. Somewhere. So this is what I found.  

Cowboys seem to have many superstitions about their boots. First off, they believe old boots should be worn on Friday the thirteenth for good luck. So check your cowboy’s feet today. New boots: no-no. 

Tripping over a boot is a bad omen. Furthermore, cowboys consider it bad luck to step into their left boot first. Similarly, a bronco rider always puts the right foot in the stirrup first. For some reason, it’s bad juju to use those boots to kick a paper cup thrown down at a rodeo. 

However, if a cowboy drops an old boot outside the door as he leaves on a trip, he’ll have only good luck during his journey. 

He’ll quarrel with someone soon if he sets his boots on a table. Duh. I’d sure quarrel with anybody who did that in my house. 

If he wears out his boots at the toe, he’ll spend money as he goes.  

A cowboy won’t stow his boots higher than his head at night because if he does, he’ll have a restless night’s sleep. I reckon this is when he’s camping out along the trail. 

If he walks wearing only one boot, he’ll have as many bad days ahead as steps he’s taken. And he sure shouldn’t give boots to a friend. That means the friend will walk away from him. Furthermore, he’ll end up walking in the former owner’s troubles if he takes somebody else’s boots even as a gift.

If his new boots creak as he walks, this means he still owes money on them. And new unworn boots should be put high above the floor for luck. (Unless it’s that table-quarrel thing.) 

In every day life, if a cowboy wears his boots while his baby is being born, it’ll be a boy. Seeing a boot set atop a fence post is a sign that someone is at home. And seeing boots hung with the toes pointed toward the wall means their owner is dead.

For maintenance, our cowboy should place red pepper in his boots during winter to keep his feet warm. For a bad fit, he should fill his boots with dry beans or corn, pour in some water, and tie the tops shut. Or…put a zip-lock bag filled with water in the boot, and place the whole she-bang in the freezer.

Well, there’s more cowboy lore regarding rodeo superstitions and hat superstitions and of course, the whole range of Superstition Mountains in Arizona…but I think this will do for now.

Of course, dying with his boots on was the cowboy’s greatest dignity. Who can forget our favorite huckleberry, Val Kilmer’s Doc Holliday on his death bed, peering dolefully at his bare toes and saying, “Now that’s funny?” Sigh.  

How about ya’ll? Any superstitions out there? Anybody wear cowboy boots?

The Winchester Mystery House —Some legends say it is haunted by every person killed with a Winchester Rifle.

Deeply saddened by the deaths of her daughter Annie in 1866 and her young husband in 1881, and seeking solace, Winchester consulted a medium on the advice of a psychic. According to popular history, during a séance, the medium told Winchester there was a curse on the Winchester family because the guns had killed so many. The psychic told Winchester her husband and child died because of vengeful spirits and she was next.”

The Boston Medium told Winchester that she must “build a home for the spirits who have fallen from this terrible weapon. You must never stop building the house. If you stop, you will die.”

Sarah Winchester inherited more than $20.5 million upon her husband’s death. She also received nearly 50 percent ownership of the Winchester Rifle Company. Giving her an income of roughly $1,000 per day. This amount today is roughly equivalent to $21,000 a day so she was well able to fund the mansion she began building.

In 1884, Sarah began a construction project that lasted thirty-eight years. The Victorian mansion is filled with so many unexplained oddities, that it has come to be known as the Winchester Mystery House.

For the next 36 years, they built and rebuilt, altered and changed and constructed and demolished one section of the house after another. She kept 22 carpenters at work, year around, 24 hours each day.  The sounds of hammers and saws sounded throughout the day and night.

There were countless staircases which led nowhere; a blind chimney that stops short of the ceiling; closets that opened to blank walls; trap doors; double-back hallways; skylights that were located one above another; doors that opened to steep drops to the lawn below; and dozens of other oddities.

Nearly all of the windows contained 13 panes of glass; the walls had 13 panels; the greenhouse had 13 cupolas; many of the wooden floors contained 13 sections; some of the rooms had 13 windows and every staircase but one had 13 steps. This exception is unique in its own right…. it is a winding staircase with 42 steps, which would normally be enough to take a climber up three stories. In this case, however, the steps only rise nine feet because each step is only two inches high. Only 2 mirrors were installed in the house…. Sarah believed that ghosts were afraid of their own reflection.

When the great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 struck the fireplace in the Daisy Room (where Mrs. Winchester was sleeping on the night of the earthquake) collapsed, shifting the room and trapping Sarah inside. She became convinced that the earthquake had been a sign from the spirits who were furious that she had nearly completed the house. Sarah never slept in the same bedroom two nights in a row and she spent from midnight to two a.m. conversing with spirits. On September 4, 1922, after a conference session with the spirits in the seance room, Sarah went to her bedroom for the night. At some point in the early morning hours, she died in her sleep at the age of 83. The building stopped the next day.

Sarah had managed to spend nearly every penny of her wealth. Rumor had it that somewhere in the house was hidden a safe containing a fortune in jewelry and a solid-gold dinner service with which Sarah had entertained her ghostly guests. Her relatives forced open a number of safes but found only old fishlines, socks, newspaper clippings about her daughter’s and her husband’s deaths, a lock of baby hair, and a suit of woolen underwear. No solid gold dinner service was ever discovered.

One of the first to see the place when it opened to the public was Robert L. Ripley, who featured the house in his popular column, “Believe it or Not.”

In the years that the house has been open to the public, employees and visitors alike have had unusual encounters here. There have been footsteps; banging doors; mysterious voices; windows that bang so hard they shatter; cold spots; strange moving lights; doorknobs that turn by themselves. Some special events include flashlight tours every Friday the 13th and at Halloween.  

Do you have historical landmarks in your vicinity?  Do you love to visit them?  Most importantly, are they near your favorite restaurant?

That last question isn’t a joke!  Right next to the rustic Sagebrush Cantina, (they make a mean chicken tostada and great Margaritas) where I’ve been known to frequent with my hubby, friends and my critique partners on Calabasas Road, sits The Leonis Adobe. This ranch house and surroundings is one of 200 or more rancheros that once graced the San Fernando Valley.  The entire area is deemed “El Camino Real”, the famous road that linked Spanish settlements and missions up and down the California coast. 

Before the Southern Pacific Railroad connected Los Angeles to San Francisco, El Camino Real was a stop on the stage line that was operated by Flint, Bixby and Butterfield and at that time, this now upscale affluent area, had a reputation as a rough and tumble wild spot in the San Fernando Valley.  

Miguel Leonis, a Basque land settler who stood six foot four inches tall, was a shrewd and powerful man who, after amassing land and great wealth, came to be known as the “King of Calabasas”.  He married an Indian widow named Espiritu and through that marriage he acquired 1100 acres of her family’s land, cattle, sheep and horses. It was estimated that after his death in 1889, his possessions and wealth steeped to $300,000. It is said that he left Espiritu a mere $10,000 of his estate and she in turn, sued for her fair share, a court battle that lasted ten years.  I have read reports of the house being haunted by Espiritu after her death. 

For me, The Leonis Adobe, which is open to the public, is an amazing visual form of research.  So often, I would go there, imagine my western stories, pick up details on daily life on the ranch and roam around the barn, visit the horses they have corralled, the birds walking free and other penned livestock. I’ve learned how the old windmills worked and how Miguel had managed to run water lines to his house for indoor plumbing.  The kitchen, dining room, bedrooms and parlor of the house helped me envision the furnishings in my own stories and how a big ranch house operated. 

An arbor of grapes provides entrance to the house and a small sampling of vineyards is still intact and growing next to an orchard.  A 600 hundred-year-old oak tree provides backyard shade for the house and barn. I always peek inside the bathhouse that is free standing near the house and windmill and imagine my hero washing up in there.  (Did I just write that?)

Discovering the Leonis Adobe was easy. I probably drive by it twice a week and it always warms my heart that this small street in Calabasas is still holding to old traditions with the Plummer House sitting on the property, moved from its original location and known as the oldest house in Hollywood, built in 1874. And the Calabasas Creek that is partially preserved in its natural state, just 100 yards from Leonis Adobe. All of this history in such a small area and backing up against the 101 Freeway, at times many forget it’s there. They sip margaritas on the outside patio at Sagebrush and watch the world go by.

That is, all but history buffs and writers.  We know its there. We know the legends and often think about what life was like more than one hundred years ago at The Leonis Adobe.

What about you?  Do you have historical landmarks nearby?  What’s the most unforgettable landmark or historical site you’ve visited?    

  ****Remember to follow us on Twitter and look for our new “Cowboy Under the Christmas Tree Contest” coming soon!

Wow. Let me first just thank Cheryl St.John for asking me to post to this wonderful site. I’m a long time visitor, sometime commenter, and have been a fan since researching my current release, All or Nothing.

Writers and readers of historical fiction know—whether we’re talking romance, mystery, or any other sub-genre—more goes into the story then simply writing the tale. We need to know the landscape of the piece. Understand the perils and pitfalls of the time period. And, most importantly—what was it like to be a woman in those conditions? How did one bathe? Eat? Where was the bathroom? And what was one to do when it was so blasted hot outside without air conditioning?

All or Nothing is set in the Arizona West of 1876. The time when my bandit—a real to life bad guy who was never captured, El Tejano—roamed the Dragoon Mountains outside of Arizona. The story is seasoned it with my own life experience, after spending much of my childhood playing among the rugged adobe ruins of Fort Lowell, in Tucson, Arizona.

However, much of my research came from my previous profession. A trained archaeologist.  I traveled the southwest surveying for corporations. I studied historic and prehistoric sites, bagged and tagged artifacts, and hauled boxes of them to dusty museums, all the while knowing that someday I’d fold all that knowledge into my own stories.

I’d been a writer for years, but strictly in the work sense. No romanticizing allowed, my supervisor would say.  I was an archaeologist, tasked with writing reports on sites we discovered, researching bottle-bottoms and landmarks, recording that history for posterity, for whatever corporation funded our research.

My favorite discovery came after surviving the scariest hike in history—surveying ridge tops down the rugged, red slopes of the Copper King Mountains in eastern Arizona. Exhausted, shaken from almost tumbling down a drainage hole during a rockslide, I needed a minute before starting up again. I walked. I took deep breaths, sat—head between my knees, when I saw it. A bit of white and blue mixed in with the pine needles and gravel. I picked it up, surveyed the shard, and found another. A broken plate. Praise God, I stumbled on an historic site—the Little Colorado Mine. My discovery, and mine to map, survey, and write up for history. But, just the facts, they warned me.

Fine. I did it their way. And, oh boy! It was a struggle.

My romantic nature wanted not just to report on the Limoges pattern on shattered dishes. I wanted to discuss the woman who’d opened her hope chest after traveling the rutted road in their rickety wagon, and found her wedding china smashed! How she sobbed over their hand-painted shards. Sure. Maybe that’s what happened.

Or, perhaps a marriage of convenience lured her to that God forsaken bit of land under the shadow of Copper King. In a fury, her husband out digging for silver (and finding nothing but wretched copper ore), she flung a plate or two at his head right before she hitched up the wagon and hightailed it out of there. 

Or, maybe their third baby knocked it off the table while reaching up for a cookie, they all had a good laugh, picked up the pieces and tossed them out onto the trash heap and went in to read the Bible together.

So, my supervisor was right. All I knew for sure was I had a shattered feminine plate in a rugged wasteland. It wasn’t my job to figure out how it broke or why. 

But guess what? As an author, I can.

I can take bits from that experience, the harrowing experience down the mountain side which opens All or Nothing, and weave it with the story of a massacre left widely untold by the popular citizens of Tucson, and pick apart the accounts to guess what might have actually happened there. I also can create a heroine who was confronted with one of the worst occupations in history – being an Army Laundress for the US Cavalry—some of the most unsung heroines of our time.

Researching these things in a time before the internet was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. But, with the help of women like you—I was able to research historic catalogs, read through to find the price of coffee (green or roasted), by the bag or barrel, and what rations and pay were given a woman who worked for the Cavalry!

Like a kid in a candy store, I grabbed facts. I pocketed them. I wove in “spice” for the story, seasoning my characters and their encounters with each other. I walked with them through the fort grounds, laid out my map, figured out what angle to reach the stable from the parade grounds, and lived the story with them.  My editor picked out the rough spots, evaluated my historical claims and matched them to reality. Where did the train really stop? What song would your heroine be dancing to? Humming? In 1876! Thank heaven for the Internet. A library at our fingertips.

Does an author do this much research for a story set in modern day? Perhaps. But, there is so much that contemporary authors can take for granted that we have to stop and really think about. Our readers can tell when we’re faking it.

www.ashleyludwig.com

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One commenter will win an e-book copy of All or Nothing with my compliments… Thanks so much for visiting!

The other day I was doing some heads-down research for my current work in progress.  The subject of my quest was stagecoach accommodations but, as often happens when I do research, I got sidetracked by a tidbit I stumbled upon.  What caught my eye was an intriguing reference to  a stage-driver by the name of Charley Parkhurst.  “One-eyed Charley”, as the popular driver was called, led a very colorful and singular life. 

Charley was born in New Hampshire around 1812.  Orphaned while very young, Charley was sent to an orphanage, escaped from the orphanage at around age 12 and found a job as a stable boy.  There it was discovered Charley had a way with the horses and was promoted from stable boy to handling teams and eventually progressed to driving coaches.  Charley’s skill was such that patrons were known to specifically request the young driver by name.

In 1851 Charley moved to California following the opportunities that opened up with the gold rush and soon earned a reputation as being one of the safest and fastest drivers around, easily handling the ribbons for a team of six.  According to one source looking back over Charley’s career, “. . . in more than twenty years no highwayman had dared to hold up a stagecoach with Charley Parkhurst on the box, for the first two who tried it had been shot dead in their tracks.”

At some point, Charley lost an eye as a result of being kicked by a horse.  Not deterred by the mishap, Charley wore a black eye black patch from then on, and thus obtained the nickname “One-eyed Charley.”  From all accounts, though a fair and honest person, Charley was no saint.  The colorful driver’s habits included, smoking cigars, chewing tobacco, indulging in moderate drinking, card playing and other forms of gambling, and swearing volubly when the occasion called for it.

Eventually, when rheumatism (a common condition among long-time drivers) began taking a physical toll and the railroad expansion took more and more of the overland business, Charley retired.  Never one to remain idle, the former stage-driver, now past sixty, turned to raising cattle and occasionally hauling freight for neighbors. 

All of the above points to a vivid life lived fully and with gusto.  But the most astounding thing about Charley wasn’t revealed until it came time to lay the body out for burial.  It turns out Charley was a woman!  Her real name was Charlotte Darkey Parkhurst.  For the most part, co-workers, business partners, neighbors and even close friends were absolutely  flummoxed by the news.  In fact, Charley had fooled everyone to the extent that she was allowed to register to vote in the presidential election of 1868, long before women were awarded that privilege.

Reading this remarkable story had the writer in me imagining story after story to account for what had led Charley to lead such a curious life. 

Had she taken the disguise as a child in order to land the stable boy job and found herself trapped for a lifetime by her own deception? 

Had she become so enamored of the freedom afforded her as a man that she was unwilling to give it up? 

Was she running from something in her past and was afraid to resume her true identity? 

Did she ever long to throw off her disguise?

Another piece of this intriguing puzzle that spurs the imagination – it was said that those who went through Charley’s possessions after her death found baby clothes. Wow, if true, does this ever raise additional questions.

Did she in fact have a baby?  If so, when – after she reached California or was it actually part of the reason she headed west?  What happened to the child – did the baby die or did she find a home for him/her?  Who was the father and under what circumstances was the child conceived?

Anyway, this little side trip through my research cost me several hours since I couldn’t resist digging deeper into her story even though it’s not something that will be useful to my work in progress.  Then again, who knows?  Pieces of this tale, or variations thereof, may someday find their way into a future book.

So what about you?  Did this snippet of Charley’s history cause you to start spinning tales in your head about what her life might have been like?  What aspect most intrigued you, what piece did you immediately hone in on?

In exactly one year from today on May 22^nd, I’ll be the mother of the groom!  My son is getting married! The wedding will take place on a country club golf course and their vows will be spoken on the first tee.  My son is an avid golfer, you see, and he wanted to get married on a golf course.  No other place seemed fitting enough.

My husband and I recently celebrated our 35^th wedding anniversary. Since both of us worked that day, he took me to Mission Burrito for a taco salad. The entire dinner cost $12.00. We were blissfully happy anyway and will take a little trip next month to celebrate properly. But either extravagant or simple, I feel very fortunate to have spent these past 35 years in a relationship with a warm-hearted, loving man.

My daughter was married just last fall, and now we’re back in wedding mode again. As we stuffed the beautiful engagement party invitations, my husband said, “Seems like we were just doing this.”  It’s true – it was only 7 months ago when we were in full wedding swing. This party will be a summer luau with all the trimmings, including a Tiki Bar with my dh as the Mai Tai Master.  

How different weddings are now than in the past. While today young women and girls look forward to marrying their loves, forming that loving bond together with stability and compassion, back in the first half of the 1800’s, that wasn’t necessarily the case. Often, women weren’t overly enthused with the thought of marriage. For them, it meant a hard life of cooking, mending, sewing, chores and bearing children. 

I was surprised to learn that women had on average five to seven children! That’s a lot of meals to cook and clothes to clean! But more importantly, if love wasn’t the means to their marriage, wives were often subjugated to a husband’s wrath. They depended on him for monetary support and therefore, the men always had the upper hand.  Woman often spoke of their upcoming marriage with impending doom or at the very least, anxiety.

Whereas, it’s observed that in the first part of the nineteenth century men looked favorably upon marriage. They’d have good meals cooked, clean clothes and sex on a regular basis.  While women of that time enjoyed sex with a mate before marriage, often their desire waned after marriage. Statistics show this to be true today as well.

In the early part of the century a minister performed the ceremony in the bride’s home for most marriages, although church weddings became more popular later on and soon became the norm. Perhaps due to the preacher’s heavy schedule of sermons and church services, most weddings in early 1800’s were performed on Tuesdays, Wednesdays or Thursdays.

Women of the West tended to court and marry at a later age than those in the East and South. They also engaged in more premarital sex and often married if the woman became pregnant.

Today’s research shows from a 2008 study that the average marrying age for women is 25 and for men, 27. 

Since two of our fillies are marrying off their daughters this season, both coincidentally named Kristi/Christi, I asked them about their thoughts and family traditions that continue from generation to generation.  Both Pam Crooks and Tanya Hanson had something unique to share!

From Pam: 

“With a talent she didn’t know she had until she was in her late thirties, my sister Kim decorates beautiful cookies.  Starting with my first daughter, and continuing the tradition with my second and now my third, she makes cookies for every guest at the wedding reception. 

As you read this, Kristi is hours away from being married.  Afterward, since she and her new husband will be moving to Virginia Beach, the guests will find beach-themed cookies at their table.

Love the cookies Pam! Aren’t they adorable! Best wishes at the wedding today!

From Tanya:      

I’m a little crazy right now LOL. Christi had her first fitting on Saturday and suddenly, it’s almost here.

Some traditions, old and new:  Christi is using the cake knife and server, and silver toasting goblets from Matt and Debbie’s wedding, and the little Noritake china bridal cake plate Tim and I ate from. 

A five-generation tradition: Somewhere during the ceremony, the hymn “Let us Ever Walk with Jesus” happens. At our wedding, it was a solo. My parents walked up to the altar to it during WW II. At Matt’s and also Christi’s, it’s the song I will walk in to.

I think all of these traditions are amazing and endearing. 

What about you?  Any weddings on your horizon?  Did you have family traditions that continue on from one generation to the next?   And what wedding scene from either a book or movie stands out in your mind?  

Curious minds want to know!

Don’t forget to enter our Fillies Contest!!

Oh the buzzin’ of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
 On the Big Rock Candy mountain

If you’re anywhere near as old as I am, you may recognize this song, attributed to Harry “Haywire Mac” McClintock and made famous in a 1950s recording by Burl Ives.  Not long after the release of the song in 1928, some local wags places a sign at the base if a colorful mountain in Southern Utah, naming it “Big Rock Candy Mountain.”  They also placed a sign next to a nearby spring proclaiming it “Lemonade Springs.”  The names stuck, and the mythical Big Rock Candy Mountain of the song became one of the most recognized spots in the state. 

So why am I telling you all this?  Because the Big Rock Candy Mountain was a wonderful part of my childhood.  I grew up an hour north of the mountain, and, as a kid, it was one of my favorite places to go.  Not only was the hiking fun, but they had a campground, and a restaurant connected to a store that sold little bags of honest-to-goodness rock candy—the “rocks” were jelly beans, but they were made to look like real pebbles. 

Outside there were some animal pens with a cougar named Whiffy, a pair of lynxes named Sniffy and Spiffy, and some coyotes that would howl when the lady who ran the place came out and howled with them.  Once when we were there, they had a mother porcupine with babies.  I got to hold one of the babies—their quills don’t harden until they get older.  Looking back I realize it wasn’t a good situation for the animals, but as a little girl  I was fascinated by them. 

On Easter weekend my parents and their friends would reserve a picnic area for all their families.  It was so much fun, chasing around the mountain with a big gang of kids, rolling eggs down the slope and feasting on hotdogs and watermelon while the grownups visited.   The Sevier River ran along the road, and in the winter a wide section called Horseshoe Bend froze over—Great for sledding and ice skating.  I am smiling as I write this. 

Did you have a favorite place to go as a child?  Tell us about it.

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Our family is big on games.  We’re “gamers” as they say.  Whenever we get together either with friends or family, we play our fair share of games.

It’s a hoot and a howl and we usually end up laughing our heads off after a few pizzas and beers.  Since our kids are grown and out of the house, we’ve instituted a Once A Month Game day!

Cards are usually the game of choice. We’ll play anything from UNO to Milles Bornes to Phase Ten. We have Phase Ten Tournaments.  My new son-in-law is quite a competitor. He and my hubby are always trying to outdo each other.

Sequence is a board game that you play with a deck of cards as well.  Its sort of like Bingo … but we play regular Bingo too!  

When we have a larger group than the six of us, like this past Easter – we’ll break out Catch Phrase. This is a game like Password, where you are allowed to describe the word in any way possible to your team members.  Once your team gets the word, you pass the digital “board” to your opponent.  A clock clicks off time and if you’re the team left holding the “board” when the timer runs out, the opposing team scores a point.  Not only are we playing a Password type game, but we’re also playing Hot Potato – all at the same time.   

Another fun game for more than four players is Apples to Apples. It’s easy and fun, REALLY, but way too hard to explain on this blog.  Trust me – you’ll love it. 

As I peruse my closet, I see digital Deal or No Deal (but you don’t win any real money), Risk (one time we played this game for 8 hours),  Parcheesi (for oldies but goodies) and Upwords, a board game that’s like scrabble except you can build tiles upon each other.  Of course Yahtzee and Monopoly and Clue are among my all time favorites.   Fun, Fun, Fun!

So what games did they play in the 1800’s?  

The first American board game was created in 1843 by the W & S.B Ives Company called the Mansion of Happiness.  This game led children via their playing pieces down the path of “eternal happiness.”

Would you believe that the The Game of Life as we know it (pictured on left) started out as the picture you see next to it. Invented by Milton Bradley in 1860, The Checkered Game of Life was a board game that rewarded good deeds and punished bad ones. Milton Bradley, once a successful lithographer, had created a portrait of Abe Lincoln without his beard.  When Lincoln grew his now-famous beard, Bradley’s clean-shaven portrait was no longer popular.  Out of desperation, Bradley designed the Checkered Game of Life and its immediate popularity started Milton Bradley on a new career path. 

Milton Bradley

As more and more Americans traveled overseas in the late 1800’s, traveling board games held great appeal. Travelers could relive their trips by playing such games as Around the World invented in 1873 or McLoughlin Brothers’ Game of Round the World with Nellie Bly which was created in 1890. 

Are you a ”gamer” too?  Do you play cards or board games with family and friends?   Which are your favorites? 

Not MY typos, complain to Chauer.

 Finally Venus got control of her jealousy,

Psyche got over herself

(and put some clothes on, thank the Good Lord)

My gosh it’s just like one of my romance novels…

only with wings instead of a Stetson.

And that is the story of Valentine’s Day,

minus the slow agonizing death and graphic dismemberment

 of some Catholic Priests.

Enjoy your chocolates and hope and pray the roses don’t attract bees.

http://www.maryconnealy.com/

Gingham Mountain