Here we are back again. How is spring treating you? Ours has been surprisingly and unusually warm. I hope this is a sign of of a nice summer to come, but then again, Mother Nature hasn’t been exactly kind to humanity lately.
Many of the cocktails I’ve shown you so far remind you of places far away, some I’ve visited, others I would love to. Today’s cocktail for the letter N comes from my bucket list. The Negroni is the quintessential Italian cocktail. It’s been called a ‘man’s cocktail’ but i know a few women who would argue with that.
I’ve had one in an Italian restaurant and it’s delicious.
Make it Your Own
Ingredients
1 orange 1 ½ ounces gin 1 ½ ounces sweet vermouth 1 ½ ounces Campari Sparkling water, for topping
Mix It
Using a vegetable peeler, remove a few rinds from the outside of the orange and reserve.
Take one of the orange rinds and pinch it between two fingers to release some of the essential oils. Rub the inside of a rocks glass with the orange the orange rind to scent the glass.
Fill the rocks glass with ice. Pour the gin, sweet vermouth and Campari over the ice. Using a long cocktail spoon, stir the ingredients until glass feels well chilled. Top with sparkling water.
Welcome back to Cocktails A to Z, my theme for the 2021 challenge blog. Today, we’re going to wax nostalgic as I think back to the days when I could travel.
I love cruises, but I don’t like airplanes and airports. A few years ago, we got the best of both when we simply took a bus to New York City and boarded our cruise ship. The bonus came with an overnight stay in Manhattan. One year, we saw a New York Rangers’ game. Another we visited the Top of the Rock. And of course each time, we spent a few hours in Time Square.
How many people can say they had their picture taken with Batman?
Today’s cocktail brought to you by the letter M is the Manhattan, named after the island of Manhattan itself. If you haven’t been to New York, I highly recommend it. There is so much to see and do. I’ve been five times now, and there are still many wonderful things i want to see. In my fifth Cocktails for You book, Make Mine a Manhattan, my heroine visits the city, searching for inspiration for her newest novel. This book will be available in September.
The Manhattan can be served straight up or on ice. I prefer mine ‘on the rocks’ as they say
Fill a whiskey tumbler with ice.
Add all the ingredients and stir.
Garnish with maraschino cherries
Serve as is or strained into a cocktail glass.
Enjoy!
Here are the book description for Make Mine a Manhattan
What’s an author to do when she’s hopelessly stuck, thanks to writer’s block?
With only eight weeks left to finish her newest novel, bestselling author Sydney Sanders, aka Robin Langford, is stuck. On an impulse, the thirty-five-year old introvert decides to take her agent’s advice and shift gears, but instead of going on a short vacation, she’s going to immerse herself in her story by assuming her heroine’s identity and going to Manhattan to live out the plot. What could possibly go wrong?
As Savanna Long, she boards the train, expecting a quiet ride and time to refresh her muse for the chore ahead, but a lot can happen during the thirty-eight hour trip, especially with her imagination and the drop-dead gorgeous passenger in the next car.
What starts out as a research project takes an unexpected turn when she falls head over heels in love. Suddenly, her reality is better than anything she could ever imagine—and she can imagine a lot—but there’s a glitch. How will her handsome hero feel when he discovers the woman in his bed isn’t the person he thinks she is? Will the fledgling romance fizzle out, or will she have the bestseller she wants and the man she loves?
Here is the opening scene.
“Please, Mom, can’t you just let it go?” I begged, regretting my decision to stop in for a cold drink after my morning run. “You asked and I said no, and I mean it. I’m not interested. Nyet, nada, nein, non.”
The most annoying thing about wearing a mask to protect myself and others from COVID-19 was the inability to see someone’s lower facial expressions, but the eyes never lied. From the storm clouds in my mother’s gray ones, I knew she was angry with me, but I was just as mad at her—well, maybe not at her exactly—but I was frustrated, and this scheme of hers was just one more complication I didn’t need. At the moment, I was hot and sweaty. I just wanted my iced capp and then a shower.
“It’s not as if Mayor Loucks asks you for favors every day,” Mom continued with another volley in an argument I was determined she would never win.
“For the last time, Mom, I refuse to go out with every eligible Tom, Dick, or Harry someone throws in my path,” I stated, my teeth gritted so tightly, they ached. “Besides. We’re still supposed to be staying socially distant. I’m perfectly content in my own bubble. I like my life here as it is, without a lot of fanfare. Shakespeare and I are just fine.”
Mom harrumphed as she finished putting the final touches on my iced cappuccino. The good thing about having a parent who owned a coffee shop was the free drinks, the bad thing was the unsolicited advice.
“I don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate and selfish,” she continued. “The pandemic is winding down, and this is just one little dinner—a barbecue, for heaven’s sake. You’ll be outside. The man is in Flowerfield to look over the old Dog Mountain ski area. If he agrees to invest in it, it’ll be a shot in the arm for the town, and Lord knows, we can use it. Franklin assures me the man has had his Coronavirus vaccine and has a negative test. You can’t get any safer than that these days, and you know it. Besides, Lacey says he’s gorgeous, cultured, and filthy rich. You aren’t getting any younger and quality husband material isn’t easy to find around here. I would think you would be happy to take one for the town.”
“Take one for the town? Just what are you suggesting, Mother? I’m perfectly happy without a prick between my legs or anywhere else,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Sydney Robin Langford, you watch your mouth. I didn’t raise you to speak like that and you know it. That is most definitely not what I meant. There are decent folks in here who want to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee without listening to your foul language. The way you’re behaving these days, I swear you’ve become anti-social. Maybe you should see Doctor Edwards. You could’ve started premature menopause.”
I exhaled forcefully. I couldn’t say prick, but my mother, in the same quiet tone a five-year-old uses to whisper, could inform the town that her thirty-three year old daughter was menopausal.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to play nice-nice with some rich carpetbagger who’ll probably walk away from the deal anyway.”
“You’re too busy? I doubt that. You’re the only person I know who actually enjoyed all those months of quarantine. If I hadn’t insisted you come to dinner last night, you would’ve brushed off your sister and your nephew as well as your dad and me. So tell me, Miss Too-Good-to-Do-The-Town-A-Simple-Favor, what is it that you’re working on? And don’t say school work because you started summer vacation last week.”
“I’m … I’m working on a special course—something online,” I stammered, the half-lie slipping out of my mouth.
“You’re always working on something online. The governor says that the kids will be going back to in-classroom learning this fall, so you can quit trying to develop those—what did you call them? Oh yes—innovative and exciting online lessons.” Her eyes narrowed. “I was reading about screen time dependency. Are you addicted to video games? Good Lord, don’t tell me you’rewatching porn or chatting with some stranger who could well be a serial killer.”
“Mother! I don’t know where you get your ideas, but no!”
I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and reached for my cappuccino. And here I thought I was the one with the wild imagination. It was perfectly acceptable to send me on a blind date with a stranger who had money and might invest it in the town, but if I were to meet anyone online, he would be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.
“Forget it. You wouldn’t understand. You never have.” I stepped back. “I have to get home and feed Shakespeare.”
My mother turned and glared at me.
“You treat that cat better than you treat the members of your own family. Fine. I’ll call Franklin and make some excuse, but you’ll regret not helping out when the town needed you. If Stargazer Enterprise does reopen the mountain, having a close personal relationship with the CEO would be quite advantageous.”
Would she never give up? On the defensive now, I harrumphed.
“Since when does a blind date barbecue I have no intention of attending morph into a close personal relationship? Forget it, Mom. I’m not the sacrificial virgin ready to be tossed into the volcano to save the town. Unless you agree not to harp on this again, I’m not coming back for lunch with Callie and Mickey.”
The bell rang announcing the arrival of another customer.
Thank you, Lord.
“Fine,” Mom agreed, but her tone made it clear she wasn’t happy about it. “Maybe he doesn’t need a date per se. There will be plenty of single women there. I’ll see you at one thirty sharp.”
She frowned, her mask moving up her face almost obliterating her eyes.
I sighed, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be the end of it, but if I didn’t make lunch, I wouldn’t survive the lecture that was sure to follow.
“I’ll be here.”
Turning abruptly, I collided with the mountain behind me, splashing my iced capp all over both of us, the ice cubes settling on his loafers.
A collective gasp filled the room, and I was suddenly aware of the dozens of gazes fixed on me. There was Frank, the town mechanic and Sylvia who ran the dry cleaners. Was that Mayor Loucks? Wouldn’t he be happy to discover he’d avoided setting his big buyer up with the Queen of Bad Luck?
“Oh my God,” Mom cried. “What have you done? Don’t you ever watch what you’re doing?”
What I’m doing?
Speechless, I gaped at the huge, wet spot spreading across the man’s tan shirt and khaki pants, scarcely noticing the fact that my white cotton t-shirt was almost as wet. Tilting my head up, I stared at the face hidden behind his mask, mirrored sunglasses, and the brim of his Panama hat. When had I ever seen a man with such broad shoulders? Despite my mask, the aroma of his aftershave tickled my nose, and I sneezed.
Heat filled my cheeks. No doubt the top half of my face was as red as a ripe tomato, and considering I had carrot-colored hair, currently pulled up into a messy bun on the top of my head, it wouldn’t be a good look on me. I peered at the mess I’d made, suddenly aware of the fact that my tightened nipples were poking out of my wet shirt.
Mortification mixed with indignation, and my brain clicked into gear. I set the empty cup on the table beside me and tried to cover my wet chest with my arms.
The stranger just stood there, looking down on me.
Not known for my patience and diplomacy, I lashed out at him in a tone worthy of Katerina in The Taming of the Shrew.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there. Of course, if you hadn’t been standing right on my ass, we might’ve avoided the collision. Or don’t you know what six feet away means?”
He hissed in a sharp breath but didn’t speak, no doubt because he knew I was right.
Mom raced around the counter with a damp cloth and a pile of napkins.
“Don’t just stand there, do something.”
Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the damp cloth from her and started dabbing at the coffee on my t-shirt.
“Not you, for heaven’s sake,” Mom barked.
So much for motherly love and compassion!
Turning, I began rubbing at the stain on the man shirt and pants, praying it wouldn’t stain. My new t-shirt probably would, and that annoyed me more, causing me to rub harder.
I stopped dead, my heart pounding out a primitive beat, my lungs refusing to function.
While the stranger had to be at least six foot six, I was barely five feet tall. Most of the coffee stain was on his crotch, a fact my addled brain had ignored. My hand was essentially massaging that area of his anatomy, and I could feel something cylindrical growing hard under my hand.
I jumped away as if I’d been tazered. The old, Is that a flashlight in your pocket or are you happy to see me? joke ripped through my mind, and I smothered a giggle.
“Robin, you’re just making it worse,” my mother said, handing the man the pile of napkins. “Perhaps you would like to step into the washroom, sir?”
The man grunted and reached for the napkins. I couldn’t help noticing his hands. Whoever I’d collided with had the hands of a pianist, with long tapered fingers. What would it be like to have hands like that caress my body?
Mother of God! What is wrong with me?
As soon as he moved away, I rushed out the door, jogging the three blocks home faster than I’d ever run them before, grateful that at seven in the morning, the street was all but deserted.
The minute I stepped inside the house, I collapsed into the chair, a sudden fit of giggles taking my breath away. I laughed until my sides ached. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the scene and dissolved into giggles again.
Of course Mom would place the blame for this squarely on me … the wayward daughter who never did anything right.
Shakespeare wandered into the living room and meowed a welcome.
“It served him right,” I began explaining the incident to my companion. “Had he been the requisite six feet away, he would’ve escaped his fate, and I would now be finishing my iced cappuccino.”
Welcome to another day in this year’s challenge. I’ve enjoyed your comments and posts from others attempting the challenge this year. Here’s hoping you’re all healthy and as happy as can be given the way things are.
Going to do something a little different this morning. Remember the good old days? As Doc would say, “Marty stay away from 2020-2021!”
I’ve been a fan of Michael J Fox from his earliest television days, but my favorite movies of his are the Back to the Future ones, and The American President. He has battled adversity and is one of our Canadian shining lights.
So what do Michael J. Fox and Johnny B. Goode have to do with today and the letter L? Well, today’s cocktail is called Lady Be Good. It seemed like a natural! I love white creme de menthe.
Make it Your Own
Ingredients
2 oz Brandy 1/2 oz White Creme de Menthe 1/2 oz Sweet Vermouth
Mix It
In a mixing glass filled with ice, stir all ingredients. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
Garnish with a cherry and and serve.
Enjoy!
Now, this seems like a very promising book title. Looking forward to letting the creative juices flow!
Come back tomorrow for a peek at what you’ll get from the letter M.
Oh Happy Day! Hubby gets his first Covid vaccine shot this morning. I got mine back in February. No issues, no problems, but at my age, a little peace of mind.
Today’s Cocktail comes from the letter K. While I wouldn’t recommend this as a breakfast drink,I can see enjoying one after lunch or dinner. Our cocktail today is Kentucky Tea. For those who prefer, it could be Kentucky Coffee. I suppose like many when I think of drinks born in the Southern US, I immediately think of Mint Julips or Jack Daniels, straight up or with coke.
Make It Your Own
Both of these drinks are based on infamous Kentucky Bourbon. You can choose your poison in today’s Two for the price of one deal.
Kentucky Coffee:
Ingredients:
2.5 oz. Coffee
1.25 oz Bourbon
Brown Sugar (to taste)
Creamer (to taste)
Mix It
Pour coffee into a mug. My choice would be a glass one.
Add bourbon
Optional:
Add brown sugar to taste
Add creamer to taste I would go with whipped cream.
Kentucky Tea:
Ingredients:
0,5 oz of Kentucky bourbon
0.5 oz of red vermouth
Brewed Earl Gray or other blend of tea (strong)
sugar to taste
lemon to taste
milk not recommended.
Mix It
In a tea cup, add the bourbon and vermouth
Fill the rest of the cup with strong tea.
Optional
Add sugar and/ or lemon to taste
Caution! Adding milk could cause the drink to curdle.
Welcome to another Tuesday Tale. This week we have a picture prompt, which limits the scene to 300 words. I’m continuing with The White Dahlia.
“I wonder how long it’ll take Mitch to identify the girl in the back of the van?”
Beth looked at him. “I don’t know. It’ll depend on what she can get from the body. Al, I don’t think it’ll be Rebecca. She hadn’t been missing long enough, not if getting children is part of this as I suspect, and I don’t think it would be Sylvia—not once he had Rachel. He would’ve … disposed of her sooner. I’m sorry.”
He nodded, trying to empty his mind of all the imagined indignities performed on his former wife.
“Here we are,” Beth said, pointing to a small café, half of its outdoor tables full. “Inside or out?”
“Let’s go in just in case the sky decides to open up again.”
“Yeah. We can get a cab back if it does.”
Al pushed open the door and stepped inside the small coffee shop. The red lacquered tables and chairs gave the place a bright friendly feel, but it was the aroma that mattered most. The smell of rich, fresh coffee mingling with the sweet smells of pastry made his mouth water.
Beth chose a table near the windows.
“What’ll you have?
“I’ll have a chai latte with a dash of cream and a chocolate croissant.”
She handed him a five. He was going to refuse, but the look on her face convinced him this wasn’t an argument he would win.
A few minutes later he returned with two of the croissants, a red cup for her and a black one for himself. He placed her change on the table beside her cup.
“So,” he asked before taking a mouthful of coffee and savoring it. “Good stuff. Are we still on for dinner?”
Beth nodded. “Unless Chad says otherwise, we should be good.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome back. I hope you all had a wonderful weekend–well, as wonderful as it can be considering the circumstances. With the warmer weather and sunshine, hubby and I went for a Sunday drive, being carful not to stop anywhere where there were people. When we came home, we settled in lawn chairs and enjoyed a couple of driveway beers–yes, beers is right since we don’t drink the same brand. Funny thing, he usually finishes his case before I do. We sit in the driveway because the grass is still too wet to go into the yard.
Today’s cocktail is brought to you by the letter J. The Japanese Slipper is also called the Grinch Cocktail because of it’s lovely green color. In Japanese, the word midori means green. My son and his family were fortunate enough to visit Japan before the pandemic and were treated to many wonderful Japanese experiences, including the chance to dress up in beautiful silk kimonos. While everyone thinks of the historic tea ceremony and saki, the Japanese slipper has a lot to offer, too.
Make It Your Own
The cocktails’ festive green almost neon appearance makes it ideally suited to the Christmas season, and the color does resemble that of the infamous Grinch, but this drink is far more sweet like Cindy Loo Hoo than sour like the Grinch.
Ingredients
2 oz. (60ml) Midori (melon liqueur)
2 oz. (60ml) Cointreau (orange liqueur
2 oz. (60ml) lemon juice
Mix It
Fill a glass with ice
Add melon liqueur, cointreau, and lemon juice.
Shake well.
Strain mix into martini glass
Garnish with a lemon wheel and maraschino cherry dropped inside the glass.
I have everything to make this all ready to go. All I’m waiting for is a warm summer day.
Well, we’ve come to the end of the first full week of this year’s blog challenge. We’ve had milder temperatures and a lot of sunshine this week. It isn’t exactly shorts weather, but I’ve managed to get out and get some fresh air each day. That’t the best it gets this year.
Before the pandemic, my husband and I were fortunate enough to do some traveling. One of those trips included two nights in Iceland on the way home, a trip that allowed us to see the land of the Midnight sun and so much more. I’ve included a tourism video for you to enjoy. Watching this video brings back great memories. It is my sincere hope to return and see more of this beautiful and incredible island country someday.
Today, the letter I brings you a cool beverage from Iceland, the Iceberg Paralyzer
If you like things on the sweet side, you’ll love this one, but it can be tricky to make. The key is the amount of ice you use. Not enough, and the drink will curdle.
Similar to a White Russian, but definitely Icelandic, and absolutely addictive. It isn’t calorie light either!
Make It Your Own
Ingredients
1 1/12 oz Icelandic vodka (There are several different types. Give them all a try!)
1 1/2 oz Kaluha,
Coca Cola
Milk
Mix It!
The key is following the directions to the letter!
Fill a tall glass right to the top with ice.
Add vodka and Kaluha.
Add Coca Cola up to about a half inch from the top. Make sure there is still plenty of ice above the top of the liquid.
Top with milk.
Use a metal bar spoon to slowly stir and blend the ingrdients.
REMEMBER! You need the ice above the coke or the milk will curdle when mixed with the cola.
Enjoy the weekend. I’ll see you back here on Monday!
Well, here it is another Friday, the day I go and get my weekly Covid test so that I can continue to visit my mother. It’s also my father’s birthday. He would’ve been 93 today. He died in the fall of 2019, and I still miss his smile.
When Mom and Dad were younger seniors, they did a lot of traveling, and one of the places they visited was Hawaii. Dad used to talk about the dancers and the various islands they’d seen, and how lush and green everything was.
My husband and I had hoped to go there this fall to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary, but that’s not likely to happen now.
Still, today’s cocktail coming from the letter H is a Hawaiian Sunset.
Like every cocktail chosen for these posts, I selected this one because of its potential for a story. Hawaiian Sunset sounds like a wonderful title, a romance that one that could have all kinds of hilarious consequences.
I can picture the beauty of the sunset on a beach, the surfers riding the waves and glimmering in the rays of the setting sun with a sky in the background the same color as this. But of course, my father would want me to include a dead body, rolling onto the beach. He wasn’t into my romances , but he loved my thrillers.
Make It Your Own
Ingredients
2 1/2 oz Cranberry juice
2 1/2 oz Orange juice
1 1/2 oz Soda water
1 1/2 oz Vodka
Mix It.
Fill a glass with ice cubes. You can make this a slushy drink if you use crushed ice.
Add cranberry juice, orange juice, vodka, and soda water.
Stir or blend if you prefer.
Serve with a cocktail umbrella and maraschino cherries
Enjoy! Come back tomorrow to see what the letter I has for you!
This is the second post on this blog today. If you are looking for the A to Z blog for the letter G, please scroll down. Thanks.
Well, not enough people followed the health rules and thanks to the variants, we’ve found ourselves under another Stay at Home order. The authorities are working hard to get vaccines into arms, but it’s a slow process, made even slower by a shortage of the precious commodity, and vaccine hesitancy, generally caused by one of two things: fear of needles and refusal to trust science, preferring to believe the ridiculous notions that pop up all over the Internet. Afraid the government will be able to track you? I’ve got news for you. If you own a cellphone, they can track you now. And am I seriously worried someone cares what a 70-year-old woman does?
.So, until those who deny COVID 19 exists, refuse to wear masks and practice social distance, and won’t get vaccinated get on board, it will be one lockdown after another with any kind of normalcy far far away.
So, since you’re stuck inside once more, what do you do? It’s April. It’s warm and dry, but if you live in my part of the world, spring is barely three weeks old. We usually still have snow, so it’s too early to plant anything. I can spend my days writing, but I would much rather sit outside in the afternoon and read.
The interesting thing about The Golden Legacy multiauthor box set from the Author’s Billboard is that the title unites the stories under a common thread. They don’t feature the same characters, not even the same time periods, but they all revolve around a captured and cursed pirate treasure. Used for good, the owners are blessed. Used selfishly or for evil, and it vanishes–not forever but until the next generation where someone will use it for good once more.
My contribution to the anthology is the first story, is Twist of Fate.
Can a cursed treasure unite two lonely outcasts?
Overton Stafford, shunned by his family because of a birthmark on his face, made a life for himself as Second Mate on The Golden Fleece. In a battle with pirates, Overton loses his left arm, ending his career. Knowing he will be a wealthy man makes the pain easier to bear, especially when he discovers he can repay a moral debt and help an old friend. When he meets Anna, Overton realizes he wants more from her than a financial partnership.
Anneliese Van Stubel lost her sight at nine as a result of Smallpox. Now eighteen, a ward of the crown because of the Danish Age of Majority law, she lives in limbo, uncertain what will happen to her. When Overton approaches her with the proposition to help her rebuild the plantation, she’s excited with the idea of returning to her home. But her joy fades when her caregiver makes it plain that he has a different future in mind for her, one that will profit him.
Set in a time when brutality against women and slaves was the norm, Overton seeks to change things as he falls in love with the girl who has lost so much.
Here’s a scene from the story to whet your whistle. Remember, this was not a kind, enlightened time.
Aboard The Golden Fleece,
Caribbean Sea off the coast of Tortola,
Lesser Antilles.
August 2, 1734
“And may the Almighty have mercy upon his soul,” Saul Dern, the ship’s doctor and the closest thing to a clergyman aboard The Golden Fleece, intoned before shutting his Bible.
The sun beat down relentlessly on the deck, burning the forty men and the one woman who stood there, some of them scarcely able to stay on their feet.
Grim faced, the would-be minister turned to Sarah, the captain’s eighteen year old daughter. She nodded. Saul mumbled a few words to the men at his side. Without hesitation, they cut the ropes and tipped Captain Carlson’s body into the sea.
Overton Stafford, Second Mate, mopped his brow on the side of his sling as he watched the cadaver, wrapped in sailcloth and loaded down by cannonballs, slip beneath the waves. There, but for the grace and mercy of God, would he be. The cannon shot that had ended the captain’s life had severely damaged his own left arm. Saul was doing his best to save it, but even to Overton’s inexperienced eye, it didn’t look good. But then, nothing did. Given that the main mast was gone along with the top half of the mizzen mast, the ship limped along, heading for a safe port where repairs could be made. The fact that she was able to move even at this reduced speed was a bloody miracle.
Mistress Sarah, now owner and acting captain of the vessel, had wanted to take her father back to Savannah for a proper Christian funeral. Unfortunately, bodies decomposed quickly in this region, and after four days of blistering heat, the ship moving slower than the algae surrounding it, she’d accepted that doing so wouldn’t be wise. As it was, there were enough sweat-soaked, bloody sailors, festering wounds, and prisoners aboard the vessel to contaminate the air.
The captain hadn’t been the only man to die in the pirate attack. Half the crew had perished, but he was the only one who’d been given the respect and honor of a separate funeral. The crewman who’d lost their lives had been consigned to the waters the day after the battle. The brigands who’d died, including their infamous leader, had been unceremoniously dumped aboard the vessel, the ship then scuttled and sent to the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. The dozen injured survivors were shackled below deck, ready to be turned over to the authorities when—and if—they made port. God alone knew how many had managed to escape when it was obvious victory wouldn’t be theirs. Cowards and rats always deserted a sinking ship.
How could this ill-equipped merchant vessel have bested The Dawn, the scourge of the Lesser Antilles? How had they defeated Mad Jack Lessing, one of the most feared pirates in all of the Caribbean? Now, with a portion of her crew and her captain dead, The Golden Fleece shuffled over the green waves, its coffers filled with newly acquired treasure, stolen in the first place from men who themselves had taken it from others. He’d heard one of the prisoners mumbling in Spanish. Tesoro maldito, cursed treasure. Normally, he wasn’t a superstitious man, but what else could explain this strange twist of fate?
Overton shook his pounding head, sweat matting his long, deep brown hair, before trickling down the sides of his face. Cursed or not, David had defeated Goliath. Victory for the ship, but a personal defeat for himself. Fate kicking a broken man while he was down once more.
“Overton, you need to get back to bed,” Saul Dern said, his face creased in concern. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. If you get any weaker, there won’t be much I can do for you.”
“If ye think I’m going to spend what may be me final days amid the stench of yer so-called infirmary, ye’ve another thought coming. If I’m to live through this, then I’ll do it with the Good Lord’s sun on me face.”
Saul shook his clenched fist at him.
“You’re the most stubborn, pig-headed Scotsman I’ve ever met. Have it your way—for now—but sit. You’ll not stand on this deck until you fall and do even more damage to that blasted arm. In an hour or two, you’ll go to your cabin if I have to carry you there myself. Cook is making a fine soup from the fish we caught earlier today. You’ll eat it, or I’ll have O’Hara force feed you, and you know the Irishman would like nothing better than to have you at his mercy. Now, sit, I said, and let me look at that arm.”
Too weak and in more pain than he would’ve believed possible, Overton dropped onto a barrel and let the doctor remove the sling. Gingerly, the man pulled off his shirt sleeve. Every now and then, the heavy cotton caught on the dry blood sticking to it, adding to Overton’s agony. When the arm was freed, the swollen, bloody mass was enough to turn any man’s stomach.
Saul prodded the flesh with his fingers, then shook his head and pursed his lips. Overton had uttered more than a few curses as the doctor had painstakingly removed metal and wood shards, but much of the mast had been coated in boat soup, a mixture of tar and oils meant to preserve the wood, that often caused infection. He’d seen tiny splinters turn septic in a matter of days.
“Life hasn’t been easy for you, but I’m afraid it’s about to get worse. I did my best, but there’s nothing more I can do. The hand’s got to go. Look at it. Even you can smell the putrefaction. The swelling and signs of poison run all the way up your arm. Given the elbow’s been shattered, there’s nothing I can do to restore its mobility. If you want to live—and God alone knows if you do—the arm has to come off. I can leave you the shoulder and bicep if I take it before it worsens. But the choice is yours.”
Overton swallowed the bile rising in his throat. His arm? Give up his arm? Had the Lord not taken enough from him? The love of a mother, a family who cared for him, and now this. A man could replace a lost leg with a wooden one, a lost hand with a hook, but to lose most of the arm? How could such a man serve aboard ship when he wouldn’t be able to do the simplest tasks?
If he did nothing, as Saul had said, he would die. The painfilled part of him suggested the prospect wasn’t without merit, but he wasn’t ready to let that bastard Mad Jack Lessing drag him down to hell along with him. Deep inside, Overton was certain he was meant for better things. Giving up was a coward’s choice. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t weak. He’d fought too hard to get where he was to just give up. But to lose the arm…
Before he could answer Saul’s question, the rustle of taffeta announced the new captain’s arrival.
“Mr. Stafford. How’s your arm?” She didn’t wait for an answer and turned to Saul. “Doctor, can you save it?”
“Not and save the man,” Saul admitted.
Hearing it put so bluntly caused the acid in Overton’s stomach to roil.
The captain nodded and turned back to Overton.
“Then we must do what we can to save you, sir, even if we can’t save the arm. A man is more than the sum of his parts.” She sighed. “You must think of the future. I promise you’ll share in the spoils from this victory, a small way to repay you for your loyalty.” She swiped at the tears on her sunburned face. “I’ve lost enough men to my father’s folly and greed, I’ll not lose one more.”
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Welcome back to the the A to Z challenge for 2021. Today’s cocktail comes with a bit of backstory. Two years ago, before COVID 19 destroyed all the fun in life, my husband and I attended a charity wine festival and won a year’s worth of wine–a bottle a week. The selection was huge and the fifty two bottles were set aside for special occasions. Some, we didn’t normally drink, like port or champagne, but there is an occasion for everything. Recently, after we came out of lockdown, we went to dinner at a friend’s house. just two couples and I had proof of my negative COVID test as well as the first of my two vaccines. We decided to bring a couple of the remaining wines. One was a muscatel, or muscat wine, way too sweet to drink by itself, but I thought it might taste good over ice. While I was watching yet another rerun of NCIS, I decided to look to see if there were any cocktails made with that wine. Low and behold, I found one.
Today’s letter is G, and the cocktail I found and am anxious to try is called the Golden Ivy. It was created by Simon Difford in 2011 as a Christmas cocktail. As I said, I found the recipe online at https://www.diffordsguide.com It won’t be a cocktail that you’ll drink all night–not if you want to walk away under your own steam. The cognac blends well with the sweet berry taste of the muscat and the dry berry taste of the cranberries.
Make It Your Own
Ingredients:
2 oz cognac, Remi-Martin is suggested
1/2 oz Muscat wine
1 oz cranberry juice
Method:
Stir all ingredients with ice.
strain and serve in a coupe glass
Garnish with an orange zest twist.
Now, doesn’t that look pretty? I can see a Christmas story evolving from this particular cocktail.
Come back tomorrow to see what the letter H will have for you!
Living the Dream 