1940’s Charm

The following photographs are from my Pinterest boards. I started to collect images of the 1940s when I began writing the Christmastime series — stories that take place on the home front during World War II.

I wanted to get a sense of the times in order to better portray Lillian and her friend Izzy, and all the women in the series — women who live and work in New York City,

as well as those who run an orchard and live on a farm.

There are young mothers and career women, volunteers and performers, of all ages. And of course, there are a few images on the boards of men, to help portray the relationships in the books.

Some of the photographs on the Pinterest boards are of famous women,

others depict the not-so-average women of the day,

whose lives were turned upside down by the war. They rose to the challenge — going without, making do, and stepping into roles they never imagined for themselves.

These images helped me to tap into the spirit of the times and funnel some of the charm and energy into the characters of the Christmastime series.

I hope you enjoy them!

View my Pinterest Board

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Dahlias – the flower of August

Lush, exhuberant, and elegant, dahlias are a welcome addition to any flower garden.

When many flowers have begun to fade and grow thin, the dahlia is just getting started and will bloom until colder weather sets in with autumn.

Dahlias have long been associated with love and commitment and is often the flower of choice for fall weddings.

The dahlia’s variety of color, shape, and size lends itself to beautiful arrangements, whether mixed with other later summer flowers, or standing alone.

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The flower of August. Dahlias are both a celebration of the end of summer and a gentle harbinger of fall.

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Summer’s eve

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Lingering days and the soft glow of lights.

Dining al fresco,

and a stroll after dinner.

Candles in the garden,

and tiny lights that stretch the day just a little longer.

Windows and doors opened to welcome the scents and sounds of evening.

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Sitting on the porch and enjoying the close of day,

or gathering around a fire to usher in the night.

There’s nothing quite like a summer’s eve.

 

Amazon book reviewers for The Garden House

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Hello dear reader —

Once in a while I put out a request for book reviews. I’m always trying to increase my numbers, especially on Amazon and Goodreads, as it leads to greater discoverability.

If you have read The Garden House, I would deeply appreciate a review (and by that I mean a few words or even a simple star review).

If you have not read The Garden House but would like to and are willing to leave an honest review on Amazon, please contact me at linda@lindamahkovec.com and I will send you a free ebook through BookFunnel.

And to all of you who have left reviews, thank you ever so much. Your stamp of approval means the world to me!

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(all images from Pinterest)

 

Color, magnificent color – pink

Soft and ethereal, or bold and bright. The color pink is said to be a calming color, promoting happiness, well-being, and relaxation.

It delights when we come across it on doors and windows,

or even on exteriors.

A garden color staple,

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pink also provides lovely touches inside the home.

Pink is associated with beauty and delicacy, and qualities that are romantic and feminine.

Pink is also linked to hope and optimism

and even healing.

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May Day

May 1st –Maypoles,

floral wreaths and garlands,

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small vases of first flowers.

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Surprise bouquets.

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Bursts of color.

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“Spring — an experience in immortality.” – Henry D. Thoreau

 

 

Enchanted April

Lately, I’ve been thinking about a movie I’ve always loved, Enchanted April, based on the 1922 novel by Elizabeth von Arnim. I remembered that I had bought the book a few years ago and decided to read it — and watch the movie again. Set shortly after WWI, the story is about two women who are unhappy with their dreary, loveless lives in rainy London.

After seeing an advertisement for “Wisteria and Sunshine,”

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they become filled with the dream of renting a villa in Italy for the month of April.

The impetuous Lotty convinces her friend Rose to make the dream a reality.

They find two other women, who are also dissatisfied with their lives, to join them in order to help lessen the cost, and set off for Italy.

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A  month of strolling through the terraced hillsides, enjoying the rocky shore, dining al fresco, and resting in the tranquility of the gardens enables their spirits to heal.

The result is a reawakening to life, love, beauty, and newfound friendship .

 

To “wisteria and sunshine,”

 and to healing the spirit.

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The Garden House – spring

The novel The Garden House is set in the Pacific Northwest, with most of the action occurring in Seattle. Other books in the fledgling series might be set on the Oregon coast, or perhaps the San Juan Islands, or even — if shop owner Paula gets her way — the flea markets of Paris.

I lived in Seattle for seven years and I visit my sister in Oregon once or twice a year. I’m always struck by the breathtaking beauty of the landscape.

One of the things I love most about the Pacific Northwest is that spring arrives so early in the year.

As I thrill at the inch-high green shoots of crocuses in my tiny garden patch, I imagine The Garden House’s main character, Miranda, already surrounded by spring’s beauty.

I see her out in her garden on a cool morning holding a steaming cup of tea, or on her hands and knees, turning the soil to plant a box of pansies or brushing aside a few dried leaves to uncover a cluster of grape hyacinths.

Or just sitting quietly on a garden bench, taking in the colors and scents of early spring.

 

Excerpt from “The Finnish Boy”

Excerpt from “The Finnish Boy” from the short story collection The Dreams of Youth.

And the thoughts of youth, are long, long thoughts. —Longfellow

85-year-old Maggie remembers an incident from long ago when she worked as a nurse in California, shortly after WWII. A memory she has held close to her heart for over 60 years.

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In Santa Barbara, Maggie lived alone in a pretty stucco apartment building with a small fountain in the courtyard. Flowers bloomed year-round, which never ceased to amaze her – pink roses, orange poppies, and exotic flowers that reached up from spiky succulent plants. The palm trees never lost their leaves, like Midwestern trees. Their green fronds glistened eternal-like in the ever-present sun.

Maggie walked to and from the hospital dressed in her crisp white uniform and cap. She worked the 3:00 – 11:00 p.m. shift and was responsible for twenty-nine beds on her floor. She loved her work, the sense of purpose it gave her, of being able to make a difference in the lives of others…

One night, at around 7:00, a nurse and an orderly brought a patient from the Emergency Room to Maggie’s floor. The ER nurse explained that the young man had been in a bad road accident. The doctors had done what they could, but after working on him for two hours, they shook their heads, hooked him up to a morphine drip, and sent him to Maggie’s floor. The nurse said that he had been muttering in a foreign language that no one recognized. She handed Maggie the report and left.

Maggie saw that the patient was just a boy, around twenty-four years old or so, her own age. He was tall and slim, with fair hair and a handsome face. As she gazed down on him, his blue eyes opened and fixed on her.

Maggie smiled her nurse’s smile, competent and compassionate. By then, the morphine had worked its magic and he didn’t seem to be in too much pain. He watched her as she adjusted his pillow and blanket, his eyes searching her face for an answer.

As she took his pulse, he turned his wrist and clasped her hand. Maggie spoke a few gentle words of comfort and was surprised when he answered in English. He thanked her and asked her name. He told her he was from Finland.

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That he had wanted to see the United States and had found work driving trucks for a transport company. He smiled when he said it was the best way to see such a big country. He soon became fatigued and closed his eyes…

Maggie was thankful that the night was slow. She couldn’t leave him alone. There was no hope for him, and she guessed that he knew. She took a deep breath and returned to his bedside.

The sun was beginning to set and the room was slowly growing darker. She turned on the nightlight above his bed. As soon as she sat down, he opened his hand for hers. It seemed that he wanted to talk.

Maggie asked him which parts of the States he had seen. He became slightly more animated as he described the Great Plains, the Rocky Mountains, and the Northwest. But when he described the coast of California, a softer look filled his face. He told her it was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. Maggie replied that she felt the same way, and that she, too, had come from far away to be near the beautiful California coast.

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She then asked him about the place he was from. In a few spare words, he told her that he was from a small town, a small family. He said he had wanted to see the world. His voice quivered slightly when he told her how his family had taken him to the train station – how his mother had cried, how his father had tried hard not to cry, and how his younger brother and sister had run alongside the train until he couldn’t see them anymore.

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He was quiet for a few moments, and his mind seemed to shift. Then he told her about the accident. He said he had been driving, enjoying the beautiful scenery along the coast, and that all of a sudden someone from the oncoming lane passed a car and was in his lane. He said he knew that if he hit the car, the driver would be killed. And he couldn’t do that. So he turned the wheel, and went over the hill. The next thing he remembered was the sound of a siren in his mind that grew louder and louder.

He looked at Maggie and told her that he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die so far from home. Somehow, he knew. And there was nothing Maggie could do but try to comfort him. She held his hand and tried to look strong, though she felt a sad crumbling inside her. Then she leaned closer and put her other hand on his cheek. This gesture of tenderness seemed to ease his anxiety, and his eyes glittered with gratitude. It was becoming more difficult for him to speak. He asked Maggie to tell him about her, where she was from.

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She told him about her family, about how she was from a small town in the rural Midwest. How she became a nurse so that she could see something of the world, and how the ocean had always called to her.

They smiled, realizing how similar they were in their youthful dreams. His eyes fastened on her as he drank in her words, eager to take in just a little bit more of life. His speech trickled down to a few words, uttered slowly now and then. After a little while, he closed his eyes.

Maggie continued to speak in a soft, low voice, watching his face closely. She gently began to move away, thinking that he had fallen unconscious, but he increased the pressure on her hand. So she continued to sit with him, lightly squeezing his fingers to let him know that she was there.

Then she covered his hand with both of hers and sat quietly. And even though she was expecting it, she started when his hand went limp. She looked closely at his face, his chest, and leaned in to feel for a pulse. Her fingers searched again and again, but his warm wrist no longer held life. She placed her ear to his chest, but heard only silence. She watched him for a few moments, and put her hand to his cheek once more. Then she swallowed her emotions, and left the room.

Maggie stayed late that night to finish her reports. She walked home slowly, not noticing the tears on her cheeks. She made her way to the beach and stood for a few minutes, looking out at the glittering dark ocean, the wind blowing her hair…

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Valentine’s Day

Below are a few quotes from the short story collection Seven Tales of Love, along with some images for Valentine Day’s.

Then his heart gave a little lurch when he saw her sitting there – Anna Avilov, his old Juliet. Suddenly, the twenty years since the production of Romeo and Juliet in San Francisco vanished. (from “Juliet”)

The market vibrated with color and sound. A slight breeze blew against her skin as she wandered from one stall to another. There were so many different types of people and objects. Like a huge, exotic bazaar. (from “Offering”)

She lifted one peony and pressed its velvety petals across her face. She plucked a petal and let it drop to the floor. Then another and another, saying, “He loves me, he loves me not. I love him, I love him not.”  With the second flower she added, “He never could have loved me. I never would have loved him.” (from “Peonies”)

No, it was the soft crashing of the waves, the shimmering pink and melon sunset. It was the sly promise that night weaves into its beginning. It was all that – and he was just a part of it, surely. (from “The Asking”)

The countdown. Three more days – and then the embrace, the conversations and walks, reaching out to feel his warm skin in the middle of the night. (from “Romantic Love”)

Later in the day, Olivia set the table, and carefully arranged the flowers she had bought earlier….It was just yesterday that he had brought her flowers. Yesterday, thirty years ago. (from “Caramelized Onions”)

I had this little game I played: I used to buy her roses on the anniversary of the day I first saw her. Roses for my Rose. She didn’t know what a momentous day it had been for me. Oh, sure, I brought her flowers throughout the year. She always loved them so. Rose was raised in the country and was used to blooming things, and she missed that when her family moved to the city. So I bought her flowers, whatever I could find in season. (from “Solomon Grundy”)

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